faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Gannicus and whoever should encounter him
WHAT: A former slave walks into town
WHEN: Covering a span of a few days, as he settles in
WHERE: Here, there, a little bit everywhere. Cheap taverns, cheaper inns, ditches, also the pier and around the ferry
NOTES: I am down for keeping TDM threads or using them as starters, or starting over if that is what you prefer! I will also match format, if you're not down with brackets.

drinking, taverning, etc

[ This is a man who has spent time on the road.

It's clear from the way he moves, the fact that the cloak around his shoulders is battered and dirty, the way that the mud clings to his very high boots. His pack that he totes around is weathered but dry, treated with wax that surely was put there months ago.

To catch him at a tavern involves watching him drink, and perhaps watching him fumble with coins as though he's not entirely sure of their current value. However he's not a fool with his money, and anyone who tries to pickpocket him will find themselves suddenly gain a few broken fingers.

He fumbles a bit but he also settles, takes a drink of wine. Considers it. Raises his eyebrows. ]

Maker knows I've had worse.

[ He says that aloud to whoever is next to him. ]

Pier

[ It's very early in the morning and he's already there, but it's not particularly clear if he's waiting for the ferry or if he's just sitting and watching the water. He has both of his swords on his lap as he sits, cross-legged, looking vaguely ruffled, a bit like a cat who didn't expect to be forced to come out so early.

He looks up as someone approaches; he has his cloak wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl, but his hair is a wild mess around his head. ]

Do you know how to do a proper braid?

[ He raises his eyebrows, like it's an invitation. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There is a long, long moment. A pause, if you will, as he looks up at her, squints through the bare darkness, and takes her in. So.]

Come here. If you set mine, I'll set yours.

[He really doesn't mean this as an insult; he has a little wooden comb that looks like it's seen better days, and the general air of someone who is really not judging.

Mostly because he looks like a ruffled Maine Coon that's been brushed the wrong way.]

(He does look dreadful; Abby is cranky-tired more than actually angry. She doesn't exactly relax at this offer (the guy looking like that is not touching her hair), but she does say:) Give it.

(Meaning the comb.)

... What happened, exactly?

(This is a little more dire than 'got up on the wrong side of the bed'.)

[He hands over the comb, settles a bit, lets her work.]

Near a year alone, sleeping on hard rock, poor weather-

[He shrugs, but doesn't seem all that bothered by it.]

I'd had no one who cared for my appearance.

(Abby doesn't seem that moved by it. It's quite hard to know where to begin with this absolute mane: she starts with a section at the top, attempting to untangle as she moves down his head.)

Not even yourself, huh.

(Honestly? Been there.)

You new? (He's gotta be on this side of the ferry this early for a reason.)

I am but newly arrived.

[He says it as he stays still, trying his best to be helpful.]

Oft men are ignored, when they pass by and look a mess.

That's not always a bad thing. (Depends on if you're sneaking around or not.

She says,) I'm Abby. (She might be rough around the edges, broad-shoulder and frowning, but she is exceptionally gentle as she combs through his hair as best she can.)

You don’t accuse me of spy craft?

[He cocks a grin up at her; not flirtatious but amused, pleased in a way. He looks casual, joking.]

Gannicus. Gratitude, for your aid. I hope your hands work miracles.

No. (She meets that grin with a raised eyebrow, then cracks slightly, mouth twitching up at both corners.)

You're welcome. Can't promise any miracles though.

Where'd you get in from? (Is he a rifter...? She is surreptitiously trying to look at his palms.)

I am most recent of Tevinter.

[He says it and he doesn’t seem to either understand or care that might mean he’s going to be under suspicion.

But.]

But not from choice.

(... Pause,)

What were you doing in Tevinter?

I was a gladiator.

[It's still weird to say. "I was." He still feels like he is, even though it's been months now.]

Like 300?

(Damnit Clarisse.)

What?

[300 what?]

(Abby waves her hand like it doesn't matter.)

How come you were a gladiator? What made you come here?

I was freed.

[He looks a little puzzled, but he takes a moment.]

All gladiators are slaves. Some sell themselves to it, for honor or glory or coin. Others are taken. A man can buy himself free, or find himself so from deeds upon sands.

[He shrugs a bit.]

There is no arena here, so I look to other ways to make a living.

(Abby doesn't know what to say to that until she finds herself asking,) Which one was it?

(She'd rather hear him say he bought himself free, though. Maybe she shouldn't have asked.)

[He doesn’t realize that there might be any preference.]

I was freed by the favor of the crowd.

[He killed a lot of people.]

During a fight...?

[He pauses to look at her, his eyebrows furrowing a bit.]

What are you asking, exactly?

I don't know. I actually don't want to talk about this.

(She's changing the subject byeee) You're in Forces, I'm guessing.

I'm in nothing, yet.

[He says it. Another man might have pressed the issue, but he suspects where she takes particular...offense? is that he was the execution of more than one man, over the years.]