![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
open;
WHO: Talin Shira'nehn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dirthsal)
WHAT: Resident Dalish needs to make some friends, he guesses.
WHEN: Currentish!
WHERE: The Gallows, or perhaps one of the outposts (for one prompt)
NOTES: None I can think of!
dirthsal)WHAT: Resident Dalish needs to make some friends, he guesses.
WHEN: Currentish!
WHERE: The Gallows, or perhaps one of the outposts (for one prompt)
NOTES: None I can think of!
eyrie a (for griffon riders)
Talin has not let falling into the bay on his first ever flight dissuade him from continuing to fly—he jumped, he lived, he's not stupid enough to do it again, everything will be fine. That mindset has served him well the past couple times he's attempted to fly again, at least, and there's no reason it shouldn't serve him again, especially when he has
"A bribe," he says to Ghostface as he enters the stall, tossing the griffon a fresh rabbit carcass, "for good behaviour and steady flying. There's more where it came from if you're good. So be good, hey?"
Ghostface may or may not be paying attention, he may or may not even understand what Talin wants, but he's definitely horking down his rabbit.
eyrie b (for everyone else)
Another (marginally?) successful flight under their belts, Talin sets about the business of cooling Ghostface down. His experience being mostly with halla and harts, he does for Ghostface what he would do for them: he curries the lion half, checking him for injuries or sore muscles. Next will be his feathers, smoothing down what was ruffled by their flight and checking for pins to free from their sheathes. The work is meditative, calming—for him. Ghostface gets restless being asked to stay still for so long, but in their time together Talin has learned his companion.
As he works, he sings under his breath, and Ghostface holds still to listen. He'd stumbled into the method at first, humming to himself while he worked and only belatedly realizing that Ghostface hadn't moved as much while he did. After that, he sang with purpose, starting with Dalish hymns, war songs, elvhen poetry—Ghostface will only hear the same song so many times before it stops working quite as well. By now Talin's moved into nursery rhymes; he'll have to learn new songs.
"Ir sa tel'nal, Mythal las ma theneras..."
watch (forces, you choose the place!)
This isn't the most boring task he's ever been set to... But it's not not boring. A man can only sit in silence for so long before he runs out of things to think about and cracks to count in the walls. At least with the clan—
He looks up with a sharp inhale.
"You don't happen to have a deck of cards, do you?" might literally be the first words he's said to his partner guard all night.
training yard (anybody!)
He's already been in the training grounds for over an hour by the time he approaches the archery range, splitting his time between climbing and leaping between frames and practicing his knifework—and it's a good thing he started with knives, as by the time he picks up a bow, he's already clearly established to anyone watching that he is a competent combatant. It's just that, contrary to popular belief, not all elves—not even all Dalish—are master archers.
His arrow skitters on the stone floor, laughably wide of the target. Bela's laughter rings in his ear, clear and bright like she's standing right next to him. He can hear her good-natured mockery—little halla boy never had anyone teach him to shoot straight, huh?—tickling his ear.
Talin stands frozen, but he doesn't flinch, stopped in place for only a second before he shakes himself out and moves to retrieve his arrows. Bela's voice fades, as it always does. She sounded different, he thinks, but he can't put a finger on what his subconscious has got wrong.
He comes back to the mark, breathes deep, and resets.
buying drinks (anybody!)
He's been here too long without making friends. It was understandable at first—a Dalish elf in a predominantly human organization, taken prisoner by the Venatori almost as soon as he joined up—but at this point his lack of social ties should be growing suspicious to anyone paying close enough attention. He has Astrid, but she's just one person, and most of their time spent together is in the Planasene, not actually in Kirkwall or the Gallows.
So: avoiding suspicion, building social connections, appearing invested in Riftwatch and her people. The easiest way to hit all of these goals at once is, of course, alcohol. Which sends Talin to the Loose Noose at the end of the day, drinking on his own until he sees someone who looks in need of (and receptive to) a companion.
"Well," he says, placing a mug in front of his new mark, "we can't both be drinking alone, that's just sad."
no subject
Noticing how Talin leans forward, Benedict offers a dry smirk.
"How considerate," he replies, and takes a sip from his wine-- Talin may hate to pry, but he'll have to if he wants more information.
no subject
"That's me," he leans back in his chair and drinks from his cup, maintaining stubborn eye contact with Benedict. "I'm known for being polite."
no subject
"So I see," he says pleasantly, leaning back in an unconscious mirroring of Talin's body language, "is there something else I can do for you, Messere Shira'nehn?"
no subject
As though the Dalish don't do the same—the drinks may be different, mead and fermented halla milk instead of ale or beer, but they drink around fires just as much as the shemlen. Let Benedict call him on that, though. At least this conversation would be slightly more interesting if there was some overt friction to it.
no subject
It's as good an opening question as any.
no subject
If he had anyone to send him letters, if anyone who cared about him could read (or was alive), they'd have a constant place to send them to. That probably counts as settled, doesn't it?
"Is that not a distinction that you make, settled and not? Or do you use a different word for it?"
Even odds a Tevinter magister distinguishes civilized and not.
no subject
"Comfortable," is what he decides on, "in the context of... settling in, I suppose." The corners of his mouth quirk in a little smile-- he's never been one for verbal sparring, never found that his mind can work quickly enough to make his mouth do anything but stammer.
"I can't pretend to know what it's like for everyone, but I felt more settled when I..." A pause, as he chooses his words carefully, "let myself relax into it. The new place and people, I mean."