faderift | How to Train Your Draconology Expert (closed)

Entry tags:

julius,
{ fitcher }

How to Train Your Draconology Expert (closed)

WHO: Julius, Fitcher
WHAT: Reading draconologist resumes, being disappointed mostly
WHEN: Drakonis
WHERE: somewhere in the Free Marches, Starkhaven-adjacent
NOTES: OOC info

Ydalla de Vittoria had been disappointing, but straightforward enough. He knew enough to be able to understand dense academic text, and his writing was engaging; if it hadn't been for all the lying, he might even have carved out a place for himself explaining the research to laypeople openly. But a need to feel heroic interfered. Annoying, but straightforward. They'd still gotten some usable information about dragons out of the work, at least.

Brochard had been something else again. The end of the interview, while abrupt, could hardly have been fast enough for Julius' taste. However, he gives no hint of anything other than sympathetic interest until they're safely in the carriage and underway. His expression melts to something franker and more rueful almost immediately.

"Maker. What a sorry state of affairs."

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The woman who had been all sweetness and understanding during their interview, perched on a rickety stool with her traveling desk laid across her knees to take notes on as a studious and willing clerk ought to, theoretically shouldn't be quite so quick to agree with the dour assessment and yet—

Fitcher blows out her cheeks and unceremoniously dumps her notes into the case beside her. If they get wrinkled by whatever else is clattering around in there, it will be no official loss whatsoever.

"Andraste's ashes," she laughs. It's that or be irritated, and she cannot bring herself to be angry over a wallowing old drunkard. "I will never have the smell of that place out of my clothes."

"He seemed so promising on paper," Julius says, ruefully. "Not dead, not in Tevinter; it would have been convenient." Serves him right for hoping to do something the easy way. He sits back a bit, letting his frustration show in a way he seldom does, though he's bleakly amused.

"He is," he adds, "very sorry."

"But not sorry enough to have made the whole business public in hopes of catching the attentions of the evidently most elusive Corrina," she remarks, quite dry a she cracks open the little lap desk and sees some bits and bobs secured before the jostling of the carriage can send them rolling around. She adds, more cheerfully by half:

"Good for her."

"I don't think she's the person we're looking for either," he says, "but I almost want to find her to congratulate her on being rid of him. Maker. Probably not a sanctioned use of Riftwatch resources." Which is the only reason not to.

"More's the pity."

She snaps the box shut with a soft click of wood, turns a small key in its little lock, and then the whole thing is fit dow between her side the case on the bench beside her.

"Who is next on your list then, Enchanter? And do they seem as promising on paper as our good friend Brochard? I would like to know whether to bother unpacking my kit when we arrive."

A sly joke, as much at her expense as it is his.

"We won't get anywhere near Caranta unless she's abruptly relocated out of Tevinter," he says, running a hand back through his hair. "Maybe we'll find someone who's met her though. These were the good choices, I have a stack of worse ideas back on my desk in the Gallows."

"Well."

Is one of those marvelous little words that can act either as a lead or as punctuation. She retrieves her gloves from the pocket in her skirts, shaking them out of their crumpled forms into something she can pull on.

"It seems drama and identity politics are specialties of the field. Were it me, and were you truly in want of Caranta rather than one of her peers, I would organize a conference and claim her as a speaker. She'd either have no choice but to come defend her honor, or I suspect some other interested party would come along to verify the stand in." A tip of the head: "With all due respect to your worse ideas, of course."

"Tempting," he says, of her suggestion. "I'm not sure that anyone would buy that Riftwatch is of a sufficiently academic bet to organize a conference for the sake of knowledge itself. It might work better if we could reach out to someone at the University to help." Julius considers. "I might send a raven or two. I wish I knew some faculty, though, my personal contacts there are mostly junior." Absently, he adds, "Madame de Cedoux may be in correspondence with someone suitable. Perhaps I can start asking in Diplomacy and see if someone has the right someone who owes them a favor."

"We are so well populated with scholars and rich Orlesians, who I believe sometimes fancy themselves as the same. I would not be surprised were you to discover such an owed favor exists."

Of course, she knows very little of academia, being something of a self taught professional in most senses.

"Were it me, I would first make my inquiries with the likes of Lady Durfort-Lacapalette and her ilk. From what I have seen and heard of her, she seems a most likely prospect for such an undertaking. But of course," Fitcher adds, tugging on her second glove. They are lovely things, delicately embroidered with a series of flowers. "I know the woman by reputation only. I may be making unfair assumptions of her."

"No, quite right. She and M. de Foncé seem a likely place to start; given my chance to observe the latter's enthusiasm for dragon-related knowledge first-hand, they would likely be enthusiastic about the prospect even apart from the more immediate reasons for locating Caranta." He glances out the window, thinking it through. "We'll need to think through a venue, though perhaps one of those nobles will find it useful to appear as such an undertaking's patron. My understanding is that Orlais continues to be a deadly game of one-upsmanship, though I confess to having only the vaguest impression of the rules."

"Ah, there I am out of my depth entirely I am afraid. I have never understood The Game," she says, fixing him with a look that is all mischief. "We are rather famously direct in Antiva. Why, I hear that even a Crow can be convinced to divulge who is paying them to the victim uner their blade unless they have been paid to keep their silence. An admirably forthright way of doing business, wouldn't you agree?"

She thinks she's quite funny, anyway.

"If none of our blooded Orlesian friends are willing to undertake such an act of philanthropy, perhaps we might find an enthusiast in Nevarra who hasn't been caught up in the war yet. Or better yet, one who has so we might make some connection with them." She pauses then, as if surprised by herself. When she speaks again, there is an element of chagrin in it. "Forgive me; I do go on."

"How dare you expand at any length on a sensible idea," he says, lightly. "I always liked Antivan directness. A forthright approach saves time, especially in a place where others adopt it too. We Fereldans are, ourselves, described as 'plain speaking,' at least in the more charitable reports."

He settles back. "Perhaps it's worth exploring both routes, tentatively, to see who expresses both enthusiasm and a realistic plan for proceeding. If we can snare Caranta, very good. If we can't, we're no worse off, and we'll still need another dragon expert. If we get two, it's hardly the worst outcome."

"Ah, redundancies - you make a compelling appeal to my heart as a bookkeeper, Enchanter."

Her smile flashes wider, crooked and a little quick and crooked in the dim of the carriage, and then Fitcher is turning her attention from him to the window - flicking back the thin curtain so they might enjoy what meager views lie beyond it.

"While I'm sure there are more convincing academics in our company, should you need any assistance with this I'd be more than happy to lend a hand. Anything to escape the Gallows for a time, hm?"

"Far be it from me to turn away capable help. Do you dislike the Gallows, then? Or just anxious for travel generally?" It's light enough that she could easily deflect, but he is curious. There are a lot of reasons to dislike the Gallows, but he doesn't know hers offhand.

"I see no reason why it can't be both," she answers, ready enough that it must be genuine. "Grim Southern weather always makes me a little homesick, and as compelling as the work in the Gallows is I can't say that its location is much to my taste. I have a delicate stomach and I'm afraid it and the ferry's relationship has not been much improved with familiarity.

"And yourself? I would imagine the luxury of free travel was novel to you once."

Given the Circle shaped givens.

"Hardly a wild guess," he says, amused. "Certainly, once. Though the first time I was out of Kinloch Hold at length was to fight Darkspawn, so it wasn't an especially auspicious introduction to the outside world. I suppose it was inevitable that later travel would improve by comparison."

Her smile is pleasant, her laugh quite easy and low.

"And now? Simply an old hand with the whole affair with no horizons left to conquer, I trust. Why, after all this excitement I suppose you will want nothing more than to retire quietly to a life in the country once the war is finished."

"What an optimistic view of the future of mage relations you hold," mildly. "Being allowed to retire quietly to a life in the country could constitute a major victory, in many people's eyes."

And now they're playing a different game, though his smile is no more forced than hers.

"A pessimistic view of this business in the North, I should think. I imagine you future, as is everyone's, is very much dependent on how deeply the Divine is forced to invest in this war with Corypheus. Should the Exalted March sweep through the Imperium as she no doubt means it to do and still have some marching left in its legs, I have very little doubt that the head of that hungry beast will turn back around to herd mages back into some approximation of their Circles. But should Beatrix spend the bulk of her reserves in Tevinter?

"Well," a tip of the head. She shrugs at him. "I expect after this long many of your colleagues have become acclimated to their freedoms and would hardly walk quietly back to the lives they led before the war."

"Regardless of whether the Circles return," Julius says, arch, "I can't imagine whatever happens next with mages in the South will be quiet. That's not a political opinion, it's a simple observation."

"For me," as that was what she'd ostensibly been asking about, after all, "I think it's too early to make plans." Or only one plan, possibly more accurately. "We have to survive Corypheus first, after all. I'll enjoy the travel opportunities Riftwatch affords in the meantime as best I can. This one, while frustrating in outcome, at least involved relatively comfortable transit, so it may ultimately make the top five when all is said and done."

That makes her smile, and when she laughs there can be no doubt that her humor is quite genuine. "Then we must find reasons to get you into more carriages, Enchanter. This one is terribly sprung. Unless,"—as if something has just occurred to her—"The problem is entirely on my side. I don't suppose I could convince you to trade seats with me?"

And while she is still bright, her smile still lopsided from laughing: "I'm curious. Did you fight in the rebellion?"

He gestures, accepting her request to change seats; he doubts it will make much difference, but it doesn't bother him.

"It's no great secret in the Gallows that I didn't, though perhaps easier to miss now that Anders isn't here to yell it angrily over the crystals now and then." Perhaps unkind, though the tone is not entirely without fondness; it's easier for him to take Anders at a distance, and that has always been true. "I was, I think, not the only mage to be distressed that it came to war. Though it's not as if those who volunteered to work with the Inquisition and then Riftwatch are a randomized sample."

She waves him off - thank you, but no Enchanter. Despite all lighthearted suggestions to the contrary, she will stay where she is. Shuffling seats in a moving carriage feels light asking to bump heads either together or on the roof of the compartment.

"I'm sorry to say I have very little sense of the mages who work with the Inquisition. The split occurred just before I arrived. But," she allows. "I have noticed that we have something of an abundance of reprobates. Though I use the term with all affection and wouldn't limit its application to the mages in our company."

Given their capacity for criminals and bards and rogue Fereldens masquerading as Ambassadors and so on.

"I ask only as it would seem a very long time to be fighting wars with no thought for the future which comes after it. But I suppose there is quite a difference between fighting for a decade rather than half of that."

"There is. And I am afraid the Inquisition was going to label me a reprobate the moment I agreed to be a part of the group that wished to weigh in on the disposition of a cache of phylacteries, regardless of my position on the question, so your assessment isn't far wrong, I suspect. Deciding whether to stay with the Inquisition or with Riftwatch after the split wasn't straightforward. I thought I could do more good here." A shrug. "What drew you here, rather than to Skyhold? When I joined up, there was one major option for the organized opposition of Corypheus, but that is no longer true."

"Candidly? Poor timing. I was en route to Kirkwall already and didn't hear of the split until I'd arrived at the Gallows. And by then it was nearly August and I had no real urge to brave the Waking Sea's late summer storms just to crawl to either Skyhold or Orlais where they'd make me sleep on the ground. And then winter came, and who travels during winter? And now it seems," she says, cavalier and cheerful. Fitcher shrugs. "I've grown attached."

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How to Train Your Draconology Expert (closed)

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remember that time 8 weeks ago I owed you this tag

remember when 3 weeks ago I owed you this one

Well, the response time isn't getting worse...

we're very good at this

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