faderift | [ open: hello again, riftwatch ]

WHO: Sonia Barra and you!
WHAT: Celebrating her glorious return to the Riftwatch by puttering around the Gallows, doing a bit of work, making new friends. Won’t you sit for a drink?
WHEN: this week ish
WHERE: the Gallows, mostly
NOTES: Sonia’s info page is here!

It's been a long year since Sonia last saw Kirkwall, and all too much change to her little world. To the wider world, too, though in the months of tending to her dying grandfather, the world had seemed to shrink down to the halls of Wildcrest manor. There was a whole microcosm in that house, and it had undergone such violent change in the last year, twisted and bent and broken into new shapes that filled every corner with tension. If her uncle had been difficult and unpleasant as heir, he had become intolerable as bann. He had made perfectly clear how he felt about how she spent her time: that it was a waste, that she ought to be better serving her family, that with so few of them left, she was an embarrassment to the family name. No matter how much she insists to herself that she does not care all that much what her uncle thinks of her, she had burned with indignation. He thinks she is useless, and she hates to be thought of as useless; more than that, she hates the thought that someone might press her into some usefulness she wants no part of.

So she has come back to Kirkwall. She found herself missing it more often than she expected in the last year, and not just for the company of her cousin. There's something fresh and bracing in the air to her here, a feeling full of potential; a touch too romantic, perhaps, but it keeps the light in her. There's nothing she could really do at home, with her father and uncle waging their private political struggle, but here, she can do something useful. Here, she feels like there is room for her to grow.

...Or at least that’s how she would feel if it weren’t for the very grim mood that’s settled over everything. This is not how she remembers Kirkwall, but then, a world of change has happened here, too. She is also realizing just how much she had taken for granted the cleanliness of her childhood home. Misery, thy name is grime.

The mood may be low, but she had been looking forward to coming back, and she refuses to let her buoyant spirit be completely drowned. After all, she has brought with her a cellar’s worth of wine—some of the very latest vintages from Wildcrest’s vineyards—and she is never too dispirited to make new friends. Riftwatch, here she comes.

gallows
She spends her free time in various idle pursuits: most frequently, those pursuits are excellently paired with wine, and when possible, good company. Talking is one of Sonia’s favorite ways to pass the time, and if someone catches her interest, she’s not above coaxing them into a drink or two and some interesting conversation. Doubly so if they’re an old acquaintance she hasn’t seen since she was last here. Please, do, come sit—there’s always something to talk about.

Painting has always been a retreat for her, but in this weather, the scenery here is so glum that more often than not she finds herself frustrated with her subjects. Maybe she’ll find something a little more dynamic to paint than the water if she wanders around a bit. If she’s given up on artistic pursuits for the day, she could be found in the library, struggling through what looks like a spectacularly boring collection of political histories. Never in her life until now has Sonia tried to read something for any other reason than fun, and it’s so boring it might kill her.

The constant grime in this weather makes a long soak in the baths all too appealing, too. When everything else seems cold and gray, the warm embrace of the water is a deep comfort. Hauling water up for a private bath is hardly worth it; instead, Sonia can be found with almost exacting predictability at the communal baths every night when there’s hot water. She’s found it to be a pleasant venue for conversation, as well. She isn’t particularly shy.

work (of a sort)
Sonia is here to help, and help she shall. Granted, she had pictured herself doing something a little more glamorous than gruelingly tiresome patrols and dusting off shelves in abandoned towers. Right, that’s the work that needs to be done, and she’s not too proud to do it—but she is not above a little complaining when it’s particularly dull, and perhaps does not engage in the best of behaviors when the trip promises to be especially boring. A little flask of wine tucked away for a very dull patrol in unfriendly weather, for instance. That’s never hurt anyone, has it? It could even liven things up after a long day of chasing vermin out of dark corners and inhaling more dust than is probably medically advisable.

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He does purse his lips at her a bit, but then cocks his head to the side and gives a broad shrug. "Yours," he answers easily. "I was just waiting for you to show up. Now that you are here, I am ready to receive my orders."

A hand is pressed over his heart. Then, a moment later, it drops. And - miracle of miracles - the answer he gives is actually rather sincere. "We went months with no head of Diplomacy. My frustration, in time, came to outweigh my usual commitment to fecklessness."

“Oh, how fantastic. I’ve always wanted my very own secret agent,” Sonia practically sings, but she drops her tone with his hand and instead tucks her chin in her hand, watching him. One eyebrow raises.

“I see,” she says, and for a moment her face is uncharacteristically unreadable while she digests that. No teasing, no jabbing. Then she simply smiles. “So that’s what it takes, then.”

"Others' incompetence?" He spreads his hands, eyebrows lifted. "Come, Sonia, you've always known that, haven't you? Don't you remember how I'd never actually let you finish sawing out a song on the violin?"

“Sawing out—you—ugh!” Temporarily goaded into outraged indignation, Sonia lets out an antagonized little growl in the back of her throat and then huffs out a breath. She glares at Byerly, the briefest of pouts, then regains her composure.

“Be that as it may, I’ve never seen you driven to such lengths—or heights, for that matter. I certainly never thought you were all that fond of having a target painted on the back of your head.” Because that’s what being in charge of anything means, really. Maker willing, she’ll never know the burden of it. “I suppose you have been taking a more direct approach to problem solving lately.”

Hah. He grins at her, delighted at the fact that that barb got under her skin. Ah, it's been too long since he saw that angry little pout of hers.

"Of course I am not fond of that," he answers. "This hair of mine is such a lustrous color that it should never have paint of any sort upon it. But - " He flutters his fingers up into the air, an ethereal gesture. "I am, as anyone will tell you, dreadfully incompetent at this job myself. So anyone with true hostility towards Riftwatch will go after Flint or Yseult or Thranduil - the competent department heads - before they go after me. Eh?"

“Perhaps when you start going gray, it will start to hold some appeal,” Sonia says, a petulant touch of tartness still in her voice, and she had half a thought to write to her father to ask him to dig out her old violin in whatever dusty corner of the attic it now resided just so she could hit Byerly over the head with the bow. Not that it would do anything for her noted lack of musical talent. The lessons had gone on for as long as Sonia insisted on them, but when she finally gave it up for good, the Barra household nearly wept with relief.

“As ever, you manage to disappoint in the most dazzling fashion possible. I’m sure you’ve played perfectly into everyone’s expectations.” A thing he is particularly good at, and of which Sonia is becoming increasingly consciously aware. “It sounds like you’re quite comfortable where you are, then. I imagine that leaves you much more time to manage your personal affairs.”

"It's true," he says, and relents: he suspects this is what Sonia is particularly curious about, so he shall stop playing dumb. His cousin may seem soft and agreeable, but she's truthfully as damnably hardheaded a woman as ever he'd met.

"You heard that I'm a married man, didn't you? So for the first time, I can have affairs. Imagine. Until recently, my only option for cheating was to entrap someone else in a marriage, but now..."

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard,” Sonia says brightly, “you did deign to mention it in your letters. How your horizons have broadened since we last met, dear cousin.”

She reaches beneath her chair and produces a mostly-still-full bottle, smiling benignly.

“You failed to mention, however, how positively radiant your lovely new wife is.”

Ah. Byerly's brow lifts. "You've met her?" Sonia acts fast, doesn't she? But he supposes it'd be underestimating his dear cousin to think that she wouldn't know three-quarters of the Inquisition within an hour of arrival. Her gregariousness is...legendary.

"Good to hear she's caught your eye."

“Oh, only by mere chance,” Sonia says with a serene smile, which is largely true. She hadn’t had any real intentions of hunting Sidony down before seeing her cousin, however curious she might be. She has no intention of disturbing whatever little fiction is behind their marriage. It’s just that—well—it’s very interesting, that’s all.

“We were assigned to work together. And what a delightful little bout of serendipity that was!” She uncorks the bottle and, out of courtesy, takes the first sip before offering it to Byerly. “She’s far more sophisticated of a woman than I’d expect to be caught up in this sort of scandal. Ah, but it’s nice to have new family, isn’t it?”

"Scandal?" His manner is perfectly, flawlessly mock-innocent. "Why, I simply don't understand why anyone would ever object to that girl marrying me. I'm a very virtuous man, you know."

He captures the bottle and drinks deep, then uses it to toast her.

"Oh, yes, if vice were virtue, they'd make you a saint on the spot, Byerly," Sonia says cheerfully, tapping a fingernail to the neck of the bottle before neatly relieving his hand of it. "But no, I can't say I've ever seen anyone scrawl a halo over your portrait. And you've already got that devilish little mustache." She takes a dainty sip. "From your letters, it sounded like the situation was rather hot for a while there."

Rather hot. That's certainly one way to describe it. But rather than let a hint of unhappiness or discomfort cross his face at the memory, he smiles at her as though he's reminiscing about something lovely.

"I did get a bit stabbed," he replies warmly. "But really, it's a hero's wound."

Sonia's eyebrows creep to startling new heights, drawn in by his humor. "Since when do heroes only get a bit stabbed? Did you give him that simmering little look as he held the knife and say, please, sir -- just the tip?"

[ open: hello again, riftwatch ]

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