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

CLOSED TO HOLDEN, ELLIS, LOKI (respectively).

[poleaxed]

While many recruits have already arrived, returned back from the greater, more violent territories in the Free Marches, Jone has rarely been seen. Daylight hours mark her as totally absent. Yet, at this godless hour of the morning, when the sun is still entirely banished from the sky, you may find her.

Her hair is a mess, her neck and wrists are bruised, but her eyes are bright. She pokes around the kitchens with a wicker basket, filling it with extra rations left out for those who keep odd hours. She is whistling a jaunty tune that, if one is familiar with Ferelden drinking songs, is quite dirty when words are put to it. She isn't wearing shoes.

Incongruously, she seems rather pleased with the arrangement.

[heorte]

From the doorway, a second jaunty whistle joins her.

Yes, Ellis knows this particular drinking song. (Years ago, he might have sung the bawdy lyrics.) The pinch of concern on his face is held in check for the moment, observing her manner and trying to discern whether or not the injuries are something to press her about, as he whistles along with her.

[poleaxed]

Jone's eyes are bright, flickering green in candle flame. She whirls to face her attacker with half a baguette in hand- ah. Ellis.

She uses the bread's reach to tap him on the forehead once, twice. "Two for flinching."

Did he flinch? Try and argue.

[heorte]

The argument almost materializes, but—

"Spare me a bite?"

Of whichever is easiest to part with out of her basket.

There's another question, surely, but the kind of question that comes a little easier over shared food. Assuming Jone will share any of it.

[poleaxed]

Jone hands him the end she didn't steal. These late-night supplies are left out for everyone. They're stale, dry, cold, but edible. At the moment, Jone isn't picky.

"Can't sleep?"

[heorte]

"No," Ellis answers, easy over an old truth. Wardens don't sleep well. (Ellis hadn't slept well even before becoming a Warden.) He breaks apart the end of bread, trailing around to lean against the table. "You?"

Upon study of her bruises, Ellis has time to consider the likelihood of them being earned in the training yard, or elsewhere, and whether or not it's worth it to ask after the answer.

[poleaxed]

In better lighting, closer to the candleflame, the bruises on her neck take the clear shape of, well, hickies. If he's been anywhere near the training yard, he certainly hasn't seen that. By the same token, he wouldn't have seen much of Jone either. She's been strangely absent since the majority of Riftwatch returned to the Gallows, but it's only been a few days, barely three.

"A bit," Jone concedes, without any evident difficulty. "Never been in a siege before. Nasty stuff."

[heorte]

"Aye," is all there is for a moment.

He is thinking of Jone's hands, digging through rubble. There is still nothing to say for that. He doesn't care to invite any of it further into the room with them now.

"Is that why..."

A trailing question, Ellis' hand gesturing vaguely to his own throat.

[poleaxed]

Jone has not blushed since she was fifteen and is not pleased to learn she still has the ability. She nearly drops her food in the process of pulling her shirt up, hiding the markings on her throat.

Her voice is uncharacteristically high, "no!"

[acreage]

"Am I interrupting something?"

Maybe just another way of asking why are you awake? from someone who has absolutely no high ground in the matter. He pauses just a few steps into the kitchens, a bag in hand.

[poleaxed]

Jone's unusual good mood continues on. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, she lifts a half-loaf of bred into her bag.

"Theft," she says, words curved by a grin, "principle theft."

[acreage]

He laughs, then continues towards the cupboard where he knows the supplies for making coffee are kept.

"Well, don't let me stop you."

It's not that her apparent state goes unnoticed, so much as that her obvious good temper suggests that there isn't a problem here.

[poleaxed]

Jone takes some coffee herself, squirreling it away in tied-off teabags. "Holden, luv," she murmurs, "kindly keep your mouth shut about seeing me, won't you?"

If she were a beauty, she'd try to flirt to better secure his agreement. Then again, she gets the feeling she's on the wrong team for that tactic to work.

[acreage]

He raises an eyebrow as he goes about warming water, preparing pot and grinder and the amount of beans he'll use right now, but doesn't stop her. He has...more coffee...she can use the caffeine boost as much as anyone, it's fine.

Instead,

"I'll try to keep myself from announcing it to everyone on the crystals."

He's funny.

"I doubt anyone will care about you grabbing a midnight snack."

[poleaxed]

Jone narrows her eyes. Did he really not notice...? No, he's playing with her.

"Fine, fine," she swats at him, light enough to barely touch. "Play ignorant. Probably politer..."

[acreage]

"What you and Gabranth get up to," he says, more amused this time, without pause in grinding the beans, "is none of my business."

There it is.

"Or anyone else's."

[poleaxed]

"Yeah. See?" She snaps her fingers. "Politer."

Some salted beef goes into her bag. Breakfast, excellent. "You're a dear lad, Jim. Take a rest, won't you? Only war ahead."

Rest like she's resting. Or actually sleep. Though given he's up at this hour drinking coffee, whatever relaxation he finds is good enough.

[icasm]

What Loki is even doing up and in this part of the Gallows at this hour is hard to say. Something something unsettling dreams, something something trying to get some reading done when there's no one around to bother him or take books out of the stacks he's borrowed from the library. He's been sitting here, in a corner, and the woman currently filling up a basket with food doesn't seem to have noticed him, so he's able to take his time looking at her; taking in the bruises, the song (he doesn't know it), and her bare feet.

"Someone is having a good time," he intones like a creepy gargoyle in the wings. Sorry for startling you, perhaps, Jone.

[poleaxed]

"It's the season for it," Jone says in an off-hand lie. When all else fails, she's learned the value of saying something plausible enough to get away with. Her height and build generally tend to sell the rest of it.

So, she isn't startled. That doesn't keep her from throwing a quarter loaf of bread at him.

[icasm]

"Is it?" If Loki sounds skeptical that's because he is but it quickly gives way to amusement when the woman throws a hunk of bread at him. He catches it, and throws it back, aiming for her shoulder. "You know, at reasonable hours, they actually serve hot food here." Just pointing that out.

[poleaxed]

Jone catches the bread, and lets out a delighted laugh. She's in a terribly good mood, is the thing. "Sometimes folk're busy during working hours, mate. Whole military operation, this is."

[icasm]

"Is that what you're calling it?" He gestures towards her but he clearly means the bruises and the bare footedness and the good mood. "A whole military operation?"

[poleaxed]

"Riftwatch?" Jone says, gesturing limply at the entire Gallows around them. "Some do, I'm sure."

[icasm]

Loki rolls his eyes in amusement. "Well, I meant whomever was on the giving end of that lovely ring of bruises you're sporting, but Riftwatch, sure."

[poleaxed]

Jone cackles. She reaches for a carrot, and taps the stranger's head with it. "No, mate, that were clandestine."

Still, she pulls her collar up a bit. It doesn't do much-- she only has loose collared shirts-- but she's some shame. "You've a name, you odd little bugger?"