[SEMI-OPEN]

[acreage]

WHO: Amos Burton, James Holden, Wysteria, Ellis, and YOU
WHAT: Two spacemen fall out of a rift, later explore scenic Kirkwall
WHEN: Nnnnowish? Waves hands
WHERE: The Wounded Coast, then Kirkwall
NOTES: A closed arrival thread, plus open individual threads for meeting Amos and/or Jim after their quarantine period.

Comments

[acreage]

"Yeah," he agrees, light, "because I can't afford paying damages for any of the furniture around here."

Though he can't help wincing a little at the touch. Still — "It's not that bad," as if he's the one assessing the injury. And, at her look, "Holden. James Holden."

[sulahnan]

Athessa snaps her fingers, eureka!

"James Holden, that's what it was."

She's been standing here trying to remember his name and he got there first. Of course he did. It's his name. Crossing her arms, she raises an eyebrow at him.

"If you got hit with a chair you'd be well and truly in it and you'd have other damages to worry about."

[tender]

"Mm," Derrica hums in agreement to Athessa's point, before giving her own assessment of Holden's face.

"It's going to make an ugly bruise," Derrica concludes, glancing to Athessa, then past her to the increasingly loud scuffle that's devolved into men on the floor.

Someone will stop that. Eventually. Maybe if a table is broken.

"Do you want me to fix it?"

[acreage]

"Fix it?"

It's not that, by now, he hasn't heard about mages; but he hasn't met any, personally, is still acclimating himself to the idea of magic.

[sulahnan]

"You should take her up on that," Athessa says, signaling something to the barkeep. "If only for the experience."

Holden gets a wink, but the cheeky smile is all for Derrica.

[tender]

"Don't tell him that, you'll give him unrealistic expectations."

Or scare him. Holden likely hasn't heard about the worst of mages yet, nor had someone recount for him the incident with the abomination in the Gallows, but Derrica remembers Vanadi's wary objections. She tips her head at the bar, eyes on Athessa in silent request: Two more, please.

Redirecting, she lifts a hand but doesn't put it onto Holden's cheek yet.

"I'm a healer. It's only a bruise, so it should only take a minute."

Entreating, even around the subject of magic. No one's actually said that word outloud, but it's a foregone conclusion for Derrica. She doesn't even think to name it.

[acreage]

Squints from Athessa to Derrica.

But, okay, the topic at hand. If she's calling herself a healer, saying she can fix a bruise — without any kind of supplies (tech, first aid kit, even ice) around — he can assume she means magic.

Does he want her to use magic on him, for something as small as this?

Not entirely, no. But he can't run from magic forever, and better to test it out with himself now. So he does hesitate, but then he nods.

"If you're offering."

[sulahnan]

Athessa acknowledges Derrica's request, but once the mage has returned her attention to Holden, glances toward the door as if she expects to see someone in particular walk through it, but is satisfied that whoever it is hasn't appeared. Seems they still have time.

So she puts the order in with the barkeep, three, please, before shifting her attention to a pretty blonde clearing tankards off empty tables.

"Serafinaaaa," Athessa calls to the woman in a sing-song voice. To Derrica and Holden: "I'll be right back. Don't worry, Coffee Guy, you're in good hands."

Serafina gives Athessa a look that Derrica has given her often, one of amused reproach as the elf charms her way over to speak into her ear.

[tender]

Derrica tracks Athessa's passing for a moment, before turning her attention back to Holden. Her fingers find his jaw, tipping his face towards the light.

"She'll call you something else if you ask her," Derrica says, eyes narrowing slightly as she inspects his face. "In case you're worried about that nickname sticking."

Her thumb taps lightly at his cheek, before she smiles a little.

"Deep breath," she instructs, before flattening her palm against his cheek, fingers splaying across his cheekbone. She whispers, too softly to make out in the midst of barroom chatter, and a wash of cool light spreads across his skin, erasing the throbbing heat of a new-forming bruise.

[acreage]

He chuckles.

"I've been called worse. It's fine."

It's not like it's an inaccurate nickname. And, between Amos and Alex, he's gotten used to answering to about any name called in his direction.

Deep breath, she says, and he does, and then — that. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but there's nothing overly flashy, nothing too bizarre in this. The pain subsides.

"How can you do that?"