faderift | [open-ish] limping from the darkness

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[open-ish] limping from the darkness

WHO: Barrow + you (with a couple closed starters)
WHAT: May catch-all
WHEN: after the Gallows attack
WHERE: hither and thither
NOTES: feel free to wildcard or hit me up for a prompt if you'd like one!

I. Cleanup Cleanup Everybody Everywhere

The work is seemingly unending, and Barrow swears the debris that needs hauling and arranging and rehauling has started multiplying like rabbits when he's not looking.
Being of a persuasion more geared toward physical labor, he's doing his best to oversee those less inclined to move heavy things around, coaching and helping and cleaning and not getting enough rest and then doing it all over again the next day. He tries to keep things upbeat, with a song or a joke here and there; he's not the only one struggling, after all.

When not throwing himself into the effort of cleaning the rubble of the fallen towers, Barrow can sometimes be found relaxing in the chair he salvaged from the attack: his King of the Training Yard pavilion was decimated but small victories deserve to be celebrated. He smokes a cigarette, hums to himself, stares into the middle distance, and is happy to make conversation pleasant or otherwise with whomever takes him up on it.

II. Camping

No stranger to roughing it on the road, Barrow has made his home in a shared tent around where the training yard used to be. He's only found in it when he's sleeping, really, but the usual entourage of cats hangs around, and it's audible to all when he and Lazar are bickering.
Or snoring.
(loudly)

III. Wildcard

[fingerguns]

for Research nerds

With the workrooms back up and running at least in a limited sense, there's one day mid-month that Barrow pokes his head into the door and scans the occupants.

"I know you're busy," he announces to anyone listening, "but if you've a moment, I'd like your thoughts on something."

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The work doesn't stop, even if there's a lot to be desired. Mobius has been spending less time in the library doing work, understandably, and more time tending to the people who have set up there in the various nooks and crannies to sleep somewhere indoors. His knees are certainly starting to feel the brunt of taking up physical labor again. And research, as ever, keeps moving forward however they can.

It's a bit of a reprieve to be here with ink and paper and reading and discussing. Barrow popping in is...unusual. But not unwelcome.

"And thoughts you shall receive," Mobius says warmly. "What's up?"

"Our ancient ballistae," Barrow begins, "did not withstand the attack on the Gallows. Which," and now he enters the room more fully, revealing a few scrolls and papers tucked under one arm, "presents an opportunity, if you lot'd be kind enough to help me take it."

"Opportunity to make some improvements, I'm guessing." From the mound of papers in Barrow's arms. "Also gonna guess that this was something you were planning a while, and now there's a good excuse to bring it up and make it happen." Industrious!

"It's been on my mind," he admits, a bit sheepishly, "but you might say my hand was forced." By losing the ballistae entirely.

"Messere, ah, Viktor and I had spoken briefly on what he does," Barrow adds, "Lady de Foncé encouraged me to seek his and Talis' expertise." He hands over the scrolls, since Mobius seems interested.

"I can rebuild the things, but not better."

Cosima is often up and down between her office and the work room, so it's not unusual when she pops in with a few notes under her arm. She's lightly surprised, though, at a visitor from another division. (She's hardly going to miss him at a glance, given he's nearly a foot taller than she is.)

She approaches them, clearly not trying to be sneaky, but doesn't immediately interrupt Mobius' examination. If Barrow glances her way, she gives a nod of greeting; she's sure she'll be looped in, but she's willing to be invited or to simply supervise, as they prefer.

Cosima receives a nod and a smile of greeting, with a little tip of his head to invite her over.

"Siege engine improvements," he explains.

While emerging from what used to be the Felandaris office, eyes on his workstation and a dwindling spool of copper wire in his grasp, Viktor contributes offhand:

"Hardly a difficult undertaking, considering their present state."

Being, you know, trashed. At this point, standing upright would be an upgrade.

Mobius takes the scrolls with a nod, trying to find a little space--ah, okay, over here, just shove some of these documents aside, nobody will mind--to spread them out and take a once-over.

"Can't say I know a whole lot about them, but..." A little motion to Barrow, to Viktor. "Clearly there are ideas. What are we thinking," with a glance at Viktor, "runes to infuse some magical punch to them? Or even just physical modifications, make them smaller and easier to use without losing impact or distance?" His gaze goes back to the scrolls and pages. "Obviously rebuilding them is on the table, once we have proper towers to slap them atop of again. Future plans. Better than no plans."

"Indeed," Barrow agrees with Viktor, allowing Mobius to transfer the scrolls away to the table.

"Spoke a bit with the Seneschal about using glyphs on either ammunition or the engines themselves, though I'm not entirely sure how that'd work," he explains, "there are notes on it from the previous Master of Works, included in that pile." He nods toward it.

"Or there's runes, or tune-ups, or all of the above. We've got some salvageable parts from the ones we lost, but it may be better to start from scratch, if we can get the materials."

"Given that we're wall-to-wall shortages, what don't we have? Can you rank what we need in what order? Obviously we're competing with other priorities, but also, under the circumstances I don't think you'll need to sell anyone on the importance of aerial defenses." She comes to glance over Mobius' shoulder at the scrolls.

Viktor minds, apparently, as he makes a slight detour to scoop several documents out of shoving range. It's not at all clear what makes these pages unique from those he leaves behind, and on arrival at his station he merely dumps them on the spare desk, where they are ignored.

Given he hasn't returned any glances his way, it may seem as though he's taken to likewise ignoring the conversation now that it's moved on to specifics—and that is true, only in a willful sense. He is certainly listening.

"Might even be able to talk to the Viscount, pool some city resources or leverage some connections. Rebuilding takes precedence, but, like you said, aerial defenses are gonna be a priority too." Mobius leans back, rubbing his scruffy chin. "Suggest any improvements we make can be easily made to the defenses city-wide anyway. Even if they aren't easy, we'd want to sell it that way."

"Be glad to fall on that sword," Barrow grunts easily, falls silent for a decidedly awkward pause, then picks up his momentum again.
"Defending Kirkwall might not be strictly our purpose, but it certainly couldn't hurt. I imagine there are a fair few non-Riftwatchers with construction skills who wouldn't mind being directed at something proactive."

He straightens, rubbing at the hours-old stubble on his chin.

"The wood on the ballistae is shot, but the hardware can be salvaged. The trebuchets took some damage but were out of the way enough that they didn't completely collapse, so there's that."

Defending Kirkwall might not be strictly our purpose, but it certainly couldn't hurt, says Barrow, and from his slouched position on the floor against a desk, with the pages of a book spread over his face, Jayce frowns.

It's a fine line. A familiar line, and one he isn't keen to face without at least an attempt at assurances that their equipment won't eventually fall into the wrong hands.

(Again.)

Jayce officially rises from his nap, shutting the book with a soft thump and keeping hold of it as he peers over the plans Mobius has laid out, other hand curled over his lips. Not for the first time, he wonders what the current risk might be in trying to (re-)create gunpowder in Thedas. He's read of the guarded existence of gaatlok, but--

"Are we open to creating anything new? Smaller," he nods to Mobius as he repeats the older man's suggestions, "easier, and just as effective-- more than. Like a cannon."

"You been listening?" teases Mobius as Jayce is roused from his maybe-nap. He's not so sure about the idea of a cannon, but clearly the broad man doesn't mean a one-to-one cannon. Smaller, yeah, and more effective. Like a cannon--

He frowns a little, thoughtful. "You know the qunari aren't keen to share their secrets." But, like Tony and Cosima, fellow researchers are from different worlds with different levels of technology. "But if you've got a workaround, join in on the spitballing. Let's maybe not stray too far from the intent, though" with a thumb jerked to Barrow, because 'arm with handcannons' and 'make better ballistae' are pretty different conclusions at the end of the day.

Which won't stop the march of progress, and he wouldn't want to, but focusing on specific items than casting their nets broadly will help in times like these.

"Engineering is deeply not my area," as they presumably all know, "but if we get into how much we're leaning on Kirkwall or not, I'll want to coordinate with our Diplomacy team. Probably want to loop in our new captain of the guard once we have one. And I should know what to argue for hardest on the wishlist." A small shrug. "The good news is, lumber is local, so war shortages won't necessarily be made worse by supply line problems. Or at least not as badly as things we're getting from farther away."

She gives them a small nod. "Keep me posted. And give me a shout if you need my non-expert opinion on anything. If nothing else, explaining what you're thinking to me will be a good test for explaining it to people outside the division." She won't go far, but a biologist isn't much help when designing siege weapons.

"I'm not turning down anything," Barrow hastily replies, putting out his hands in a stilling motion-- let's not be hasty here, there's room for ballistae AND cannons in my heart.

"Do we have access to gaatlok? Or something like it?" Maker knows what the Rifters are capable of.

A pleasant nod to Cosima, whom he makes no move to detain.

Without looking up from his desk, and in measured tone, Viktor interjects:

"Let us not overlook the defensive qualities of the fortress itself. Prior to Madame de Foncé's departure," a subject for which he has compressed all his feelings into a featureless slab suitable for public viewing, "she and I had begun some foundational work on an arcane barrier system. It was intended for the airship, but could be translated."

Mobius' quip earns a brief, upward quirk of his lips. Jayce's eyes alight on each person as they speak, though to Viktor, perhaps, not quite as directly.

"We could work on both: improve existing equipment and look into superior options." He rubs his chin idly. "If we can't put together an easily accessible analogue of gunpowder, then the cannon-angle's a no-go."

Not to mention firearms, but if they could readily access the means to enchant items, then...

To Barrow, he looks while gesturing to the plans on the desk and says, "I'll draft up a quick schematic of a cannon, get you up to speed. Talk comparisons, logistics, if it's worth looking into recreating gaatlok. Will tomorrow work?"

"Ah," Vega calls, "You."

You, there. She is clambering across debris to get to Barrow, waving one arm in the air over her head. "I don't know your name," is not really an apology but she says it as if it is, "But I'd like your help, please."

Barrow straightens, his expression pleasant enough for someone who was just called 'you' in the middle of minding his business (and working hard, for that matter).

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, preparing to humor her or not. He's seen the girl around, recognizes that she's something of a fish out of water, doesn't necessarily deserve to get kicked around after what's just happened to all of them--

but of course, that will depend entirely on how she responds.

"Yes," she says impatiently, and pauses because she is waiting for him to tell her his name since she just admitted to not knowing it. Nothing comes. Vega's hands descend to her hips.

Fine! Let the record show she tried to be polite.

"I found the spot where my room used to be but I can't lift the rest of the debris. Will you move it for me?"

He balks at that, blinking slowly, like he isn't quite sure what she's asking.

"Something in particular you're looking for?" he asks, resting his elbow on the haft of the practice poleaxe he's been using to lever the debris.

"Yes." She doesn't elaborate but draws her arms tighter about herself, squeezing, holding herself in place. Then she takes an ungainly step off the bit of debris she was addressing him from, not bothering to take her skirts and hold them up away from her boots. What's the point of it? Everything is already dirty. Everything already has holes in it. Doesn't matter if she rips a hem now when there is already a tear in her sleeve and one by her knee.

"Come on," she calls. She is going to lead him towards it.

A little sigh, a glance of supplication to the heavens, and Barrow trundles after her. This had better be good.

It is good. Or, rather, bad: the spot where her room used to be was in the air, five floors up the mage tower. Now her room is on the ground, the bed frame cracked in two and pinned beneath large slabs of shattered rock; she did not bring him here for her bed. Vega clambers over the debris, crab-shuffling until she finds what she's looking for: something that was a bookshelf and is now mostly wood. There are some books scattered around, many fragments of loose pages underfoot.

Vega's voice is tight. "Can you help with this? Please."

There is a boulder there. Currently it pins a handsome book to the ground by its spine.

It hurts to see the tower this way, ruined belongings scattered amongst the rubble. Barrow can't be too annoyed; this girl is new, she isn't used to the sort of things they deal with here, and she's clearly lost something of considerable importance.

He nods mutely, picking his way over to press his weight against the boulder. He'd never be able to actually pick it up, but he can budge it enough to take some of the pressure off the book, to which he gives a quick nod-- do it now-- when he sees a chance for Vega to grab it.

She sees what he's doing and stills, waiting — her hand darts out like a snake the moment he's pushed the weight of the rock off her prize and she grabs it, gasping in dismay when some of the pages come out, torn from the binding. She gathers it all up, every last bit.

"Oh," she inhales, a wobbly gasp. Her eyes are very big. "Well! Thank you. That's all."

After he's released the boulder, a slight wrinkle in Barrow's brow conveys quiet concern for Vega and her book, even as her words of dismissal grate on his pride.

She's young, she's new, they've been through a lot, and so forth.

"Just shout if there's anything else," he offers, rather than insert himself in her business.

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[open-ish] limping from the darkness

nerrrrrrds

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Strolling in late with a pizza

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emerges from pizza box

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