OPEN.

[broodypants]

WHO: Fenris, Jone, & YOU.
WHAT: Fenris & Jone are back in Kirkwall.
WHEN: When... people... are back in Kirkwall... waves hand.
WHERE: KIRKWALL
NOTES: None yet.

Comments

FENRIS.

[broodypants]

(wildcards always welcome.)

THE GALLOWS (daytime) | ota.

[broodypants]

Nominally a nocturnal creature, Fenris has kept well out of sight since he reappered in Kirkwall. One would be more than forgiven for missing all signs of his presence. Yet, after the fight, the subterfuge, Tantervale and Starkhaven... he sees little point.

A clever mind will note Fenris' armor is Tevene, but years out of fashion. No Venatori wears its like. The white markings on his skin bare little resemblance to anything well known outside of the most arcane magical studies up North. Yet he is still an oddity, sharp and off-putting.

He minds himself, walking through the Gallows. The mess is inspected, food carefully taken, but he does not linger. Instead, Fenris can be most easily found on the parapets overlooking the training yard. Sharp talons spear his food (no utensils-- he uses his gauntlets creatively), but his attention is clearly on the fighters.

If you come close enough, you may hear him murmur, "we are very fortunate."

[kantikoy]

Sometimes, Adrasteia likes to climb the stairs to the highest points in the Gallows and see what there is to be seen. Sometimes, like today, she startles upon someone else with a similar thought. Her steps falter, as she approaches, because she'd rather not come upon Fenris unawares, but then he speaks, which probably means he knows she's there.

Right?

Right.

"That the war and it's dragon haven't arrived here, yet?" She asks, carefully, because she is curious.

[broodypants]

He sees who has come across him, and Fenris raises his hackles defensively. He is not enraged, but neither is he any longer at ease.

"That Kirkwall is difficult to besiege."

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia has not had an opportunity to speak with Asterion about what he might have learned regarding Fenris' sudden coolness in her direction, but it does tug at some desire within her to be liked by others to know she's made Fenris uncomfortable just by virtue of being present.

"That's true." She glances towards the city proper, beyond the Gallows. "I wanted... to say I was sorry. If I had done something to offend you." She doesn't know what it is, but she's certain it's something.

[broodypants]

It only makes Fenris' back straighten more, his shoulders gain more rigidity. His face finally does knit up into a scowl. "Why do you hide yourself?"

[kantikoy]

Confusion settles in Adrasteia's expression. "That I have magic, that I am a Warden, or that I wanted an anchor shard?"

MAGE TOWER MESS | ota.

[broodypants]

The neglected mess of the Mage's tower is Fenris' haunt. Whatever reason you have to trespass there is your own. To Fenris, it is his home. He has little interest in tidying it up, in sharing, leaving, or explaining himself.

Fenris can be found at a spare table, one of the few not stacked into a corner. Cobweb clings awkwardly to the legs. In a rare moment of indulgence, he has taken off his gauntlets-- his hands are clear, and so are the markings that snake over them, white strips of scarring from wrist to fingernail and back again over the other side.

He seems to be playing cards, but with who? Perhaps ghosts.

[muckspout]

Fenris might have heard the loud echoing clamor of Edgard running up and down the stairs. He stops to catch his breath and sees Fenris sitting at a table with cards.

"Are--" breath "Are you--" breath "waiting for someone or--" A long deep inhale. "waiting for someone?"

Edgard pushes back his hair which slicks back with sweat.

[broodypants]

Fenris stares over a fanned hand of cards. A dirty human is hardly a sight in Kirkwall, especially lately.

"Yes," he lies, voice flat.

lol I genuinely made a typo in the last one, he wasn't supposed to say that twice but i'm leaving it

[muckspout]

Edgard looks first behind himself and then past Fenris. No one there.

"Who?" He asks. This is very mysterious and Edgard is interested.

lol np

[broodypants]

Fenris keeps his rigid posture, his narrowed eyes, his judgmental gaze.

"Not you."

[muckspout]

In response, Edgard grins a little, as if accepting a challenge.

"Are you certain? 'm the only person who's shown up, seems like."

He walks a little closer, observing a chair, but not yet sitting down.

[tender]

A heavy crate enters the room before Derrica does, supported by her arms, shifted slightly as she walks to keep it from sliding out of her grip. Consequently, Fenris goes unnoticed until she drifts to the left, clearly intending to set it down against a wall.

Upon catching sight of him, she freezes, box clutched tighter, then hitched up with the aid of one thigh as she takes in the sight of Fenris, his cards, the markings on his hands.

"Hello."

For lack of anything else to say.

[broodypants]

Fenris watches the woman enter, some kind of stevedore who appears to have a rare splash of manners. Who would offer those manners to him.

"Hello," he returns. He's not really sure what happens after this.

[tender]

Neither does Derrica, though after the initial confusion of walking in on someone she hadn't expected to see, she recovers herself enough to ask, "Are you waiting for someone?" over the top of the box.

And then, keeping herself more or less in his eyeline so as not to be rude, takes a few sideways steps so she can turn to deposit her cargo along the wall. It stirs some motes of dust, sends a small spider scuttling for cover, but the task is done.

Though she does think: This room really should be cleaned as well.

CLOSED TO ELLIE, ASTARION, SAM (respectively).

[broodypants]

Eventually, you're invited to cards. Diamondback, specifically, in the empty mess hall of the mage tower. The room isn't particularly inviting-- it looks forgotten, cobwebbed, dusty.

Fenris, an elf in black armor and white twisting tattoos, sits at one of the few unstacked tables, laying out cards. The game reveals two things about him: He isn't particularly good at cards, and he is somehow able to handle the cards without damaging them. A feat, considering the sharp gauntleted talons he refuses to take off.

(a.) If you come early, or particularly late, Fenris will greet you with a deep, clear voice, and wave you over. "I don't think it's wise to bet," he murmurs.

He opens a bottle of wine with his gauntleted fingers; the aroma is dark and fruity, and the drink he pours is hardly a conservative amount.

(b.) After the game, the money is counted up. Fenris carefully pays what he's lost, with only light frustration. "You are not... unskilled."

at some mid-point when the game's in intermission

[illithidnapped]

Late— so much more than fashionably, in fact— is precisely when Astarion deigns to make his entrance, having brought his own offering of wine to pay for the unspeakable burden of his earlier absence. A heavy, almost comically oversized bottle: the label faded, its pasted paper smelling of stale air and salt under close inspection— stolen from the storeroom of a local tavern, if anyone's particularly Sherlockian in their ability to recognize the scent.

His shirt is dark and loose, no frippery for once. No finery in the wake of warfare. Nothing over the top. Just a nice affair between friends.

And future friends? Well, who can say.

“Finished training the fledglings yet?”

The real reason why he’s late, potentially revealed with a single question as he sets the bottle down atop dusty wood with a weighty thunk.

[broodypants]

First and foremost, fenris reaches for the wine.

"I am a poor teacher," he admits while pouring himself a glass. Somehow, his gauntlets never manage to scratch the glass. "But, yes, I am finished."

He looks up to stare Astarion directly in the eye. If they need more training, it's Astarion's problem.

[illithidnapped]

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” While forged talons fluidly set about their deft work— his own less jagged fingertips turn instead towards snatching up a nearby (only faintly dusty) glass, setting it just beside Fenris' own in an unspoken expectation.

“I’m certain you’re perfectly— “

He takes in a feathering breath, pausing for the benefit of an ensuing punchline.

“adequate.”

Haha. Oh no, wait, he actually is laughing at his own joke.

“Anyway, I won’t weep for winning. As far as I’m concerned your work is just their initiation. A little overture before I break their spirits.”

[broodypants]

It's a credit to Fenris' strange friendship with Astarion that he smiles, half his mouth twitching up in amusement. He pours wine for them both.

"It's a friendly game," he says, and finds his words are unconvincing even to him. "What about the girl?"

A

[notathreat]

Cobwebbed and dusty is better than a quarter-century of active rot and fungal decay. Ellie doesn't mind it, and in fact looks mostly at home. Her boots make small marks in the dust, joining the others there, the lines tracked like ghosts to make pathways.

She takes a seat at the table, folds her arms over it, and lets her eyes follow his armored fingers.

"My rep beat me here?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows at him, then tilting her head to one side, considering before she asks;

"Do you take those off, ever?"

[broodypants]

To answer the girl's-- Ellie's?-- question, Fenris splits the deck without ripping it in half or scoring the cards. The gauntlets are staying on.

"Astarion has..." How does he say this gently? He doesn't. "No self control."

[notathreat]

Ellie snorts aloud, her eyes following the way he works the cards, openly admiring despite herself. If this guy has any of sleight-of-hand it's going to be intense. She can't help but be impressed.

"If he ever did he told it to fuck off a long time ago."

[broodypants]

Fenris begins to casually deal the cards, a hand of seven for both.

"No," he says, "he would have sold it. Are you familiar with Diamondback?"