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

[pittance]

[ The enemy is funding and directing a group of bandits harassing travelers through the northern Marches. Switch the list of targets the bandit leader is to receive with a revised list prepared by Riftwatch. ]

The storm lingers. Crouched in a cave bluff, they might reach out and touch it: Wind gusts in powdery spirals, gutters the little fire at its mouth. At least no one'll be looking for them in this weather.

"Shoulda gone with Jimmy," He waggles the stick, "More familiar."

[dinadhal]

Aenor laughs, taking the stick from his hands so she can poke at the branches on their sad little fire. "Ah, you see--familiarity, this is the problem. Jimmy would be an insult."

[pittance]

"You sure it's insulting?" The stick gives up easy. He rocks back, leaned over a knee. "Could be you scare him."

What a terrifying figure she cuts. Not what he means.

[dinadhal]

This idea is somehow even more laughable--but she doesn't, in this case, laugh, only considers while she peers through the wisps of smoke to the wintry world outside. Amusement hasn't fled her expression by any means, though, nor her voice. "Am I such a scary thing?"

[pittance]

"It's the fangs, I reckon," The crook of a hand: That's claws, Vance. "Nah, I don't know. Don't think you command nothing unless you like making choices. Gotta be strange to lose one."

[dinadhal]

Aenor turns her head enough that she can bare her teeth at him, grinning around the face she's making. The stick, she sets gently beside his nearest foot. "Such a choice, Jim or not. Frightening, I think."

More seriously, though--if not much more: "Next, you will call him Jim? We'll compare our notes."

[pittance]

"That's his name, isn't it?"

The picture of innocence.

[dinadhal]

"So we aren't wrong." Breezily self-satisfied, reaching into a pocket of her cloak for a flask and a lump of wrapped paper that turns out to hold a sandwich. Brown bread, some kind of paste of fish and mustard, shreds of cabbage to give it a green touch. She'd never had anything like it before Kirkwall. "Half, it is for you, if you will call him Jim for me."

[pittance]

"You drive a hard bargain," Nudges the stick back towards her with a toe, "But I'm powerless to rye."

Smells something like it: The punch of earth and vinegar; of abundance. The fire's hot. His breath puffs cold.

"How'd you choose?"

Familiarity. A name. This sandwich — take your pick.

[dinadhal]

"He looks, I think, like a Jim." With a shrug, as if to say how is it we choose anything, Vance? And, holding the wedges of sandwich out to him so he can make his decision, she adds with an insouciant smile, "Am I so scary?"