open (like hermione's heart)

[reparo]

WHO: Hermione Granger + you
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: end of Harvestmere to Haring
WHERE: Gallows, Crossroads, anywhere else that suits*
NOTES: * I will write you a starter, come at me with any idea at all. Otherwise, generic starters around, pick and choose

Comments

gallows infirmary (open)

[reparo]

Potions-brewing follows the same principles anywhere, and Hermione was adequately adept at potions. (More than, she did experiment with a few potions in Akhuras. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.)

It's not as desperate here. Or rather, it feels more contained and better managed, in the Riftwatch. One needs to take into account rations, supplies, stock. So as much as it might bring her some joy to have the liberty to experiment and see if elfroot has the same healing properties as dittany, she is being a good witch. Brewing what is needed, offering a helping pair of hands.

So from time to time, if not on an assignment, she's in the infirmary in the Gallows, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled up into a bun, wand tucked into it (until she gets the sheath for Satinalia, anyway), chopping and dicing and slicing away. And for anyone lurking: "You can say hello, or you can help me bottle this up, but you're not getting a sample for free."

[portalling]

Part of trusting Hermione Granger and her potion-making skills means that Stephen doesn’t always hover and monitor her progress or her usage of their supplies; instead, she’s free to come-and-go and to work on this as she pleases. Supplies from their stores, now that the garden’s suffering in winter. Herbs imported from warmer climes and different growing seasons. Careful instructions laid out in the infirmary for her; there are recipe cards, describing exacting doses and proportions.

Riftwatch often sees active combat. They’re always in need of more healing potions, and some of them take a while to brew.

“I’m glad you don’t seem to mind this,” he says, rummaging through one of the cabinets, “because waiting for water to boil is, quite literally, one of my least favourite things on this earth or any other.”

The more he can task her with this sort of chore, the better; she seems to have a talent for it.

[reparo]

"Ha," she actually says, in place of laughing, because she is counting the number of elfroot roots that she'll need to chop finely, picking them out of a jar.

"It's surprising how unsurprising hearing that is." She sets down her roots and returns the jar to the shelf where she took it from. "I used to have a spell for it, so I'll confess to some amount of cheating. It could heat water up faster - though I mostly used it to speed-brew tea on the road."

Priorities, Hermione Granger, et cetera.

"Doesn't come that easily here, so in the spirit of not setting the Gallows on fire because I wanted the water to boil faster..."

[portalling]

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the smaller more delicate magicks are in fact harder here? I used to be able to use telekinesis to tie my tie or pour a cup of tea. Now I can’t do that, but I can still fling an outrageously heavy boulder into darkspawn just fine.”

Fully two years in, and Stephen never really tires of discussing these subtleties: the differences in magic, the mechanics of it.

At his own mention of darkspawn, however, there is the smallest flicker, a cloud passing before the sun — he hadn’t meant to evoke Sarrux and what they both experienced there — but he consciously brushes past it. His hands stilling, and then shifting back into easy movement again. Decanters, distillers, mortar and pestle. Chemistry.

“One of my current wishlist items is to construct something using fire runes and enchanted tanks or kettles, so we have easy access to hot or boiling water without a mage. A smaller project than running heated water to all the Gallows, sure, but the infirmary needs it. Washing hands, disinfecting supplies, making potions.”

For now he’s rigged up a makeshift sink at the back, with a water tank which needs occasional refilling, but there’s always room for improvement. He misses modern comforts, the operating hall’s scrubbing station.

gallows library (open)

[reparo]

Burning the candle at both ends here (metaphorically), she's up past whatever passes for a curfew in the Gallows. Maybe it's because she's found a fascinating book about the history of elves, and a comfortable armchair to read it in without taking it out of the library.

Or maybe it's the Anals of Dragon Hunting that's got her attention tonight, which - under her breath, "Why does everything has to be either the comprehensive history of something or the anals of something here? Bit obnoxious."

lmk if you need any adjustments!

[youwonscience]

Cosima's actually returning some books to general circulation, this evening. She knows she's guilty of building towers of them in her office when left to her own devices, so she actually put on her calendar clear out books you're done using once a month or so. (Will she take an equal number of books back to her office? Possibly. Don't ask.)

She glances over from where she's sliding something onto a shelf, toward where Hermione is working through the dragon hunting. "Oh, I know. I can't say whether it's a Thedas problem or an our-specific-library problem. Like, it's always tempting to blame the Kirkwall Templar contingent for everything, but it's possible that it's just what publishers think the people want. Scale of one to ten, how dry is that one?" She's not shouting, but it's late enough that they're probably the only two people in the library, so she doesn't see a need to whisper either.

it's perfect let them cook

[reparo]

In her defense, she wasn't expecting an audience this late in the library - most patrons have left for their quarters or homes by this hour, which is a late one if the shortness of Hermione's candle is anything to go by. So the voice, at once familiar, surprises her into sitting upright.

Provost Niehaus is here, and she's heard Hermione's comment about anals - in book titles! How mortifying.

On second thought, however, Provost Niehaus is also a bookworm (read: nerd) and probably won't balk at Hermione's pile of books being four high, volume in her hands notwithstanding.

"I used to take History of Magic classes from a ghost who only ever droned on about the same three wars, much to everyone's dismay," she answers - not shouting but not whispering either. "His was the one class that everyone napped in, and this book would make his lectures entertaining in comparison." A long-winded way to say a twelve. She closes the book with a sigh.

"Maybe it's my fault, I'm not interested in hunting them."

[youwonscience]

"Woof, I know. I've got a lot of interest in animals native to Thedas that don't exist back home, and like, half of what's out there is how to kill them. Another quarter is how to prepare them to eat." Not her areas of interest in any way. "Oh, wait, have you run across ... We've got a pamphlet somewhere that's more zoological. Granted, a pamphlet still isn't a book, but. Uh, Spada, I think is the author. Contemporary; I think some Riftwatch agents met her a while back."

Cosima comes over properly to join Hermione, her own book back where it goes. As predicted, she doesn't balk at the book stack. Instead, she asks, "The Commander have you looking for something, or is this extracurricular?" No judgment in her voice, if perhaps the lightest note of are you open to being poached to a division where books are your job?.

[allthatgleamsisgold]

The Anals of Dragon Hunting sure is a book. Vlast appraises it with a dismissive grunt, the kind that suggests it's a very good thing for the library he's not able to breathe fire at the moment.

"It came from the anals of something, that is certain."

Look who's learning proper terms for human anatomy! Everyone say thank you, Benedict.

Vlast has his own stack of books; oddly enough, many on Antivan histories and sticking out among them like a duck in an assessor's office is a thin tome of popular songs in Thedas.

[reparo]

Unexpectedly, as soon as she hears that mutter, she lets out a laugh. Under her breath, mind you - this is still a library!

"That's fair," Hermione says after a quick recovery, "I'm two chapters in, and it does feel like the author is talking out of their arse a lot."

sorry for the delay - work drama ate my life

[allthatgleamsisgold]

"Hunting them seems a pointless endeavor. They're far from mindless, unreasonable beasts. There are even human settlements that have cohabited with entire nests."

Hunted to extinction is what the books said and then, by some miracle, dragons returned to life from the heart of Antiva. How is one of the many questions plaguing Vlast.

"Does it say anything useful? Like how long their eggs can survive...?"

here for the anals

[untiltheyarent]

A fascinating subject arrives, in the form of an elf wearing the bland workaday clothes of the housekeeping staff. She offers Hermione a glance, perhaps a little smile of greeting should she look up, then begins to set out a workspace for herself at a nearby table: a little chalkboard, its accompanying chalk, and a thin book that appears to be a primer on letters and simple words.

She begins her exercises, first simply writing out the alphabet in capital letters, her face relaxed and pleasant.

everyone's here for her anals

[reparo]

She does look up from the book as soon as she hears someone approach, so the elf woman gets a polite smile right back. What would be the polite thing here would be for Hermione to return to her book, and carry on. Instead what happens is that she continues to steal little glances in the direction of the newcomer, for a few reasons:

Reason one, although she's been here a while now, she doesn't think she's met this woman before. Is she wearing the housekeeping staff clothes? Maybe that would explain it, but Hermione doesn't want to be the type of person who doesn't know who brings the food, or cleans the dishes.

Reason two, she's learning to read - very clearly. From the brief moments of sneaking a peak (tm), she can tell the elf is practicing writing on a chalkboard.

Reason three, she's an elf. Not that Hermione is going to stare, mind you - or point to the pointed ears and call her names! But there aren't many elf elves around that she's spoken to, and...

Oh, what the hell.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I don't believe we've met. Hello." She waves here. "I'm Hermione."

[untiltheyarent]

Looking up from her task, the elf offers a pleasant smile-- it's not entirely typical for Riftwatchers to introduce themselves to her, but she's familiar enough with many of them that it doesn't throw her off. Maybe she looks like someone the girl knows.

Rising from the chair to give a little curtsy, she replies, "nice to meet you. Josephine Mariette."

training montage [add mulan song here] (for clarisse)

[reparo]

This is not her first rodeo, and she basically asked for this. After being chased by Venatori in the Silent Planes, on griffonback, and somehow making it back alive and in one piece, she'd not hesitated. Clarisse was the keeper of griffons, true, but Clarisse was also:

1. a demigod with a lot of experience fighting and
2. fit as hell.

So yes, following that escapade, somewhere down the line, she'd found the young woman somewhere in the Gallows, told her in no uncertain terms that she needed to get more athletic or she'd be a liability to her fellow Forces teammates on the field, and they'd taken it from there.

This is not her first rodeo, i.e. it is not the first time she wakes up before the ass-crack of dawn to run so much, so at least her lungs aren't burning anymore. Oddly enough, there is something quite soothing about this type of exercise. Maybe it's the early hour, and most people asleep, that makes it feel meditative. Which shouldn't make Hermione laugh, but it does.

Can't believe I've found a form of meditation that works, and it's running the marathon. She shakes her head, zeroes in on the swing of Clarisse's ponytail, and tries to pick up the pace to catch up.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse has chilled out a lot since her days of leading the Ares cabin in drills every morning, so these morning runs with Hermione involve a lot less barking orders than one might expect. She figures there are worse people she could be hanging around this early in the day; at least Hermione doesn't complain, and she more or less keeps up with Clarisse.

She wouldn't use the word "soothing" to describe the way she feels when she gets up early to train, but she is soothed nonetheless.

Hearing Hermione's footsteps approach as she picks up the pace, Clarisse glances over her shoulder, then turns and jogs backwards for a bit so she can call out, "Next we can do the tower stairs." A pointing finger in the direction of the tower. "Up to the eyrie and back as many times as we can."

She's saved this info for mid-run because everyone knows that the stairmaster is the worst, and she didn't want Hermione to bail before they even got started.

[reparo]

Well, if Clarisse is expecting her to moan about the workout being too much of a workout, she'll have to keep waiting. This is a physical challenge, and Hermione is going to excel in it even if it kills her. Which it might, her thighs are already burning.

"Sure," she breathes out with a grim little smile. "I don't see why we wouldn't want to." Someone sounds a hint hysterical in her mid-run windedness. And again, "Many times!"

[laruetheday]

Well, that was much easier than she expected. Clarisse is actually a bit disappointed not to get even a little argument out of it, but—oh well.

"Once," she says, as a show of goodwill, because Hermione is doing what she wants without complaint, "I carried Captain Baudin up and down the stairs on a dare."

Clarisse is pretty sure that Gwenaëlle just likes being carried around, dare or no dare.

satinalia;

[extortionate]

"— Or loud as hell, so you deafen them, and then they're gonna be distracted."

He taps the final name, as punctuation: Hermione (Very quickly so they can't hear you), and shovels a forkful of eggs into mouth.

[reparo]

She hasn't even had time to finish her coffee, but the interruption comes with a list and - well. Hermione does like lists. The commentary on every - or almost every - suggestion for a pseudonym, she doesn't mind either.

Maybe she wasn't clear with her Satinalia gift. Lazar expressed that he liked to sketch, and the charcoal sticks - pencils, really - had been intended for him to sketch. Not draw her a list of secret identities. Lessons for next year.

She finishes swallowing her forkful of eggs, and reaches over to tap a different name: Hysterectomy. "You must think yourself so clever. Where, precisely, would this one even be useful?" A pause, and pained, "Please don't say Orlais."

[extortionate]

"Figure it's more an Antivan name," For everyone's sake, he neglects to do an impression. "Gotta bounce the syllables a bit. What's so bad in Orlais?"

[reparo]

"Nothing intrinsically bad about it," she murmurs, eyes skimming the page for more ridiculous possible identities.

"Polite Rachel - you really went all out with these, Lazar. I'm half tempted to pick a field mission just to put one to the use." She picks up her cup for a sip of water, and it takes her back to a barrel in Tevinter, where a dwarven informant got treated to the Avvar way of sobering up.

"Hysterectomy aside, they are better than being known as the tall one's crazy girlfriend." Don't worry about it.

lands in here

[succise]

Tomorrow after breakfast is a cold mid-morning, one that sees Vega approach in a beautiful, dark blue coat with bell-shaped sleeves. The long hem is kept from touching the floor entirely by the heel of her boots and she's drawing gloves on after having eaten, off-white and woollen, wriggling her fingers into one at a time.

Her greeting is a question. Straight to business once again: "You'll be warm enough in the courtyard?"

'If not too bad' is implied.

[reparo]

The memories of Akhuras hit her every now and then unexpectedly. She used to own a cloak in that colour, the bottom of it embroidered with enchanted thread to look like it was on fire, the inner lining of it enchanted to stay warm. It had been made for her, not on request but as a gift, but someone she has kept nothing from and someone she'll never see again. She misses that cloak, but she misses its maker more.

It hit her as she walked towards the Lady Arany in her dark blue coat. Hermione manages to shake it off.

"I'll be fine," she answers, refusing - stubbornly - to feel embarrassed over the clothes she's wearing. It's all serviceable, but it is Riftwatch uniforms at best. She is wearing a woolen vest at least, tucked inside her trousers and topped off with a coat that has seen better days and probably been worn by others before. But this is fine. She's fine.

"I spotted the sparring grounds are empty, so let's head there."

[succise]

She's fine if she likes to look like she's a member of Riftwatch and nothing much more than that. Vega raises an eyebrow at her approach, smiling, but says nothing at all. Let Hermione come to her own conclusions about what exactly the look on her face means.

"Let's."

She extends her arm toward Hermione so that they might walk there together. It isn't far but the ground is hard and cold, as is the air outside. "You've been here — how long?" There's no time to remember such things about other people. "What do you think?"