so look alive, it's much cheaper | closed

[wythersake]

WHO: Isaac + Joselyn, Betrys, others
WHAT: Thread catchall
WHEN: Not in a jungle
WHERE: Not in a jungle
NOTES: Editing these in as I go. HMU if you want a starter.

Comments

betrys;

[wythersake]

There are two chapels in the Gallows. Simple things, practical.

Isaac couldn't say who maintains them (can't think it's Sara), but someone must. Dust mingles light, the candles not yet run to puddles.

Has he been here before? It doesn't matter: Anonymous in the way of all Circle chapels. It doesn't look a thing like the others, only that there's always been one. The eye learns to skate.

His hand lowers to one wickering spindle of wax, smothers the little flame. It's a moment before he realizes,

"Ah," Candles don't light themselves. Obviously. "Did you —"

[mereandrastianism]

There are so many things to pray for: the Maker's return, the end of Corypheus' reign of terror in the north, the removal of the shard caught in her hand, her parents' health and sanity (please turn Mother's heart such that she stops demanding my return home). Even if the Maker in His absence answers no prayer, He should know the faithful haven't faltered.

And, of course, on the off chance that He might listen and respond, it's worthwhile to ask.

Footsteps startle her--she's only one of many who use the chapel, no doubt, but it's so frequently empty--but her prayers are essentially finished anyway. Standing, she turns to find a rather distinguished-looking older gentleman. "I'm afraid you've caught me by surprise, Serah. I hadn't expected company."

[wythersake]

The eye learns to skate: Even by dim light, Betrys cuts an odd figure. Pious in a gown, and a gleam in her palm; the first somehow the strangest.

"Then I can only beg apology," The bow of his shoulders as he steps aside is slight enough to take for accident. "For in truth, I'm grateful not to see the place abandoned."

The doorway's clear. An exit, if she wants it. He settles upon the edge of a pew, head canted for conversation, should she not.

[mereandrastianism]

"Consider yourself forgiven, Serah," she says, all pleasance as she sits back down and smoothes her rosy pink skirts. There's nothing, after all, to apologize for in wishing to be nearer the Maker. "In truth, this is the first time I've met anyone else here."

She's tempted to say something about just how inattentive Riftwatch seems to be, as regards the Chantry, but it's a temptation easily avoided. Difficult to know, truly, what brings this gentleman here. Instead, perhaps an inevitable question when she still feels so new: "Have you been part of Riftwatch long?"

[wythersake]

"Four years," He pauses, rubs a hand on chin. "Five?"

Impossible. That ought to be impossible. A gesture, mouth crinkling wry:

"Of course, it wasn't Riftwatch then."

[mereandrastianism]

"No, I suppose it wasn't." She's smoothing over her surprise as best she can, but some still escapes in her raised brows. (Having been in Kirkwall just long enough to feel terribly small, from a terribly small place comparatively, she'd like to do what she can to keep herself from seeming too much the naïf.) "It speaks to your bravery, that you've served so long."

An assumption, but one she thinks (hopes?) complimentary enough to hazard. And given some of the things she's heard about Riftwatch's adventures, it seems more than likely true.