[OPEN]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria, Marcoulf, Flint, and/or Fitcher & YOU
WHAT: Open log for Wintermarch
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Mix of open and closed prompts; some threads closed to first come first serve and/or contain a few different prompts. Want something specific but don't see it here? Hit me up on discord/plurk/PM/the astral plane, and we can figure something out (or just toss me a wildcard starter if that suits your fancy; I'm pretty flexible). Action brackets aokay if you prefer it over prose.

[see comments below for character specific starters]

Comments

ii.

[dirth]

The bang does not surprise Solas as it might others - he is far too accustomed to the sound of magic in practice and people making events of themselves - but the smell of burning grabs his attention and he notes that he might wish to get involved. He's quick to push himself up and begin to make a move, slipping through the research base to track down the source of the problem.

His hand is raised, ready to offer some rather icy assistance (literally), considering it seems as though she does not have this well in hand, so to speak.

Maigc in his hand, he tilts his head, letting the frost sprinkle across the table in front of him, hopefully soothing some of the fire leaping to and fro.

"I hope you do not mind. I thought that you might like some help."

[heirring]

If there is any relief to be found in the smothering of the spreading fire, it certainly doesn't show in Wysteria's face. Instead, she hisses and hops from foot to foot, and promptly yanks her leather apron off to toss it promptly over the whole bench - soggy papers, bowl hissing smoke, ash, and all.

Wysteria slaps it all over, adding just smothering the mess to Solas' rather more elegant efforts.

"The fumes," she explains, as if that is any kind of explanation at all.

[dirth]

There's a moment - a tick of a handful of seconds - where it seems as though Solas isn't entirely sure what to do with himself. He's never seen someone react quite like this, but he finds a sort of devilish glee in it, something that makes a smile twitch onto his lips. Ah, he thinks to himself; Rifters. They are a marvel, are they not?

He leans on his staff, sparks of electricity above him prickling. He can almost hear the laughter.

"Yes, so I see." Head tilted, he does little else for a moment before - "Is there something more I can do to help you? What were you attempting?"