open.

[byblow]

WHO: Alistair or Bastien or Kostos & Other People
WHAT: A Rather Blustery Day. Or rainy. Or both.
WHEN: Mid to late Drakonis
WHERE: Kirkwall & Surroundings
NOTES: Feel free to wildcard me instead, or hit me up if you would like something different and specific.

i. alistair in the project office with the dog statues

Alistair hasn't yet made good on his threats to decorate the Project Sashamiri office with dog paraphernalia. But he has brought in a half-dozen little wooden mabari carvings, reminiscent of the statues littered across Ferelden, to hide in drawers or behind frequently-used books or on top of the door frame, to see if it's possible to make Enchanter Julius crack.

It's possible to catch him at it, standing up on his toes to try to put one on top of a shelf where it can stare at Julius while he works. Equally likely to catch him frowning at his desk, though, holding a dagger to candle light and turning it this way and that, or with his chin down on his folded arms to glare at a book that he definitely can't read at that angle.

Regardless, someone will only have to pause in the doorway for him to beckon them closer and say, "You. Come here."

ii. alistair in the mountains with the mud bath

"You'd think the darkspawn would mind the rain," Alistair says, squelching through mud. "Wouldn't you? They spend so much time underground, they should be like the dwarves. Scary sky water, oooh."

It hasn't stopped raining since they left the Gallows--so several hours ago, at this point. But waiting for better weather is only a viable option when better weather seems like it might happen at some point. And the darkspawn, who do not mind the rain, are apparently sneaking in and out of a crevice newly opened by a mudslide in the Vinmarks.

So here they are. Alistair and whoever. He's been dealing with the rain pretty well, himself, despite what it's doing to his hair. But, maybe as comeuppance for teasing dwarvenkind, that's the moment where he loses his footing on a slick incline and splats flat on his back in the mud.

iii. bastien in the courtyard with the crushing sense of futility

If Bastien were telling a story about someone else, he'd have them crack and cry all over somebody, or spend so many days in bed that someone decided they ought to do something, or take some sort of dramatic lifelong vow, or clean out their room and disappear in the middle of the night and never be heard from again.

He comes closest to that last one. He packs a bag. Then he puts it under his bed, leaves it there, and goes about his business, mostly as usual. His smiles are just as quick but a little more muted, the cello sounds from his room become short and irregular and confined to rote scales, he's harder to find, and he lets small talk die small. But he's fine, right up until the point a gust of wind funnels through the Gallows' walls and smacks his armful of letters and notes out of his arms to scatter across the courtyard.

In another mood he'd take it in stride and run to catch them. In this one, he sits down heavy on the stairs and watches a few sweep out of sight down a stone corridor. Maybe they're important. He should probably be more worried about the possibility they'll end up puddles.

iv. bastien by the canal with the naked antivan

The problem with how Bastien works is that so much of it rests on letting people have their way and arranging the scene around them to make it useful. So when he's meant to be charming a wealthy visitor whose inclination is to get utterly smashed and a bit high, because what happens in Kirkwall stays in Kirkwall and can Bastien even imagine how dull life becomes once one is married with children--that's what he does.

Meo Fiesi, not Bastien.

And when he--Meo Fiesi--is then inclined to strip off all of his clothes and jump into a Lowtown canal because he's never been swimming naked, in the rain, on a public street, and apparently that specific combination is a personal dream, that's, you know. Great.

Bastien has called for back-up. Just in case the man starts to drown. Back-up can find him sitting in the drizzle with a pile of Antivan Merchant Clothing beside him, his feet dangling over the dirty canal, while someone in it says, with an Antivan accent, "This one is called the Butterfly!"

v. kostos in a cave with the incomplete deck of cards

A partial list of things Kostos hates and/or is bad at: Being stuck in a small space for a long period of time. The outdoors. People. Cold weather.

So having a sleepover in this cold, shallow mountain cave Northwest of Kirkwall, to monitor the reported potentially-suspicious comings and goings through the mountain pass that forms the shortest route from Nevarra City--he's handling it really well.

For example, the deck he brought along is apparently missing three cards, and he's decided the solution to that is to throw the remaining forty-odd cards off the edge of the cliff and into the distant river below, one at a time, while he silently watches the dark road for any bit of firelight.

vi. kostos in the market with the teddy bears

Mummies probably don't care about stuffed bears--at least not more than the wisps residing in their bodies care about anything novel. But the wisps probably don't care about enormous underground crypt-mansions, either, and they have those. Kostos has already told several imaginary people passing imaginary judgment to fuck off, in his head, while he picks through the contents of a stall in Hightown.

He could have gone to Lowtown. Even if mummies care a little bit about stuffed bears, they certainly don't need them to be newly made and neatly stitched.

It's for his own sake that he's tossing aside the ones with loose button eyes or frayed stitching. He's perfectly aware.

"Please stop touching everything," the seller says when his sifting knocks a few plaidweave tuskets out of their pyramid formation.

Kostos doesn't look up to counter, "Stop selling garbage," which is maybe not the best thing to say to someone you want to give you a good price.

Comments

iii. because i apparently can't resist sadness

[sulahnan]

Athessa happens to be down that corridor, and plucks them off of where they've struck her shins, quite mindlessly, before seeing who they got away from. On her way to him she's able to retrieve roughly half of the lost papers, but Baz is her priority.

If it didn't seem important to undo some of the misfortune that just befell him, she would've ignored the letters completely. She comes to a stop a few steps below his seat upon the stairs and holds the paper out to him.

"Here," she says quietly. It doesn't seem right to try and read him the way he's been training her to read other people, so she just sits down next to him as if they're just loitering together.

[cozen]

He sees her coming in time to rearrange his face—because he can, he could all the time with enough effort and energy—into a full-wattage smile, his posture into something more casually devil-may-care than weighed down. They’re small changes. And they’re only there for a few seconds before, like someone tensing out of reflex and then realizing footsteps in the dark belong to a friend, he slackens back into something less fake.

“My hero,” he says, but he doesn’t swoon onto her shoulder. “You only need a hood and a mask.”

[sulahnan]

"Like a character from your stories?" Whether they're his stories or just stories he's told doesn't matter; nine times out of ten, when he tells a story it's the first time she's heard it, so he gets the association. She leans her elbows back on the step behind her and tips her head back to look at him.

And all she sees is his face. Perhaps some weariness around the eyes, indicative of nothing much. Who sleeps around here, anyway? Her own eyes bear dark circles, not yet banished by more restful sleep in a shared bed. Athessa's lips quirk in a small smile and she reaches up to smooth his mustache.

"Do you want to hear something sad, bad, or funny?" Take your pick.

[cozen]

Bastien considers the question for a moment, face still under Athessa's hand except for a slight eyebrow raise. Sad might match his mood. Funny might lift it. But—

"Bad," he decides with a little relish, more out of curiosity than anything. He leans forward for a moment to tuck the papers behind him on the steps, so they can't blow away again, and leans back to match her with an expectant look.

iii

[bouchonne]

"Just imagine," Byerly says, "if an enemy got their hands on one of those undoubtedly deeply sensitive letters."

Byerly does not, of course, chase after them or attempt to retrieve them. His shoes are very fine Antivan leather, and to step into all those puddles might cause them damage. Instead, he simply places his rump down on the stairs next to Bastien, and crosses his long legs, and watches them flutter away.

"Perhaps this rain is a blessing. It will wash them clean without us having to chase them down. Lovely idleness."

[cozen]

“I will have to rewrite them,” Bastien says.

Mostly it’s just pessimism about the loveliness of anything. Certainly not enough to inspire him to go after them. He turns sideways instead, back to the iron-bar railing that divides the wide staircase into pieces, and looks at Byerly over the tops of his knees.

“Or you and I could run away to—” Fereldan geography. Not his strong suit, because who cares. So he’s searching for Gwaren, during this pause, and instead comes up with, “Gworn. I am sure the world can be saved without us. If not, we might have five or ten years before the Imperium reaches that far. Does Gworn have a theater?”

[bouchonne]

There are times when Bastien's mood runs to melancholic or to whimsical. The man shifts with the winds, taking up personas and moods and trying them on like a richer man might try neckerchiefs. So the little burst of let's run away, which is a bit melancholic and a bit whimsical, doesn't raise any alarm bells for Byerly. Why, they've talked of running away many times before.

So Byerly nods sagely, and answers, "Yes, good old Gworn. That's the little country out across the sea populated by those nubile bird-women, right? I could take a trip out there, no question of it."

[cozen]

Bastien smiles a little. But it's a smile of patient indulgence more than amusement, and he doesn't take nubile bird-women and run. He gestures instead—backwards, for Byerly's benefit, but otherwise following an invisible map on an invisible wall.

"Amaranthine, Denerim, terrifying forest," he says, with a little finger swirl for that while region, and then a neater finger circle where the city he's thinking of is meant to be.

iv

[maidit]

It is not backup that finds the pair, but the laundress, returning from a visit on her day off. She recognizes the man sitting on the edge of the canal and the quality of the clothes currently being stained by the filth of the street, but doesn't recognize the voice.

She walks to the edge and catches sight of the very naked man, swimming. "Ah..." She glances at the Riftwatch gentleman and then back to the naked one in the canal, "Well, I must admit, his form isn't bad. Is he meant to be down there?"

[cozen]

"Certainly not," Bastien answers. "I think that is part of the appeal."

He doesn't know her voice—sticking to the book has served her well, there—but when he raises his head to look at her, he knows her face. His smile gets a little warmer.

"Mademoiselle A. Pelt. The one keeping us so tidy now, ouais?" In the canal, Fiesi has switched to an unabashed backstroke, gut and assorted other body parts to the sky, which seems a good reason as any to keep looking at the laundress instead. "I am Bastien."

[maidit]

Her eyes dart from the man in the canal to Bastien, who is immediately a more appealing prospect than the fish belly white flashes in the canal. She returns his smile, quietly pleased at his compliment.

"Ahh yes, I'm familiar." With his laundry at least. Giving him a once over with a professional eye. "It's nice to meet you in person, Monsieur Bastian. Circumstances notwithstanding." She steps to stand next to him, lifting her cloak a little to help shield him from the miserable drizzle. "May I ask what exactly you and your... friend are doing?"

v. hey remember how their first hookup was in a cave

[sulahnan]

"Good distance on that one," Athessa says from her spot a little further into the cave. They're supposed to be taking shifts, but of course Athessa can never sleep when she's supposed to.

She also can't actually see the cards he's throwing, since she's laying on her back staring at the de facto ceiling of their humble lodgings, literally twiddling her thumbs.

how could i forget

[exequy]

"Fuck off," Kostos says.

Then he sniffles.

Then he feels ridiculous—hard to be a surly bad ass when you're sniffling—and maybe a little bad.

He flicks another card and watches it until it disappears in the dark, then turns and throws the next one like a discus at Athessa's face. It winds up fluttering and missing her, but it's a near thing.

:^)

[sulahnan]

Is an amused huff really anything other than a sniffle in reverse? She picks up the card from where it landed and flicks it at Kostos without moving from her recumbent position. It hits with an ineffectual fwap and gently tumbles to the ground.

v. time to play go fish.

[tender]

Derrica is so tired of the cold.

After falling through the ice, after the grippe, her patience with being chilled to the bone has dwindled down to next to nothing. How is the South so miserable for so long? How does anyone stand it? They're useless questions, but she thinks of them as she pushing her pack against the wall of the cave and returns to Kostos.

When she sits down, she spends a moment carefully rearranging the fabric of her wool cloak before leaning forward slightly to watch the last thrown card drift down and out of sight.

"Let me have some," she says after a moment, holding out a hand.

Her legs dangle over the edge. She has a knife that she could spin, but the idea of dropping it keeps her from drawing it out.

[exequy]

Kostos isn't enough of a hypocrite to insist on a please, so he halves what's left and puts them into her waiting hand without being a dick about it.

"Who did you offend?"

It must have been someone, clearly, if she's stuck here with him.

[tender]

"I don't think I offended anyone."

Maybe Commander Flint, by insisting he care for the fate of orphans. But that was months ago and surely Commander Flint is not the sort of man who would hold a grudge. It's all besides the point anyway.

"I volunteered."

As she speaks, Derrica cuts the little stack of cards, then draws one from the top. Hearts. She flicks it between her fingers before flipping it over the edge.

"Why? Are you being punished?"

ii. warden version of spa day

[heorte]

Every once in a while (more honestly: at least once in the duration of a conversation) Ellis is momentarily hamstrung by the dissonance between his own perception of Alistair constructed from reputation alone with the reality. Looking down at him in the mud is very much one of those times.

"Careful," is all the reply he gets for a moment as Ellis offers him a hand. Is he meant to weigh in on darkspawn versus the sky? He gives it some measure of contemplation before continuing, "Depending on who you believe, they were men once. Maybe they recognize the sky as something that's been missing."

Which is truly depressing to stop and think about, so Ellis simply doesn't. The idea of affording darkspawn anything other than hatred and loathing is too much for him. It can't e attempted.

Alistair's back is coated in much, but Ellis isn't much better just from the walk. It's spattered all the way up to his knees, and the downpour has been plinking off his breastplate and soaking him through to the bone. But they're committed. Rain isn't much of a reason to stop.

"Did you get an idea of how many?"

A noble attempt to stay focused on business, let's see if that pays off.

[byblow]

That's the good thing about traveling with men who have their own muscles. They can help him up without falling over. He almost points this out, but he gets distracted by thinking about the darkspawn missing the sky—it's not too much for him—and then Ellis changes the subject.

"Uhhh," Alistair says. Inspiring a lot of confidence, to be sure. "From what they said, it sounded like a party of shrieks. Not too many. We'll be fine." The mud on his back can stay, but he tries to rake it off the back of his head. "If we aren't, you can give me a really judgmental look while we die."

[heorte]

No comment on what kind of look Ellis would be giving him upon their death.

Though he does grimace slightly at Alistair's assessment. Shrieks were always difficult. Speedy, nasty things. Ellis' expression tightens, annoyed, as they continue squelching upwards.

"At least they'll be easier to deal with above ground. Assuming we catch them above ground, where there's light enough to see."

It would still be a pain. Ellis knows this from experience, and has a couple scars to remind him of how much fighting shrieks sucks.

"Do you think the mud's going to help us or make this all harder than it has to be?"

This as Alistair tries to scrape mud off his head. What an expedition this is.

vi

[windyvoice]

Jenny Lou has been doing her side hustle. Silk scarves and brightly colored fabircs safely stowed away in her bag, to be returned to their owners once she gets back to the Gallows, she looks like a perfectly normal girl. Definitely not the mysteriously robbed figure offering to read palms and fortunes for a few coins.

When she sees the Spirit Guy looking at teddies? Totally has to stop by and see what's up. She appears to the left of him, grinning up at him.

"Aw, don't be like that. These are so cute." She turns her smile on the seller, "Hey, did you make these? They're really great!"

[exequy]

She appears, and Kostos immediately looks skyward, where the Maker metaphorically resides and non-metaphorically does not give a fuck about his complaints about overly cheerful youngsters.

"Thank you," the seller says, puffing his chest out. "My family makes them. The tuskets are my daughter's work."

"Maybe you should let her make the bears, too," Kostos says, discarding another imperfect teddy, and the seller's chest deflates halfway.

[windyvoice]

"Please don't mind him," Jenny Lou says cheerfully, shifting a little and stepping on Kostos' foot in the process and leaning over to speak in a low voice to the seller, "He's got a condition, you know. Since birth, apparently. Broke our poor mother's heart, but he's her only son, so."

She shrugs with the general air of a young sister grimly accepted responsibility for her elder brother (clearly touched in the head) out of love for their sainted mother.

i

[vorbratta]

Sonia is merely passing by on her way out -- it's nice to have an idle day for a change, and idle enough to look in on Alistair with amusement. There's something particularly entertaining about a man as big as Alistair standing up on his tippy toes to reach the top of a shelf.

"Ah, an invitation I can hardly refuse." There's no sarcasm in her voice, only a hint of genuine delight. Indeed, her eyes have lit up with keen interest as she takes a demure step into the office. After a moment's pause, she offers a suggestion.

"Did you place one behind the drapes? Somehow they never expect that."

vi

[vorbratta]

Sonia is in the market for a few fresh canvases and some new paints, but that business has already been taken care of, her new supplies wrapped tidily in a neat package tucked under her arm. Now she is on the hunt for souvenirs to send to her nephews and nieces -- her sister's children are still young, after all, and Sonia is of the firm opinion that children should have no shortage of toys to entertain and comfort them.

Ah, Kostos. Something about his willful disagreeability tickles Sonia's sense of humor, whether he likes it or not. The sort of person one enjoys getting a good rise out of. She's still determined to pry a real laugh from him someday. She'll just have to think up some better jokes.

"Garbage? Kostos!" She gives him a tap on the arm with her open palm, looking at him chidingly, then turns an appeasing smile on the poor seller. She picks up one of the discarded teddy bears and turns it over gently in her hands. "I'd hardly call it garbage at all. It looks like it's been loved before, that's all. Don't you think that lends it some charm?"