the first rule about scout club is...

[lacere]

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.

Comments

[amygdalae]

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.

[lacere]

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."

[amygdalae]

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.

[lacere]

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."

[amygdalae]

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.

[lacere]

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.

[amygdalae]

"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.

[lacere]

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."

[amygdalae]

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.