faderift | Skyhold

Skyhold

WHO: Anyone & everyone
WHAT: Open post for business as usual around Skyhold
WHEN: The first couple weeks of Harvestmere, 9:41 (aka October)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Please mark any necessary content warnings in thread subject lines. Also, make sure to check out the other log posts already made!

Far from the glamorous adventurous world-saving people signed up for, most of the hustle and bustle in Skyhold at present is cleaning. The Great Hall is a disaster, and crews are assigned to haul out the cracked and rotting planks fallen from the wide-open roof, and tear down the vines covering the walls. Ivy encrusts the main staircase outside and many of the fortress walls and is cleared in section while other groups assess or begin shoring up the stonework as it's revealed. There are scaffolding to build, materials to sort, crates to unload, tents to stitch together or set-up, and on and on and on, endless mundane chores vital to the survival of the organization.

When not hard at work, people cluster around fires across the courtyards. Many mingle freely, going about their business, running errands and messages, planning scouting missions, tallying up supplies, distributing or playing with the sending crystals that were found in a basement vault and which a group of mages have just today finished preparing for use. Once a good number have been passed around and the first Inquisition-wide transmission made messages start being broadcast; maybe you can help someone out.

The rebel mages and renegade templars mainly keep to themselves at opposite sides of the complex given the choice. Mages assist with healing and research and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Templars help train recruits in swordforms and basic combat techniques or spar with the more advanced and bicker amongst themselves about their options and their fate. Despite having all pledged themselves to the Inquisition, they still feel like separate factions and tension between them is palpable wherever they cross paths.

Like at meals, or the communal message board in the courtyard, or at the Herald's Rest. The mess hall/tavern is so new it still smells of sawdust, and its stock has been limited to one type of strong ale until today, when a shipment of West Hill brandy has finally arrived. The mood in the place is convivial in celebration of that, but there's still plenty of muttering, especially as the night drags on and the discontented get further into their cups.

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The mutterers have said that that is Varric Tethras and Pel is instantly starstruck any time she tries to approach. She only read Tale of the Champion and the first bit of Hard in Hightown. Would he only want to hear from people who have had the opportunity to read all his work, or at least, more than a book-and-an-eighth?

Ultimately, it's the thought of him having a copy of Hard in Hightown that makes her finally approach him, hands clasped before her, trying to keep still.

"You're--are you who they say?"

They could be wrong, after all.

Varric wasn't sure about these rumors, they were making him a little edgy. Yes, he was used to rumors, they practically made up the foundation of his career, but he didn't like the kind that he hadn't started. Even worse, these were the kind that he didn't know the content of. They were spreading around Skyhold with speed and he was rapidly finding himself on the wrong end of a lot of uncomfortable staring. He wasn't sure what he'd done to spawn this wave of...whatever this was, but he fully intended to kick back and waiting until it all blew over.

Too bad nothing ever just blew over.

So, when the second elf in so many days came up to his table, Varric braced himself for something terrible. True, the last elf had been very nice, but that just meant the odds on this were skewed the other direction. He didn't know for certain that the rumors were bad, but it was always best to assume the worst. Unfortunately, when she finally spoke, it didn't really clear things up. She was fidgety and stammered but, on the plus side, did not appear to be particularly horrified.

"Well, that depends on what they're saying?" Varric replied delicately. It also depended on who was saying it, but anybody who would sling mud at him was either entirely harmless or extremely willing to kill him. It was a toss up, but if this elf worked for the Carta he'd eat his velvety shirt.

"You're the author? Varric Tethras?"

She tries to look somewhat skeptical so her ego isn't too bruised when he laughs at her gullibility.

That couldn't possibly be the whole rumor...could it? He waited for a beat but, no, she appeared to be done talking. Varric was perplexed but cautiously optimistic. Was that all this was about? That nobody could believe he was...himself?

"If that's what they're saying, yes..." he repeated slowly with a nod and, all at once, he snapped out of his hesitation and mild paranoia. Without even a pause, he continued, "Seriously, though? Is the portrait on the back really that bad?"

He turned from the elf and reached into a box alongside the table. For lack of a more elegant solution, he'd taken to keeping extra supplies in a small crate next to him. He was running low on paper but the book he'd stuffed in alongside it all was taking up the space admirably. There was a rustle as he pulled said book out and the whole box tumbled into hopeless disarray.

It was just a copy of Hard in Hightown. It wasn't a special edition or anything, but it was pristine, and Varric flipped it over to stare at the author portrait on the back. He looked back at the elf and held up the book alongside his face.

"I thought it was a good likeness," Varric said. There was no accusation in his tone, he clearly wasn't upset with her at all, but he shot the book a serious, assessing look. "I'm going to have to get a new one done, aren't I? Shit."

"No--it is. It's very good." Now she looks backward. Backwater. Ignorant. She flushes faintly and frowns. Dammit. "I didn't have a book of my own to keep, so I never knew what you looked like."

She glances longingly at the book. He'd expect gold for it, and she had none. Everyone wants gold here, instead of bartering.

Well. Now he looked like an ass, didn't he?

He certainly felt like one.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Varric's smile was apologetic as he lowered the...self-indulgent portrait of himself surrounded by beautiful women. He nearly winced as he realized just how that must have looked...especially to a shy, Dalish fan who'd...come up to his table. To see if he really was...you know...

The author.

She was blushing and fidgeting. If someone had embarrassed Daisy this badly, he'd probably have punched them in the teeth. She wasn't Daisy, of course, but he wasn't usually the asshole in these situations, either.

"You know what, I've got a box of spares," Varric said amiably and held the book out to her. True, he'd brought this one in here to give to someone else, but he could snag another. Skyhold didn't need a crate of them on hold and it wasn't like he was going to sell them himself. He paid people (more than he wanted to, in fact) to do exactly that.

"This one's all yours, I'll even sign it if you want."

She stares. For about three seconds. Then, she holds her hands out to reverently receive this wondrous gift.

A book. A whole book that belongs only to her, not to the clan. Exactly the one she wanted. Breathlessly, she cracks open the cover and peers at the first few words, as if to verify this is really happening, that the words are really all there and ready for her to read.

"I only read the first part of this one," she breathes. "I've wanted to read the rest for so long."

So long being any amount of time, really. She hugs it to her chest, beaming (which, on her, looks like shining eyes and parted lips; she's somewhat stoic).

"Ma serannas a thousand times. I--"

She has no idea what cultural significance signing a book has, but since he's offering, she considers.

"What part do you sign? Nothing will be covered up, will it?"

"I usually aim for the blank parts, but I can sign it later. No rush."

She was hugging it to her chest like his accountant clutched at his ledger or, in a somewhat more accessible simile, how a drowning man held a log. He wasn't about to ask her to part with it just so he could scrawl his name on it somewhere, not after that whole, awkward portrait fiasco.

"You know, I didn't know I had any Dalish fans. You really like my writing?" He sounded surprised, sure, but it was a pleasant sort of surprise. He wouldn't have thought murder mysteries would appeal to the Dalish, but then again he was a dwarf who couldn't tolerate hiking or caves, so, hey, to each their own. "I must say, I'm flattered."

"I read Tale of the Champion. Someone in my clan had it and I was curious, but I couldn't put it down. He traded it away after that. This..."

She takes another peek into the book.

"It's just...a whole world I don't know. And I know it's not like it really is in cities. That's why I like it. It's exciting, but it's not dangerous."

That was probably one of the most succinct reviews he'd ever gotten, apart from that one terrible one that consisted of the title, the word "is", and a series of expletives. Varric didn't know too much about Dalish life and what he did know he'd learned from Daisy and that catastrophe with her clan, but he supposed a big part of the appeal of fiction was the safety. Cities, especially like Kirkwall, weren't usually very kind to anyone, least of all elves, and especially not Dalish elves.

Safety was definitely appealing. Maker knew, he'd seen enough real corpses in fancy mansions to know that they weren't quite as interesting and exciting as murder victims in stories. For one thing, stories didn't generally smell, and running into corpses in a book was far less likely to end in trouble with the guard.

"Well, that one's all yours and my editor made sure to send me a crate full of everything else I've ever written. If you finish that, just head up to the library." Varric motioned at the wall above the hearth and then, vaguely, to the stairs past the first set of scaffolding. "I can't promise you'll like them as much as Tale, the other ones don't have Hawke, after all, but people seem to enjoy them."

She shakes her head. "I like made-up heroes. There's something remarkably honest about them. They are exactly what the teller says they are. Hawke is real, and much as I admire her, it makes your book an interpretation of her. Interpretations are dodgy things. Donnen is exactly what you say he is, though, so I'm not wondering about your bias the entire time I'm reading."

For the better part of ten seconds, the most Varric could manage was a polite but (very obviously) surprised stare. Now, it wasn't that she was an elf, or that she was Dalish, or even that she was a fan--his own editor rarely brought up things like interpretive bias. He wasn't offended but, frankly, he wasn't prepared for that level of critique.

He honestly wasn't sure if the Seeker had accused him of bias...lying, sure, but bias?

He also had to take a second and actually try to remember if Hard in Hightown had an unreliable narrator. He was pretty sure it didn't, but he might actually have to read it again to be certain.

Of course, as he thought about all this, his expression shifted to thoughtful confusion, a strained look as he attempted to remember, and then a grimace when his memory failed, all set to increasingly awkward silence.

"Okay," he said as he finished his mental gymnastics. He shot the elf a sidelong, assessing look as he bent and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. "You--are officially not allowed to read anything of mine that's older than that, and I demand you give me your name and clan in case I need a reader. Maker knows it's hard enough to get one who grasps character arcs, let alone author bias."

He passed both his pen and the paper to her and reached into his shirt to pull out his editor's card. (Sure she was with the Coterie in Kirkwall, but all editors were thieves. She was just up front about it.) He set the card down on the blank page and looked the elf dead in the eye.

"Whatever you charge per page, you're hired."

She holds the paper and pen in nerveless hands, looking like a deer caught by sudden light. She looks quite serious now, much less the breathless fangirl, perhaps even with a gleam of calculating professional in her eye.

"To...do what, exactly?"

That was a dangerous, cunning glint in her eyes. She was off guard but sharp as a tack. Oh, his editor was going to love this kid.

"To read my drafts before they go to print. You know: edit, critique, red-line, that sort of thing," Varric explained. "Of course, you can't share them or tell people about the stories, not until it's done and printed, but you'd be first pass. Quality control."

He considered her for a moment and then leaned forward.

"Last Reader I hired got a silver a page and that guy wouldn't know an adverb if it bit him on the tenders; I bet you could get 10 if you really held the line. Don't try for 20, though, if I know my Editor she'd sooner hold me at sword point while I wrote then shell out more than ten sovereigns an issue for editing."

Not sure what an adverb is, but Varric seems to know well enough. What he seems to be asking for is an eye for detail and the ability to critique without withholding anything, and Pel has both in spades.

Ten silvers a page. She's not sure if that's fair, or if that's a lot. She'll have to ask Krem. But there are some questions she can ask without knowing.

"Per page front-and-back, or per side? And every page checked, not just every page with errors?"

Edited 2015-10-25 14:59 (UTC)

Right. Dalish. She had probably not been hired as a Reader before.

"Just the one side is a page, but it'll feel like two because you have to fight through my handwriting." Varric explained as he sat back. His handwriting, at least what was on the letter on the table, seemed neat and formal enough. It was a shame that most of his personal, non-threat-related writing was a little less legible, but she could probably handle it. "And it's by every page you read. Since you're doing content too it's not like you can skip a few just because you didn't see any words I may have misspelled.

"Which would actually be a pretty good argument for ten silvers a page, come to think of it. If my Editor gives you shit, use that."

Pel sets the paper against the table and writes down her name and clan.

"So I'll be paid by your editor, not by you?" That makes him more likely to be giving her an accurate sum.

"Yes and no," Varric said and waved his hand a bit. "She pays you the actual coin, and it's her coin up front, but it ultimately comes out of what I get paid if a book succeeds. It's complicated, like a really long, expensive bet, but she's the one who handles all the detail work."

Today was a strange day. When he sat down this morning he never thought he'd be teaching a Dalish elf all about how book sales went or explaining Reader fees. Then again, he also hadn't expected to be hiring her to read his next novels, either, but sometimes weird stuff just happened. She couldn't be worse than the guy he had already; she already seemed a far cry sharper than he was.

"She can courier it to you or send papers to the nearest treasury, that part gets a little strange when you're out in the middle of nowhere, but she's the best at what she does. I wouldn't work with her if she wasn't."

Pel shakes her head.

"So long as it comes, I'm not worried about logistics. Sort of nice, letting someone else worry about that. So you want to pay me to sit down and read, basically. And tell you what's wrong with it."

Varric Tethras wants her to do that. She can help decide Varric Tethras' stories. She can make good books better. While sitting down and enjoying herself. This is actually a dream job. Her heartbeat is picking up as she thinks about it. How nice will it be, having an excuse to relax without feeling guilty about work that needs to be done?

"Yeah, that's about the size of it," Varric replied and leaned back in his (somewhat rickety) chair. He'd basically assaulted her with this job offer, though, and much as he'd like her to accept, it wasn't mandatory. He quirked an eyebrow at her and offered up his most charming smile.

"So, you interested?"

"I am interested." She can't sound too eager yet, since she still needs to ask Krem if ten silvers is a lot. "Why don't I answer you tonight at the tavern, over a drink?"

"It's a date."

Varric nods and holds out his hand because, casual (bordering on flip) as he's being about this, this is still a business deal and shaking hands is sort of traditional. Whether she accepted the job or not, he respected her cunning enough to treat her like every other person who worked for him or tried to take his money.

There was a lot of crossover between those two groups, so a standard of etiquette was important.

The all-important handshake, that binding agreement. She understands the significance from her clan's dealings with surface dwarf merchants. She reaches out and gives his hand a firm shake. She has always tried to have a good strong handshake to counter her delicate appearance.

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Skyhold

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+ Varric Greatly Approves

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