faderift | [OPEN] not good with words.

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[OPEN] not good with words.

WHO: Laura Kint and YOU
WHAT: How's Laura doing? WELL, SHE'S BEEN BETTER. If you'd like a closed starter with something more specific, please drop me a line on dw or elsewhere o/
WHEN: Various days mid-Harvestmere, after the initial messenger drama
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: TBD

first, a wildcard.

It's not exactly the easiest these days, finding Laura. She doesn't linger in common areas and frequently takes food away from the dining hall to eat privately. It's possible to catch her in corridors, however, or loading up a plate to run away with, or holed up in the corner of a nominally public room. (The library is a good place to try, Laura trying to be as unnoticeable as possible while reading fairy tales and other decidedly-not-war-philosophy books.)

But occasionally, things work out differently.

and then the ferry.

Early one morning, she strikes out for the first ferry of the day, with what she's hoping is unimpeachable logic: The messenger gave no description of her, and the townspeople have no reason to know who she is. In a way, is she not safer there?

(More importantly, walking through the Gallows is suffocating. People here know who she is and what she has done. Whether they care is immaterial.)

She wears her hood and tries to stay near enough others that she looks like she belongs here at the water's edge, waiting to go away from the Gallows for a time. It might not entirely work.

or the memorial garden.

The green, dying scent of plants draws her into Hightown despite her best efforts to avoid it. (If the messenger is still here, if the diplomat she answered to is here, they will both be in Hightown. Laura is nearly sure of that.) She hasn't spent much time there in general--it does not seem especially welcoming--but when she does, she goes to the garden that used to be a building. So it goes today.

"What is this called?" she asks the person near her. The plant, that's what she means, but anyone even mildly familiar with her could be forgiven for assuming she's referring to the garden as a whole.

or the market.

Normally, she goes to the market to examine the jewelry and spices available. Today, she is looking at boots and sacks and water skins and trying to determine which might be the best purchases to consider. She is not here to buy, only to think.

And to follow a sound down an alleyway--someplace in the shadows between buildings, a person is being held up at knifepoint. Laura stops short, heat in her gaze, and gives a flat, "Leave," to the would-be mugger.

or the ships.

Some of the ships are huge--others, little more than fishing boats--and in the months she's been in Kirkwall, Laura has taken notice of them for the first time. (She does not like water, in her defense. There has been little reason to acknowledge the possibility of sailing.) She does her best not to gawk, but it is difficult not to feel some awe at the sight of a ship in the harbor, nearly tall enough to scrape clouds.

And she occasionally asks others questions, people who look like they belong in this place. "Where is it going?" and "Does it take travelers?" and "What does it cost to travel?"

She promised Matthias she would stay until she couldn't. When that day comes, she wants to be ready.

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"No." It's easy, too, immediate. "I would like to catch the ferry."

As though to underscore the point, she starts walking.

One brisk walk, a slow ferry ride, another brisk walk and a detour past a bar brawl (that has breached the boundaries of the lowtown pub it started in) later, they're at the warehouse.

The doors are bolted shut, many of the windows that are too high to hop through are broken, and Athessa holds out her arms in a tadaa gesture by way of introduction, then leads the way around to a hole in the wall that some smart person has covered with an easily movable bit of wood.

"Watch out for rats, last time I was here there was one as big as a dog." And it breathed ice, but that's neither here nor there.

She can see immediately the benefits of the place: large, underused, easy to imagine haunted by old spirits. There's approval in the way she nods at it, and at Athessa's grand gesture.

"Who else knows about it?" she asks, following Athessa through the hole after it's revealed. Does it have other entries besides this one? How crowded are things inside? The primary danger of it is the potential of coming here and finding someone else, so far as she can tell; in a location prime for illicit dealings, that has the potential to become dangerous. (For other people, that is.)

"Lots of people, but only a few who'd actually come here. Me, Matty, you," she counts down on her fingers. "One of the street gangs used to come here until the ghost rumors started. Cleared out right quick after that."

A well known place to locals, virtually unknown to anyone else. It's not a location that would be convenient for bandits at all, but it's conceivable that an illicit shipment could be stored here for a spell, if the sailors get over their superstitions first.

The interior of the warehouse is sparse, in part due to its size but also bearing the signs of having been cleared out of anything valuable ages prior. What is left is covered in dust and dirt, cobwebs and some fresh spider webs complete with eight legged tenants, though blessedly of the smaller-than-your-hand variety. No giant ones.

Crates, pottery, a lot of broken glass that Athessa easily avoids stepping on with her bare feet, and various bits of furniture that people may have dumped here as trash or stored here and forgotten about. Oh, and of course the aforementioned rats, all of reasonable size.

The place is more appealing as they get inside it properly, more so as Athessa continues to explain it. It is dim inside, and it could still prove to be a difficult space to get in and out of, in the case of an ambush, but Laura knows how to handle ambushes.

"And we...shout?" It occurs to her that she has never screamed without purpose--and rarely, even then. Growling, hissing, trying to make as little noise as possible in hopes of avoiding punishment, those she can call up memories of. The last time she remembers screaming was years ago--was it the lyrium? She thinks it was the lyrium.

Alternatively, there is half a couch she could make short work of. It does not feel necessary, exactly, but now that they are here, Laura thinks they should do something.

"Sure, if you want to," she says, picking up an already cracked vase from the floor. It looks a bit like a hard-boiled egg that's been smacked against a table, but not peeled. "Or throw things, or hit things..." Athessa tosses the vase into the air, then catches it. "I like to climb up there, that ledge with all the crates, and chuck stuff off of it."

Her handiwork from last time she did that is still scattered on the floor directly below the ledge, splintered wood and bits of ceramic. She tosses the vase again, this time to that spot on the ground so it may shatter and join the rest of the rubbish. The sound startles the rats and a few roosting birds in the rafters, but as the echoes die down, all is quiet again.

"It's really satisfying."

Edited 2019-11-02 00:17 (UTC)

Laura watches the vase smash and nods solemnly. From a height, it would be better--that much is clear, not least because when in doubt, she always prefers to be high up--but even from the ground, the smash is satisfying. Without another word, she goes over to one wall and, using all six claws, starts stab-climbing her way up to the ledge.

You know. As you do. She's had far less use for the claws in her feet, these weeks with Riftwatch, but they're always convenient at moments like this.

Once she's up there, she pauses at the side of one of the crates, frowning at it. After a moment, she glances back Athessa's way--on the ground, up with her, wherever she might be. "Why do you like breaking things?"

She is unsure Athessa will wish to answer, but she is curious.

The question catches Athessa off-guard, and she has to think on it a moment.

And, on top of considering the question, she has to consider which answer to give. Because it's fun is easy and quick and likely as not isn't one worth pursuing deeper. But it's also only partly true. She's not ready to admit that she likes breaking things as proof that she herself isn't broken.

"I pretend they're things that've hurt me," she says. She won't get more specific than that. "So I can give them a taste of their own medicine."

Looking up to Laura from below, she shrugs and cocks a grin. "And because it's fun."

Specificity beyond that would be dangerous--if only because Laura might have to reciprocate. It is enough to know that people have hurt Athessa, and that she has found a way to hurt them back, if in a way that does not actually have an effect. The purpose is clearer now: while it does not lead to any real benefit, Athessa uses it to help herself.

(Perhaps it is like her claws, the Xes she makes with them. Laura does not wish to investigate that thought further.)

Bending over one of the crates, she pulls out a teacup with a chip already in the rim. After pondering the painted nugs along the top edge, she hurls it down to the floor. It explodes into countless shards, a few large and far more small. She stands there a moment, staring down at the wreckage, then turns her attention back to Athessa. "Do you wish to break things today?"

It is not unenjoyable by any means. But she thinks it might be better if they both were up here; as it is, she feels faintly like she is on display.

Her answer is a grin, and she makes short work of clamoring up to stand on the same level as Laura. Of course, it's less quick than Laura herself, but considering Athessa doesn't have magical claws to stab into walls, she'd say her time is pretty good.

"The teacups are especially fun," One of the crates was originally meant to supply either a merchant or a noble family, because it holds far more cups and saucers and cream pitchers than any one person needs. Athessa fishes a cup and saucer out, ignoring the cracks and missing pieces, and holds it like a dignified lady having tea. "Because sometimes you just wanna smack the drink out of someone's hand--" And she knocks the cup out of her own hand, sending it sailing down to the floor.

"This is no time for tea Madame, the enemy is storming the gates!" This, said in her best impression of a military man. Then, playing the other character in her imaginary play, she presses the back of her hand to her forehead.

"Woe is me, whatever shall we do?"

Athessa's playacting is baffling. Laura has never seen anything like it, pretending to be multiple people for the sake of...a joke? Some kind of game? Something odd, but not unpleasant.

But definitely, she realizes, something she has no idea how to contribute to. Is she supposed to affect a voice as well? She would not know where to start.

The best she can come up with is to reach for another cup and saucer, place the former on the latter, and offer it silently to Athessa. Your replacement tea, Madame.

Perhaps Athessa recognizes that, at Laura's age, she too would've been baffled by the display. She didn't have the luxury of being an absolute fool until an age at which most have long since grown out of the tendency. But whether prescient or simply coincidental, the elf forges on to somewhat explain where she picked up the notion.

"You ever see those street plays? The ones with real folks acting out the story, not the ones with the puppets--" She nods down at the cup and saucer she accepted from Laura, trying to convey go on, slap it out of my hands with her eyebrows. "--the puppet ones are better because it's just puppets hitting each other with sticks, but there's always some dramatic tea parties in the other ones."

"I have seen others watching them," she offers, wondering for the first time if such things occur in Kirkwall, and whether she could see one. It was never a possibility in Cumberland, doing more than passing them by. If nothing else, they sound interesting--though she will have to figure out what a puppet is before she attends.

Athessa is looking at her pointedly--that much is clear. Her brow moves, and there is that nod down to her teacup. Laura makes her best guess at what this means and sweeps her hand over Athessa's, so the dishes fly out in an arc and smash against the floor.

"I dunno if they have them around here, but they had them in the big cities in Rivain," Laura made the right guess about the teacup, of course, and Athessa grins to validate it. She rummages through another crate for more things to break as she speaks, reaching so far in that she has to brace on the edge of it and stand on tip-toes.

"If they do them here, we should go see one. They're pretty stupid, but fun. Sometimes." You know, when they're not garbage.

"I would like that." More than that, she'll probably think about it over and over at quiet moments, remembering the quick surprise and slow appreciation of being invited someplace by Athessa.

Going to another crate, she digs into old straw--meant to keep things from breaking, surely--and pulls out a pair of vases. Silently, she turns around and holds one out to Athessa.

She takes it, and hopes that there are plays in Kirkwall after all so she can see that invitation through to the end.

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[OPEN] not good with words.

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