faderift | the first rule about scout club is...

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the first rule about scout club is...

WHO: Inquisition Scouts
WHAT: It's Harding's birthday, the scouts turned it into an excuse to party. And to shoot flaming arrows off the fortress walls. Why? Why not.
WHEN: Backdated to Wintermarch 20
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Scout signups and scout mingling is go! Warnings will be updated as appropriate.

In Skyhold, today was a day like any other.

It was cold, and it was sort of snowing, the worst of it strewn about in clumps with some attempt made to at least clear the path to the fortress gates. Troops and scouts trained, ravens cawed, some mages and templars gave each other the stink-eye, meals were served, nobles tutted, and runners went abut their business. Exceptionally ordinary - if it were not the Lead Scout's birthday.

Not that Harding had told them that. She had made a point not to do so, but let it not be said that the Inquisition Scouts were nothing but decent at their jobs when it came to hard fact. Gossip, on the other hand? Debatable.

( THE TAVERN )

The second floor of The Herald's Rest has been claimed in the name of the scouts for the occasion for schmoozing. Several mercenaries lounge on the stairs to permit or deny entry, all for the easy money, but as long as you look like a rogue and have a bow, they'll probably wave you on through. There are banners hung with the Inquisition logo here and there, draped across beams and nailed into place, which is about as festive as they've been allowed to be in order for the lead scout not to become aware as to their plans. Ale and mead and wine are brought up from the bar and several tables have been pushed together for the food, or nibbles, but it's just standard Ferelden kitchen faire and seems to have been an afterthought. At least there's a lot of it.

Card games spring up across the board and a game of wicked grace is sure to get out of hand eventually; a bored scout (who keeps dozing off) mans a table near the entrance to the floor with what looks to be a sign-up sheet for those interested in joining the scouting operation. Several slogans have been crossed out at the top, all written by several different hands (eat it, Coryphispit!). One or two bards and their lutes have been roped in to the whole affair to provide atmosphere on the chance the scouts can't provide entertainment for themselves, though their songs of choice involve the nearest person and made up ditties on the spot. They also break into rounds of wishing various Skyhold denizens a happy birthday, whether it's today and whether they're here or not (the Commander comes up a lot).

( THE CONTEST )

When night falls, the scouts head up and out onto the walls of Skyhold with enough arrows to fell a dragon and then some - ask and you'll be told it's an archery contest, which might have been conceived right now, or hours before, no one's really sure, but it's happening. The arrows, by the way, are on fire. On fire and aimed into the snowbanks below, yes. Whomever fires the furthest is the winner, apparently, though that does depend on whether anyone can see the flickering light in the dark and the potential for everyone to argue about their perception of distance. There are many good archers and most of them are far from sober at this point, so it can only end well. They're also not exactly going to turn away anyone that isn't a scout, but are you going to win? Best be prepared.

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Harding suspected something was amiss with the skittish looks and the cuts in conversation when she came close, but she didn't exactly expect to be strong armed into attending her own party when she had other things to be doing. Things such as writing and filing reports and final Emprise preparations to make, for example. But nope, here she was, because someone had to threaten revealing someone else's first name to the rank and file if she didn't show up for at least thirty minutes. Thanks Katniss.

So, here she was, despite her intent. For Harding's part, her mingling comes from people approaching her as she sits on the sidelines with drink in hand; she shows plenty of interest to those who want to become a scout, casually asking questions of import and engaging in general chit-chat (is she screening them? She's screening you.) The bard gets a look the first time her birthday tune is strummed, but she ignores it after, soaking up the night and trying not to think about what else she should be doing. She can manage one night off. Can't she?

(She'll be breaking out to hide in Bruce's tent soon enough.)

She's not escaping the paper crown. Katniss didn't get away with it, and neither can Lace. So down Katniss drops, a cider in hand, and the crown in the other, as she plops it right on Harding's head and slouches comfortably in her chair.

"You thought you'd get out of it, but no, I found you." She smirked over at her friend, as she reached into her leather jacket, to pass Harding a simply wrapped package. "And? You have to take this too."

Harding groans as the crown is placed upon her head. She doesn't even care to straighten it as it drops down over her hair, just in her eye line - no point. The blasted thing is already on her head, that's not going to make it any better.

"I think I'm feeling a reason to remind you who your boss is, Scout Everdeen," Harding mumbles, wryly. She doesn't really mean it, though; rank pulling is for more serious offenses than paper crowns. Running off down to mires without telling anybody you're going, for example.

Harding takes the package, half smiling but not making to open it. "I shouldn't be surprised you didn't listen to the no presents request, either. Given all of this," she gestures to the room, the scouts. It's not bad, she's just busy. Always busy. She shakes the gift, gently. "Any clues to what it is?"

Edited (clarification......) 2016-01-25 16:49 (UTC)

Katniss snorted softly, as she folded one booted leg over the other. "My boss is that scary red-headed lady we call the Nightengale, Lead Scout Harding. And I would never put a paper crown on her head. She's my hero."

In more ways than one. One of these days she was going to get around to thanking Leliana personally for what she had done for Redcliffe. Just like she had embarrassed Zevran and Alistair about it.

"I would have -- but then I remembered I'm your oldest friend here and if I didn't get you something you'd give me those big sad eyes." She said with a straight face. "There might even be crocodile tears. Then I also remembered that you made me wear a paper crown not a week ago and made me take that jam from your mother. So ... memory serving me well, you're getting a birthday, Lead Scout Harding."

"Leliana might be above both of us, but only one of us is the Lead Scout here." The one of us being her, as you know. The one wearing the paper crown on her head. So awful. "You'd be better off skipping the crown altogether with her and going with shoes instead."

Who knew, though, she might be amused by the crown, but Harding isn't going to recommend anyone should try it. But she is aware of what Leliana is to Katniss, as were the others that passed through Redcliffe ten years prior, so she doesn't push the mater.

"Since when have I ever given you big sad eyes?" Harding scoffs. No one gets big sad eyes. Said eyes might have rolled if she still wasn't teasing and the humour was clearly there and in the smirk that might as well have been a fixture. "And you've always liked the jam. But if you insist, I guess I can do a present for you."

Birthdays. So often inconvenient to scout operations. Anyway, she's committed to the present, now, so instead of shaking it plops it on the table in front of her and begins to tear the edges, neatly.

"That is true - you are Lead Scout, Lead Scout." Katniss stated with am absolutely straight face. "But I will keep the shoes in mind."

Honestly, Katniss might actually just buy the woman really nice shoes in thanks for what she did at Redcliffe. Thanking them head on seemed to be ... well. Both Alistair and Zevran seemed downright uncomfortable with it.

"Hmm, fair. You usually just stick with, 'I am mocking you with my mocking eyes'." Katniss's lips twitched up at the corners, "I have. I love that jam. You should give me more of it."

She watches as Harding starts to open the package, keeping her expression completely straight. When she finally unwrapped it, she'd find a pair of rather ... intricate hair combs. Sharp eyes would see the twist knobs at the top, and the thin blades that pulled out of them. "Something practical, that just looks pretty."

"If I had anymore, you'd be sure to get it. I'll ask mother. Might take a while, though." She's finally managed to persuade them to move further away to safety in Denerim, and Harding would rather they focus on that and their professions than worrying about sending jam along to their errant daughter.

Harding does open it, slowly, her expression set to bemused, maybe a little wary. She knows its likely to be more than it appears, even if she's not against some pretty things - with a seamstress for a mother, it's hard not to like ornate dresses, to have an interest in baubles and glitter - it's just finding the what that makes it different. Her hands fumble with the twists, and out pulls a thin, sharp blade. Very nice. "I'm all for the practical part," she voices. "Solves the problem of being without a bow at an Orlesian party, if we ever get invited to one of those."

They might, if influence keeps growing, and nobles keep coming.

"Thanks, Katniss."

"As long as she has the time, and the inclination. I don't want her putting herself out." She knew that Lace's parents made their livelihoods off of the products they made just as she had.

She smiled a little into her drink, before she looked up at her. "Well, I wouldn't put it past any of us at this point. Considering how far and wide we're casting the net for Corypheus." She lifted her drink to her. "Beyond that, even Lead Scouts need something nice."

One corner of her mouth lifting.

"You're welcome, Harding."

Oh look, it's a baby scout trying to look inconspicuous and failing badly. Kas wasn't really sure what was going on other than that it could be Harding's birthday, so he had spent some of his coins of his very first birthday gift to someone else that wasn't just food.

Sneaking from the place where he had been talking with Atisha and waiting until the calamity had settled a bit, he approached the dwarf nervously. "Um..." Yes, great start there, Kas.

"I got you a... um... birthday thing, Lead Scout."

He was, indeed, the babiest of scouts. Even though he was also a good head taller than most of the humans in the ramshackle bunch and several heads taller than her, and he likely had plenty of growing to do. Harding, not so much.

It's the height that gives him away, even if he does do a pretty good job of getting to her unnoticed. It could be because she's plotting means of escape. That's a good time consumer, but when he does speak, he has his full attention.

"Scout Kas," she says in acknowledgement. Then her eyebrows raise, marginally. She hadn't expected gifts in earnest, after the large, sudden party in her honour. "Did you now? You didn't have to, Kas." Not that she'll turn him, or a gift, down. But he seems nervous enough as is, so she nods to the seat opposite. Might as well sit.

The teen flushes at her words, sitting down and awkwardly holds out a little package wrapped in what looks like parchment picked up from a discarded pile due to ink blots.

It's not fancy, but he did his best.

"I... don't really know much about birthdays and celebrations, but I wanted to give you something. B-because you're a great head scout and being a scout really changed my life." Kas puts the package on the table, and looks at her with both worry and excitement. Would she like it?

Inside the somewhat haphazardly wrapped package is a carved mabari necklace made out of a piece of stormheart. Fairly generic, but he had waffled about it for a long time.

Katniss walks up the stairs, past the mercenaries who just wave her through - after all the bow marks her as obvious as obvious can be, as does the scout patch on her cloak. She takes the first step in and then

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATNISS!"

Comes the roar of scouts all across the floor. She winces, before glowering around. "You assholes did this last week."

Their answer was laughs and friendly catcalls, which she rolled her eyes and waved them off, going to look for her other friends and grab a drink.

Bruce generally wasn't a birthday kind of guy, but it was also impossible to avoid all of Harding's closest scouts and the not-very subtle hints that were being dropped on him. (Delyth, in particular, had been the most straightforward about it.)

So here he was, in his tent on this night, debating just exactly when was the best time to appear. Although he didn't mind the constant rumors and knew that Harding felt the same, he also didn't exactly want to do anything to make it even worse. Last thing he wanted was for something like this to actually inconvenience her.

Who knew that giving a gift would be so hard.

Bruce sighs and makes a move to stand. No use sitting around and thinking about this, honestly. Best to just go out and get this done and hope nothing big came out of it.

Fortunately for Bruce, his decision to stay or go is made for him when one of the side flaps of the tent begins to rustle, and in ducks Harding.

She stayed far longer than thirty minutes, and it was a miracle she made it out at all, really, so you'll forgive her if she looks a little harried. The whole action of breaking and entering happens very quickly. The first second she's on her way in, the next she's re-securing the tent fabric back into place.

Still crouched on the floor, she looks over her shoulder. "Bruce," she says warmly, as though she had not just took apart part of his tent. And then, more hushed, slightly higher than a whisper, as she raises a finger to her lips, "I'm not here."

Well.

This certainly was not expected.

Bruce stumbles back a bit when Harding suddenly appears in his tent, the rustling of his tent flap the only indication of how she had entered, although that is silenced very quickly.

All that Bruce can really do is to blink dumbly as his mind digests the suddenness of it all, eventually managing a nod once the most of it sinks in. Not here. Right. He could easily pretend that. He was good at pretending. (Pretty much everything about him right now was nothing but pretence.)

He takes another few more steps back to give Harding her space, feeling a little foolish as he remains in place after that to... simply wait it out. If he even knew what that 'it' was in the first place.

His nod is all the affirmation Harding needs, and she flashes a quick smile before shuffling a few steps forward across the floor, closer to the space he previously inhabited. She doesn't move from her crouch, poised position, head bent as if listening for something or someone.

That, as it happens, is what she's waiting out. It's a good thing he's willing to pretend, because it quickly becomes necessary as boots hit ground and voices catch the air outside. Loud despite the hour, speckled with laughter, so a little tipsy, maybe drunk. They sound a little like Cerise and Feran, getting closer. Closer.

They're talking about Harding and a contest, from the sounds of it. Maybe persuading her back. Feran suggests her being in Bruce's tent; Cerise says that would be too obvious. Feran says something else about going in the front or the back, and there's a thud, probably someone falling, because Cerise thought he was talking about something else, most likely.

And then their footsteps recede, and they start moving away.

Harding exhales a low sigh. "That was close."

Edited 2016-01-25 17:13 (UTC)

Bruce is confused for a moment as to what Harding is being this discreet for, but then the sounds of footsteps and voices come close to his tent and Bruce quickly recognizes who they belong to. Feran and Cerise, sounding quite delighted and possibly rather drunk at the same time. Perhaps they were returning from the party?

He stays silent and listens to the two scouts right outside his tent. A contestm asking Harding to come back and... her being in his tent? Bruce sends a glance towards Harding at that point, but continues to not say anything until the duo are gone and its just him and Harding in the tent together.

He lets out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding back when he hears Harding's sigh. "Well, at least it's not Delyth." She'd probably just barge straight into his tent without regard for anything - as she had the other day to tell him about Harding's birthday.

If it were Delyth, she'd drag them both to the party and her variation of 'not taking no for an answer' would involve death threats. Be thankful for small mercies.

"She's likely busy figuring out a way to participate in an archery contest with flaming throwing knives," Harding sighs again, but unlike the last, this one was fond. She straightens up, though not far - she's a dwarf, after all - and dusts off her chainmail and gloves, then smooths her hair. It's a little out of place from the escape.

Not that it was really an escape, she told everyone she was leaving. Three times they pulled her back. The fourth she managed to go before they persuaded her and she was not going back there. Not tonight.

She turns back to Bruce, a little less fazed due to lack of pursuers, which is instead replaced by a sheepish look instead.

"Sorry about barging in, by the way. My tent's not safe. I figured they'd be against looking for me in here if I was here with you."

Flaming throwing knives? Bruce almost arches an eyebrow about that, but figures its probably better to not ask. As much as he is fond (for some manner of fond, anyway) of Harding's closest scouts, they could all get a little... eccentric, to put it mildly.

Harding straightens up, dusts herself off and apologizes to Bruce with a sheepish look and Bruce can't help but return it with a faintly sheepish look himself. "Well, it saves me the trouble of having to go and attend your party, I suppose." Although he did have specific instruction to do so, but--its the thought that counts, right? Sort of, anyway.

He gestures towards one of the two stools he has in his tent, set right next to a table that doesn't really promote much space at all, even for one. "Feel free to stay here as long as you wish; I'll get you some tea to get you settled." He guesses that she probably could use it, especially with how harried she had first looked when she first barged into his tent.

If Harding sighed before, this one is a sigh. A pained one, thoroughly exasperated, as she raises a hand to the bridge of her nose, resting the back of it against her forehead. "They badgered you about going, didn't they." Oh, for certain, they would be having words. Though it was likely Harding's fault more than theirs, given that she was stringing them along with the relationship rumor and they seemed to be taking it very seriously. She and Bruce had come to terms with it, discussed it, and Harding was fine with the lie as long as he was, but when they were bothering her friend? That was the bigger issue here. "Sorry. I fully take responsibility for that one."

She does go to sit when offered, though, rolling her shoulders as she stretches. "Thanks," she says at the offer of tea. It's not the comfiest place she's ever sat, but it's quieter than where she was, and she feels safe enough in here to relax. "Staying here might have to be a while. Think you can handle me being here that long?"

Not that she's a handful. She'll stay in her corner, drink her tea, and draft some reports. Sleep at some point. Very low maintenance.

"I wouldn't call it badgering." It wasn't as if they forced him or anything like that after all... just, well, a little bit. But Bruce knew it was only because they cared for Harding. If they didn't care, they wouldn't go though this much trouble in the first place. "You don't need to apologize. Even without them asking I would have still come." Harding was a good friend, and rumors or not, Bruce thought it was only proper to do whatever he could for her on a special day like this. Well, special to her, anyway.

Bruce only takes a moment to ready the tea and he brings it over to the table, setting it down for Harding to deal with it as she wishes. At her question he quirks a faintly amused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

"I think I can manage a few hours with your company," he replies with only the faintest hint of sarcasm audible. "I just hope you don't get bored." There isn't much to his tent, as Harding can see, so if she wants to occupy herself she's probably going to have to find something on her own.

Harding quirks an eyebrow. It was badgering, Bruce, and you know it. "You're being too soft on them," she chides, gently. Don't do it, Bruce, they can and they will walk all over you, even if she appreciates the thought on her behalf. But mom has to discipline the kids sometimes, or else they'll do it again. And again. And again. "But, I am glad to hear you wold have come along anyway."

Yes, tea, good. After several pints of ale and mead, the first one wanted but the rest politely taken and she had to drink at least some of it so as not to insult whomever bought it, tea is a much better option. She pours a cup, not even caring for the heat, blowing a long, even breath over the surface before she takes a sip. That'll keep her until cools enough to drink.

Perish the thought at him not being able to. "I'm pretty good at entertaining myself," she grins in return. He has paper, somewhere, she's sre. "I'm all for this kind of peace and quiet after the evening I've had."

Bruce's only response was to give out a small chuckle. "Well, there's a reason why I'm not Lead Scout and you are." Harding was the one with the drive and the will and the stubbornness to be where she was - Bruce himself on the other hand never could quite have that same sort of willpower that was needed to be out on the field. He was much more content staying with the civilians an helping however he was able to.

His smile turns more genuine at her response, and he gives a small nod as he goes to put the used tray aside to deal with later. "Can't say that I don't see why," he returns. "Do you need anything in particular? I don't have much, but I'll do my best to provide whatever you require." As long as its nothing anything too ridiculous, Bruce figures he can make it work.

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