open. you believe what you want to believe.

[justashotaway]

WHO: Aenor Din'adhal, Laura Kint
WHAT: Catchall with open and some closed starters
WHEN: Immediately post-dream through the end of Guardian
WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall proper
NOTES: If you'd like me to write you up something particular, please PM justashotaway or dinadhal, PP , or disco dove#9906. Starters in comments.

Comments

open. winter is very wet, isn't it?

[dinadhal]

Aside from the dream they all shared, she settles in fairly easily. There are endless questions to ask others, of course--"How is it I go to--" or "What is this, our dinner tonight?" and so on--and she's not sure she plans to remain in the Gallows. But Riftwatch itself is surprisingly enjoyable.

(And the food is much better than what she'd have been eating on the high desert alone.)

The first time it snows, Aenor's agog, standing in the courtyard wrapped up in a heavy cloak and staring up at the grey sky as though she's never seen it before. The snowflakes carpet her dark hair and the fur collar at her neck. Do you do anything else with snow besides look at it? All she can think to do is stare, trying to figure out where in the thick cloud cover it actually comes from.

Of course, then it gets far more wintry, a blizzard with winds that blow too hard to stand around in. At that point, she sits near any fire with space, a hot drink held in both her hands, possibly seasoned with its fair share of liquor. Coming to sit by her opens one up to being badgered with questions, if warmly and politely. And the first one might be the easiest: "Ah--who are you?"

After that point, she admires it as a sort of loyal opposition--a mood brought on by her first real experience with ice. Out she's going toward the ferry, and then a footfall lands, slips, and sends her flying with a shout of surprise.

[ Or toss me a wildcard! Aenor is in Scouting, and she's a very short Dalish elf from the Anderfels, often seen in the company of a lanky human who towers over her. Brackets are fine if you prefer them. ]

The Big Slip

[thereneverwas]

"Oh--!"

Before she can hit the ground too hard, she's caught from behind by two large hands on her shoulders, which easily help her upright again.

"Sorry, ma'am." Should she turn to see her savior, she will also have to look rather upwards, at the wall of person that is Barrow, who smiles easily down at her. "That could've got ugly, eh?"

[dinadhal]

Her first instinct is to twist out of that grip--but she doesn't trust herself to take more steps away. Once she's upright, though, she turns and takes a (much more cautious) step back. It won't do much as far as putting space between them, but a little is something.

"Ah--it might have." How very tall he is. "Who are you?"

[thereneverwas]

He releases her quickly anyway, holding up his hands when the elf steps away, demonstrating that he has no intention of touching her again.

"Barrow," he says with the same easy warmth, and tentatively extends one hand, in case she wants to shake it.
"I train up infantry types for Riftwatch. Swords and shields, two-handed weapons, all that."

[dinadhal]

"And you walk on the ice." He seems steady enough, at least. She looks him over, makes it obvious--if she isn't smiling quite as she usually might, it's because she's thinking, clearly--and then casts a gaze at the slick ground. "Show me."

[thereneverwas]

He notices that she's looking him over, and his smile reflects it, his stance growing a bit taller-- if nothing else, it's funny to pretend one is being flirted with regardless of whether or not it's true.

"It's called 'being heavy'," Barrow says with a friendly grin, "well. And wearing treaded boots." He looks down at his feet.
"Just don't get me on a frozen lake, or everyone will regret it."

[truthtied]

Even properly clothed, the severity of the winter chill is something she's not entierly used to herself and there is a point where ignoring it becomes less determination and more foolishness. Diana seats herself near the small elven woman without much fanfare, a little surprised when she's addressed first.

"Diana," she says with a ready smile. She huddles a little closer to the fire and holds her hands out to warm them. The rift shard flashes, which perhaps goes farther in explaining who she is, but she adds, "I'm a Rifter. Recently arrived and I can't say I'm enjoying the weather very much."

[dinadhal]

"No," she agrees, though she's cheerful enough about it. "This weather, it is wet."

Both fascinating and a little vexing to her, finding herself constantly with wet socks, cold hands, damp hair--while endless dryness isn't better by any means, she knows better what to do with it. After a sip of her mulled cider, she adds, "Aenor is my name. Not a Rifter. Where is it you're from?"

[truthtied]

"Themyscira," she says, because she misses it, because saying the name invokes some warmth still. The absence of her mother and sisters is a familiar ache. "It's an island, a very long way from anywhere. We didn't quite get weather like this, it's taken quite some adjustment." And the cold of the outside world had never bothered her the way Thedas' did. But never mind that. "And you? Where are you from?"

[dinadhal]

"The Anderfels. Not an island." Not unless endless desert counts as a sea, at least. "Tell me, you are surrounded on all sides by water? How do you tolerate this?"

[truthtied]

She laughs, "Easily! But I imagine I would feel differently if I was not raised that way. It's lovely though." The waters around Themyscira were day and night to Kirkwall's bay. "What are the Anderfels like? I'm not familiar with the regions in this world yet."

fireside.

[hornswoggle]

"And where's your son on this fine evening?"

Fine being generosity on John's part. The ice and snow make life more difficult for him, and he has yet to acclimate to the cold, even after a handful of winters in Kirkwall. The chair opposite Aenor is nudged closer to the fire with a quiet scrape before John settles into it, mug balanced on the arm of the chair, and stretches out his leg towards the warmth.

"Braving the cold to explore Kirkwall?"

[dinadhal]

"Who can say?" She scoots her own chair a little closer, partly in solidarity and partly because there's no reason not to be as near the fire as possible. "This cold, I think, is worse than we have in the Anderfels. It stays with you. But my dear son, he is hardier than he looks."

Some amusement in that last comment--Caric's a thin man, tall but not entirely without an elf's frame. Or perhaps that's simply maternal bias. "Where is your captain? Him, I remember from our dream."

[hornswoggle]

That prompts a smile, held for a moment before John sips from his mug. That's not such a surprising thing to hear. Maybe impressions built on a dream are not inherently reliable, but Aenor has struck him as unflappable even in the face of trying circumstance. Nothing he's seen so far has dispelled that, and it stands to reason her son follows along after.

"In the Forces office, buried in reports," John answers. "You'd be surprised the amount of paperwork generated by this endeavor."

And whether or not John intends to find his way up to that office at some later point does not follow.

"How are you finding it? Riftwatch?" he asks instead. "I would hope we make a better impression outside of a swamp."

[dinadhal]

"Ah, paperwork." A dismissive gesture. Poor Jim, trapped under mountains of parchment, all for the sake of a few amusing dreams. She'll carry such things, but actually creating them sounds like entirely too much work.

As for Riftwatch itself...she lets herself savor her cider for a moment, both hands around the clay mug as she sips. "Any impression is, I think, better outside a swamp. And I am not one too proud for outdoor living! So far, it is...chaotic. Much to do and nothing to do, all at once. How do you find it?"