faderift | PLAYER PLOT | Forgetti Catchall, now in the right comm

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PLAYER PLOT | Forgetti Catchall, now in the right comm

WHO: Ennaris Tavane, Julius, Bastien, Viktor, Clarisse La Rue + OTA
WHAT: Strangers arrive at the Gallows.
WHEN: A week in Haring.
WHERE: The Gallows / elsewhere
NOTES: Check out this OOC Post for details.

This is a catchall post for threads with or about the forgotten characters plot. Feel free to thread about it elsewhere as well!

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Clarisse steps onto the ferry and plants her elbows on the rail, thinking. She might as well take him up on it, right? A free round, start her night off on a little bit of a better note than the day preceding it...

"Sure. Why not."

Trundling on after her, Barrow leans his back on the railing and stretches his arms out in front of him like a big cat, releasing some of the day's tension.

"What's your name, then?" he asks, relaxing back into himself and fishing a cigarette out of the box in his belt pouch.

At least Barrow seems relatively unbothered by all of this. That makes one of them.

"Clarisse." She bites the inside of her cheek. "I know yours already."

"Yeah?"

He lights the cigarette with his runestone, looking off over the water. "What's that?"

Clarisse gives him a sidelong look. "Barrow, of course." As for his first name, jury's out.

"Easy." He smiles, impish, "coulda picked that up anywhere."

He might just be trying to give her a hard time-- or an easy one, for that matter-- but either way, it doesn't seem to bother him.

"So where're you from? Rifter? Or just unlucky?" He nods to her hand.

Ah, right, that thing.

"I'm a rifter. From earth. It's not like Thedas." Though she figures he knows that, having been around that time they all visited Dream New York and Nightmare Seattle. "And I'm from Arizona. Big desert, crazy hot all the time."

"Right, right, I know Earth," Barrow nods, getting into it-- he was a doorman for a while (and a bear?)-- "bet you're having a good time in Kirkwall then. You warm enough?"

"Abby stole my coat."

It's fine, she's just going to wear her gross old one from now on! She doesn't even care about the sick camo jacket Gwen made for her and doesn't remember making for her anymore! She's not mad!

For some reason-- maybe it's just her tone, maybe it's the mental image-- this elicits a laugh, which Barrow stifles quickly in favor of taking a drag off his cigarette.

"That's not nice," he remarks, in an avuncular, staying-out-of-it way. As the ferry approaches the dock, he grips the railing to brace against the bump of impact.

Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, old man.

"Not nice isn't the way I'd put it." But Clarisse decides she'd rather not vent about Abby right now. The hurt is still too fresh for it to feel satisfying.

As the ferry docks, she looks over at Barrow again. "Were you being serious about buying me a drink, or were you just saying that?"

“If you know my name,” Barrow reasons, gesturing for her to disembark ahead of him, “then you ought to know I’d never lie about something so serious.”

His smile is cheerful, smug even, though it diminishes slightly as something strikes him—-
“no affiliation with the Chantry, I assume?”

"The Chantry?" she repeats incredulously. "No."

But then again, it's not like Barrow knows anything about her anymore. It's a valid question, probably.

"Not into the whole religious thing?"

ok whew,

“Err…” he stalls, finds no way to gracefully answer that, and finally decides on, “don’t worry about it.”

He leads the way to one of the many dive bars around the docks, opening the door for her once he’s satisfied by the one that smells the least worst.

“What’ll you have?”

O...kay. Interesting. She's putting that away for now, to be brought up at some later date, hopefully, if Barrow ever remembers her.

"Whatever you're having." Might that be hazardous to her health? Oh well. Whatever, she's a demigod, she can handle her alcohol.

"Whiskey," he decides for the both of them-- and while whiskey in and of itself might not be a hazard, this whiskey might. All the drinks from a certain part of town come with a calculated risk of catching someone's STD, or at least would be if STDs were a thing anyone knew about in Thedas.

Leaning one side against the bar, Barrow sends an affable smile Clarisse's way. "So. What'dyou do? Fight?"

No risk, no reward.

"Um," Clarisse snorts, "yeah." She almost adds that she's in Forces, but she doesn't feel like pushing her luck even if Barrow doesn't seem bothered by her.

"My father is a god of war," she says instead, like that's the more believable bit of trivia.

"No shit!"

His eyebrows arch, but it's impossible to tell whether or not he actually believes her-- if nothing else, he does for The Bit, because he wants to know more.

"What's that like?"

Maybe it's because Barrow doesn't even remember her, or maybe it's just because she's tired, but Clarisse answers him honestly.

"It's okay. There are things about it that are really great and things about it that really suck. And no one even knows who he is, here, so it's not like anyone respects me for it."

"Ah, well."

He throws back a gulp of whiskey, sets his cup down with a tap: more, please.

"Nobody knows who mine is either." His smile down to her is amused, but kind.

Clarisse isn't finished with hers yet. She's doing that thing where she takes a drink, tries really hard not to make a face, and waits to get feeling back in her tongue before she repeats the process.

"It sucks, huh?" Half-joking.

weakling

"Nah," he says with a shitty smirk, knowing full well the difference, "he wouldn't like the publicity."
He's in the process of pulling his mug back over when he adds, "gone and lost his mind anyhow-- even he doesn't know who he is anymore, I reckon." He pauses, a muscle in his jaw working; he may not have meant to say that out loud, least of all to a stranger.

Oh.

She might have assumed Barrow was joking, but the look on his face is too serious for that.

Clarisse frowns, shifting in her chair. "When's the last time you saw him?"

"Ah..." He winces, in the manner of one prepared to wriggle out of a conversation, "couple years back. But it's nothing."

It's most definitely not nothing, but talking about Something doesn't need to happen right now, and Barrow is kicking himself for instigating it.

"So your da? He's a god? Tell me about him."

"Maybe he's doing better now." But Clarisse can tell that he doesn't want to talk about it, so she doesn't push any further.

"He's the god of war," but she said that already, right? The whiskey's making her a fucking blabbermouth. "He's huge and strong and a great warrior. He has..." Hm, how to say this. "Really high expectations for us. His kids. But he has a lot of kids with different mortals, so he's not around much."

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