[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

[thereneverwas]

It changes the way you think about things. You figure out real quick whether what you're doing, the reason you're here, is worth it or not.

[He collects the cards again, and begins to reshuffle them, perhaps without dealing this time-- instead, he just looks at Gabranth while he speaks, still smiling and completely aware of the armored figure's restlessness.]

Spent some days on a rack, I did. Not too long ago, recently enough I remember what it felt like, long enough ago that I don't hurt from it daily anymore. But it fucked my joints, mate. Fucked 'em for life.

[He keeps shuffling directionlessly.]

Every battle I fight these days, I've got to make sure it's worth it. That I'm not just pushing myself for the glory of it, and then I can't use my hands anymore. I did underground boxing for a while, before all that, for the fun of it. Now I don't. That's over.

[The shuffling stops, and he cants his head, looking in the direction of Gabranth's eyes, even if he can't see them.]

You picking up what I'm putting down?

[archademode]

[He is, in fact. Despite everything— his willful stubbornness, his need to bark and snap teeth in order to let frustration wane when it builds to a breaking point— he does, in fact, understand.

And for a long moment of silence while Barrow shuffles cards around rough fingers, it seems as though Gabranth cares nothing for a story about habits dimming for old pain.

But when he speaks again, it lacks any semblance of bite:]

For what were you imprisoned?

[thereneverwas]

Few of us caught with our pants down, seeking out a relic near Churneau.

[Barrow sighs and rubs his temple, offering a wan smile. This is not something he talks about often, but it seemed appropriate for the moment.]

It was an easy enough mission, but we had no idea the Venatori would be so proactive. Riftwatch had to send a second set of agents just to get us back out.

[He flips idly through the cards, just for something to do.]

[archademode]

A shame I arrived too late, then.

[A strange sentiment. A stranger delivery still, and without a face to act as any sort of comfort, the best estimation of it is something straddling the line between truer sympathy...

...and the thought that clearly you just weren’t well enough armed to manage without him.]

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow looks up at him in confusion that slowly dawns into incredulity. What... what a take.]

A shame, [he agrees, a bit testily.]

[archademode]

[Do you regret asking him to sit with you now, Barrow? There's better company to be found elsewhere. Anywhere, surely.]

Your joints, then. No healer could see to them?

[thereneverwas]

Some things even magic can't heal, in their entirety. Perhaps if it'd been seen to early enough, but.

[Puff.]

..it wasn't.

[archademode]

[He could say he’s sorry for Barrow’s loss. He cannot imagine it, what his own life might’ve been if he’d survived Vayne’s assault at the very end.

Surely he would’ve been unable to serve. To wear his armor or lift a sword in hand in defense of the only cause that had ever mattered to him. Painful, and painfully quiet, and the discomfort of that alone might’ve eaten away all sense of hope or contentment. But he and Barrow seem ever at odds when near one another. Something about the ease of it all, the way Barrow takes to things and adapts with fluidity...

It reminds him too much of his brother.

So instead of words he can’t bring himself to say, he finally picks up his own dealt hand.

...and plays a card.]

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow smiles. He looks down at the card, then up at Gabranth, and winks, almost too quickly for it to be noticeable, before playing his own.]