faderift | Smoke If Ya Got 'Em

WHO: Athessa, Byerly, Sonia
WHAT: a plan to get high leads to fussing
WHEN: late Solace/early August, after returning from Orlais, late evening
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: threadjacking welcome within reason, Byerly's office is open etc.

It's not that Athessa expected Byerly to just be waiting alone in his office after-hours for her to drop by with a proposition--after only a day of sitting behind that desk she knows he's a busy man--but she's still a bit surprised when she wheels around the door jamb to see him entertaining the company of Sonia. Another person she planned on seeing soon, since they'll be able to revisit their training now that Athessa's back from the mission in Orlais. But still: surprising.

"Oh, two in one, lucky me," she remarks, smiling crookedly at both of them. It's only a day or two into her Cool New Scar's healing process, so she's careful to try and keep the left side of her face as still as she can lest she disrupt the scab beneath its bandage. Perhaps the more impressive sight is the bruising on her right shoulder and down her arm, all deep purples and maroon and some yellow here and there. Colin has healed that enough for her to move it without too much pain, and to ward off any swelling, but it still looks like she had a wall fall on her.

Probably because she did.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

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"Hm?" Byerly, a little tipsy - because, with Sonia, he is so often a little tipsy - raises his head. The light is too dim for him to see her injury quite yet, so he just gestures her in.

"Athessa, come in. My dear cousin and I were merely discussing current fashion." (Read: throwing shade at people who are either insufficiently well-dressed or excessively well-dressed.)

"Uh oh," she chuckles, and walks in with false wariness. "That doesn't bode well for someone as fashion-less as me."

Fashion-less, in this moment, means a sleeveless shirt, loose-fitting trousers, and leather sandals. Simple, comfortable, and able to be donned or shucked without the fabric rubbing on her face or constricting her arm.

Athleisure elves are ahead of the times.

Sonia looks comparably tipsy and a serene sort of smug that often accompanies a good gossip session. She raises her glass to usher Athessa in, eyes lighting up, and she quirks an eyebrow.

"You wear simplicity better than most," Sonia concedes generously, "but I do wish you'd let me dress you sometime. A splash of color would -- Maker's breath, Athessa, what happened to your face?"

"You should see the other guy."

Byerly, frowning, adds, "What happened to your arm?"

Athessa looks at her arm, as if she'd forgotten about the bruises. Cavalierly, she answers, "Oh, a castle wall happened to it. Looks worse than it is, I promise."

And to Sonia, she tips her head. "What color would you put me in?"

"Not black and blue," Sonia says, already setting her glass down and getting to her feet so she can carefully take Athessa's face in one hand, her brow knit in instant and deep concern. Always a fuss when it comes to people she cares about getting hurt, maybe even more so lately than ever. "Green to start with, muted earth tones to accentuate. You'd be just lovely in jade."

She almost balks at the mottled mess of bruises that is Athessa's arm. "Is the castle wall the other guy? How many other guys are involved, exactly?"

Byerly goes quiet. His brows draw down, and his mouth is a thin but troubled line. Silently, he takes a drink of wine, but says nothing, leaving the women to it.

"No, the other guy is under the castle wall, and there was only one of him," she laughs, but she doesn't pull away from Sonia's scrutiny. "Colin insisted on healing the worst of the bruising; I'll be right as rain in about a week, I reckon."

Sonia looks measurably relieved at the mention of Colin, because if Athessa had to get hurt, she's glad that Colin was nearby. Colin is good people.

"Thank the Maker he was with you," she says, though her brow is still furrowed, her lips pursed as though to avoid a frown. Of course people get hurt in Riftwatch, it happens all the time, and somehow, she still isn't prepared for it to happen to people she cares about. "Do you think that's going to scar?"

After nearly a month of being called rabbit or worse, of scrubbing out chamber pots and dumping dungeon-bound piss-buckets, Sonia's attention is a balm, if a little overwhelming. Athessa shakes her head, still smiling and trying to keep her left cheek from suffering for it.

"No, I mean, when we got back, he saw to me in the infirmary," she gently pats the back of Sonia's hand to reassure her that she is, honestly, just fine. She also notes Byerly's quietude and frown.

"It is gonna scar, unfortunately. Poisoned blade. What's that look for?" That last, to the Lord Ambassador with a raised brow.

"What look?" he answers at once, turning his eyes away so that she cannot possibly identify any looks he might or might not be giving. He rises to his feet immediately thereafter, and murmurs, "May I offer you some herbal tea?"

"Sure, but--" she says, letting the discussion of looks go and returning to the reason she's here. Rolling papers and a sachet of elfroot are retrieved from her pockets. "--I kinda had a different herb in mind."

"Poisoned?" Sonia looks visibly alarmed, even though Athessa is obviously fine now. The idea is just a little, you know, unsettling. She frowns, almost pouting, as though on behalf of Athessa, who seems way less concerned about a facial scar than Sonia.

She does not comment on any look Byerly may or may not be giving, although there is always a touch of smug amusement whenever Byerly pretends not to have feelings.

Her eyebrows raise when Athessa produces the Good Kush, her mouth curving into a pleased smile. "Well, we can't possibly refuse, can we?" she says to Byerly, her face the picture of innocence. "It would be terribly rude."

By shrugs in agreement. He still continues over to the drinks stand, though, to grab another bottle of wine. Because one should not just get high; one ought to get properly crossfaded. He brings it over, and asks - "Do you have a light?"

"Just a mild poison," she shrugs to Sonia, and rummages through her pockets to produce a single match.

"For once I do, would ya believe it? Care to do the honor of rolling?"

Smoke If Ya Got 'Em

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