open | now give me something to believe in.

[interroga]

WHO: Cassian Andor & you
WHAT: A liaison from the Shadow Dragons arrives
WHEN: Bloomingtide
WHERE: Minrathous + Kirkwall
NOTES: Some injury description

arrival.

It’s a late spring night when a stranger arrives at the Widow Tavisa’s Boarding House.

Most regular guests would take the front entrance and speak to the innkeeper in the main room; but this one slips through the back entrance and takes an out-of-the-way servant’s staircase, into a shuttered wing of the building which isn’t supposed to be open to the public. But those rare people in the know might be aware that this leads to Riftwatch’s secret outpost in Minrathous —

The darkhaired man slumps against the locked door leading into their safehouse. He knocks on the door in a fixed, staccato rhythm identifying him as an ally. He has a hand pressed to his side with worrisome urgency, jaw tight and teeth gritted against the pain; he knocks again a little louder, in case whoever’s on watch is dozing.

No one’s expecting a new arrival right at this hour. It’s not ideal.

settling in.

After finally getting vetted and officially joining, Cassian tucks the Riftwatch pin into his pocket and starts to get the lay of the land, gathering information, pressing a finger to the pulse of this new city he’s going to be calling home.

There’s a kind of amiable affability to this new arrival, his smile calculated to be inoffensive and mild, even as the gears are very busily ticking away behind his dark-brown eyes.

You might find him at the Gallows bar, pouring himself a drink and smoothly sliding into the chair at your table to pry: “So, what’s your favourite place in the Gallows or Kirkwall?”

Or wandering the battlements of the towers and looking out across the city. Rebuilding is expensive, and so some parts of Kirkwall still bear the marks of the Venatori attack a little over a year ago: collapsed buildings that never got raised again, battle-scars and scorch marks from dracolisks. “What was it like?” he asks. “The Venatori attack.”

He also goes for long walks through the city, right past the alienage (although his gaze lingers), and venturing into the deeper recesses of the city slums. One particular afternoon, he emerges from Darktown blinking half-blinded into the dim light of Lowtown, which is right about when a few thieves assemble around him for an attempted mugging, knives brandished. “I really don’t have time for this,” he says to the ringleader, looking more annoyed than frightened; which is right about when a Riftwatch colleague might turn the corner and encounter the scene.


( Also happy to receive wildcards, or to write up a bespoke starter for you; just hmu @ quadrille if you’d like to discuss! )

Comments

[interroga]

And they’re both from Riftwatch and most of them seem to live at or near the Gallows, so if Josephine doesn’t live here —

“So you just visit too?” Cassian asks. “Do… favours for friends?”

He’s picking his way through the conversation, a little stilted and awkward, clearly out of his element. Of course the concept of mutual aid and neighbourly community isn’t alien to him, but he’s so over-aware of how out-of-place he feels here. The closer they walk into the neighbourhood, the more he’s looking at all of their surroundings rather than the woman beside him. His head tilts back and back, to stare up at the vhenadahl towering over the neighbourhood.

[untiltheyarent]

"Mmhmm." Her smile is warm as she confirms, letting him have a moment to look around before she continues.

"As with anywhere, look for the community and you'll find it. We may live in the Gallows and our neighbors here, but nobody's confined." Tilting her head to one side to peer around him, she waves at somebody on their doorstep, her nose wrinkling in a silly grin-- yes, she was just here, she's back again.

"What sort of things can you do? Manual labor, caring for children? ...reading?" The last one is spoken as a massive long shot, but she looks hopeful anyway.

[interroga]

Nowadays when someone’s asking for his qualifications, he usually rattles off a very, very different list. Espionage, sabotage, assassination. But so Cassian chews over the question anew, trying to re-examine himself and his own skills when robbed of that particular context. When he’s not being a blade wielded by hands above him.

The resulting list, when he takes out all the rest, feels depressingly short.

“I can read Trade, Tevene, and Antivan,” he confirms. “Manual labour. I’m handy with disassembling and reassembling dwarven craft, if it comes up. I can cook.”

She might be a maid, but he still sounds a bit like he’s delivering a report to a superior; an automatic instinct.

gives u sidequests

[untiltheyarent]

Most people in Riftwatch can read, Fifi understands, but it's still so impressive to her when they can do it with multiple languages; for all the work she's done in Trade, she's barely touched Orlesian, her native tongue. She looks a bit wistful as he goes on, but it dwindles as his deference further endears her to him.

"That'll be more than enough," she assures him, and, glancing around, points out a house with several children playing idly in front. "If you can cook, they'll be glad of it; [that lady] watches all the children during the day, and I doubt she'd mind having an extra hand in the kitchen."
Pointing to the man who'd just waved at her, she adds, "drunks destroyed [the guy's name's] produce wagon in Lowtown the other night, he needs help repairing it but no one's had the time."

scoops them into my quest log

[interroga]

Cassian’s gaze follows where Josephine gestures, looking at the two houses she’d called out, noting them in his memory. These are such small tasks compared to what he’s used to — this is no violent revolution, no toppling of an empire, no joining Riftwatch’s notorious ranks — but. He still remembers where he came from, the things they owe to each other, the bricks of that small community. If people weren’t looking after each other, what was the point of everything he’d done?

“Will you introduce me?” he asks. “Suspect this goes a bit easier if…”

He trails off, a helpless gesture of a hand, indicating his own face. It had mostly been a benefit in his work, letting him glide through Tevinter with less scrutiny, but now it makes him stand out.

[untiltheyarent]

"Of course," she answers, and holds up her arm, inviting him to link his: it's an unthinking gesture, offered to give him an anchor in an uncertain situation. Let her lead, she'll take care of it.

And she does, taking Cassian around and introducing him one by one to the neighbors of the alienage. By the time they're finished, Fifi's list has been compounded many times over by an assortment of requests, more than one person could ever hope to accomplish in a year, perhaps a lifetime.
After they've made the rounds, she walks him back to the alienage entrance where they met, offering a slightly apologetic but nonetheless pleasant smile. Here we are.

[interroga]

For all Cassian’s usual guarded caution, something in him loosened as he took Josephine’s arm and allowed himself to ease into it; some innate instinct to fit in, to look as natural as possible, to don the guise of a local until it felt more real, some of that stilted uncomfortable body language vanishing.

After the third townsperson needing help mentions a violent goose having gotten loose into the alleys and needing retrieving, he’d pulled a battered notebook out of his chest pocket and started jotting down notes, names, reminders. Normally his work couldn’t be logged anywhere, but these were innocent enough: a well mechanism which needed re-tuning, a delivery of apples which needed transporting across the city, basic errands here and there.

Once they’re done and heading back to the entrance, he exhales. He’d been warmer and chattier while they were schmoozing; now the mask sinks away again, the man reverting back to more contemplative. His demeanour seems to subtly shift where and when as needed.

“For not being from Kirkwall, you seem to know everyone here,” he remarks.

[untiltheyarent]

Noticing the shifts in demeanor, Fifi says nothing of them, seeming every bit the bright and helpful guide even as a twinge of fatigue pulls at the corners of her eyes.

"Not everyone in Kirkwall," she says plainly, turning to glance back into the alienage, "but here, perhaps." She releases his arm, resting her own back over her basket once more.
"A person who's alone in a place can get lost there," she adds, a bit evasively, "I try not to."

[interroga]

"I've been doing that, for a while," Cassian says after a moment, ruminative, trying to figure out the best way to safely describe the nature of his life with the Shadow Dragons. "Letting myself get lost in the crowd, I mean. Traveling, busy with my work, not putting down roots. Been a while since I've been somewhere anyone even knew my name. It looks... nice. I mean, obviously it's—"

it's still an alienage,

"but I think you know what I mean. It seems homey. I grew up in a small town; it reminds me of that."

[untiltheyarent]

He describes his experience, and she can't help but smile at the similarities; getting lost on purpose, that's its own advantage. Lost to all but oneself. But,

she realizes with a tinge of remorse, it's a life defined by loneliness. Being nothing to so few for so long, one forgets how real people are meant to behave. The way he stood so awkwardly and aimlessly at the entrance; if she were displaced again, found herself on the other side of the world, might she not do the same? Wouldn't it be easier to give up entirely?

"I'm glad you came," she says in a moment of unexpected candor, her smile flickering. She glances down, away, heaves a little sigh of defeat.
"...Fifi," she amends, "you can call me Fifi."

[interroga]

He does a small double-take, but a double-take nonetheless, shooting her a rueful look as she offers that up.

“Is ‘Fifi’ for friends?” he asks. Half-joking, maybe, but it’s a real question too.

omg I missed this entirely

[untiltheyarent]

His reaction is cute, and she laughs lightly about it, giving a little nod.

"Familiarity," is all she says at first, but follows it up after a moment with, "it seems like something you're in need of."

[interroga]

The faintest wince, another small misstep in his gait, only detectable to someone — like her — very accustomed to measuring others’ body language. That awareness of having been so effectively clocked. He almost considers sliding right past it and not confirming either way, but: what’s the point?

“Was it that obvious,” Cassian says after a moment. Then, neutrally: “Agents aren’t supposed to get homesick.”

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi nods, not unkindly-- it was that obvious-- and gives him a measuring look.

"Everyone gets homesick," she says, "especially agents." What could be more thankless than being on the job every hour of every day, always checking over one's shoulder?

"I suppose you don't mean agents of Riftwatch?"

[interroga]

“In general.” It could be Riftwatch, except that they’re not usually stationed away for such long periods of time. So many of them have that glowing green shard; it keeps tugging them home.

“But I’m—” was? am? he supposes he still is, “a Shadow Dragon, too. Before all this.”

They’ve spent the whole day together, in and out of people’s homes, he’s been offered tea and homemade hearth cakes from Fifi’s friends; so being cagey about the remaining details felt wrong, especially when any glance at his recruitment report would say where he’s joining them from.

[untiltheyarent]

A glimmer of recognition passes over Fifi's eyes; she's heard the organization mentioned, knows a few things about it by environmental osmosis even if she's never met one personally.

He had mentioned Tevinter.

"You fight the Venatori up north," she hazards; it seems right. This is the farthest north she's ever been.

[interroga]

“Yes,” Cassian says, simply. That’s the cleanest way to summarise it, probably. “Rebels from within. Bit more underground than your Riftwatch, here.”

The Gallows was— ostentatious is the wrong word for it, but it certainly catches the eye, looming and forbidding in the harbour as it is.

[untiltheyarent]

She smiles a little-- bit more underground, yes. And as long as they're sharing backgrounds, might as well:

"Freemen of the Dales," Fifi says quietly, tapping herself on the chest, "sort of. A long time ago."

[interroga]

“Oh?” Interest piques, but Cassian’s having to scrounge his memory. It had been another country and genuinely before his time, years before he’d gotten his shit together and started to direct his attentions more productively. The details are lost on him, but he knows enough to ask:

“The Orlesian civil war, right?”

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi nods. Hesitates, like she isn't sure if she should proceed, but he's risked enough of himself:

"I joined after my husband was killed." Her smile is sad, but composed. "They said they would prevent more senseless death for the crown." spoiler alert

[interroga]

They said, Fifi says, in that particular tone and particular phrasing which implies there’s a gulf between reality and what they said.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian says. There’s no real route to offering empathy here and he knows it; his sort-of-wife left him but that’s not the same as her dying for it. The comparison would be cheap.

So instead, hesitating: “From what I heard of the Freemen, I think there was some similar intent between our organisations. We both wanted better for our countries. Better than how they were being ruled.”

That, he can relate to.

I completely spaced on this aaaaaa

[untiltheyarent]

"Yes," she agrees, simply enough, "and perhaps they've come closer to accomplishing that." Biting back further commentary, she pauses to smooth out her dress; when she straightens again, her face is once again the picture of serenity.

"...but it's good to be here. I'm glad you're here."

it’s ok!! i think that’s a good place to wrap anyhow :’)

[interroga]

Saying he’s glad to be here, in turn, sounds a little off at first blush — there are a great many places Cassian would, technically, rather be — but if he thinks about it, there could be far worse. There’s postings and then there’s shitty postings. There’s infiltrating a Venatori family household for years and hoping they don’t ever find out your double-agent status and slit your throat for it; or just lose their temper and kill you anyway because you’re a servant and, well, that’s what they’re allowed to do.

So. Riftwatch, which is welcoming enough, and you get your own room and your own pay and they even have their own tavern. He really could do far worse.

“Glad to be here,” he says, his own expression just as benign.