open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly & Kitty & you
WHAT: Open log! Assorted prompts!
WHEN: Months of Harvestmere & then Firstfall
WHERE: In and around Kirkwall
NOTES: If you're not into this junk tell me what junk you're into and I'll give you that junk

Prompts in comments my pretties. If none of em catch your fancy, then just throw up something that does.

Comments

[katabasis]

Evidence.

[Barked back, flat with disbelief. She can dress herself with all the dignity in the world; she still looks like a petulant child.]

What is evident is that you dislike being disagreed with or told what to do, and so you find it easier to imagine that everything I've said or done on your behalf in the past has been a lie rather than consider the possibility that you might be wrong.

[rathercommon]

I -

[ For just a moment, she falters. For just a moment there's a flicker of doubt in her face. Seen from a certain light, he's...right. From a certain light, she's a traitor who lied to a comrade and ally with no good reason, and who wailed paranoiacally when he reacted with understandable anger. From a certain light. But that story only seems true if you don't know what she knows - that desire for land and power create greed in men like Flint. That by the time you reach his age, you're a browbeaten coward or a villain. That no one really trusts a girl like her unless they think there's something to be gained. ]

Anything you did was for our shared cause.

[ Then a shake of her head. Her hand picks nervously, uncomfortably, at the dirt under her fingernail. ]

And I don't think our cause is aligned when it comes to them.

[katabasis]

[Simply:]

Then I hope you're right. As you've made yourself their sole representative here, it would be unfortunate if you weren't.

[rathercommon]

[ Her brows draw down, this time with more confusion than disapproval. ]

I'm not their representative. They scarcely even want anything to do with me.

[katabasis]

And yet you were so convinced of your own importance to be offended when Serah Fazon knew nothing about it. [Clearly the oarman is done with them. They're nearing the Gallows at a clip.]

As it appears you will justify your decisions however you’re best able in the moment, I cannot even imagine what I might say now that wouldn't simply reinforce the conclusion you've already decided on. You will have to live with your suspicion. If you have questions, you may take them to your Division Head. What you think is not my responsibility, and what you want is no longer my concern.

[THUNK; the ferryman ships the oars and they are sliding up against the slip moorage.]

[rathercommon]

It's not like I care.

[ And yet she finds that, for some reason, that comes out of her throat low and rough. She finds that her gaze on him is doleful, and that her hands are clenched together. Which is so utterly, dreadfully inconvenient, because that makes it seem like she does care. It makes it seem like there's something hard and tight and painful in her chest, like there's a dizziness swirling in the back of her head that she can't name or understand. Which there's not.

She gets up, soon as the boat bumps against the dock, even before they're moored. The boat sways dangerously under her foot as she climbs out, stepping on the edge, heedless of the danger of tipping - but it stays upright, and she scampers out, agile as any cabin boy, fleet-footed and able. And she doesn't look round as she goes. ]