faderift | There's a story in my veins, with scars on every page

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There's a story in my veins, with scars on every page

WHO: Ellie & OPEN
WHAT: Rifting in less-than-gracefully, a rogue explosion or two, & initial trouble accomplished
WHEN: Arrival and during the first week after.
WHERE: The Hinterlands, The Gallows
NOTES: So much swearing holy shit.

[Arrival.]

The worst part about lucid dreaming is when shit gets a little too real. Especially when it's not the usual kind of horrible. So when Ellie goes from another nightmare about things hunting her in an endless horrible sewer to being sucked into the water, hurtling down through the rain-soaked Seattle depths, she tries to tell herself that she can breathe underwater. She opens her mouth and tries, and the foul water fills her throat-

And she launches out, along with a gush of Seattle sewer water, hits a hillside and goes tumbling.

... and it's steep enough that she keeps going.

Ellie coughs, chokes, tries to scream, and unleashes a garbled stream of hacking, choking profanity.

Maybe you're the unlucky person on the trail she happens to literally bowl into (and possibly take out).

Or maybe you're the one who finds her screaming back into the face of a despair demon, soaked in foul-smelling sewer water, having just hurled a piece of rock shaped suspiciously like a revolver into its face.

She absolutely just called the demon a motherfucker.

[Gallows; Quarantine Times]

A bath, a few square meals and a bit of explanation later, Ellie seems far less... feral. She's dressed in local clothing, a tunic, pants and boots, and has stopped acting like a cat, roaming the stairways in the towers and popping up unexpectedly in places people didn't see her enter.

She shows up near the top of one of the towers, tucked into a window, looking down at the courtyard below.

"... so I heard there were actual griffons roosting up here. Is it true?"

[ooc; HMU if you want a custom starter!]

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Ellie nods, equally as serious, and doesn't seek out eye contact, doesn't ask questions. Some things are better left buried, and she's dug plenty of holes, placed countless cairn stones of her own.

"Some," Ellie agrees, pressing her lips together to nod to herself. There are lots of variables, so many things that can be moving under the surface.

"Sometimes the trying's almost as important as getting it right."

Ellie will trust people who care about trying to do the right thing over people going through the motions, every time. Even if they fuck it up sometimes. Especially if they fuck it up sometimes.

"Sometimes."

There's no reason to contradict her, even if Ellis is very well aware of what happens when all good intention leads to is the wrong thing. Wardens illustrated that very well recently.

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do?" he asks instead. "What kind of work you're interested in doing here, if any?"

"Sometimes," she agrees, a soft and knowing refrain.

Sometimes it doesn't.

Even if they haven't delved into it, even if they haven't hashed out their history, she feels that Ellis really does understand what she means, and that more than anything is comforting. The world isn't kind enough to make things simple.

"... haven't decided yet," she says, deciding to be honest instead of diplomatic. "I work better on my own than throwing in with a group."

Pain settles in the edges of her mouth, the shine of her eyes. She's seen this kind of thing turn into power struggles, turf wars, oppressive and crushing.

"I want to help," she says, clearly. "I can fight. I can get into places and get out alive. But I wanna do it on my own terms."

Maybe this is the moment to ask exactly what sort of experience led her to that conclusion.

But that's never been Ellis' approach. Instead, he lets that sit, turns over Ellie's self-assessment over in his head as they come up on the first storage room. Noose circles around behind Ellie's legs as Ellis pauses with a hand on the knob.

"It's not so easy to head out on your own," Ellis tells her, gaze steady on her face. He's maybe uniquely positioned to advise her on this. He'd been moving through Thedas on his own for such a long time before landing here.

Where did this girl come from? What kind of fight is she talking about?

"Find someone here worth trusting, and bring them with you to watch your back," is what he advises. "If it comes to that."

Ellie reaches for Noose, buries her fingers in the thick, soft fur of his neck ruff as she looks up at Ellis, searching his face for the reason for the pause.

She finds it in the seriousness of his face, in the weight of his words. Like he knows what he's talking about.

It's good, sound advice, and it obviously comes from a place of caring. And it surprises Ellie how hard the feeling suddenly kicks in her chest, an acid, acrid taste that rises up in her throat, threatening to choke her. How quickly her face goes hot and her eyes burn.

She'd been doing well this week. Taking it in stride. Moving forward and figuring this place out.

But Ellis makes her feel seen, and it's more than a little terrifying. Hurts. And she isn't prepared for being blindsided with that feeling.

She quickly looks down at Noose, pushes her energy into giving his neck a thorough scratching, but not before some of it shows in her eyes.

"Okay." Short, clipped, and neutral.

Despite the unfamiliarity, of this girl being a near stranger, Ellis recognizes when he's glanced off something painful. The reaction in her is familiar. Tactfully, he drops his gaze, turns back to the handle as he jimmies it loose and pulls it open.

"Noose is a poor candidate," Ellis tells her. "Though I won't blame you for being tempted to select him."

Maybe he could offer some more concrete suggestions, but it feels like a step too far. Ellie will ask if she cares to know. And what's more, Riftwatch's agents tend to make themselves known very quickly.

"Here, see...almost entirely boxes. Check the portraits, and if there's anything—"

A pause. Ellis turns back to look at her meaningfully, eyebrows raising.

"Turn it to the wall. Or maybe we should move them to back, see about covering them with a tapestry."

Edited 2021-04-28 02:51 (UTC)

Definitely tactful. The kind of tactful Ellie associates with back home, where people know not to ask too many questions about what someone's done in the name of survival. Everyone's got stories and most of them aren't that pretty.

She manages a huff of a laugh under her breath, and gives him another warm scratch, mustering up a smile for him.

"Nah, he'd probably lick the demons to death," he answers, and follows Ellis into the storage area, eyebrows lifting. Portraits, huh?

"I can help move 'em. Seems like it's gonna be one lumpy tapestry." She automatically ignores the crates, heading over to one of the portraits she can see the corner of, pushing back a box so she can see the rest of the subject.

Sue her, she's curious.

Enjoy a questionable portrait bearing a passing resemblance to Byerly Rutyer, Ellie.

"I think lumps won't get a second glance," Ellis tells her. In the grand scheme of things, stationary lumps in a corner are far and away the least objectionable thing Riftwatch has in the mix.

After a few moments of quiet, in which Noose finds a corner to curl up in while still observe their efforts and Ellis shifts a haphazard cluster of boxes up against the wall, he clears his throat to mention, "I haven't yet seen you in the training yard."

Clearly she's capable of something. Ellis' guess wavers between bow and daggers, the type of fighter that would benefit from someone out in front of her to draw attention.

"I'll take your word for it."

Ellie widens her eyes, presses her lips together, and peers closer at the portrait before giving whistle under her breath.

"Some artistic liberties taken with that," she mutters under her breath, but rather clearly, and hoists up the painting to help carry it back. She's got remarkable upper body strength for her size and narrow shoulders. Once that's sorted, she'll keep on looking for more, and switch it up to help Ellis with anything he might indicate. It's a familiar sort of work, this clearing-out, and the dust doesn't seem to bother her much.

"My kinda fighting doesn't really fit the training yard," she admits, hoisting another frame. She pauses, the decides to trust him. Something-something about a lack of trust being a self-fulfilling prophecy, according to some people she's trying hard not to miss.

"Where I'm from, if you put something down, you really don't want it getting back up again, and you don't want to give it a chance to hit back."

It's probably the nicest way she can think to say it.

"Aye," Ellis says after a moment, straightening, half-turning to look at her.

There is a particular strangeness to conversing with Rifters, and coming up against all the ways their worlds do not quite meet. There are points where Ellis is very aware of what Rifters have no concept of. Often, it has felt easier, kinder, not to enlighten them. (Selfish too, maybe. Vance had never said it outright, though Ellis had sensed the shape of the accusation in some of their conversation.) But the way Ellie phrases that particular approach—

"Aye, I was taught to fight that way too," is recognition and return both. Ellie didn't say this with any kind of ease. It's a small reminder too, that Ellis has been very comfortable with the brutality of his trade for a long time now. "There's cause for it here, but if you care to learn something different, there's room for it too."

Oh yeah, he's picking up what she's putting down. It's a mixture of relief and a kind of ache, for Ellis. It's something that sucks to know how to do. Sucks that it's life out here for some people, even without the infected as a threat to deal with.

She casts him a look, a small nod of acknowledgement. Yeah, she gets it.

"Maybe I should," she says thoughtfully. "I never really had, like... formal training. But there's a bunch of shit out there that I've never seen before, and I figure my switchblade's not gonna cut it."

Har.

Ha.

The pun is not unacknowledged; a momentary look, eyebrows raising and a half smile before he nods in return.

"We might get you something sturdier, aye," Ellis says, speculative. "You'll have your pick of options, and we'll see what sticks."

Punctuated with a thunk of a settled box, nudged a few inches further into the corner by the toe of Ellis' boot.

Okay, Ellis can hang. Ellie sneaks a look at him to see if he got it, and his reaction teases out what looks like a fleeting smile of her own before she picks up another box, peeking inside of it because holy shit does it weigh a ton. Leather rolls?

"Is that you offering to train me?" she asks, tilting her head to one side.

Her body language is starting to open up. Just a bit.

"I can show you a few things," he answers, honest, as he slaps dust from his tunic. In the corner, Noose audibly yawns and rolls over, limbs stretched out comfortably. "Enough so that you can decide what suits you, at least."

There are limitations to what Ellis can do with weapons outside of a mace. He can swing a sword, draw a bow, and Marcoulf left him with a passable understanding of daggers and their use, but Ellis is a man who spent near fifteen years fighting with one weapon. His skill there developed at the exclusion of most else.

And at a glance, Ellie doesn't strike him as the type to gravitate towards a mace.

"And when we exhaust what I know, I'll know who to introduce you to if you haven't met them already."

"I've got some experience with knives," she answers, glancing over at Noose with a half-smile, mumbling oh, big stretch under her breath, before turning back.

"And I'm a good shot with a bow."

They don't use guns here as far as she can tell, which is a damn shame. But this could be an opportunity to learn something else.

"Blunt objects, chunks of rock. Whatever I can grab, really. Maybe we can show each other."

"Resourceful," Ellis surmises. "That's good."

As he considers, mentally, that she might be a good person to introduce Wysteria too. Ellis' continuing quest to improve Wysteria's archery skills is unflagging. Simultaneously, he considers what she's telling him, what these skills mean and what use they'll be going forward. That she's someone used to making do, and the benefits in that kind of quick-thinking.

"Aye, we can do that," he continues, nodding as he turns back to sweep a scattering of rolled maps back into a box.

Ellis is slower than her, and he knows from Marcoulf that the weakening in his left hand is a difficulty. But there's a benefit in learning, and Ellis won't turn down her offer.

"If you're not, you're fucked," Ellie says with a shrug, stacking a few more paintings, careful not to damage them any more than she can help. She favors her left hand a little bit -- if Ellis looks he'll see that she's missing those two smallest fingers, and the wounds are closed but the scars are new. She still hasn't quite learned how to compensate for the lack of control.

"I haven't seen anything in the way of bombs and stuff out here," she admits. "Or I'd offer that, too... anybody here know anything about that?"

Yes, Ellis had noted the damage. Had it been a consequence of her arrival through the rift, or something before that?

Of course, he doesn't ask. Instead—

"I can introduce you to two people who would be very interested to hear about such things," Ellis tells her, though even a moment's consideration is enough for him to conclude that adding bombs and stuff to Wysteria and Tony's projects will do nothing good for his stress levels overall.

Ellis has a rudimentary understanding of bombs; he can set them in place, trigger them and run. Beyond that, it's all fuzzy concept that doesn't quite resolve into practice.

"We have bombs," he clarifies, casting about for the lid of the box as he speaks. "But maybe not like you are thinking of. They'll like to hear either way."

"So who are these people I should meet?" Ellie asks, fishing up the lid and handing it over to him. She brushes some dust off the front of her pants, for all the good that'll do. They're both covered in cobwebs, but that's nothing new for Ellie at least.

She lifts an arm, sneezes into her elbow.

"And I mean I'm no expert or anything, but I'm good at coming up with something out of scraps."

"Scraps is about what we have," is more of an absent, automatic assessment. Ellis has had cause to think on Riftwatch's limitations over the winter, and hasn't quite shaken off his concerns.

But her question—

"Tony Stark," Ellis tells her, then corrects with a slight smile. "Provost Stark, head of the Research Division. And Wysteria Poppell. She and the Provost have been working together."

Working together leaves out the exact level of squabbling chaos that comes along with their ventures, but either Ellis deems it unremarkable or has just grown too used to it for it to register as something needing a little forewarning.

Edited (timELINES) 2021-05-07 20:22 (UTC)

Ellie takes in the smile -- someone Ellis likes, then? Shit, she's already weighing his opinion in with her perceptions of people. She hefts a box, hands it to him so he can put it on the top of a stack she isn't tall enough to reach.

The room's already looking much neater.

"Okay, first, what's a Provost?"

"It's what we call the smartest man in the Gallows."

Ha ha.

But also Ellis find himself without a clear definition, so he hedges around it instead as he hefts the box in his hands, turns from her to cross towards the stack and lift it as he says, "He's head of our Research division. They spend their time trying to make sense of old magic, or rifts, or artifacts that we find intact, or build things that might help us."

Or so Ellis believes. Having been the one hauling back artifacts or poking at things so the reaction can be observed, what comes after tends to be outside his purview.

"He's a good man," is more grounded, Ellis turning back to her and saying almost in the same breath, "Can you help me shift that wooden trunk?"

Ellie automatically takes up the other end of the trunk; feels good to lift and move things, even if her muscles are protesting. She really needs to get back into shape; months of soft living have made her feel slower, more sluggish. Less strong.

"Is everybody here good?" she asks, her tone rhetorical and the words anything but.

There is an easy answer. Yes, they are good. It would almost be true.

"They try to be," Ellis tells her, the trunk's feet scraping slightly as they set it down and back. "Some more than others."

Not a ringing endorsement, maybe. But there are people Ellis doesn't trust, and he doesn't see a reason to pretend otherwise. Few people here are malicious, but some are careless, or inept in a way that endangers others, and Ellis can't take that out of the equation.

But the reason he's given her this answer is, simply because:

"I think you're able to make the distinction."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Ellie answers, putting the heel of her boot -- actual boots, the better to fit in -- to the edge of the trunk to push it flush against the wall.

"People are a lot friendlier here than I'm used to. For strangers. Still trying to decide if that's just Riftwatch, or what. I haven't been into Kirkwall much yet."

There's a story in my veins, with scars on every page

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