open

[acreage]

WHO: James Holden and YOU
WHAT: Catch-all for April
WHEN: Fantasy April
WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall, mostly, but around
NOTES: Starters in the comments, lmk if you'd like something bespoke or feel free to drop in a wildcard.

Comments

ota

[acreage]

the baths

Maybe he's stripping down in anticipation of a hot bath, or maybe he's getting dressed after one. Or maybe he's in the warm water. Regardless: congrats, you've caught him shirtless. There's a bluish glow at his upper arm, a fading scar on his belly, but mostly, he looks up with some surprise upon hearing footsteps, had been apparently lost in thought.

"I didn't hear you come in."

jobs

Did they volunteer, were they voluntold, or did they just get slapped together for this particular job? Regardless, they're together now, perhaps heading towards their destination, perhaps waiting out a particularly dull moment, or in the middle of working.

"I seem to remember you saying this would be quick," is said not without humor.

the crossroads

Well, here we are. What surprises may they find as they make their way to their destination? Perhaps they run into wild goose spirits, or traverse a way that demands they tell the truth, or stumble upon some other danger.

thirst prompt, just 4 u

[dinadhal]

Sorry, Jim, you've been happened upon. Aenor's still dressed, but her hair is coming unpinned, a few locks falling down around her ears, and there's a towel over one arm. She's definitely not just passing through.

"Ah! James." She'd know that rumpled dark head anywhere, even when it's attached to a surprisingly limp-looking set of shoulders jutting out of the hot water. What a pleasant surprise to find him here--the baths are otherwise not terribly crowded at this hour. "Here to wash or to rest?"

[acreage]

There's a sideways smile that tugs at his mouth, wry and with humor, as he looks up at her. He might've moved to cover up more if she'd seemed uncomfortable, but truthfully, it's hard to imagine anything rattling Aenor.

"Can it be both?"

[dinadhal]

There are things that might shake her confidence, but someone as harmless as James Holden isn't on the list, even when he's undressed. She takes a seat on a nearby bench, pulling pins from her hair one by one and dropping them into some unseen pocket.

"Mmm," she says, considering, a little smile to match his own. "Yes, I think so. But a man washing, he may not want company. A man relaxing, he might."

[acreage]

"I'd enjoy the company," he says easily. Then, "How are you finding Riftwatch?"

She's still here, of course, along with her son; so he imagines he has an idea of her answer.

[dinadhal]

Company it is, then. Once her hair's falling down around her face, the braids combed out with her fingers, she undresses and climbs into the tub, across from him. She's slender, thin-limbed, silvery old stretch marks at the edges of her belly overshadowed by the jagged puckering of an old scar on one shoulder, cutting down the outside of her upper arm. There are plenty of other marks on her, old and older, but that one's the most likely to draw the eye.

"Riftwatch, it is good. Better, I think, for me than my dear son." Which, in retrospect, she wonders if Caric himself suspected from the start. A perceptive boy, her son. "Good for you, too?"

Honk, Honk, Motherfucker

[muckspout]

"So, I said to her, they're both thieves and raccoons! And she said--"

HONK! The grass rustles. Edgard turns to Holden in confusion.

"No, she said--"

HONK!

Edgard's eyes widen and he grabs Holden's arm.

"What was that?"

HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!

i'm so happy

[acreage]

He'd been listening attentively enough, a smile tugging at his mouth and nodding every so often, when — you know, this. He turns to see

uh, a goose. Glowing green softly in the way of spirits, but definitely a goose.

"Since when can spirits be geese?"

SINCE ALWAYS HONKHONK

[muckspout]

Edgard shakes his head from side to side repeatedly. He quietly positions himself behind Holden and then whispers urgently in his ear.

"No sudden movements. I do not trust geese."

I CAN HEAR YOU! HONKHONK!

Edgard jumps dramatically backward in surprise, breaking his own request.

[acreage]

"What do you want?" He asks, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He could be more alarmed by the spectral figure of a noisy goose, but also, this might as well fucking happen.

DANGER! DARKNESS AND DEATH.

"Yeah, that's specific."

[muckspout]

Edgard puts his hands on his hips, fear fading to confusion.

"Are you warning us or do you want us to make those things happen for you?"

HONK HONK HONK NOT TOO PICKY.

Edgard spins to Holden and raises his eyebrows.

"Not sure what our best move is here."

Jobs - lmk if you want any adjustment, I'm easy

[youwonscience]

"In my defense, it would have been quick if this guy's handwriting were actually legible without having to guess at every third letter," Cosima says. "Seriously, what do you think that is?" She hands him the notebook, her finger indicating a word that mainly looks like a flourish.

She too had expected them to have progressed past note-deciphering to actually trying to recreate the basic experiment by this point. Still, rushing a job even tangentially related to Fade-touched materials seems like a good way to cause an accident, so she's resisting the urge to start tinkering with the materials laid out on her lab table.

all good!

[acreage]

He looks at the notebook, eyebrows raised, and...his face scrunches up as he tries to make sense of that word.

"'Fold'?" he suggests, sounding none too sure about it. "It's either that or 'always.'" Or, you know, every other damn thing the word could possibly be. Times like this, he misses computers. "I thought scientists were supposed to have good handwriting."

[youwonscience]

"You'd think. Ugh, my kingdom for someone to invent even like ... a typewriter." Computers would be great, but she'll take standardized type if it's all she can get. "What about ... could it be 'full'? That sort of makes sense in context."

She sits back. "Or I guess we could just throw the notes out and design an experiment from scratch, but that seems like a waste. I don't know, man, I'm sorry this has been such a waste of time."

[acreage]

"God," he responds immediately, "what are the odds we could invent a typewriter?"

Even James Holden, who grew up in a home with the rarity of paper books, has never seen one. Only sort of knows of it academically, from books, from histories. But like, he's absolutely willing to try to reverse engineer one if it means getting some typed documents around here.

"Here," he says, reaching for the paper, "let me look at it again."

His tone is conciliatory, writ with an it's not your fault that goes unsaid. Even on a second try, though, he has to sigh before long.

"Wanting to use these notes was a good idea." But also, "Are you sure these weren't written in code?"

[youwonscience]

"You know, I used to spend a lot of my time here wishing an engineer would fall through a rift. Maybe Tony would make us a typewriter if we convinced him it was an interesting project?" She doesn't feel like it's his bag, necessarily, but she does feel like he's the most likely person to actually succeed.

She leans back in her chair at his second question. "...that's actually an idea. I mean, it's probably just messy handwriting, but it's possible it could be some sort of shorthand? I wonder if a native might know." She knows more about Thedas than a lot of rifters, but she's still been there less than four years cumulatively and hadn't done a lot of travel in that time.

a dirty job

[nonvenomous]

“Yes, well,” grits Silas, who is well past wrist-deep down the throat of the piebald nug struggling in Holden’s grasp, “the strength of the pharyngeal sphincter is a surprise.”

And neither of them is carrying pliers.

He’s already extracted one bloody, rusted twist of bale wire from the idiot creature’s gullet: it’s marinating in a pool of digestive sick on a crate at his side. Two other nugs look on horrified through a slot in their own crate, the call of seabirds faint through the warehouse roof far overhead.

[acreage]

He swears under his breath as the goddamn thing tries to wriggle out of his hands yet again, rearranging his fingers to get a better grip on its slippery skin without actually hurting it. Never mind that the thing is definitely traumatized, and probably so are its fellows, by the rough handling; though if it'd been smart enough to not try eating wire, they wouldn't be in this situation. Also: not that he's unappreciative of Silas being the one to thrust his arm down the pharynx of an ugly little creature.

"Well, I'm sure she'll," as the nug in queston gives a determined wiggle, "thank you later."

[nonvenomous]

“I think I have it,” is all he can say in return, still straining, stretching long fingers, carefully, carefully --

Further back, she’s champing furiously on his forearm, leaving big doofy teethmarks with jaws that lack the leverage to break skin, gagged open as they are. Behind him, there’s a heavy thump, the sound of naked hide scuffling over the edge of the open crate --

Dick risks a glance in the nick of time to see an albino nug butt tumbling rosy pink over the side. Nug #3 rises up on her haunches to peer out after it.

“This is an unmitigated disaster.”

[acreage]

There's a moment as he turns and watches the pale little nug plummet to the ground with an affronted squeak, where James Holden, champion of those in need, seriously considers letting it escape. Then he imagines the creature running into a seagull, or a small dog, or an overweight rat. And sighs.

"It could be worse," he says contemplatively, as the third nug starts scrabbling up the side of the crate. It loses its footing, falls noisily within. "Just get this thing out and we can worry about the other two."

[nonvenomous]

“Of course,” says Silas, over the wet smacking of his wrist being gobbled by a writhing designer piglet, “I’ll just ‘get it out.’” Like he’s fishing the seed out of an avocado and not playing Operation with a twist of sharp wire in an esophagus.

He hoods his brow for a Look a little too hard-edged to read as reassuring in aside.

But the wire is coming, maneuvered up past the tips of his fingers until he can curl it under a knuckle, back, up, and out. The creature vomits instantly, everywhere. Dick grinds his jaw at the sound of spatter across his boots as he drops the wire aside with its predecessor, plink.

thirst thirst thirst

[revise]

"No trouble. There are better places to go looking for conversation if that's what I were after."

It's painfully direct, but the dry delivery and the lack of pointed follow up look strips some of the rude potential from it. Brisk, but brusque--as straightforward as the way in which the diminutive woman sets her kit down at the edge of the pool and begins to strip out of her robes.

If he were allergic to company, he wouldn't be in the communal baths.

thirST

[acreage]

And if she were allergic to company — or conversation, for that matter — she wouldn't be here either. When he answers, it's not exactly an invitation for a fuller conversation, but it is a good-humored,

"If I'm being honest, I'm mostly here for the hot water."

spoken in conspiratorial tones. A warm bath isn't impossible in his room, of course, but some days the desire for convenience wins out.

[revise]

"Then you're in luck. There seems to be plenty."

She folds her things neatly, tucking them sensibly back from the bath's edge, and then navigates smoothly down into the water--a collection of myriad scars made incidental by the briefness of their display. Evidently not planning a leisurely soak, she promptly sets to wrapping her wedge of soap into a bit of cloth.

"What's in your arm?"

She asks without looking up, twisting the hand cloth shut.

[acreage]

Maybe it's just because of what she said when she first arrived, but he hadn't expected any further conversation, let alone the question. His attention had drifted, but he looks back to her, hesitating briefly. He's been in Thedas long enough to think twice about discussing otherworldly technology. Still, she's obviously a member of Riftwatch even if they haven't spoken before, and there's not much point to pretending he isn't a rifter when the anchor glimmers greenly in his palm.

"Apparently, a shitton of lyrium," is what he says first — hence the glow — before shrugging and adding, "At home, I used it to take medicine that I need. I never figured out how it works here."