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.

[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'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.

[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.

[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?”

[tender]

"That's kind," Derrica says first, immediate acknowledgement, before she gives a considering hum as she looks at the box in question. "I'll make whoever is loitering in the Forces office take what can be used down to the chapel in Kirkwall.

She presses a hand briefly to her mouth, then gestures to the walls.

"You could tell me how I might make this room more tolerable."

[delphian]

Tsenka pivots to regard one expanse of wall, giving every impression of someone who'd be most natural in this moment slinging a leg over a chair the wrong way round, or perhaps kicking her boots up on Derrica's new desk. She does neither, but she does frame the empty space with her fingers—

“You could get a bloke about the late Brother's height to stand there, do a great dark mural of ash streaking out from the silhouette,”

is absolutely not a suggestion she thinks Derrica's going to take her up on, to judge by the mischief at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

“No, that's a bit much. Seneschal has some tasteful landscapes.”

[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.

[tender]

It's not unwelcome. Or it doesn't feel unwelcome in the span of moments where his mouth is set to hers and their fingers lace together. They are alone, with only an open door behind him and no one following after.

But there is some small, unmistakable flicker of tension or uncertainty or hesitation (or all three at once) over it that lives in the moment where he reels her close and when he lifts away. Her eyes search his face briefly, even as her expression settles into a smile.

"It's a tower," she teases. "They're all ocean facing."

And depending on her arm, how far a hymnal might be thrown—

"Does it suit me?" is a teasing question too, even if there is some genuine insecurity underlying it. Derrica had never aspired to high office, and it is not entirely comfortable to have ascended to one.

[charmoffensive]

The flicker may be unmistakably one of those three things, or all of them, but there's a second spent (and wasted) on trying to determine which one before Derrica is already teasing him. It's a lane change that Loxley follows, straightening his posture at her question and rocking back a step ostensibly to look at her, and the office around.

"Well, let me see," he says, and gestures for the desk, other hand lifting hers to invite her to go over to it. "So I might get a full picture."

[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]

Ha, ha.

"I think seeing it once was enough for me," Derrica says, in regards to the late attempted murderer. However—

"Does he?" comes with some genuine curiosity. "Have you seen them?"

Despite receiving a Satinalia gift from him, and running into the Seneschal from time to time as inevitably happens in a space such as the Gallows, Derrica hasn't strayed to his office. And oddly, she'd have expected different decor.

[tender]

Her hands tighten in his before she lets go, retreating back to the desk to lean back against it.

"I've never had a desk before," says Derrica, technical owner of a desk in the Forces workroom several feet away. "I've been trying to think of a good use for it."

Other than it's intended use, which presumes Derrica will have office hours and paperwork of her own and—

And that's all things to worry about later. Tonight. Tomorrow. Perhaps she will write a letter to Ilias about it. In the moment, she beckons to Loxley. Enough scrutiny from a distance.

[tender]

"They're going to the chapel," Derrica says, a soft squeeze of her now-freed hand at Ellie's elbow, before she continues, "And I don't know. Something that makes it feel brighter would help."

It's not an especially dark room. There is a window, a warm little brazier, plenty of things to cast light.

What Derrica wants is to dispel some of the weight from it. Knowing the heaviness of the business that happens here. She'd sat in this office with Ilias, talking about how petitioning for her phylactery could bring the whole of the Chantry down onto her head. It had been a difficult conversation then, even though Ilias had tried to make it easy for her.

She'd like to do her part in this, making things easy.

[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."

[notathreat]

A smile lights Ellie's face like a reflex she can't help, at the tiny squeeze. She nods, then glances around the room, thinking to herself. She's never been one for interior design, but art, sure.

"Curtains," she says, particularly, her smile turning thoughtful. She can't help but remember her and Joel's first days back in Jackson, how he'd gone room to room, showing off the "new" house, all the things that would be eventually fixed up. Nothing made a room feel finished like curtains and a rug.

"Maybe a painting or two. Or some shelves, for your potions."

It's a gentle tease, but a warm one.

"Any colors you like?"

[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.

[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]

Curtains.

Derrica thinks first of light, gauzy gold fabric, something to pin over the narrow windows when the weather is fair and the shutters will be open to invite the breeze. Kirkwall's hot, muggy summers are familiar to her now.

Her fingers skim down Ellie's forearm before Derrica breaks from her, taking a few steps to perch up on her desk while she hums over her answer.

"I'd like shelves," she says first, for potions or otherwise. Her smile widens slightly as she says, "I like purple and gold, and sometimes red. Those seem a little too..."

A wobble of her hand in the air between them. Unprofessional? Riftwatch trends towards unprofessional as a rule, but—

"The Commander has a painting of his ship in the harbor in his office. Maybe I should think of something like that."

Nondescript? Oceanic? Related to something she cares for? Any of the above?

[tender]

"You're more important," Derrica tells him.

Official and important don't sit easily yet. Maybe they never will. (Maybe it's better if they never become comfortable, Derrica thinks.) She would far rather be important to Matthias. That reality has settled easily, and the affection between them is easy as drawing breath.

"Come here," she beckons. "Show me what you've brought."

Her desk is empty. Plenty of room for a sack, and the emptying of it.