faderift | (no subject)

Training is still familiar to her, even after all this time.

The motions that she was taught so many years ago, Adrian's eyes on her, adjusting her arm, just there, the way she balanced her greatsword against the curve of her palm, the slight bend in her shoulders, the pressure of her heel just so... It has been a great many years since she was his student, since she was young enough to be tutored by anyone, but sometimes she feels the emotions so deeply that it is as if she has been transported through time itself.

Her greatsword feels good in her hand, familiar and warm and wonderful, and Six breathes through the motions of twisting her body, the ache in her armas as familiar as it is uncomfortable. That's good; it means she is tightening the muscles, reshaping them into what she needs. A few weeks without proper training and she feels unfit all of a sudden, as if all her bulk has disappeared entirely.

She only pauses when she recognises a shock of bright hair, enough to capture her attention and drag it away from the turn of her body, dropping her blade to one side and pushing the hair from her face.

"Marcoulf. A round?"

Dress shopping is not a luxury she has been able to afford in recent years.

Sidony is familiar with the nature of standing still to be fitted for silks and ballgowns and other things people might regard as silly - but they were her armour, her sword and shield in a room filled with men who would have her and women who would like to be her. She hasn't had a new dress since she had left home; not even her wedding dress had been something she had bought for the occasion, which was fine considering the venue and the circumstances, but...

Fiddling idly with her ring, Sidony frowns.

There is nothing wrong with being invited to shop, but she has saved her money and has been looking forward to having at least one new outfit. She has some bolts of silk given to her last year during the gift exchange she still needs to use and those she has with her too, tucked in a basket hanging neatly on her arm. Perhaps she ought to make some attempt at wearing something a little more modest now she is known as Madame Rutyer, but anyone knowing her spouse would know that modesty is hardly the forefront of their natures. No, she can continue as she was.

Turning a corner, tucking her basket a touch closer to herself - there's a dagger up her sleeve for good reason - Sidony smiles, mostly genuine, as she sees her companion.

"Gwenaëlle."

She is not anxious.

Sidony is well versed in making sure she appeals to whoever meets her; she is pretty, well educated, handsome and able to flirt and smile and curtesy with the best of them. She is novel and wonderful, proud in hearing, and she has no desire to lose that first impression because of something as silly as nerves.

No, she is not nervous. She is simply concerned.

This is, surely, the first time she is properly meeting someone that might hold a level of importance to Byerly and she wants to impress. She wants to seem like the wonderful, charming wife he deserves - and she is good enough for him, yes, of course, but... She has never felt this awkward need for approval before. Not to such a great level of intensity, at least.

Adjusting her hair, she steps up to wrap her fingers around Byerly’s, squeezing gently.

“How do I look?”

Late afternoon in the library is peak hours for nerds, but even then, there are only so many nerds, and so it's as quiet and peaceful as a library ought to be. For Solas, identifying the one who had introduced himself a few hours back is a process of elimination -- simply find the individual in the room he doesn't recognise.

Tony is situated at a desk. In front of him is a fan of loose leaf parchment pages of various sizes and qualities, with different hands of writing, and different abuses suffered -- water damage, fire damage, hastily-shoved-into-a-bag damage. Fortunately, all legible, but in need of interpretation, which is what he is doing now. Also in front of him: a mostly clean set of parchments and some writing implements, as he labours over the writing of a report.

It's so boring.

Like.

Who has the time.

(It's Tony, he has the time.)

Chin resting on hand, he noncommittally sketches out a few sentences. The hand he's leaning on is wrapped to cover the constant glow of green light, and likewise, he's wearing a closed jerkin that covers well any suspicious blue lyrium glowing that could otherwise be emanating from his chest hole. As he finishes his next sentence, he hastily sets the pen down as if it were itching him, and picks up one of the loose pages filled with notes, eyes flaring wide in the way people do to wake up a little more, before squinting to focus.

It has been some time since their last conversation and the chill of it is still causing her some issues; Sidony is not accustomed to people being genuinely upset with her, being cool to her (other than women, or a woman, in particular, to be frank) and she wishes to mend it before it all goes sour. She's well aware that Ilias had warned her away from Leander, but... She had grown fond of him, and that was enough to frustrate her. She wants to learn more about him, to see what is causing such issue, but she has no true understanding of how best to do that.

Slipping through the gardens, she lets her fingers drag against the leaves and flowers as she turns this and that way, seeking her prey like some kind of large housecat. Her skirts - older, now, with some marks that simply won't wash out - are not her best, but she's not looking to seduce; it wouldn't be successful, both because of her nuptials and because of their shared lack of interest in one another. Leander has shown no sign of being genuinely coerced, which is a relief and frustration; she cannot convince him to her point of view in such simple ways.

Peeking around a faux corner, she pauses when she spots her target, tugging her sleeves down properly and making her way over, a smile on her face as her hand lifts to touch the back of his neck gently, curling there for something of a gentle pet.

"I fear you have been avoiding me, darling."

MARCOULF.

GWEN.

byerly & sonia.

dear solas. with love, tony.

LEA.