![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
It's morning in the training yard, and Barrow has all but dozed off at his makeshift throne. Jolting awake at the sound of metal on stone, he realizes he's dropped the dulled practice sword he was cleaning, and, with an appropriately late-forties grunt of disapproval, rises to his feet to take a jaunt among the training few and see if anyone needs anything (or more importantly, wake himself up).
"Two swords," he remarks amiably to a man he's seen around, who seems consistently underdressed, "'s been a while since I saw the likes of that."
"Two swords," he remarks amiably to a man he's seen around, who seems consistently underdressed, "'s been a while since I saw the likes of that."
Fifi looks and feels small standing in the cavernous entryway of the main tower, dressed in what remains of her traveling clothes after all these years of disuse; she's left Satina to her own devices in the servants' quarters for the day, more out of concern for the dog's safety than for any fear she'll get in the way. Bringing her along is requisite in town, less so in... wherever it is they'll be going.
She lights up in an anxious smile at the sight of her approaching friend(s), watching them with a straight-backed, naturally balletic posture of anticipation.
She lights up in an anxious smile at the sight of her approaching friend(s), watching them with a straight-backed, naturally balletic posture of anticipation.
Bastien and Byerly have had the walk from Lowtown, the wait at docks, and the ride across the harbor to prepare for the sight of her. So not a beat is missed between the moment she comes into view and the moment a ditty begins bouncing off the stone walls:
"La Vulpesse, la Vulpesse, listen now, we'll confess,
our dreams, they are haunted by you in your dress,
your leaps and your turns, your prowess and finesse,
look our way for one moment—we'll call that success."
There's harmonizing. There's choreography—the minor kind that can be performed while also walking steadily toward her. At the end, twin bows. Bastien looks up from his bow to smile at her and threaten, "Applause or we cry."
"La Vulpesse, la Vulpesse, listen now, we'll confess,
our dreams, they are haunted by you in your dress,
your leaps and your turns, your prowess and finesse,
look our way for one moment—we'll call that success."
There's harmonizing. There's choreography—the minor kind that can be performed while also walking steadily toward her. At the end, twin bows. Bastien looks up from his bow to smile at her and threaten, "Applause or we cry."
He has seen Barrow around but hasn't really bothered to either introduce himself or make any kind of fuss about the other man; this is one of the quiet mornings in the yard, however, so when he's approached he holds his swords down, just at something resembling rest.
"Where was the last you saw a man with two swords, then?" he asks. His swords are not the straight, double edged ones that are favored here, but slightly curved, lighter, better for the quick kind of dancing he does with them.
"Where was the last you saw a man with two swords, then?" he asks. His swords are not the straight, double edged ones that are favored here, but slightly curved, lighter, better for the quick kind of dancing he does with them.
"Rifter," Barrow says with a shrug, "bit of a nob, but that was a personal choice." Alas, Ser Buckets, how we miss ye,
"Seems a vicious way to fight," he adds, "risky, but what isn't."
"Seems a vicious way to fight," he adds, "risky, but what isn't."
Of course she applauds, laughing in such a way that it's difficult to stand up straight.
"Keep your voices down," she chides, grinning, "what good is a secret identity if everyone knows it?" Clearly her ire is limited, however, as she comes forward to meet both out of their bows with the appropriate number of greeting kisses to both cheeks.
"Will the whole trip involve singing? I haven't learned any songs for it."
"Keep your voices down," she chides, grinning, "what good is a secret identity if everyone knows it?" Clearly her ire is limited, however, as she comes forward to meet both out of their bows with the appropriate number of greeting kisses to both cheeks.
"Will the whole trip involve singing? I haven't learned any songs for it."
"Only the usual amounts," Bastien assures her, switching to Orlesian now and probably forever, as he offers her his travel-jacketed arm.
They'll need to go back out into the cold to reach the eluvian; it's stored in one of the smaller buildings with an entrance in the main entry courtyard, where guards can pull double duty keeping an eye on the front gate and the door and comings and goings can be monitored more easily than if it were tucked into a corner somewhere.
They'll need to go back out into the cold to reach the eluvian; it's stored in one of the smaller buildings with an entrance in the main entry courtyard, where guards can pull double duty keeping an eye on the front gate and the door and comings and goings can be monitored more easily than if it were tucked into a corner somewhere.
"You insult me, ser," she replies to Byerly with a false aloofness, humor in her eyes as she accepts Bastien's arm.
"Have you been through very many times?" she asks, pivoting to the topic at hand as they make their way, "is there anything I should be worried about?"
"Have you been through very many times?" she asks, pivoting to the topic at hand as they make their way, "is there anything I should be worried about?"
He has the look of a man who is trying to parse out vocabulary from context. Okay. He's got it. His eyebrows rise up a little, thoughtful. "It shows off skill, to do it well," he says, thinking of the roar of the crowd. "It will kill you fast, to do it poorly."
He sheathes them both. "I am not so fond of a shield, but I can use one, if needed."
He sheathes them both. "I am not so fond of a shield, but I can use one, if needed."
"Well said." Barrow smiles, hooking his thumbs in his belt.
"You know, if you told me ten years ago I'd ever stop using a shield, I wouldn't have believed you-- but it turns out there is another way. And it's more fun, besides." After a moment, he clarifies: "warhammer. Two-hander. I wanted to try one for the longest time."
"You know, if you told me ten years ago I'd ever stop using a shield, I wouldn't have believed you-- but it turns out there is another way. And it's more fun, besides." After a moment, he clarifies: "warhammer. Two-hander. I wanted to try one for the longest time."
Edited 2024-03-06 22:56 (UTC)
"I've been through a fair amount," Bastien says, holding his free hand out for Byerly's as he leads the way from the middle. "More than Byerly. They chained him to that chair, you know. They would come in with cuffs every day and come back again to release him in the evenings. But he is free now."
They're free now. He angles a smile up at By for that. He knows it wasn't all for him—the quitting—but it was enough for him for him to be grateful.
"Anyway—there is nothing to be worried about. Before we had to walk all over the place to reach the eluvians and we might run into things, but we've moved them all now, so they are close together and we can have a look around without needing to wander off very far. And even the things we would run into were usually more annoying than scary."
A short jaunt across the cold, windy courtyard, a borrowing of a key, and they're inside. The eluvian nearly reaches the ceiling of the storage room. It looks, for the moment, like a dingy, normal mirror.
Keeping the passphrase from Fifi is, on the one hand, absurd. On the other, they did share a dream once where she worked for the Dread Wolf. So Bastien takes the minimum precaution of asking her to cover her ears and asking Byerly to sing at the top of his lungs as Bastien unlocks it.
Wakened, it shines brighter, the light on its surface shifting like a swarm of silver fish just beneath the surface of shallow water. He steps out of the way to bow and gesture: ladies first.
Men close behind, though. Probably there aren't demons or Venatori lurking on the other side, but it's never impossible.
They're free now. He angles a smile up at By for that. He knows it wasn't all for him—the quitting—but it was enough for him for him to be grateful.
"Anyway—there is nothing to be worried about. Before we had to walk all over the place to reach the eluvians and we might run into things, but we've moved them all now, so they are close together and we can have a look around without needing to wander off very far. And even the things we would run into were usually more annoying than scary."
A short jaunt across the cold, windy courtyard, a borrowing of a key, and they're inside. The eluvian nearly reaches the ceiling of the storage room. It looks, for the moment, like a dingy, normal mirror.
Keeping the passphrase from Fifi is, on the one hand, absurd. On the other, they did share a dream once where she worked for the Dread Wolf. So Bastien takes the minimum precaution of asking her to cover her ears and asking Byerly to sing at the top of his lungs as Bastien unlocks it.
Wakened, it shines brighter, the light on its surface shifting like a swarm of silver fish just beneath the surface of shallow water. He steps out of the way to bow and gesture: ladies first.
Men close behind, though. Probably there aren't demons or Venatori lurking on the other side, but it's never impossible.
Edited 2024-03-28 19:25 (UTC)
Barrow laughs, a warm and cheerful sound. "I'm slow and clumsy," he confirms, "but that's as a rule, got nothing to do with the hammer." He's underselling himself, obviously-- he's still here, after all.
"Bit surprised you made it, if you caught the bad end of one."
"Bit surprised you made it, if you caught the bad end of one."
Edited 2024-03-11 17:06 (UTC)
"I am too quick," he says, without too much pride in his voice. He was fast, faster than most people could keep up with. It was truly what kept him alive; speed and skill. So. "But I saw many of my brothers fall to the strike."
He eyes him, a bit. "Age?"
He eyes him, a bit. "Age?"
With the air of someone who has just completely stuck his foot in his mouth and is regretting it, Barrow takes in a little breath of air and then sighs it out, chiding himself for being so cavalier.
"Apologies, mate," he says with sincerity, "hate to hear that." It's easy to get inured to these things, when one's entire life has been dedicated to violence of some kind or another.
"...older than you," he then replies, a bit of the wryness coming back, "by a dog's age at least, I'd say."
"Apologies, mate," he says with sincerity, "hate to hear that." It's easy to get inured to these things, when one's entire life has been dedicated to violence of some kind or another.
"...older than you," he then replies, a bit of the wryness coming back, "by a dog's age at least, I'd say."
"Do you?" Gannicus looks up, tilting his head a bit like a bird, or a cat might. He looks-
-he looks almost like he knows precisely Barrow is thinking. But the truth is that a gladiator's life is brutal, violent. His brothers all went in knowing they could die, and went in instead of making the only choice they could - dying another way.
"Southerners are a gentle lot, I think. None of you seem to have the taste for blood."
-he looks almost like he knows precisely Barrow is thinking. But the truth is that a gladiator's life is brutal, violent. His brothers all went in knowing they could die, and went in instead of making the only choice they could - dying another way.
"Southerners are a gentle lot, I think. None of you seem to have the taste for blood."
It isn’t the doubt or the accusation of softness that bothers him, really- it’s the questioning of whether he means what he said.
“…excuse me?” Barrow says, his tone chilling slightly, but he’s open to believing he’s misunderstood the situation.
“…excuse me?” Barrow says, his tone chilling slightly, but he’s open to believing he’s misunderstood the situation.
Gannicus just looks at him, slightly flat, but there is curiosity in the way he looks at him. "In Tevinter, no one would say sorry for a dead gladiator. They scream for it, you know. When someone dies, in arena."
It's hard to tell if Gannicus likes the idea or not; the truth isn't so simple. He loved the glory, the accolades, but he was a slave and everyone he loved had their lives offered up for entertainment. He loved the glory and hated the truth of it, lived and died for the rush of adrenaline, and found anyone who enjoyed it disgusting.
It's hard to tell if Gannicus likes the idea or not; the truth isn't so simple. He loved the glory, the accolades, but he was a slave and everyone he loved had their lives offered up for entertainment. He loved the glory and hated the truth of it, lived and died for the rush of adrenaline, and found anyone who enjoyed it disgusting.
“Well,” Barrow muses, processing this new information, “this isn’t Tevinter.”
There’s a sensitivity in his face as he says this: Gannicus isn’t wrong to feel as he does, but perhaps he’ll soon see that life is, at least somewhat, rather valued here.
“Losing a comrade isn’t easy, no matter where you are.”
There’s a sensitivity in his face as he says this: Gannicus isn’t wrong to feel as he does, but perhaps he’ll soon see that life is, at least somewhat, rather valued here.
“Losing a comrade isn’t easy, no matter where you are.”
"Aye? Doing noble and manly things, I hope."
The smile reappears on Barrow's face, and it's quite clear by the way his posture remains relaxed that he is not actually concerned about how noble or manly his activities were.
The smile reappears on Barrow's face, and it's quite clear by the way his posture remains relaxed that he is not actually concerned about how noble or manly his activities were.
Oh. Right.
"I make myself available for weapons training," he explains, gesturing back toward his little pavilion, "upon request. Some recruits show up having never held a blade in their lives."
He scratches at the stubble on his cheek, still smiling pleasantly.
"Hope you don't mind my saying so, but we could use a quick hand like yours for the more advanced sorts. Teaching, sparring, the like. Whatever you've time for."
"I make myself available for weapons training," he explains, gesturing back toward his little pavilion, "upon request. Some recruits show up having never held a blade in their lives."
He scratches at the stubble on his cheek, still smiling pleasantly.
"Hope you don't mind my saying so, but we could use a quick hand like yours for the more advanced sorts. Teaching, sparring, the like. Whatever you've time for."
Page 1 of 3