[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Tony Stark & Wysteria Poppell & Ellis
WHAT: Shop talk and self defense.
WHEN: Justinian (Nowish Catchall so I don't flood the comms)
WHERE: On the boat back from the jungle adventure; some might call this 'the Jungle Cruise'; Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A, will add if Wysteria throws Tony overboard or stabs the wrong training dummy.

TONY SPARK.

[Ordinarily, she has very little in the way of fondness for boats. Ships? She cannot even begin to fathom where the difference lies. But after days spent stumbling through the jungle, preceded by days being treated to the poor keeping of Venatori agents, she might find some charity in her heart for transport on a sufficiently wide board so long as it meant no further walking on her own two feet. Further, when relieved of the prospect of how they are getting where they are going and in what direction, exactly, where is, one finally has time to indulge in philosophical questions such as What must need doing upon our return?, or--

Well, there are lots of questions one might ask themselves under such circumstances. But that is by far the one which she prefers.

Hence her sudden appearance at his elbow (although to say it comes as a surprise would be to discredit Wysteria's propensity for charging about).]

Now then, Mr. Stark. Where were we?

MR. ELLIS.

I see no reason why we cannot simply do this in the back garden.

[She is referring, of course, to the dreary little courtyard with its planters and cracked old paving stones over which Ellis has been laboring to make slightly less overgrown and dreadfully unkempt alongside the house in Hightown. It is where their lessons have always taken place prior to this one.

True, there really isn't much room for wielding a bow and arrow in the garden and her neighbors already resent the new occupant of the mansion terribly; and true, that those tutoring sessions with swords or little knives or whatever you like had tended to devolve into her sitting on one of the planter walls, weeding the dirt and discussing books rather than doing much with sharp objects. But really, it hardly seems necessary to go to these lengths.

Meaning the Gallows practice yards, wherein Miss Wysteria Poppell looks rather out of place in her skirts. Nevermind that they are very recently late of adventuring through jungles, and there she wore very nearly the exact equivalent of what she has on today. There is something about being fresh faced, clean and well-pressed in breezy summer cottons and little leather boots with flowers stamped at the ankles which simply lends poorly to such an environment.]

Comments

[propulsion]

[ Let's all stop to appreciate the amount of stress that Anthony Edward Stark is currently and always under. Let's all just take a moment to consider his emotional well being in all of this.

That's what he is doing, anyway, taking some time out and standing at the edge of the big wooden boat that propels itself with sailcloth and wind, and navigates by stars that hang infinite in an unknown sky, in alien configurations. He holds onto the wooden railing tightly but his shoulders are down, posture ever upright and easy. He is dressed in his renfaire standard, if slightly worn at the edges and unlaundered thanks to extensive jungle adventuring, but also his sunglasses. Squinting ages you.

Tony waits out the sound of approaching footsteps, and then looks at Wysteria, and then looks at Wysteria again over the tops of his sunglasses. There is a most minor upwards curl at the corner of his mouth, unbidden. Speaking of that which ages you. ]

Hello? Talking Ellis into giving us a tour of dwarf town. You're it by the way, he'll do whatever you want if you play the, uh, [ finger wiggle ] recently victimised card.

Unless you're burned out on vacations for the minute.

[heirring]

Ah.

[She expressly does not wrinkle her nose as she turns toward the sea, her hands settling flat there on the railing alongside him. Her posture is rather more stiff, but that has always been the case - something in the way she holds her chin up, or the fixture of her shoulders.

Yes, well.]

I expect this vacation will have to occur quite soon, so as to avoid any possibility of Mister Ellis realizing he might be entitled to second thoughts.

[propulsion]

And don't oversell it. He'll flip on you and get overprotective.

[ This horizon is doing nothing for him, so Tony turns his back on it and leans against the railing, arms folded.

He looks at her again. On account of all the stress he has been personally processing, as the real victim here, and the general fuckery that was getting from point A to point B after figuring out where on the alphabet they even were, there hasn't been a lot of time for assessment, so he makes up for it now. ]

I know the type.

[heirring]

A friend from home, I presume.

[What is there to see really but a freckled face that has seen too much sun - and here she was, having just gotten her complexion back -, grubby clothes, and the unpleasantly straw like quality of hair washed in streams of dubious origin? Days spent struggling through the jungle has made them all synonymous in their unkempt states.

She is picking dirt out from under her fingernails - or at the very least, has done so enough times in the last week that it has become thoughtless habit.]

I'll see what can be done. Though I insist that we do very little walking between Kirkwall and Orzammar. My feet have done enough work for quite so time, thank you.

[propulsion]

Yeh. Hero everywhere you turn.

[ He looks at her looking at her nails, and then maybe becomes conscious to his own looking so he steers his attention to the deck, the people manning it, tugging little ropes to configure little sails and it's a marvel of engineering and all but you know it's also.

Depressing. Tony looks at the sky. ]

You can take a break, [ because he can't help it. Just a prod. ] From Riftwatch, after all this. They don't owe you anything, you know.

[heirring]

[Her attention rises from her fingernails, cuts hard over, and the look Wysteria gives him is stuck somewhere between baffled and trepidation - as if he has suggested she close her eyes and touch something squishy with her bare hand.]

And do what, exactly? Let my work pile up for another month? I think not. The Seneschal must be overwhelmed as it is. You know the man's temperament. He has probably spent the past three weeks adjusting my chair in relation to my desk.

And de Foncé will be all eagerness to see some progress on the project, and [she has returned to her fingernail inspection as she prattles on] I fully anticipate upon my return to find a letter from my friend in Markham about— well it hardly matters. You understand my meaning entirely.

[A look, sidelong.]

Why? Are you planning to take time away?

staggers into frame

[propulsion]

[ He keeps looking skywards because he can feel that look, with her little beady eyes. Doesn't laugh at her, but does seem to be suppressing something that is amusement-adjacent. ]

Me?

And let Corypheus win? [ comes with a somewhat lazy rather than emphatic beat of his palm to ship railing. ] I'll sleep when I'm dead, Miss Poppell, but thanks anyway.

[heirring]

Well then. Just so.

[She nods, short and short and very decided, then begins the process of untangling the absent lacing of her fingers. Wysteria smooths the front of her skirts and tucks pale flyaway hairs behind her ears, and then that is that.]

When we go to Orzammar, is there a particular point of interest there you'd like to look into? It might help to know if I'm to convince Mr. Ellis of the importance of the expedition.

[propulsion]

Material resources.

[ Tony has switched to landing one hand on the rail, facing her at a lean. ]

I need a supply of crystallised refined lyrium that doesn't come cheap. Some other components, minerals. We need some connections, and I don't wanna call in favours with Diplomacy. That guy looks like some other guy's evil doppelganger.

[heirring]

[A pause, in which she doesn't point out that they have the same facial hair and so perhaps Byerly is his evil twin, and she instead settled on wrinkling her nose which is more or less an expression of her agreement.]

No, I'd rather avoid involving Ambassador Rutyer in this if at all possible. He and I have something of a tentative agreement already, and I would rather not risk complicating it any further than it already is. Perhaps Mr. Ellis has old friends in the city who might be willing to make further introductions. Or, [she squints, regarding the sea as it travels under the ship's side.] I might see if I could reach a friend of mine. I believe she was lately of the city in question, and trained as a smith there.

But none of this solves the question of cost, Mr. Stark.

[propulsion]

[ That's not how the Mirror Universe works, Wysteria. ]

Question of cost's directly proportionate to who we're doing business with. I bet dwarves take credit. Plus I have a budget now, so.

[ He had people for this. His dismissiveness is impatient. ]

Maximum ten things at a time. Okay? First step is the yellow brick road. We'll figure out the bill in Emerald City.

[heirring]

[She is reasonably certain the road in Ferelden is neither yellow or made out of brick, as that seems like something that might have been mentioned in at least one of a half dozen somewhat relevant books. But who can say?]

I'll see what can be done, then. Though honestly, I have no idea why it must be such a production. Certainly Mr. Ellis was reticent when first we first broached the subject, but he is so about a great deal of things.

[propulsion]

You don't get the sense he's got some hard limits?

[ Head tilt. ]

Can't have a mysterious past without some of those lying around.

[heorte]

Because I'd rather you stab a training dummy than me.

[ A more diplomatic explanation than: we're less likely to get sidetracked in the training yard.

And he means to stay focused this time. The lingering guilt over her kidnapping is a sharp reminder how necessary it is that she learn. He doesn't mean for her to be as adept as someone like Athessa or Warden von Skraedder, but just adept enough to make someone attempting to do her harm regret it. ]

And I don't want to trample the seedlings.

[ He drags the training dummy in question another few feet back with an ungainly scrape of wood on stone. Good enough. ]

Do you remember what we went over? How best to aim?

[heirring]

[Her wrinkled nose says, Very well, I suppose those reasons are legitimate enough to pass muster.]

I believe it has something to do with the elbow and not closing one eye.

[Stooping, she gathers the hem of her skirt and fetches it up in what is a now familiar routine of tucking them up into her broad belt from their time spent traipsing through muddy fields and overgrown jungles. The stockings are a salmon color today, for the record. No, she does not own trousers.]

[heorte]

[ In the same moment as Ellis says— ]

We should get you a pair of trousers to wear next time.

[ One battle at a time.

Ellis leaves the training dummy, looping around to stand beside Wysteria as she finishes the elaborate tucking process. Trousers. Definitely going to need to get her some trousers. ]

Relax your stance. Feet shoulder width apart.

[ He demonstrates, standing in front of her with an expectant expression, waiting for her to mirror his position. ]

[heirring]

[She is willing enough on this point at least - shaking her shoulders out and shifting her feet a little broader in imitation of him.]

I have been halfway across the entire continent in skirts and have found them perfectly suitable, Mr. Ellis. Have you ever tried them yourself?

[heorte]

I don't think they'd flatter me.

[ Noncommittal, as he reaches to tap her hand, nudging them upward. ]

And they seem as likely to get caught on something as they are to accentuate my ankles.

[ As he speaks, Ellis draws a mock bow, giving her another position to mimic. ]

[heirring]

They only require some practice, [she insists, bringing up her significantly less invisible bow. There is no arrow nocked there yet, but it would hardly make a difference; she struggles somewhat against the tension of the bowstring, managing to draw it halfway to her cheek.

There's somewhat awkward going on with her shoulder or elbow, she's certain.]

I'm certain your ankles are the very definition of loveliness, Mr. Ellis.

[heorte]

[ Wysteria gets a chuckle in response, extremely noncommittal. Ellis does consider whether the promise of attempting skirts would be good motivation, but the idea of making good on it gives him pause.

There is something gone wrong with her shoulder and elbow. Ellis hums, then steps around to tap her shoulder gently. ]

Deep breath. Try to relax into it. You're tensing up, and it's made you bend a bit wrong here.

[ "A bit" ]

Do you need to put something worth hitting on the practice dummy as motivation?

[heirring]

[A bit. She swallows down a lungful of air and thinks very hard about realigning the arrangement of her arm in accordance with that corrective tap.]

I'm certain I can picture something appropriate if you think it will do any good.

[A few more inches are wrung out of the bow's flexion, managing at last to drag it far enough back to actually be something like close to a proper draw.]

Better?

[heorte]

Much better. You're making a fine start.

[ It occurs to him that a bow and arrow might be better for her in other ways than he'd first thought. Rather than having to stand close to kill someone, she'll have some distance from it.

Ellis would like for her to not have to square with killing at all, but at least if she's stood far back from it she can have some plausible deniability. ]

Now try it again with an arrow out of your quiver. If you can hit that target on your first try I'll buy whatever you like from the bakery on the way back.

[heirring]

Now that you have recalled it to my mind—

[She eases the tension from the string and half lowers the bow, pausing to look at him. And then is not looking at him, and instead fussing over fetching an arrow and setting it the right way against the string.]

—There is something I can think of which would make for excellent motivation. In fact, it is indeed a very small favor.

[heorte]

A small favor.

[ Doubt. ]

Well, go on. Let's hear it.

[heirring]

Well.

[Ah, of course. The arrow ought to be laid in this direction so the fletching doesn't interfere with the bow. Don't mind her; she is simply making sure the arrow is aligned just so.]

Do you recall when we briefly discussed Orzammar? It was very brief. I wouldn't be surprised if it had slipped your mind entirely.