[CLOSED] You think that all your time is used

[archademode]

WHO: Gabranth, Byerly, Derrica, Diana, Barrow, potentially tba
WHAT: local man has bills to pay, time to take on 100 low level quests
WHEN: catch-all, consider it fairly current with a little give
WHERE: Gallows, Lowtown, tbd
NOTES: catch-all for threads involving (1) millenial judge magister in need of jobs + bonus horsegirl chapter + old men fights

Comments

meet-suit, get it? because of the armo— yeah, ok no

[archademode]

[Are you okay she asks, in regards to the fully armored man left still standing and utterly otherwise unruffled— albeit now without any of the paperwork or packages he'd been dutifully keeping tucked against his side. Still, between the two of them, he's no doubt fared better than she in this exchange, and there's an instantaneous air of remorse present when he kneels low to begin the long process of snatching up scattered scrolls.

Hers before his own. He owes her that much.]

It was my own mistake, and for that you have my deepest apologies. [His helmet hardly has much in the way of peripheral vision, but even as his fingertips close around yet another dislodged scroll he can see— quite plainly— a number of his own given papers floating right off into the southern wind.

Ah well.

More coin owed, he supposes.]

Are you unharmed?

wheeze

[tender]

Nothing that I can't tend to, [ Derrica promises. The exact points that made contact with the suit of armor are all making themselves known; bruises, at the worst, and easily fixed, so she doesn't think it's worth mentioning. ] And I don't think Mhavos is going to be too concerned with the state of the scrolls.

[ Maybe. ]

Have you lost anything?

[ As she just now begins to take in full consideration of the crash area. In fairness, he's very big and very armored and it's a lot to take in all at once. ]

please don't laugh at my bad jokes I don't deserve to be rewarded

[archademode]

Nothing that cannot be replaced. [He counters in turn, unwilling to surrender the full depth of his own losses. A few more moments of diligent gathering, and he’s able to set the last of her scrolls (that he can see) firmly into her hands.

From there, well, there’s the matter of his own mess: scattered around them in bits and pieces, a package here, a few paper fliers there, a bit of jewelry or an odd fine quill tumbled from its wrapping.

In his defense, he was carrying a lot.]

Be sure it’s all accounted for. [Her belongings, he means. Or maybe Mhavos’— he can’t be certain, considering his own status as little more than catalyst and catastrophe rolled all into one.]

it's too late i've been laughing for days now

[tender]

[ A beat of scrutiny, but there's nothing at all to be gleaned from the shining metal of his helmet. Derrica had initially thought he'd at least put up the visor, and yet— ]

I think so. I can get more, if one rolled out of sight.

[ Maybe. She isn't wholly certain about that, but it feels like the right reassurance to make in this moment. ]

Can I help you? It looks like you have a lot more than I do.

[ Or maybe it's just the chaotic nature of what he's carrying. Not just one type of thing, but an assortment. Less easily stacked and toted along. ]

if dw doesn't stop hiding my notifs I will fistfight it in the street

[archademode]

No— [Yes, if the pieces strewn about like confetti speak to anything in regards to how little in control he is over his own situation, sweeping up phials and jewelry and paperwork as if they were debris, and tucking them in against a plated arm.]

But I should like to accompany you if you would permit it, to make amends for trouble caused.

fight it on my behalf too please

[tender]

You haven't caused me trouble, [ Derrica asserts, crushed scrolls or not. She has a sneaking suspicion she's caused him a fair bit of trouble. ] But I'd like the company.

[ The impulse to put a hand on his elbow rises, then passes. What use is it when he'd likely not even notice the minor touch? She underscores her own appreciation with a hopeful little smile. ]

Just to the ferry. I'll be alright from there, if you don't need to go back to the Gallows just yet.

[ Which begs the question— ]

Are you shopping, or are you meant to deliver all of those?

I will and I will win (I won't win)

[archademode]

I’ve debts to pay.

[It’s said shamefully, truth be told. He dislikes sounding so irresponsible, as if he’d spent away all of the nothing he’d arrived with on drink or dice— but the reality isn’t that much better, either, he supposes: if he’d not let his temper catch like tinder, he would never have damaged Jone’s armor so badly that it need repair.

Not Jone herself, for that matter.]

And unfortunately the Rift that so carried me to your world did not also see fit to dispense wealth at the time.

[It certainly would’ve made things easier.]

This is no more than the work necessary to make right what I’ve done.

my hERO

[tender]

[ Debts inspires no particular wrinkle in her expression; the light concern and sympathy is undiminished. ]

We aren't paid such a high stipend either, so I see why you'd take on some other work.

[ No real note of complaint in her tone. Yes, Riftwatch doesn't have a significant amount of money to go around, but there are worse things. ]

Are the debts very high? [ is asked very gently, the kind of question that could be dodged if he wanted to. ]

[archademode]

[He's an honest man, Derrica. And honest men are far too senseless to go about preserving their own dignity when given the chance.]

Exceedingly.

[A pause, before:] I ask you do not mistake me for some common rakish curr. This was neither a matter of gambling nor drink, upon this I swear my given word.

[No, it was property damage. That thought you had a moment ago, Gabranth, the one about how it wasn't any better? Still holds true.]

You made mention of someone named Mhavos— is your effort not the same?

[tender]

[ Again, the little lift her hand, hovering and returning rather than pat Gabranth's steel-encased forearm. ]

I'm not making anything up to Mhavos, I just had extra time, [ She explains. ] Usually I spend it in the infirmary but...

[ Is it bad form to complain directly about a Chantry brother inserting himself into the infirmary? Derrica trails off, sighs, and shrugs a shoulder. ]

I wouldn't judge you for it, if it was, [ is clearly a better direction to lead conversation. ] We all make mistakes, you know.

[archademode]

[He pauses visibly for a single beat, having caught this time the sight of her outstretched fingertips in full retreat— and, as offered apology for his own prior missteps, raises his forearm in slight suggestion. Closeness isn’t comfort to him, but the gesture is for her sake: she’s endured enough already

But his voice cuts a little harsher at that implication:] It was not.

[ —and then, with effort, he forcibly changes tack.]

Are you a healer? Is this Mhavos of yours one as well?

[tender]

[ The little pat-pat of her hand on the extended forearm is probably about as comforting as her attempt to alleviate his concerns about judgement on his debts. But still, the pat is bestowed with a soft tap of her palm.

If there's some hesitation over the sharpening in his tone, it's brushed aside quickly. ]

I'm a healer, [ she answers easily. ] Mhavos is an archivist, and works in the library. He'll help you find any book you need, if you like reading.

[ Derrica doesn't, but surely others...

A second soft tap at his forearm, drawing him along the edges of foot traffic to make their way up a flight of stairs. ]

[archademode]

I don't. [Does that come as a shock? Probably not.] And I've enough of that to manage already by orders from Commander Flint.

[He didn't join Forces to do a book report, but he'll not shirk duty, either. The eternal struggle.]

But then I must ask: most healers I've come to know adhere themselves fully to their charge, with regard for little else.

[He shifts under her guidance, keeping his own packages and papers close while turning at an angle to avoid scraping armor across either stone or flesh as they pass upwards along that busier stairway.]

So is it an archivist in the infirmary, or a healer taking interest in the archives themselves?

[tender]

[ There's a beat of quiet—or as much quiet as can be had in the bustle of Kirkwall's streets. Gabranth is treading along familiar territory. Derrica has heard it before, years ago, in the Circle before the Chantry tore it all down and set it to flame.

A healer is a healer only, but Derrica has never quite fit herself into that kind of constricting approach. ]

I don't like books very much, [ is only part of an answer, maybe a little entreaty to shore up common ground before she rebuts his concept of healer. ] I've known healers like you're describing but I'm not...I like helping out where I can. I can do more than just heal in the infirmary.

[ Not to mention she's less inclined to spend her time in the infirmary when it's occupied by a Chantry brother. Sister Sara is alright, but this new one— ]

I offered to help. I try to volunteer where I can, when I know someone needs an extra set of hands. Does that make sense?