He considers that a moment. He's not so proud that he can't be bothered to help unload a wagon, but.
Well.
"Why?" He asks, but his lips are twitching in a smile, and there isn't a lot of suspicion there. He moves forward, leaning away from the railing now and moving in tacit agreement.
"The locals? S'pose Kirkwall's got a reputation," But that isn't what Gannicus meant. Smiles to show he knows: "Makes it matter that Riftwatch are the reliable sort. Build a relationship, you know."
He shakes his head. "No, why are you offering me? Don't you have friends who could use heavy coin?"
Maybe "heavy" is an exaggeration but it is still a good question, frankly. He's tipping his head and he nods it forward a little. "Show me, still, I am in need of support."
"Templar," A slight pause, to amend, "Heard it's different up North."
Hard to ever say how much is propaganda, but:
"No tailing after Magisters down here, it's more - Chantry work." As for the Nevarran, "At any rate, this lot all know Trade, but some of them might try and talk around you. Promise I'll tell you what they say later."
The boat bumps dock. Cedric's chin jerks to the street - it's a bit of a walk yet.
He pauses and looks at him. That said: "Don't care if your head spins the wrong way and you piss in the wind, friend, long as the money is good." Which is to say, sure, why not.
"Hey now. If this is on backwards," He grips his own jaw, mimes twisting a neck. Crk. "You've got to let me know."
Kirkwall by winter is grey dust, on grey stone, by grey waves, under the great grey sky. The people are another story - kaleidoscopic in their profusion of paint, of cloth, of hair and smells and a dozen conversations. It all runs together.
"Near a month," That hasn't stopped being strange. "How long've you been South?"
He's seen Gannicus around a while, but the whole world isn't Riftwatch.
He snorts, but it's amused, a bit of a laugh more than anything. He raises a hand, moves it back and forth just a bit. "Less than that," he confirms, "at least in Kirkwall. I left Tevinter at start of summer."
He was freed only a little while before then. Batiatus gave him some money, but not enough, not nearby enough.
"Long way to travel," Especially without pants. Cedric winds them around a corner, through a cluster of squawking gulls. Something fishy squelches underfoot. "How'd you pick the destination?"
"Didn't, really," he clarifies. "Went where the Vints weren't, and hoped for the best," he says, finally. That much seems to generally be true, even if it's not quite so simple. But it's a good enough answer, at least.
"Didn’t expect to find so many, myself," He admits. Suppose it’s not so strange, this near the border. Maker knows there have been refugees. "So many -"
Cedric's hand pulls up near chin, fingers wiggling: Fancy types. His own name’s Tevene, and no way to know how far back that stretches. Nevarra was part of the Empire a long time, but it’s had plenty newer migrants.
(There's only so many reasons elves run South.)
"- You know. Guess it makes sense, if they've got the money t'leave."
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no subject
Well.
"Why?" He asks, but his lips are twitching in a smile, and there isn't a lot of suspicion there. He moves forward, leaning away from the railing now and moving in tacit agreement.
no subject
Information and goodwill come dearer than wool.
"Reckon we could get you paid for it."
no subject
Maybe "heavy" is an exaggeration but it is still a good question, frankly. He's tipping his head and he nods it forward a little. "Show me, still, I am in need of support."
no subject
"Gela might sew something of it, but I doubt she's much for hauling." A shrug. "And I've got the old vows to think of."
Vows of poverty only matter if you're some rich fuck set to inherit. A one-time cart job doesn't rate. Still,
"D'you speak any Nevarran?"
no subject
He shakes his head at Nevarran, though. He isn't quite that worldly, for all that he knows some from there.
no subject
Hard to ever say how much is propaganda, but:
"No tailing after Magisters down here, it's more - Chantry work." As for the Nevarran, "At any rate, this lot all know Trade, but some of them might try and talk around you. Promise I'll tell you what they say later."
The boat bumps dock. Cedric's chin jerks to the street - it's a bit of a walk yet.
"Ready?"
no subject
He nods and gets on the boat. "Been here long?"
no subject
Kirkwall by winter is grey dust, on grey stone, by grey waves, under the great grey sky. The people are another story - kaleidoscopic in their profusion of paint, of cloth, of hair and smells and a dozen conversations. It all runs together.
"Near a month," That hasn't stopped being strange. "How long've you been South?"
He's seen Gannicus around a while, but the whole world isn't Riftwatch.
no subject
He was freed only a little while before then. Batiatus gave him some money, but not enough, not nearby enough.
wow sorry time got away from me there!!
If Kirkwall's any more than another pit stop.
no prob, I'm clearly a disaster
no subject
Cedric's hand pulls up near chin, fingers wiggling: Fancy types. His own name’s Tevene, and no way to know how far back that stretches. Nevarra was part of the Empire a long time, but it’s had plenty newer migrants.
(There's only so many reasons elves run South.)
"- You know. Guess it makes sense, if they've got the money t'leave."