[ open AND closed oh my ]

[wardwitch]

WHO: Argent Tavarys, guest stars, and YOU??

WHAT: Included but not limited to an extremely unexpected reunion, acquainting herself with the infirmary, and guard duty. The log post itself contains two open options; closed starters are in comments.
WHEN: Backdated to closer to when she arrived, but also going forward.

WHERE: The Infirmary, the Goth Outpost--I mean Gwaren
NOTES: Argent's kind of sweary, but offhand no other content warnings come to mind. If you'd like a starter of your very own just PM this journal to let me know.

OPEN (INFIRMARY):
Having made several inroads with various denizens of the Infirmary, amidst the rush of settling into a bunk in what were, uncomfortably, the Templar quarters of the Gallows, Argent makes time as soon as she can to go see what there is to work with. She's especially on the lookout for Isaac or Stephen Strange, one of whom is ostensibly in charge, as far as she can tell, but anyone who could give her a tour in whatever degree of formality happens to be available would be her new best friend! You know your character wants that.

Meanwhile: despite her mageiness she is not here to offer her services with magical curatives; healer is not her preferred term on the grounds that it's a completely different skill set, but then again that's the reason she likes working with them so much. Often they can teach her things embedded with principles that can be replicated, if not the magic itself.

She flags down the nearest person not like, steeped to the elbows in gore or trying to bedside manner anyone bleeding. "Could I trouble you to point me at whomever I talk to about volunteering? Or should I just grab an injured person and get to work?"

This isn't rhetorical, for the record, that's often how things look for her.

GUARD DUTY

As a rule, Argent does not experience this much downtime on what passes for guard duty, i.e. looking after a tiny fire in the middle of the night, conditions inhospitable. The outpost is itself sort of calming in its familiarity, especially in the doom and gloom aspect! No wonder her sister almost joined the Wardens; they do kind of sit alongside one another in the goth department, except that their fashion sense is much better.

Her partner on the roster could be anyone, and likewise she can be found in any one of the relevant locations at different times! Which is why this is an open option and now that the dust from the complete destruction of the fourth wall has settled we can all move on. Argent facilitates this by turning to them; she's been what amounts to medicinal stretching on the grounds of hating standing still.

"Have you ever had an unquiet shift doing one of these? Regale me, soldier."

Comments

TEREN

[wardwitch]

no replies on any of these please, they are placeholders :*

EMMRICH

[wardwitch]

see above

ATHÉNAïS

[wardwitch]

ditto

guard duty (Gallows)

[thereneverwas]

Her partner is easily multiple times her size, a giant brick of a man who has spent most of their shift quietly smoking and staring into the middle distance. He'd introduced himself as Barrow early on, but the initial warmth of his greeting smile dwindled into an absent sort of look as the shift began to wear on.

He almost starts a little when she speaks, glancing over (and down) to meet Argent's eyes.
"Well," he grunts, "got attacked, not all that long ago. Venatori on dracolisks. Knocked down the other tower." A tiny quirk of his brow suggests the beginnings of an ironic smirk; that's unquiet if anything is, right?

Guard Duty (Kirkwall docks) - lmk if you'd like any adjustment

[wearyallalone]

Vanya Orlov (no honorific, upon introduction) is a man on the tall side, somewhere between an incredibly rough 40 and a decently weathered 50. His bearing is less ambiguous than his age: Whatever organization he was part of before Riftwatch, soldier is perfectly apt. Even with no sign of trouble on their watch, he can best be described as "at ease" (parade rest edition) rather than relaxed. Still, at least he doesn't seem nervous and her question doesn't startle him.

He glances back at her from where he's been looking out at the city. "Do you mean here specifically, or on any sort of watch?" There's no hint of archness in his tone, the request for clarification seemingly genuine. Her chances of being regaled may seem slim, given his subdued demeanor. Still, he's not refusing to engage.

infirmary.

[portalling]

She finds the infirmary mostly empty, this time; they might technically be at war, but it’s not quite like a bustling warden field-camp in the thick of a conflict or stationed right on the outskirts of the Deep Roads. People aren’t constantly being hauled in torn up by darkspawn. The pace these days is slower and quieter, unless it’s a particularly bad day, a larger mission or battle gone horribly awry.

So they’ve grown to appreciate the boring days. It means they’re lucky.

But eventually a middle-aged human man appears, and does a little startled double-take at the brand-new face — she is also very short, and an elf, they haven’t had too many of those during his tenure — and then smooths over his facial expression. “Depends on your level of experience working on injured people,” he says, “but I’d be glad of the extra helping hands. I’m the Head Healer, Doctor Stephen Strange. And you are?”

There’s a kind of briskness to his demeanour in this room: not impatient, as such, but to-the-point.