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

[nonvenomous]

“Yes,” says Silas, “but primarily because you’re earnest and gallant and people will do as you say.”

He does not need Holden for babysitting nugs. He needs Holden for babysitting people.

When Jim glances back up from the nug crate, it will be to find that Silas has hardly moved, save to hood his brow reassuringly (“reassuringly”) before he continues:

“I’ll understand of course if you prefer to see how I fare on my own.”

[acreage]

He's quiet a long moment, lets that sink in. Presently:

"Because you already know I won't make you do that."

Easy enough to make an offer and build in an out when you already know the answer, huh. If he sounds annoyed, it's no less at himself than Silas.

[nonvenomous]

Jim’s quiet amplifies the call of seabirds wheeling around outside, the quiet, contented snuffling of the miniature nug snuggled in Silas’ arms. Silas, an expert in silences himself, sustains the break with only the knead of his fingers into weird nuggy folds.

“You would be well within your rights to,” he says, and kicks up a brow.

“It’s certainly not my fault you’re so easily swayed by flattery.”

[acreage]

"I don't think it counts as flattery if you didn't mean it as a compliment," he observes dryly.

Besides, it's hard to argue with the notion that he has better people skills than Dick over here. And he's not likely to say no to work, let alone refuse to help a friend.

"We're not killing them if we can help it." Acquiescence, of course. Also: this isn't a request. "We'll see what to do with them when we get them back here. I'm sure people will have ideas."

He's sure some of the ideas will be Fade-touched nug leather, but probably not all of them.

[nonvenomous]

“If we can help it,” Silas agrees, a little too easily, and with the worst kind of a slant to his brow as he says so. “Though for purely logistical reasons I recommend you prepare yourself for disappointment in that regard.

“The average nug is substantially larger than these examples, and Fade-touched creatures are often imbued with unpleasant abilities. Venom, electrical discharges.”

He is still kneading behind the ears of the nug in his arms, idle affection issued over this casual discussion of murdering her larger mutant cousins.

“I’ll do my best to recruit individuals with a passion for unusual wildlife.”

Why does that sound like a threat?

[acreage]

He lets Silas work his way through that entire explanation, expression mild, before answering with,

"You know I live here too, right?"

Here, in this case, being Thedas. And perhaps in answer to that bit of ominousness —

"I doubt they'll be hard to find. I'll talk to some people."

[nonvenomous]

The steady work of Silas’ fingers at the nug’s nape stills; there’s a snakey narrow to the slit of his eyes -- a glimpse of (now familiar) nastiness.

“Deadly optimism does make more sense than sheer ignorance,” he says. Less mild. His mistake.

“Will you carry these two to my quarters or should I hire a courier?”

[acreage]

"Keep trying," he says, dry, as he leans down to heft up the crate with the two remaining miniature nugs in it. They're settled, in the bits of straw, comfortable, and liable to fall asleep by the time they've made it to the Gallows. No point taking them out and disturbing them. "One day you'll figure out how to insult me."

[nonvenomous]

“There is some catharsis in the act alone.”

Even if his saying so is shot through with salt. Silas chokes up the fleshy football in his arms and swans away for the door, the glitter in his eye just mean enough for Jim to rest assured that he will keep trying, thank you.