[open]

[heirring]

WHO: Flint, Wysteria, Miriam, Cassius & You
WHAT: Catch-All
WHEN: Post-dreams, nebulously Guardian-ish
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Warnings (if any) in subject lines.

((OOC NOTE: Anything in bold is closed to one thread, though group threads a-okay.
Feel free to turn this into action brackets if The Spirit Moves You.
Wildcards welcome, bespoke starters available upon request.))

Comments

[charmoffensive]

Loxley follows in after with nimble steps, rucksack of supplies slung over a shoulder as he goes, a flap of coat hem.

When Wysteria settles, she'll find herself opposite the qunari who settles his things between his ankles, and doesn't seem to too much mind the fall of cold misting rain that slicks his hair to his brow. They might embark on a less-than-pleasant boat ride in civil silence, but alternatively—

"I suppose we ought to be thankful," Loxley says, eye catching the departing shape of Rutyer on the shoreline, "that the ferryman didn't throw himself overboard on the way over. I might have."

[heirring]

From her place on the bench seat, with her capelet drawn about her and her felted hat pulled very low, Wysteria scoffs. It's an automatic and largely involuntary noise—cut short either because she realizes she's doing it and has experienced some momentary instant of mortification or simply by habit.

Her pause afterward is very narrow, consisting of the briefest glance back over her shoulder toward the outline of the man in question. Her second scoff as she turns back to the qunari is much more intentional and significantly more well-rounded as a result.

So not a matter of mortification, then.

"Thankful? Not at all. A cold winter bath might shock some sense into the gentleman."