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WHO: Tavi "Rutyer", Byerly Rutyer, and you! yes, even you!
WHAT: various open and closed starters for this guy, who definitely isn't an Altus mage! definitely probably.
WHEN: the very end of last month throughout the current month.
WHERE: the Gallows, unless otherwise specified.
NOTES: none currently, will update as needed.

i. settling in (closed to Byerly)

The guest quarters--or wherever it is that Byerly has decided to stash him while he conducts his clandestine investigation into his father's whereabouts--isn't much to write home about, but given Tavi has been alternating between sleeping rough and in stables or garden shacks care of the very meagre good will of strangers for the last few days, he is not about to complain. The bed is clean, and it looks like he has a secure enough space to stash his few belongings; in short, it could be much worse.

He hovers by the bed, twisting the worn old shoulder strap of his satchel between his fingers, then turns to look back at Byerly with that gleam of genuine gratitude shining in his eyes. "I really can't thank you enough," he tells him, not for the first time, and tries to still his fidgeting fingers. "I really ought to do something to repay you--or just, something to make myself useful while I'm here."

ii. exploring (open to all)

Tavi has had his fill of Kirkwall after his misadventure in Lowtown, and if the sideways glances he keeps catching from other members of Riftwatch are anything to judge by, he's going to have to work on his cover if he actually expects to fool people in the Gallows into thinking he is who he says he is, too. He stands out not quite like a sore thumb, but even after his years spent in Hunter Fell, there's no mistaking that accent for anything other than Tevene. And a posh one at that.

He tries his best to make up for it; if you encounter him in the library while trying to fetch a book down from a particularly high shelf, he's quite eager to pull up a stepping stool and climb up to fetch it down for you. Are you juggling an armful of boxes, books, or paperwork while simultaneously trying to nudge a closed door open with your foot? Suddenly there's a very earnest, smiling young man holding the door open for you and offering to help carry your burden to wherever it is you're going. Also, if you're a particularly sporty gentleman inclined towards taking your shirt off while exercising or going through sword forms on the training grounds, it is entirely possible that he ends up forgetting what he was doing, and trips over his own feet while admiring your ~~shredded physique~~ technique, of course.

iii. wildcard

[ooc: if none of these work for you or you'd like to hash out something specific, please hmu @ ragweed! actually even if these do work for you, still hmu on plurk c:]

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He thinks for a moment. "I do," he says, agreeably. "I have not spend much time with him, but he seems a decent enough man." Which is to say: he hasn't done anything to Gannicus, specifically, although he knows that Byerly is...kin, in a way, to Benedict.

All these high born Vintish boys. How odd they all get lost and end up here. "If you're unlike to stay long, you should have a drink with me and take the tale back to Tevinter."

"Yes, he's been very kind," Tavi agrees and is, yet again, relieved that he doesn't have to pretend to mean it. Maybe, upon reflection, it's a little weird for him to describe his cousin's hospitality as a kindness--but he's already put it out there, and it would be even weirder to try walking it back.

And besides, he's too caught off-guard by that last suggestion to give his earlier stumble much thought. Startled, Tavi blinks back at Gannicus for a moment or two, before that boyish smile starts to put in an appearance again. "Really?" he asks and somehow manages to sound both earnest and incredulous at the same time, like he truly can't believe someone like Gannicus would be interested in having a drink with someone like, well. Someone like him. "I mean," he starts again, "yes, of course, I'd be--shit, I didn't even introduce myself, sorry. I'm Tavi Rutyer." A quick shuffling of the papers to tuck beneath one arm while the other extends out for a shake.

He clasps that hand, firmly. His hands are covered in calluses. "I would not mind news, if you had any," he says. Gannicus doesn't have a lot of love for high born boys, but they tend to have big ears and he-

-well.

He's been away for a while. News travels without mercy, stopped by war and by prejudice.

However, there's something curious here, something that Gannicus won't bring up right away. It's just that-

-well, Byerly isn't Vintish, is he?

(There are a few calluses on Tavi's hand, too, from holding a quill and calculating figures, and on his fingertips and thumb, likely from a stringed instrument of some sort. The accent and behaviour of a high class boy, but those are the sorts of calluses one would expect from a man in some sort of trade work, even the sort that keeps him indoors. A weird incongruence, if Gannicus is predisposed towards noticing that sort of thing.)

Still, there's no guile in how Tavi's eyes widen at that firm grip, because it's probably very unlikely he's ever shaken hands with a former gladiator before. "I don't know how much news I can offer," he admits. "I've been outside of Tevinter for years now. Did you ever spend much time in Qarinus?"

Gannicus grins, and no, he did not spend much time in Qarinus, but he only says we'll chat about where I've spent time tonight and gives Tavi the address of a cheap drinking hole. There are ladies selling their wares (and their wares), and the crowd is notably rough, but when Gannicus spots Tavi come in the door he pulls him to a small, relatively quiet corner.

He's been thinking about this for part of the afternoon, so after the pleasantries are done, and the drinks ordered, Gannicus raises an eyebrow. "You haven't spent much time in such places, have you?"

Tavi doesn't stick out like quite the sorest of thumbs once he steps inside this particular tavern, though only because weeks on the road have left his clothes looking rather worse for wear. Still, that's not the same as saying he blends in; no matter how hard he tries, he's never going to shake his aristocratic bearing and mannerisms. As long as he doesn't open his mouth, though, it's not hard to just presume he's some Marcher's rich son from Hightown who's either on the outs with daddy or slumming it. In short, he gets a few looks, a few onceovers looking to see if he's worth trying to rob, before people go back to their drinks.

He doesn't have to look for Gannicus because Gannicus finds him first, and his head is still spinning from the surprise of having someone else put hands on him and pull him anywhere to say anything that interesting until they get settled.

"Is it that obvious?" he replies with a sheepish little smirk, picks up his mug of--whatever this is, and takes a swallow from it. Immediately he pulls a face like he just took a swig from a spittoon. Or paint thinner. He sets the mug back down with a wary look, eyes watering, and clears his throat a few times. "Mm. No, no I never had much interest, I suppose. You seem quite at home here, though," he adds with a smile that is far too sincere for his own good. (He's going to get eaten alive out here, and not in a fun way.)

Gannicus watches this as he drinks his own. "I don't think I could fit half so well in one of the places in the more expensive places." He sets his mug down. "I take it your family kept you close. Until recently?" he asks.

"And you came to see your cousin?"

Tavi drums his fingers on the side of his mug while trying to recall whether anything he's said so far about his cover story is going to be contradicted by what he says next. Probably not? He chews at the corner of his lip for a moment. "I'm an only child with an overly protective mother," he says, smile growing a bit chagrined, and, well, it's not even a lie. He spreads his hands in a vaguely 'mothers, eh? what can you do,' sort of way. "I don't get out much, aside from trips to the library. And, yes," an affirmative nod to his last question, "here to see my cousin, Byerly."

"I didn't think Byerly was from Tevinter," he says, without any real agenda in his tone. Gannicus has been holed up as a slave for most of his life, so he doesn't realize that people from different countries can be easily related.

That said. "And what do you plan to do here?"

Tavi decides to just leave the subject of Byerly alone, lest he inadvertently dig himself into a hole he won't be able to climb back out of. Thankfully, Gannicus makes it very easy for him by changing the subject.

"Try to earn my keep, I suppose," he replies, twisting his mug between his hands and studying what he can make out of his reflection in the drink's murky depths. "I'm a spirit healer by trade, I can't imagine Riftwatch will turn away someone capable of mending injuries and keeping its forces in decent shape."

The answer to this question is probably obvious, but--

"What about you?" He lifts his eyes from his shady drink to look at Gannicus again, and tries very hard not to be obvious about admiring his face. (He is very obvious, unfortunately. The little smile gives it away.) "I mean," a gesture with one hand, "you're a fighter, obviously, but what brought you here?"

If Gannicus is paying attention to the fact that Tavi looks a little moonstruck, he makes zero indication. He just takes a long drink of his beer, and shrugs. "I was freed," he says, as if it's not obvious. It might not be. He might be a runaway. Still.

He sets his mug down. "So I left Tevinter. I thought to go-" he shrugs. Home is a place that he doesn't understand. After Melitta died, it wasn't like he had anything to keep him. So. "-see the world. Leave a place that thought me only worth property. Why not Kirkwall?" The truth isn't always so simple. He came here because he thought it would be as different as the moon from the sun.

Tavi's moonstruck little smile (and it is indeed quite moonstruck) fades slowly as Gannicus speaks, leaving a complicated expression behind in its wake. His mouth twists into a sad grimace; what could an Altus mage, especially one taking pains to hide his identity, possibly say about a former slave's experiences? An 'I'm sorry' is beyond inadequate, and offering that would just be insulting. And so he doesn't.

"Where else would you go, if you could go anywhere?" he asks instead.

He thinks, immediately, that he should go home. That he should see if his family still remembers him, that barefoot wild boy who disappeared, one day.

And then he decides no, he can't. He can't do that. So.

He shrugs. "I have no plans. I go where I find work, for now."

What a strange thing; he really doesn't ever go anywhere with an intention, now.

A short little spell of silence follows, in which Tavi hasn't lost that sad little twist at the corners of his mouth. He isn't looking at Gannicus anymore, but instead at the drink in front of him, because Maker, he just isn't cut out for this. Lying, that is. In Qarinus his mother had handled all of that ugly business for their family, and then of course there had been his father's capture by the Inquisition, and the kidnapping by Benedict's mother, and then the flight to Hunter Fell. He's had no reason at all to perfect his poker face while managing Prelate van Reede's household affairs in Hunter Fell for the last seven years.

He exhales, sinks back into his seat, and decides to rip the bandage off. "I lied. I'm sorry." He rubs both hands against his eyes before pushing them through his hair, then lets them drop into his lap. "I'm not Byerly's cousin, and I'm not here to--" he makes a dull gesture with one hand, matching a subtle roll of his own eyes at his shitty cover story, "--see the world. That's just what we're telling people so no one decides to, I don't know. Interrogate me about nonsense I know nothing about."

He pauses a moment, and he focuses right on Tavi. Suddenly the boy is...something else. Not some moon-eyed highborn boy with no sense and a cousin nearby. Suddenly he's a liar, like the rest of them in a way, but also.

Also, Gannicus isn't here to judge. But he's also now part of an organization that is currently seeking out spies. So.

He leans back and seems like for all the world, he's unbothered by this news, and he just asks, "And I seemed to be the one most likely to confess to? You've been here for no time."

If Tavi is a spy, he's either the best in the business, or he is in desperate need of a new line of work. He doesn't look up from staring rather morosely down at his mug of... of whatever this is. Grog? Who even knows.

"No," he agrees, "but I'm going to have to stay here longer than I'd originally planned, because what I'm looking for just isn't bloody here, and I need help tracking it down. And when the truth eventually comes out, you'll all trust me all even less if you all discover I've been lying to you the whole time."

He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, then risks a guilt-stricken look Gannicus's way. (He really is very bad at this.) "I'm Octavius Vedici, not Rutyer. My father was a prisoner here seven years ago, and I'm trying to find him. Not to join him, I just," another tired gesture with one hand, "need him to sign some papers." He grimaces and looks back to his grog. "Stupid thing to lie about, really."

He is so bad at this.

Gannicus opens his mouth, then closes it, and then opens it again. And takes a deep, deep, deep breath in. "Vedici," he says, searching back if the name sound familiar; it doesn't. The truth is that outside of the trainer houses, the others who owned gladiators, and their small political inner circles, Gannicus was exposed to shockingly few people by name. So.

He takes a drink. "You're not very bright, pup."

An exhausted sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh bursts out of him. "No, I'm really not." Not about this, at any rate. He's meant to be sequestered away within the deepest recesses of a collection of rare books, or laying his hands upon the wounded to coax injured flesh to knit itself back together again, or playing his mandolin in the garden. Not stumbling after his inscrutable father's fading silhouette, failing at deceiving strangers while wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He rubs one hand against the back of his neck, spares Gannicus another look of doe-eyed chagrin, and says, "I really am a spirit healer, though. And I really am from Qarinus. That much is true, I swear."

He takes a moment, quiet, and he thinks about it. "Do you want to be good at this?" he asks, and it's hard to tell, at the moment, if he's asking if Tavi wants help.

He does not actually intend on helping him.

Tavi balks at that, visibly startled. "At what? Lying? No, not particularly." He reaches for his mug, lifts it, then remembers what's inside of it and sets it down again. After a pause, he admits, "I'd probably be better at it if I'd stayed in Tevinter."

"For who?" he asks, and he is clearly not going to accept any self pity, Octavius, thanks. "For you? For the men who toil below you?"

"Is that the kind of man you want to be? One who settles for the way things are?" he asks, which is an interesting question, because until very recently, that's the man Gannicus wanted to be.

He looks up sharply at that, though he doesn't look like he's about to protest Gannicus's accurate sumation of his circumstances. Because while it's true enough that nobody toils below him anymore, that certainly wasn't the case for the vast majority of his life, and he won't pretend otherwise.

As to whether he wants to be the kind of Tevene who settles for the way things are--

"No, never," he answers, honest and sincere and tired, in the way that one becomes tired from trying to be the sort of Tevene man who doesn't settle for the way things are. It's an existentially exhausting vocation when one is an Altus mage from Tevinter. "I only meant... I don't even know what I meant. But whatever else I am, I'm not that kind of man."

He watches him for another moment, quiet. He looks up, and just away, and then back. "Then be not that kind of man," he prompts, and he's almost prompting himself as much as he's prompting Tavi.

He looks at the drink in his hand. "Drink, Octavius."

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feel free to fast-forward to the drinking hole of gannicus' choosing if you want!

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