If You Come Back | { OTA }

[aforethought]

WHO: Melys Auldwine + [ Malcolm Reynolds, Rafael, Bruce Banner ] + YOU!
WHAT: Arriving at Skyhold, some unexpectedly familiar faces, rampaging poultry.
WHEN: Mid-to-late Wintermarch, at various times.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Language, feathery mayhem. Will add warnings as necessary.

Starters below. Please feel free to wildcard me!

Comments

[aforethought]

Melys shrugs a little at the glance; not like she picked it. South Reach sticks to good, proper names. Like Abstinence, and Lichen.

"That's real gracious of you, Councillor." If she had her hat on, she'd tip it. As it is, her eyes just narrow. There's no way she trusts this, it's all sewn up too tidy. "It'll take a bucket of sorrow off his shoulders, for truth. I'll be sure to tell him just who to thank."

Him, because she's not to go about admitting she owes Thenevet anything unless she has to. Even acutely aware as she is that she does — leaving the Inquisition in a hurry would surely lose its appeal about two hours down the road without ice supplies.

"She's a real pretty thing, they'll be worth your investment. Nothing smarter than a mabari, and the crosses are gentler to handle."

[ungovernable]

"I am sure," Benevenuta says, her smile brief and diffident but not unkind or disingenuous; she just isn't going to waste her breath or Melys' time piously arguing the philanthropic nature of the gesture. If it isn't trusted, banging a drum about the goodness of her heart is not going to make her more trustworthy, it's a matter of simply letting her actions speak for themselves.

What's made of them isn't irrelevant, certainly, and she does intend to make sure the actions she takes say what she wishes them to, but - that's a matter for hands, not mouths. If Melys wishes to assure her that she's doing sensible business, let her.

"Tell him to speak with me if there is any concern as to his employ," she instructs, beginning to draw up a message to be sent to Theraday with a runner, shortly. "I am easily enough found."

Clearly.

[aforethought]

"Will do, Councillor." Well, best not to look a gift — dog? — in the mouth. "My apologies on all the mix-up."

She's already standing to go. The sooner she's out of this spooky-polite exchange and can go hit something solid, the better.

"Figure it's best I don't take up no more of your time on this. Maker keep you."

And your little dog too.