[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]

Uh huh.

[ Can't wait to visit the Deep Roads. ]

He ever mention why he got into all that?

[heirring]

[Her attention swivels around, quizzical.]

Into what? Being a Warden? [Why become a soldier, or a candlestick maker, or a goat farmer? Surely out of all professions, it makes perfect sense for a Ferelden to join forces in a campaign against Darkspawn.] No. I've never asked.

[Though it begs the question--] Why, have you?

[propulsion]

[ It makes a kind of perfect sense, sure. You go to the front lines to do the right thing, except that's not how that works all the time, in Tony's experience. Most times they need convincing, and if it's not money, desperation, something else, it's the campaign that makes them think they're in it to do the right thing. Not everyone is Steve Rogers.

As he will explain later, Ellis is not a far cry from that type. But still. ]

I asked him why Riftwatch, so it's probably the same answer, right? Kill the monsters.

[ Hard pivot, suddenly, save that monsters have been mentioned, to focus in on Wysteria rather than their absentee stuff holder; ]

Welcome back, by the way.

[heirring]

Oh.

[Balking like a small dog from a flicked nose, she blinks at him once then does a hard pivot of her own back to the observation of the rippling sea. A short inhale, the preparation for saying something, is taken and summarily wasted.

And then isn't.]

I apologize for being so short with you, Mr. Stark. I was angry, and for reasons that had very little to do with you.

[propulsion]

[ Tony blinks back, and he wrinkles his nose a little as he casts his attention back out at the ocean wide. Sincerity is itchy. ]

Don't mention it, [ he says. ] Save it, for when it's all about me next time.

[ He straightens up out of his lean, like a puppeteer jerked up the thread through his spine. ]

Okay. Bring it in.

[ Arms out and wide. Going in for a hug. Slightly grimly. ]

Come on, let's go.

[heirring]

[Sorry, what?

Her hands float up off the rail and her face does a thing, the combination of which is the human embodiment of an ambiguous ellipses.]

That's hardly necessary, [would carry more weight were it not said while capitulating to his demands, giving in to a hug which somehow manages to be both the concept of oops all elbows and— perfectly fine.]

[propulsion]

Yeah kind of it is.

[ Tony closes his arms around her and holds there, as if prepared to just fold in all the awkwardness and elbows himself, but it's not as bad as that anyway. It doesn't vanish off all the worry and then the sheer stress that has been the past x amount of days, but it's something.

He probably holds on a second longer than necessary before he frees her and also himself, steadying them both with a pass of his hands to her shoulders as he goes. ]

Good talk.

[heirring]

[Will she give this some further consideration later once the sun has set and they are all of them packed into hammocks strung above deck (because it is too hot to suffer sleeping below and there is little enough room for it besides)? Not the specifics of the embrace and the fiddly question of what she's meant to be doing with her hands during it, or the silliness involved with smoothing her skirts and straightening her sleeves afterward, or saying,]

Yes. Very good. Thank you. And I'll let you know once I've convinced Mr. Ellis so that we can begin to make all the necessary arrangements. I doubt the Seneschal will be pleased to lose my assistance again so soon, but I'm sure that with actual forewarning someone can be found to replace me on a very temporary basis.

[but maybe the unanticipated satisfaction of the thing. After all, the last time she'd come hot off a kidnapping attempt and a long trek across an unforgiving landscape back to Kirkwall, it was to arrive at her own funeral on a broken heel and the rather disappointing realization that she must be third or fourth in the rankings of 'People I will express my satisfaction to when we discover they aren't dead after all' among a great deal of her close relations. And no, this is hardly so exact a mirror of those circumstances to be truly definitive about anything whatsoever, but will perhaps the gesture of the thing occur to her then?

No. Because she is twenty-four, and more sentimental in theory than in actual practice, and there is the distracting prospect of the return to work to keep her thoughts occupied. But that is a far cry from the prickling sensation of loneliness, so what does it matter really whether a thing is consciously turned over.]

—Oh, Mr. Stark. Before I forget. When we return, de Foncé has agreed to visit the Hightown house weekly so we might more seriously discuss the matter of our collaboration. If you're keeping any work in the house you would prefer he not see, I might recommended you place it in one of the locking drawers for safe keeping. I'll do my best to keep him occupied, but the man's skill for intrusion is not to be underestimated.

[propulsion]

First of all I keep nothing classified, sacred, or otherwise sensitive in your haunted fire hazard so don't worry about it.

[ Back to a familiar pattern, which Tony finds even more reassuring than the hug that preceded it. The pattern being: a race to see how fast either of them can talk at a given moment, although Wysteria wins automatically on sheer volume. ]

Second of all -- what, and why. Weekly seems excessive. Does this guy have nothing else going on?

[heirring]

It's not a fire hazard. [But it is haunted.] And that - the gentleman's schedule - is precisely why I've arranged for more frequent meetings. I would rather he not forget about the importance of the project. You see, I am most determined to have a prototype complete by midwinter, and like it or not de Foncé and I have an agreement which predates our [she gestures between them] association.

[And because she has a bet with him, but that's not important.]

[propulsion]

Huh. Okay.

[ The appearance of a timeline reminds him of the fact he maybe let some cats out of some bags, but like. That can wait. Cats don't need much. ]

And what is he contributing to this project, exactly? Besides moral support.

[heirring]

[Because he was enthusiastic about the concept when no one else was would be an exceptionally silly answer and furthermore has nothing whatsoever to do with her continued tolerance of Monsieur de Fonce, and so she says nothing on the subject of moral support.]

As I have mentioned before, he has committed some measure of funding. And, much as I loathe to say it, he has done some work on siege engines and knows a thing or two about native demolitions, the latter of which promised to be very helpful prior to--

[She motions to his general chest region. You know.]

[propulsion]

Hey, no sudden movements at my third nipple. It gets scared.

[ Her explanation is wafer thin as far as explanations goes, which is suspect, but there will be time enough to suss that out. Especially if they're handing him opportunities to do so on a weekly basis. ]

Fine. But he has to bring his own snacks. Those are our snacks.

[heirring]

I see no reason why that should be an obstacle. I'm sure he will be most understanding of being asked to contribute to the stockpile.

[Likelihood of Val bringing his own snacks: low. Low enough that she's going to veer as promptly away from further discussion of this subject as she did from the whole hugging thing.]

Well, Mr. Stark. Now that we appear to be sharing the same page, I should leave you to your-- whatever it was you were doing before this. I have some things I'd like to discuss with Mr. Fitz regarding tracings we took from the thaig ruin and I believe he's finally stopped being seasick for long enough to discuss them properly.

[Has Fitz been ill? Who cares, it sounds plausible enough.]

[propulsion]

Poor lad. Be gentle.

[ And Tony does resume the whatever it was he was doing, watching her go before staring accusingly at the horizon. ]