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WHO: Anders and You*! (*unless you are someone who will turn him in. ONE DAY THERE WILL BE CR. /reaches sadly)
WHAT: Detlef going about his days, helping out, being argumentative, everything
WHEN: Mid-Wintermarch
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Probably nothing? I'll edit if that changes

Healing tents

Anders is found in these most often during the day. Everything's easier when he works, really, when he and Justice can both be on the same page. They're doing good. They're furthering the cause of mage freedom. And more importantly, no one is being hurt. Are you a patient? He's probably checking you over before getting to work. Co-worker? Hand him the elfroot salve, please? Or just drop by and find him where he's most willing to be chatty as he works.

Garden

There's nothing like seeing a mage seemingly talking to a tree. Considering previous events, it's probably a little worrying. But upon closer approach one can see that there's a terrified cat clinging to a very small branch that's just barely supporting its weight, and they can hear the mage trying to talk the cat down as if the cat can understand anything that's being said.

"You can do it. Just step... Come on. A little lower. Please?"

Just outside Skyhold

There's a garden inside the walls. It has plenty of things growing in it, including basically everything Anders is looking for. It's hard for him to stay inside the walls for too long, though. He needs to be outside, to wander some, to remind himself that the walls aren't keeping him in. While it isn't the healthiest method of coping, there are certainly worse ways to go about it.

Anyone running into him out here gets a look that's a mix of surprised and bashful - the latter due to him not really having any way to explain why he's out here with a handful of easy-to-get herbs in hand.

Library

He's seated in the Library, head buried in a book the way it never was when he was at the Circle, with a pair of large tomes next to him. They're probably not that surprising for a spirit healer, treatises on spirits and their nature, but he doesn't look pleased. And he isn't. He's not finding anything that will help with his situation, and Anders is aware that he might not have a lot of time left for the looking.

Approaches from strangers get a glance up and a nod, before he'll ask if they need to get to something past him. Known people get asked a little absently how their day is going before he turns another page.

[Or] Alternately, he's curled up off to the side, on the ground, paging through a book on obscure magic that talks about various rumored spells that the author doubts really exist. His attention is primarily on the shapeshifting portion, and he looks a little wistful. Anyone approaching who glances at the book get a half-smile and asked if it wouldn't be fun, being able to transform into animals.

Wildcard

[Hit him up wherever? He grabs food in the kitchens on the go, sometimes is at the tavern in a corner near the back, sits on the walls and looks out sometimes, surreptitiously feeds the stray cats around skyhold (and scolds any dogs that try to take the food,) and may, every now and then, see if he can zap armor in just the right way so straw and fabric and all sorts of things stick to it.]

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"So Chevalier fell from trees the way apples do most of the time. That must have been quite the sight." He didn't have anything against the Chevaliers in general. Anders just liked to imagine big, armored warriors all falling and then laying there, flailing, because they couldn't get up. It's a harmless enough fantasy, in his mind, after his treatment at the hands of many big, armored warriors.

He watched the man approach the cat, listened to the way he talked to her, and... Well. It was good, the kindness shown. It didn't make him any less of an idiot in Anders or Justice's books, but at least the man cared about cats. That meant a tiny bit. Anders just wished he had any clue what the man was saying. Common and Anders, those were what he knew, and his Anders was extremely rusty.

"So why that language in particular? Are you used to talking to cats in it?" His gaze was mostly on the cat and the way she was responding, getting over her fear. There was no shame in being afraid, mabari were large, and in a way Anders identified with her a little. Striking out and fleeing. It made sense, especially when your enemies outnumbered and outarmored you. Greatly.

"Made us tastier if you want to go that route," not that Michel had personal experience with falling out of a tree, but it's been known to happen. Or in his experience he's found that some have difficulty getting in the tree at all, "interested? I'm certain I could procure for you some armor."

As he jokes.

Michel was more concerned about the way Anders had initially looked to him if he hadn't taken the moment to observe a little bit closer. Some might not have been as scrutinizing and it was very easy for anyone to see only what they wanted to see and take actions based on that.

"You want the honest answer? If I am to sweet talk a cat I'd rather do it in a language those around me do not understand, if possible," it was the truth, but the reason behind it had more to do with being self-conscious. Not that language would have changed the way the cat responded to him, if it helped her to edge closer to him it was all the same, but even when she was within arms reach Michel didn't reach out and grab her. He let her sniff him and the plant until her little heart was content, "does the language matter?"

...Tastier? Anders shoots Michel a very bewildered look. It has to be a joke, but it's an odd one. No, he has no desire at all to go down that route. Or the route to wearing armor. His ability to move is what's kept him alive. He has no desire to be weighed down by metal.

"That's more like talking to yourself, if no one around can understand. I hear that's a sign of madness." His voice is neutral, not turning the comment into a barb. Most of his focus is really on the cat. It's been so long since he's held one, or been purred at, or headbumped... or scratched or been subjected to the abominable stench that are cat farts, or any of those things too, but it's an indulgence he can't really afford. A cat will only be a liability, and when Anders' time comes to a close, who is going to want to take in his cat? No one. They'll be used to regular feeding and attention and suddenly that will be gone. It's too cruel to do to an animal.

"Then again, I'd think Chevaliers being tasty could also be a sign of madness. When was the last time a healer examined you, exactly?"

"Why can it not be a sign that you've grown comfortable with loneliness? But what does it matter as long as the cat understands?" and to the cat who was now rubbing up against the mint in his hand, "...est petit -ce pas?"

It wasn't that Michel couldn't sympathize with that sentiment, he sympathized in a different way, Michel had no roots and he was a wanderer. Most of his time was spent in a land that was frozen solid so having anything beyond his horse, which the nearest town was generous enough to provide a roof for, was impossible. One could grow to tolerate isolation, not enjoy it, but tolerate it.

"It was meant as a joke...but then again I've had the distinct displeasure of nearly being eaten alive," and the closer the cat moved towards him the more Michel inched his way into a sitting position, all the while still scratching her and muttering praises in Orlesian, "the last time a healer examined me was well over a year ago, but I can assure you I'm quite sound. Miraculously so."

Comfortable with loneliness. That comes from someone who has never been confined alone for a year. There is no comfort to be found for Anders in that, anymore, but he holds his tongue. It's something he's growing increasingly used to and more frustrated by, being quiet, but at the same time it's a decent break from arguing all the time. People are wrong. A lot of people are wrong. But he can't wake everyone up and trying to do so only frustrates him and Justice both.

"I've nearly been eaten as well. But not, thankfully, by a person. I would be very glad to never again come across a dragon." Or the creepy children of the Mother, or the truly massive spiders that lurk in the Deep Roads, or, really, a great many things. There was a price to be paid for freedom, but Maker, was it a headache sometimes.

"I've also found that the ones who claim to be the most sound often aren't. But to each their own." Honestly, his attention is far more on the cat who seems to be warming up to the Chevalier. Anders sorely wants to hold her, and he leans against the tree, looking upward.

"Do you need to hand her down so you can descend?" He hopes the answer is yes.

Which is just as well, because arguing over who possessed the keystone over something as subjective as a feeling could not have been more trivial nor a greater waste of time. Loneliness took many forms, there was a kind of loneliness that came from hiding what you were, there was the kind of loneliness that came from living in a cold and craggy environment. There was the kind of loneliness one presented while in a room with so many, he'd seen it in the Empress. A feeling wasn't exclusive.

"One could only hope to be so fortunate," and so far Michel had yet to cross paths with the Dragons in Emprise du Lion, well aware of at least three and one of them in particular was quite powerful. They kept to their particular region, but Michel was convinced that was only temporary. They seemed to be circling out further and further.

"You must surround yourself with interesting people, Monsieur," Michel kept the remark offhanded, he honestly did not understand who came up with the rules that determined such things, but if the mage felt his was the authority in constructing them he saw no point in arguing it.

Instead he carefully scooped up the cat once she was close enough and upon noting that hopeful look on the other man's face he was equal parts careful in handing her down to him along with the mint for which she seemed so fond of, "do you intend to give madame a name?"

The Chevalier was being clearly, deliberately neutral in his replies, something that amused Anders a little and put Justice in a mood where if he had teeth to grind, he would grind them. There was no edge to get in and pry at. Anders liked to think that meant he'd come out on top in their last conversation; Justice believed it meant they were missing opportunities. Right now, Justice's opinion didn't exactly matter.

Especially when the cat was handed over.

Anders took her and the mint gently, before rubbing underneath her chin. She was frightened, clearly, but she wasn't trying to get away. Not yet, at least. The question got an eyebrow raise and then a shake of his head.

"No. She's not mine, and I'll do her no services taking her in. I don't have the time for a cat." More like he didn't have the time remaining. Cats were easy creatures. "I simply wanted her to get down safely, and to have a little more reason to trust people. ...And, perhaps, I wanted an opportunity to pet her as well. It's been some time since I've held one, and I've always liked cats. Are you a cat person?"

Michel would let the mage think he came out on top if it made him happy, words were tiny when compared to action so it was really not a battle he wanted to involve himself in. If they were civil to one another for the moment, then that was enough for him.

Regardless, he seemed happy enough to be holding the cat and the cat seemed content in being held by him for the moment.

"Really? It's unfortunate that they run around without names, even if you cannot keep them," though this was coming from the man who had given every mount in the stable a name, even if it was in his own mind, "nothing wrong with the simple joys in life," he'd been dabbling in such simple joys himself more frequently than he should like to admit to. The question as to whether or not Michel was a cat person earned Anders a look of contemplative wonder, "I do not know...the only cat I've ever really known belonged to the Empress...long hair, flat muzzle, and she oozed attitude. I respect that. I suppose I like them well enough...they find their way into my tent and into my bedroll and occasionally when it's particularly cold I'll share the bedroll warmer...they like it. They also appreciate my cooking, that always works in their favor."

Especially given that Michel could just barely stand his own cooking.

Since leaving the Wardens, Anders hasn't really had much in the way of meat for cats, to cook or leave raw. He hasn't had much in the way of meat for himself. Skyhold's kitchens are a luxury he's not had access to in quite some time. But that doesn't change his opinion on naming the cat. He needs distance. Otherwise he'd be adopting cats left and right, and then when he's executed they'll be used to being spoiled and have no one caring for them.

He scratches her behind her ears, looking down at her before kneeling and setting her on the ground. She takes her time lingering and threading between his legs, still getting petted for as long as she stays in reach.

"If you wish to name her, I'll not stop you. I prefer to save naming them for when I know I can look after them, and with how much danger our lives are on I've no confidence in lasting that long. I'm a healer. I'm needed everywhere. And she deserves better." How he wishes it were different, but it isn't.

"I'll look after her then," Michel wasn't about to adopt every single cat running around Skyhold, but he could manage one. It was a silent I'll look after her for you message that he didn't say outloud. All their lives were potentially fleeting, including the lives of the cats, a little bit of happiness was better than none at all as far as Michel could tell.

Now out of the tree he crouched down on the ground contemplating the cat, she was like any other, not remarkable for her species, but cute in a feline sort of way, "Chérie..."

He still wasn't really impressed with Michel... but the man was taking in a stray for no reason other than the fact that she was a stray, and maybe to be kind, and that was the first point in his favor Anders was awarding.

"If she becomes ill, you can bring her by the healing tents. I'll make certain she recovers." For as long as he's still here, at least. It might not be that much longer. It's the least he can do, though.

There's another considering pause, before he offers up one more thing. "I knew a woman named Lirene, once. She was kind. And sometimes as moody and fickle as even the best cat can be."

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