Toodleroodle von Skroodledoodler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doneisdone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2019-12-06 03:49 pm
doneisdone) wrote in faderift2019-12-06 03:49 pm
[open]
WHO: Teren, Barrow, and Benedict, and YOU
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Haring
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: shirtless dilf enclosed
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Haring
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: shirtless dilf enclosed
Teren
She crashed a dragon into a tower. And though she lived, Teren was flung from the beast and came to land somewhere in the rubble below, where an aptly remembered healing potion was enough to keep her from expiring on the spot, but moving her body in any meaningful way has been a struggle since then.
Incredibly fortunate to have had no significant internal damage (at least that the potion didn't handle), and with any broken bones splinted and healing, Teren is simply far too sore to move from her bed. After all her big talk about the Wardens not getting into any situations that couldn't be solved without Anders or Inessa...
...here she is.
A captive audience, if perhaps not a happy one.
Barrow
The air is brisk, the day is fine, and Barrow is swinging a hammer around in the sparring range. He's been learning to use it since first arriving in Kirkwall, rather liking the idea more than the usual boring old sword and shield, but having never had the opportunity to play with one until now.
He cuts quite a figure in doing so, and should be approached with caution unless alerted first. He's also only wearing a shirt about half the time, since even in the Haring chill, physical exertion takes its toll.
Benedict
I. (open) There's a certain anxious industriousness to Benedict these days, and if the growing pile of writing-filled parchment he keeps carefully resting on the bench is any indication, he's got a project.
He's also made some pretty decent headway with in weaving a screen for the window with straw from the cell floor, which both prevents the cold wind from coming in and bathes the little room in a pleasant sepia light. It's clearly the work of an amateur, but one can almost mark how much his skill has improved from the start to where his progress currently lies.
He can often be found working on either project, or perhaps painting or reading, swathed in both of his blankets for warmth and powered by nervous energy.
II. (one thread please, first come first serve) On the night of the strange dreams that grip the denizens of Riftwatch, there comes a cry of abject panic from Benedict's cell, followed by the sounds of someone in terrible emotional distress.
no subject
no subject
"I followed my own rules," she declares, eyeing him over the side of her glass as she takes another drink, "if I hadn't, I'd be dead myself."
no subject
He considers this expression with all due consideration. It takes rather a long time, or what seems like a long time. It's surprising just how a minute can stretch, seconds pulling like taffy well past when you'd think they must break.
Judging you, Teren.
"Well, now. That's just plain rude," He says, with lightness that is full of affect and not affectedness, all candyfluff and nothing much, "But seeing as how you ain't dead, and ain't likely to die anytimes soon, and I've gone and been due neighborly abouts it..."
He slides the winebottle until it is, only just barely, within her reach. Far enough for plausible deniability, if any healer wanted to make a fuss, but near enough that Teren could, if she stretched, pull it a little closer.
"...Suppose that's all there is to says on the matters. Suppose I oughts to be getting going."
no subject
Then, when the moment's gone, she seems all the lighter in response for it.
"Suppose you oughts," she agrees, and plucks the wine bottle up, giving it a little shake as if in farewell.