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The two of them being new to Scouting, they’re assigned some of the dull, seemingly-straightforward work. They’ve been sent to a small village northwest of Wildervale; unremarkable in every way, except that it sits just outside the contested territory, straddling the border between the Free Marches and imperial occupation. And the Marches, after all, are invested in not losing further ground than they already have.
So when there were rumours of Tevene soldiers in the area, nosing further south, and a village writing asking for assistance to punt them back where they came from, two scouts are sent to assess the shape of the problem first. Find out if it’s just reconnaissance, or a real push from the army and worth summoning reinforcements from Forces… or perhaps just local bogeymen, children’s stories run amok.
After gathering townspeople gossip (“I saw them by the old mill”, “No, there were Vints across the river, I was sure of it, in the thickest part of the forest”), the two women have been tromping around in the woods trying to find them. Astrid is cheerfully at home in the wilderness, and over the course of their journey, keeps shooting curious looks at the other woman’s longbow. It’s a gorgeous thing and she’s eventually going to lose the internal battle and just ask to hold it. Hers, strapped to her back, is its exact inverse: ugly-looking but sturdy, powerful.
They’ve been suffering long hours of damp hiking through the forest, one soggy morning camping, staring at potential tracks and trampled bushes and trying to make sense of it. And it had almost seemed worth giving up on and turning back, until one day they finally came across an abandoned camp: the small group of soldiers, evidently, haven’t been working too hard on hiding their passage.
Sifting through the debris, Astrid finds a square-shaped imperial tesserae coin. She scrutinises the unfamiliar piece of metal, then eventually tosses it in Vega’s direction.
“So, is this like, a problem for you,” she starts, just ripping loose the question she’s been wanting to ask, “going against your own people?”
So when there were rumours of Tevene soldiers in the area, nosing further south, and a village writing asking for assistance to punt them back where they came from, two scouts are sent to assess the shape of the problem first. Find out if it’s just reconnaissance, or a real push from the army and worth summoning reinforcements from Forces… or perhaps just local bogeymen, children’s stories run amok.
After gathering townspeople gossip (“I saw them by the old mill”, “No, there were Vints across the river, I was sure of it, in the thickest part of the forest”), the two women have been tromping around in the woods trying to find them. Astrid is cheerfully at home in the wilderness, and over the course of their journey, keeps shooting curious looks at the other woman’s longbow. It’s a gorgeous thing and she’s eventually going to lose the internal battle and just ask to hold it. Hers, strapped to her back, is its exact inverse: ugly-looking but sturdy, powerful.
They’ve been suffering long hours of damp hiking through the forest, one soggy morning camping, staring at potential tracks and trampled bushes and trying to make sense of it. And it had almost seemed worth giving up on and turning back, until one day they finally came across an abandoned camp: the small group of soldiers, evidently, haven’t been working too hard on hiding their passage.
Sifting through the debris, Astrid finds a square-shaped imperial tesserae coin. She scrutinises the unfamiliar piece of metal, then eventually tosses it in Vega’s direction.
“So, is this like, a problem for you,” she starts, just ripping loose the question she’s been wanting to ask, “going against your own people?”
Gela gives herself a bit of time, as a treat.
In giving her no deadline, Marcus has both provided room to breathe and made it completely impossible to concentrate on anything else other than the telling, which must happen, soon! It needs to happen before she loses her nerve. He'll ask her to leave otherwise and Gela won't fight it, she'll go, but be miserable. She caps the time firmly at a week.
And three days later, is standing outside of the Provost's office, trying once again to quell her nerves before she knocks. ... Aren't things like this supposed to get easier the more you do them?
Holding her breath, she raps her knuckles on the wood and waits.
In giving her no deadline, Marcus has both provided room to breathe and made it completely impossible to concentrate on anything else other than the telling, which must happen, soon! It needs to happen before she loses her nerve. He'll ask her to leave otherwise and Gela won't fight it, she'll go, but be miserable. She caps the time firmly at a week.
And three days later, is standing outside of the Provost's office, trying once again to quell her nerves before she knocks. ... Aren't things like this supposed to get easier the more you do them?
Holding her breath, she raps her knuckles on the wood and waits.
Edited 2024-03-07 23:52 (UTC)
"Come in." Her door was, in reality, only closed because she was quietly playing music. She reaches out to tap the rectangle it's coming from as Gela opens the door, and it fades to nothing. There's a flicker of a smile as she sees who it is, though it fades immediately as she registers Gela's demeanor.
Cosima's been in the office long enough that it no longer looks to be in transition, though she keeps the former provosts' files close at hand. While the desk is covered in papers and books, the chairs across from her aren't, and Cosima gestures at one.
"Hey. Take a seat. What can I do for you?" She hopes, briefly, that she can help with whatever it is. She likes Gela, and there's also been a crop of particularly thorny problems recently. A solid win would be nice, if not the most likely thing.
Cosima's been in the office long enough that it no longer looks to be in transition, though she keeps the former provosts' files close at hand. While the desk is covered in papers and books, the chairs across from her aren't, and Cosima gestures at one.
"Hey. Take a seat. What can I do for you?" She hopes, briefly, that she can help with whatever it is. She likes Gela, and there's also been a crop of particularly thorny problems recently. A solid win would be nice, if not the most likely thing.
If you've signed up to help out in the infirmary 'whenever' you can hardly tell the head healer "pick literally anybody else, I gossiped about your sex life the night before", can you. Such is Abby's plight but she arrives dutifully, only a little late. A lot awkward.
(She thought about messaging Gwen just to say something along the lines of omg, but heroically resisted.)
Putting her head around the door she announces herself.
"You... called?"
Hi.
(She thought about messaging Gwen just to say something along the lines of omg, but heroically resisted.)
Putting her head around the door she announces herself.
"You... called?"
Hi.
She does not smile back, the biggest indication of her current mood. She's always got along well with Cosima in the past but it's too difficult to reach out for that easy, smiling calm she typically wears, not when she's trying to stick to a script.
Yes, of course she practiced in the mirror before coming here. Did it help? Well—
She sits, and tucks in her skirts for longer than is strictly necessary, avoiding eye contact. Marcus did not instruct her to obtain a certain response from the Provost, only that Gela should make her aware of the circumstances, so it stands to reason that either way she is making good on her word. All she has to do is say it.
"Mister Rowantree asked me to speak with you," she starts, rattling off her words like a child in trouble, "About my personal situation, which I have not been entirely honest about. If I am to remain here."
Yes, of course she practiced in the mirror before coming here. Did it help? Well—
She sits, and tucks in her skirts for longer than is strictly necessary, avoiding eye contact. Marcus did not instruct her to obtain a certain response from the Provost, only that Gela should make her aware of the circumstances, so it stands to reason that either way she is making good on her word. All she has to do is say it.
"Mister Rowantree asked me to speak with you," she starts, rattling off her words like a child in trouble, "About my personal situation, which I have not been entirely honest about. If I am to remain here."
It's safe to say Cosima hadn't expected this, and her forehead wrinkles in surprised concern. "OK, sure. Do you want me to close the door again, so we can have some privacy?" She's already half getting up to do so. The gravity of situation is perfectly clear, even if she hasn't the least idea what this could be about.
"Yes please," Gela says meekly, and sinks lower into her chair.
She does have to admit that Cosima is less intimidating than Marcus Rowntree on the whole, despite how equally sympathetic they are. She sighs, gustily. She looks very tired, face paler than usual and dark circles more pronounced underneath of her eyes. If this could all be over—if everything could resolve itself, well, she could relax. Until then, it feels impossible.
She does have to admit that Cosima is less intimidating than Marcus Rowntree on the whole, despite how equally sympathetic they are. She sighs, gustily. She looks very tired, face paler than usual and dark circles more pronounced underneath of her eyes. If this could all be over—if everything could resolve itself, well, she could relax. Until then, it feels impossible.
Cosima shuts the door gently and then returns to her chair. She considers Gela's face with increased attention, as if trying to guess at where this could be going. Perhaps it's her own experience that makes her jump to "serious illness" as a first suspicion, but she can't imagine why Rowntree would have been issuing orders about it.
"OK. Tell me about your situation then," is quietly encouraging.
"OK. Tell me about your situation then," is quietly encouraging.
Gela irons a hand up over her face, pushing on her forehead, fingers inching into her hair. She sighs again and says, "Okay," quietly, as if cajoling herself. One more time then:
"He asked that I tell you I am cursed," sounds very dramatic, but it is the truth. He was precise with his wording. "And that I present danger to other people because of it, so that you can..."
Here, she trails off. Even in the practicing she's never quite decided what she thinks Cosima will want to do with this information. Order her banned? Or locked up?? Perhaps. She adds quietly, "I'm sorry, to come to you so suddenly like this, but the other option was that he report me to the Commander and have me removed, and I—" don't want to go. Despite the curse and all the danger. It is so selfish.
"He asked that I tell you I am cursed," sounds very dramatic, but it is the truth. He was precise with his wording. "And that I present danger to other people because of it, so that you can..."
Here, she trails off. Even in the practicing she's never quite decided what she thinks Cosima will want to do with this information. Order her banned? Or locked up?? Perhaps. She adds quietly, "I'm sorry, to come to you so suddenly like this, but the other option was that he report me to the Commander and have me removed, and I—" don't want to go. Despite the curse and all the danger. It is so selfish.
Even without knowing the specifics, she can't help but immediately think of Ruby, all those years ago, convinced of her own monstrous nature. (You must hate me. How much that wasn't true.)
"Hey, hey. It's alright, you don't have to apologize. What kind of curse?" She wants to reach out and catch Gela's hand, but it seems like the contact might be overwhelming, so she holds off for the moment.
"Hey, hey. It's alright, you don't have to apologize. What kind of curse?" She wants to reach out and catch Gela's hand, but it seems like the contact might be overwhelming, so she holds off for the moment.
Edited (html failure) 2024-03-08 01:49 (UTC)
She lifts her chin at last, but only so the tears blurring her vision won't actually fall. Sitting there, blinking carefully, her lip curls ruefully; so much crying, even more dishonesty. Gela isn't usually like this.
"I'm a werewolf." At least it comes out much faster than it did with Rowntree, and she doesn't trip over the words. "I have been for a long time, nearly five years. Nobody knows."
Amending almost instantly, "Rowntree knows. So does Dr. Strange."
"I'm a werewolf." At least it comes out much faster than it did with Rowntree, and she doesn't trip over the words. "I have been for a long time, nearly five years. Nobody knows."
Amending almost instantly, "Rowntree knows. So does Dr. Strange."
"Shit. I'm so sorry." She pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to Gela. "God, you must have been so stressed all the time. Is it ... the legends at home tied it to the moon, is it like that here? I'm afraid I'm not familiar in Thedas."
Gela blinks. A big tear falls despite her best efforts, skipping down her cheek.
She takes the handkerchief held out to her automatically, holds it in her lap, not looking at it, her fingers plucking at the edges and idly smoothing, all little comforts.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop she says, "Pardon?"
She takes the handkerchief held out to her automatically, holds it in her lap, not looking at it, her fingers plucking at the edges and idly smoothing, all little comforts.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop she says, "Pardon?"
"Oh, shit, sorry, is it ... maybe it means something different than I'm thinking? But my understanding of the werewolves is that it's a pretty horrific thing that happens to a person, I assume Rowntree sent you here to see if we can do anything to help. We've got legends at home, but I shouldn't have jumped there." She looks lightly wary, in case she has genuinely misstepped somehow, but otherwise still genuine.
"No," she says, still sounding lost, "I—you want to help?"
What? It's clashing so hard against her assumption of how this moment (and each before it) would go that she can't think of anything else to say. Can't bring herself to hope for the best either, even though... it, for some reason, seems like it will be okay.
What? It's clashing so hard against her assumption of how this moment (and each before it) would go that she can't think of anything else to say. Can't bring herself to hope for the best either, even though... it, for some reason, seems like it will be okay.
They are in the dining hall, there for food, waiting in line together and Vega has noticed—well, it's impossible to not notice, nor to comment, despite not knowing the name of the woman standing in front of her in the line at all. To be fair, she has been asked to remember many names since she got here (and has not bothered with a fair few based on first impressions alone), but she is sure that they haven't met before now.
So it should be entirely fine for Vega to say, curiously, "What's happened to you?"
Right?
So it should be entirely fine for Vega to say, curiously, "What's happened to you?"
Right?
"Of course I want to help." She aches, a bit, for how clearly this is a surprise. "Look, I can't promise results, with speed or ever. But we've got some really clever people in the department, and you're not even the first person in the organization who's had to deal with involuntary transformations into a dangerous animal. Well. I guess were still technically the Inquisition then, but that's not the point."
She leans forward, her hands on the desk in lieu of reaching too far. "I'm really sorry you've been going through this. We'll work something out. You don't have to hold it all on your own."
She leans forward, her hands on the desk in lieu of reaching too far. "I'm really sorry you've been going through this. We'll work something out. You don't have to hold it all on your own."
It does seem as if Cosima is reaching out to her, which Gela is having difficulty parsing through; she's just told her she is dangerous and Cosima doesn't seem to mind at all. She isn't even asking what happened or what danger she could be in (though she brought up the moon in the exact way that Strange did, so, with the moon still waning now, she must think she is safe?). Gela does not reach back. Ideally, she should be feeling greatly relieved.
She doesn't feel much of anything.
Drawing a breath she manages, "That's... good."
And abruptly bursts into tears.
She doesn't feel much of anything.
Drawing a breath she manages, "That's... good."
And abruptly bursts into tears.
"Oh my god, hey." Cosima gets up so she can come crouch in front of Gela's chair. "Hey, it's gonna be OK. We'll figure something out. And in the meantime, we'll figure out how to make sure we're reducing the risk and we'll keep everyone safe. Including you, alright?"
It's embarrassing, but she finds she can't stop even when Cosima comes to her, kneeling to catch a glimpse of her face beneath all her hair. Tears leak out. What Cosima said, about not having to hold it all on her own? She has been, for a long time. The kindness is a shock.
Telling Jude was like this, too.
‘Figuring out how to reduce the risk’ should probably concern her, the wording of it, but Gela finds she can't possibly focus on it now. Using the handkerchief to blot hastily at her eyes she nods, the lump in her throat too big to speak around.
Telling Jude was like this, too.
‘Figuring out how to reduce the risk’ should probably concern her, the wording of it, but Gela finds she can't possibly focus on it now. Using the handkerchief to blot hastily at her eyes she nods, the lump in her throat too big to speak around.
Edited 2024-03-08 11:17 (UTC)
“Hi, hello, come in,” Strange sounds distracted, busy, everything has been so goddamn busy lately, and therefore he needed the help. He waves Abby in. On the stone floor of the infirmary, out of way of any beds and relatively close to the door, is a sackcloth covered by a messy scattering of earth and roots and soil, some elfroot ripped out of the garden outside. There’s some kind of chemistry kit sitting ready on the table, and he’s working on lighting the burner beneath it.
“The new guy can grow plants really fast, so we find ourselves with an unexpected influx of elfroot, thank god. We need to grind down the roots and distil them into a concentrate, for potions. Do you have time to chip in?”
Honed in on the work as he is, he’s blissfully ignorant about any weird vibes from Abby. (So far.)
“The new guy can grow plants really fast, so we find ourselves with an unexpected influx of elfroot, thank god. We need to grind down the roots and distil them into a concentrate, for potions. Do you have time to chip in?”
Honed in on the work as he is, he’s blissfully ignorant about any weird vibes from Abby. (So far.)
She puts a hand on Gela's knee, lightly, unable to resist offering at least some sort of contact. "Hey. Can I get you a glass of water?" As Gela already has the handkerchief, presumably.
At first the hike is fun and interesting, in a quaint way. Vega amuses herself by pretending they are completing a great pilgrimage together, maybe going to Denerim to touch the Birth Rock, something she has imagined herself doing many times before. By the third or fourth hour she's tiring, wondering aloud why they couldn't bring horses with them, or have ridden on the griffons to some place roughly nearby—that seems like the smarter move, doesn't it—but Astrid won't indulge her.
So they hike. It is damp. It isn't very warm. There are bugs everywhere, and Vega is starting to hate this stupid, miserable forest, its dead ends and places that all look the same. She hasn't said anything since the morning but she's clearly stewing away, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes sometimes watering (she wipes them on the back of her arm when she thinks Astrid isn't looking).
This is a job, after all, and she said that she'd do it. It has to be done well. The Scoutmaster definitely already hates her, so she needs to deliver. There is a great swell of unfairness stuck in her throat, a big, terrible lump.
Finding the abandoned camp should be a relief but Vega's expression doesn't shift. She sniffs wetly and wipes her palms off on her trousers with great distaste.
(Does Astrid even sweat? She looks so at ease, like she does this every day. In fact, considering her appearance, she probably does.)
Clearing her throat Vega says petulantly, "If it were a problem, I wouldn't be here."
But this is hardly mission-relevant. She is carefully circling in the camp, craning her neck to look for prints in the dirt. "How are we supposed to find them from here? I doubt they'll come back." For one, they left little more than rubbish behind.
So they hike. It is damp. It isn't very warm. There are bugs everywhere, and Vega is starting to hate this stupid, miserable forest, its dead ends and places that all look the same. She hasn't said anything since the morning but she's clearly stewing away, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes sometimes watering (she wipes them on the back of her arm when she thinks Astrid isn't looking).
This is a job, after all, and she said that she'd do it. It has to be done well. The Scoutmaster definitely already hates her, so she needs to deliver. There is a great swell of unfairness stuck in her throat, a big, terrible lump.
Finding the abandoned camp should be a relief but Vega's expression doesn't shift. She sniffs wetly and wipes her palms off on her trousers with great distaste.
(Does Astrid even sweat? She looks so at ease, like she does this every day. In fact, considering her appearance, she probably does.)
Clearing her throat Vega says petulantly, "If it were a problem, I wouldn't be here."
But this is hardly mission-relevant. She is carefully circling in the camp, craning her neck to look for prints in the dirt. "How are we supposed to find them from here? I doubt they'll come back." For one, they left little more than rubbish behind.
"You got it." She rises and moves to a side table where she has a pitcher of water, some cups and mugs, and a variety of accessories for tea. The water she pours Gela isn't cold anymore, but the metal pitcher has kept it a little cooler than room temperature.
She comes back and offers the cup to Gela. "There's nothing to be sorry for. It's a lot to deal with."
She comes back and offers the cup to Gela. "There's nothing to be sorry for. It's a lot to deal with."
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