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.
"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.
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.
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.
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."
Now she does look up, the upward trend of her eyebrows disappearing them behind the blunt shape of that dark fringe. Her hands pause in their work. —Briefly. And then the soap-and-cloth combo is dunked into the warm water.
Naomi had read him every dire warning, in the beginning, those early days just after Eros. How often he needed the meds, what the side effects might be, what would happen if he missed a dose. What it would look like if they stopped working, if he needed to try something else.
She's quiet for a moment, looking at him rather than away while under the surface of the water, she lathers soap and cloth together. Small bubbles float to the surface.
The look she gives him is 'Son, don't bring those muddy boots into my clean house' flat. Brief, before the angle of her attention falls back to scrubbing the length of her arm, scuffing dirt out from under her fingernails.
He has to notice how efficiently she moves, attacking the experience of a warm bath as briskly as a person might sign some paperwork. It makes him feel lazy, languidly letting the water prune his fingers.
"James Holden. Do I get a name back?"
Her face is familiar, even if he can't place it; but he spends enough time around other members of Research to have seen a certain alchemist in passing.
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thirst thirst thirst
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
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"I take it that it's working as intended?"
She sounds skeptical.
no subject
Naomi had read him every dire warning, in the beginning, those early days just after Eros. How often he needed the meds, what the side effects might be, what would happen if he missed a dose. What it would look like if they stopped working, if he needed to try something else.
But he's been — fine.
no subject
Finally—
"You should probably figure out how it works."
no subject
"Are you this concerned about everyone you meet, or am I just special?"
There's no irritation in his tone, or his face, just puzzlement.
no subject
"Most people I meet don't have a chunk of lyrium glowing in their arm."
1/
no subject
3/3
no subject
"What did you say your name was?"
He didn't.
no subject
"James Holden. Do I get a name back?"
Her face is familiar, even if he can't place it; but he spends enough time around other members of Research to have seen a certain alchemist in passing.
no subject
Satisfied, she swaps to scrubbing her other arm.
"Which division are you with, James?"
no subject
no subject
She pauses then, less reprieve and more consideration.
"You didn't ask, but Forces."
no subject
Mixing two of them up; he can admit it, similar as they look.
"How long have you been here?"
Surely there haven't been twins who he just didn't notice, this whole time.