[Open]

[maidit]

WHO: Ashey Pelt and the various inhabitants.
WHAT: The new maid makes herself at home and is moderately suspicious in the process.
WHEN: Time Isn't Real
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: If your character is good with languages or accents, feel free to have them recognize the underpinnings of Tevinter in Ashey Pelt's accent. Even if your character is not good at any of those things, please feel free to have them recognize that Ashey Pelt's accent is terrible and fake.

i. The Fine Art Of Line Placement

Ashey generally tries not to think ill of people, but there is something very frustrating about a poorly selected drying spot. Naturally, the concerns of employers not having to acknowledge that the laundry did not simply clean itself by magic were to be taken into account. And the temperamental weather of the season, where one could very easily lose hours of work or be left with perpetually damp fabrics.

Both were entierly out of the question, particularly during a grippe outbreak when clean bedclothes would be needed in surplus.

Her course chosen, Ashey immediately sets out. The person she ends up approaching does not seem to be one of the residing lords or ladies, so she doesn't hesitate to call out.

"I beg your pardon," she says, in what she hopes is a reasonable approximation of a Marcher accent, but manages to sound strangely Antivan, "Would you happen to know where I might find a compass?"

ii. Perfectly Reasonable Responses to Deep Seated Trauma

Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted more than anything to become a mage to please her family. However as her birthdays came and went and her magic powers failed to appear, the family began to take increasingly drastic measures in an attempt to prompt the girl's powers to manifest. One day her step mother locked the girl in a room with three giant cave spiders. The girl survived, but despite her step mother's best intentions, her power still did not manifest. Instead, she developed acute arachnophobia.

Which is why Ashey in the library in the early hours of the morning, grim faced and pale, her dusting cloth clutched in her hand as she stares at a (huge, massive, one could very nearly see each individual leg) spider on the wall.

iii. Obligatory Second Person Prompt

The trouble with fortresses that span the length and width of an island is they are very large and have many rooms. So it's perhaps not entierly surprising when a new comer gets hopelessly lost. It's perhaps a little surprising when the door to the room you're in suddenly opens and a woman in a maid uniform steps through, takes a look around and then addresses you with refined gravitas punctuated by an absurd accent.

"I haven't a clue where I am."

Comments

[brecilian]

The accent's very bad, but it isn't altogether strange. He can imagine plenty of reasons for trying to pass for something other than a Vint. Plenty of mundane ones, even. And if it isn't mundane — a spy, maybe? — then Riftwatch will hardly need his assistance to catch her.

"Not teasing. Teaching. Now get a rock and place it there," he points, vaguely and not particularly helpfully, without bothering to get up. "Right at the tip of the shadow."

[maidit]

Ashey fetches a rock, not entierly convinced he isn't making fun of her. Perhaps he's Dalish and this is some sort of ancient Dalish method? He doesn't particularly look Dalish, but then she's also never actually met a Dalish elf.

That strikes her as something that would deplorably rude to ask, so instead she says, in her not-Nevarran accent, "I don't quite grasp the meaning behind it." She places the stone at the top of the stick's shadow, contemplating it, "It shows where the sun is shining?"

[brecilian]

"That's not surprising," he says in response to her admission, tone patronizingly agreeable. "And yes, the direction it's shining. Now be quiet and wait."

There is, if she's sensitive to it, a hint of unnecessary bite to the last bit. But he seems to be completely serious about it, and he also seems comfortable with the prospect of sitting here in silence. In case there's any doubt: he leans back against the wall, loosely crosses his arms, and closes his eyes to continue his nap.

[maidit]

The patronizing bite in his tone is certainly noted (she had been raised with the expectation of entering Teveinter's high society after all), but she doesn't respond to it. There are entierly more pressing things to address, like the basket of linens that will start mouldering if left sitting damp for too long.

"I haven't time to wait!" she says, interrupting his nap once more, "It's very important I find the correct Northernly position as soon as possible." Waiting was for after the laundry had been hung out, not before.

[brecilian]

For all he knows, it is very urgent. As in actually urgent, as in much more important than drying laundry. But considering the restraint she's shown thus far, it seems safe enough to assume it isn't life or death.

Sahren opens his eyes, watching her for a beat. He doesn't move otherwise. Eventually:

"What's the accent about?"

Whatever odd truce she'd lucked into has, apparently, been crossed.

[maidit]

“I have a speech disorder,” she says without missing a beat and also in the not-Nevarran accent which has taken on an almost Antivan tang. It’s not the first time she’s been asked that. “Sir, please. It’s very important. I’ve only a little time before the sheets begin to smell stale.”

[brecilian]

"Is that what they're calling Tevene these days?"

That said, it's not a bad excuse for the mutating accent she's sporting otherwise. It's genuinely bad enough to be plausible. His tone hasn't reached friendly at any point in this exchange, but it's on the friendlier end of the scale now — not hostile, anyway.

"Relax. You'll have your compass in a few minutes."

[maidit]

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, sir,” she says to the first with all of the decorum of a debutant who’s had an embarrassing flaw pointed out. A part of her is curious enough as to what this stick compass business is about. Running a quick calculation in her head to allot for the time she can afford to spend, she turns her attention to the elf of a questionably helpful nature.

Particularly the state of his clothes. “If I may be bold as to ask, who launders your shirts?”

[brecilian]

The state of his clothes is: not bad, actually. More leather than cloth and well-made, though they've clearly seen a few seasons. The style doesn't exactly scream "Ferelden city fashion", but it'd take some familiarity to call it Dalish.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. "Are you offering to launder my shirts?"

[maidit]

The style is naturally only important when the situation calls for it and he doesn't strike her as one where the situation calls very often. Still, she studies the garment, noting where the threading has begun to wear and where the leather is thinning.

The question breaks her professional concentration and she blinks at him. That seems like a bold question to ask a man (even an elf) she doesn't know, much less answer outright, but. "Well... Yes. I am."

[brecilian]

"I know how to launder my own shirts."

The delivery's mild, no offense taken. The gesture feels more unnecessary than presumptuous, and laundry's clearly her thing. As for whether the evidence supports his statement: sort of. Anyone who's ever gone camping knows that being outdoors 24/7 sets a very different standard for "clean."

Sahren shifts his weight and sits up straighter against the wall, a subtle shifting in gears; giving up on the nap act and paying attention to her, properly.

"Is that all you do here? Clean up after other people's mess?"

[maidit]

It's not that his shirts are in a poor state... She just knows that they could be better and thus longer lasting and more comfortable. But on the other hand, considering her regular work load, she needn't go courting more.

So instead of arguing, she merely tips her head in acknowledgement. His question pulls a bemused smile from her.

"Of course. I'm a maid and a laundress, I can't imagine why else anyone would hire me if not for my ability to clean up messes."

THIS IS VERY OLD SORRY please just yell if you want to handwave instead

[brecilian]

"Do you enjoy it?"

Doing laundry, cleaning up messes. It isn't a completely rhetorical question. Some people do, or they convince themselves they do for the sake of their pride. All the same, there's a distinct lack of honest curiosity in the delivery.

time is a construct

[maidit]

It's the lack of honest curiosity that gets him a direct and honest answer:

"Not especially," she says, "I take pride in my work and I usually enjoy the company I'm in while I do my work, but it's not the work itself. I can't think of anyone who would be ecstatic about having to remove vomit stains from silk."