open.

[tender]

WHO: Derrica + OTA
WHAT: Office Hours
WHEN: Guardian
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Drop in, door's open.

There is nothing technically wrong with the Project Haven conference room and office. They are orderly, without any tangible sign of the intentions of their former owner.

Still, Derrica has thrown open the single window in the office wide in spite of the cold. There is a small crate just beside the doorway between office and conference room, where Derrica has been pitching anything she finds questionable. (Chantry texts to be relocated to records or the chapel, small items that might be personal affects, or are simply not to her taste.) She's left the doors open behind her, the one leading into the conference room, the one leading into the corridor, and the one leading into the Forces and Diplomacy workspaces as well, as if to promote circulation to the highest degree possible.

What comes after the cleaning is something Derrica is still working out.

She's never had an office. She's yet to even sit down at her allotted desk in the Forces workroom. But here she is, and she make something of the space. It's expected, she's certain.

Her hands are full of Chantry hymnals when the sound of footsteps pulls her attention from them.

"Watch out for the box," is her first, immediate word of caution. It's only partly blocking the doorway, but just enough to be a hazard to the unsuspecting.

Welcome to Project Haven. Don't mind the momentary clutter.

Comments

[delphian]

Tsenka steps around it after a brief pause to register both the warning and the location of the box, looking into the office proper with open inquisitiveness—

“We,” she says, “look very like the beginning to a bad joke.”

Two mages walk into a Chantry office,

stop her if you've heard this one before. Project Haven is not of particular interest to Tsenka, if she's honest, but when she'd recognized the name of the person taking over it, well. That merited investigation, and for all her bold opener — in this, it's easy to see the connection between her and Marcus. The interest in her expression. The willingness to ask, and hear the answer.

[tender]

"I'm sure there's someone upstairs who'll agree with you."

No names invoked, but.

Rather than dwell on potential objections, divine or otherwise, Derrica puts down an armful of papers and files to come round the desk.

"Do you need something?" she prompts, because what else brings people here? Unless it's simply the sound of shifting items in the mostly abandoned office.

[delphian]

“No,” she admits, but she comes into the office proper all the same — not a part of this place she's been in before. She'd missed most of the Gideon mess, still recovering in the infirmary, and it's questionable whether she'd even known it existed before hearing that Derrica had taken the vacant post.

Probably, she would not have been interested in it otherwise.

“I was curious. You need a hand with any of this?”

[charmoffensive]

Loxley has only rarely made it around to the more official corners of the Gallows, really having only spent a little time in the Diplomatic corners, rarely found at the desk that's been assigned to him, and only sometimes remembering to clear out his mail when he returns to homebase for things like a free tankard of ale, some groceries, and a social check in.

But of the offices available, the Haven one is the last you'd imagine he'd know off-hand where it is, and yet, at some stage during Derrica's settling in, he appears at the doorway, gently scootching a box out of the shadow of the doorway with the side of one magical boot.

"The box ought to watch out for me," he says. "I can take it."

He means, like, in a fight.

[tender]

"I have no doubt," is colored over with obvious pleasure at his appearance at her door.

Derrica had taken a very similar attitude to her desk in the Gallows, and the strangeness of spending an extended amount of time on this floor, nevermind inheriting an office of her own with four walls and—

"Would you like to help me with the Chantry hymnals? I was thinking it would be faster to pitch them out the window than walk them all the way down the stairs."

Ha, ha.

She is already crossing the room, reaching to take his hands in welcome.

[charmoffensive]

His hands rise to receive hers, allowing him to reel them both in closer and land a kiss on her lips. A gesture that has not yet become a habit, per se, but a comfortable thing to do when there's still mostly four walls all around them.

"We only need say 'look out below'," he says. "But it might be better if your window's ocean facing."

Disliking the Chantry on principle rather than experience is about as natural as breathing. Never trust a bunch of rulemakers in opulent buildings, as a general rule, no matter what dimension you happen to be in.

[notathreat]

"You bet," Ellie answers, flashing Derrica a grin as she haunts the doorway, leaning her shoulder up against it, and reaches out with both hands to silently request the armful of books.

Gentlemanly of her? Shush.

"You sure are moving up in the world," she teases gently, but behind the smile there's some real pride. Derrica's going to be great for this position. Anyone with eyes can see that.

"Can I help?"

[tender]

The answering smile is a little self-conscious. Moving up in the world, yes, she is doing that. This position is important to her for so many reasons, but she still isn't certain she's the best choice for it.

But she won't leave it for the possibility of another Chantry brother or sister to step into again. So here she is, crossing the room to meet Ellie by the door.

"Yes, but not with the books."

Though Derrica passes them off as she speaks, halving the number in her hands.

"Could you put something on these walls for me?"

[notathreat]

Seeing the hesitation, Ellie's smile widens, and she gives Derrica a gentle, fond nudge as she takes the book, hooking them under one arm and glancing down at the titles, curious. All Chantry texts and things like it. Ugh, these were probably his.

"You bet. You got anything in mind?"

[inkindled]

"Ow--"

Matthias, in a rush, did not watch out for the box, or even really register Derrica's words of caution in time to watch out for the box. His calves make a dull THUD where they strike; the bottles and things in the sack he's carrying clink together more brightly. Buffeted, he backs up into the hallway to regroup.

"It's a hazard," he calls into the office, "if it's not a trap. Not very Project Haven of you."

[tender]

"I'm still very new," Derrica reminds, letting the hymnals topple into a heap on the low table she'd shoved up against one wall before crossing to Matthias.

The offending box is shoved, unceremoniously, to one side. (Derrica has to brace against the doorframe to accomplish it.) Trap neutralized.

"Let me see. Are you hurt?" is her very first concern, with a tacked on, "You didn't break anything, did you?"

Bones, primarily, but glassware as well.

[inkindled]

"Nothing broken."

He grins at her and kicks out his legs one at a time so she can see--nothing broken--then brandishes the sack. Its contents clink together once more, less jarring this time around. Either nothing broken or everything broken a bit more. Only time will tell.

"A box can't stop me. It's a gift," the sack, that is, and he gives it a little shake, "in case you're wondering--a congratulations gift--from me, not from Forces, the Commander'll send whatever he wants to send, which is, well, nothing, likely--but that's not your fault, s'not as if he gives gifts much to anyone--but it's a gift from me 'cause you're officially very important now. You were before as well, also to me, but this one's official like."

(feel free to wait until other thread is done/further if you prefer)

[cozen]

Bastien bends his leg up at the knee, where it might otherwise have collided shin-to-box-edge, and takes a one-legged scotch-hopping jump without slowing or altering his trajectory. The bottle of wine in his hand is placed on the edge of her desk.

"Chapeau," in a tone that makes the congratulatory meaning clear, which is perhaps an overstatement of the prestige and benefits of their respective positions, "welcome, terrible weather, small talk, small talk—"

His hands make a circular motion, the sort that means et cetera, and then hover in front of him as an offer of help with the hymnals or whatever else, as he arrives at his purpose for being here with unusual briskness.

"—Brother Gideon."

crashlands.

[tender]

The meaning is understood, sweetness of the gift and recognition that this is not so much elevation as more and trickier work. But he is not unwelcome, even if he winds his way from congratulations to a thornier topic.

"Brother Gideon?" Derrica prompts, hesitating with arms full of hymnals. She could put them into his arms. Or she could dump them onto the low table she's shoved against the far wall and open the bottle of wine, if it's that sort of talk.

[cozen]

"—might have been sent to us."

As likely as a lone wolf is an angry sect. A Chantry Mother with an agenda. Something not to do with the Chantry at all—Byerly floated the possibility that it was a false flag, meant to cause distrust of the Chantry or elves or both. And there is the matter of the Chantry spy—the spy giving information to the Chantry, if not of the Chantry themselves—who Marcus has been sniffing around for. Connected, maybe.

Anyway. A Fereldan Chantry Brother, if any of that's true. If someone sent him, it likely concerns both of their work.

He wiggles his fingers, to further invite the hymnals.

"Do you know anything?"

[untiltheyarent]

Deftly stepping around the box, the elf maid offers a pleasant smile. She's carrying a tray containing a teapot, cup, and a little plate of biscuits, an office-warming gift from the serving staff.

"Afternoon, Madame," she says brightly, setting the tray onto the desk, "I won't be in your way long. I've come to see if you've any preferences for refreshment throughout the day? I'm glad to bring up your tea or coffee in the morning, and so forth."

She folds her hands in front of her, attentive but at ease. Should Derrica check the doorway behind Fifi, she'll see a gangly, half-grown and fluffy dog sitting obediently but nonetheless peering around the corner with canine impatience.

[tender]

This catches her off-guard. Being tended to, someone fetching things on her behalf, it sparks up some immediate discomfort covered over with a smile of thanks.

"Derrica, please."

No rank has ever been bestowed upon her properly, and Haven does not feel as if it comes with one. Ilias had been Speaker Fabria on his own merit, and Brother Gideon—

Well, that is an outlier.

"And you needn't worry on my account. I don't think that'll be a worry unless I have company."

She has a set of four polished mugs set carefully in the center of her desk. They won't sit there forever, and she has yet to decide if they'll see any use, but their utility is likely clear.

[untiltheyarent]

"Derrica," is repeated, and Fifi gives a small curtsy.
"All the same. Should you change your mind, it's really no trouble at all. My name is Josephine, Fifi if you prefer."

Hands still folded, she glances about the office. "My duties also include cleaning the offices-- dusting, sweeping, wiping the windows-- which I shall try to do opposite your schedule, so you're not tripping over me, but I'm glad to accommodate other tasks as well, within reason. And if there's anything you'd prefer I didn't touch, I will avoid it, no questions asked."

The ease with which she rattles it off suggests Fifi has grown used to giving this introduction, but there's a sincerity to her smile that perhaps sets this interaction apart.

[satinet]

The difference between a true schemer and diplomat and one who aspires to effectiveness if that the former has developed a sort of sixth sense for when things which were once comfortably in hand (or at least comfortably inoffensive) begin to slide out of place. One must sense when the current is changing or else risk being swept away by it.

Or some other more apt metaphor; until joining Riftwatch in Kirkwall, he's never had much to do with bodies of water of any kind. Yet Cassius Black is, despite what anyone might imply otherwise, rather irritatingly good at his job. Hence his present appearance in the office doorway, the fall of his richly patterned mage robes gracefully casual as be bends to fetch one of the dustier Chantry texts from out of the box obscuring the path into the office.

"You haven't unearthed any explosives yet, I hope." The tenor is all good cheer and Cassius' smile all curving as he flips through the manuscript.

[tender]

"None," Derrica reassures. "I believe our Captain of the Watch would have found anything lingering after the attack."

A small vote of confidence in Marcus; Derrica doesn't intend to miss opportunity for praise where due.

And it surely isn't diluted by the brief, admiring flick of her eyes over his robes. Derrica isn't partial to them for herself, but the pattern and the richness of the cloth are certainly worth a moment of examination. (She doesn't doubt he is aware of that.)

"I would offer you something to drink, Seneschal, but I've nothing in my desk yet."

Or anywhere to sit, really. Derrica's displaced all the furniture, shoving it around the room to make sense of the space. All the chairs are pushed against walls at odd angles, or occupying boxes.

[satinet]

"I assure you, I've survived worse than a dry mouth and having to stand on my own two feet."

If he punctuates this with a flash of the anchor in his palm and a waggled of the fingers, it's clearly an off the cuff gesture—more comic than he is serious (or at least meant to be; genuinely, the chunk of fade-touched-whatever lodged into his arm has indeed been the source of all manner of grief).

With a further turn of that self same wrist, Cassius tucks the manuscript thoughtlessly under his arm.

"Similarly, I might offer to congratulate you on your new post, but I gather this office has something of a curse over it."

[armd]

She's surprised by the familiar voice. Abby's got two boxes stacked on top of each other that she's been peering around on her way up the tower steps, balancing them expertly in both arms. She was told to bring them up to the new Project Haven office please, and so here they are, but she didn't realise that Project Haven meant Derrica.

It's a nice surprise, don't worry.

"New gig?"

Also: where do you want these?

[tender]

Surprise.

"Yes," Derrica tells her, reaching up on tiptoe to take the topmost box from Abby. "It's more like a side project."

Or her work in Forces is a side project, depending on how one looked at it. It was in addition to, not supplanting any of the other roles she plays. Derrica tips her head towards the far corner, hefting the weight of the box in her hand.

It had been a help to retrieve it from on high, but. It's still heavy.

"I wasn't sure I'd be the one chosen for it, but I'm glad I was."

It's not being late if you're invited

[overharrowed]

Julius steps neatly around the box. "You've made a lot of headway," he comments, impressed even mid-clutter. "Do you have a moment for a break, or would I dangerously interrupt the flow of organizing?"

The bottle of wine tucked under one arm is hard to miss, but on the other hand, he gives every impression of a man who would accept the second answer. Julius is aware that he's too married to his own work to credibly criticize anyone else's commitment to the same.

(And it's not as if the Sashamiri office is so far away.)

welcome welcome

[tender]

"Of course I have a moment."

How could she turn Julius away?

"If you can excuse the mess," she adds, though there are two chairs, a box with which to balance on. And green mugs that had once been Holden's, that Derrica handles very, very carefully. "Is there something I can do for you?"

A little teasing. How many times has she come to him for a favor? If she's in the position now to return all that kindness, it would be a pleasure in and of itself.