I can do it with instruments,

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & open;
WHAT: the many adventures of Sister Nightingale - open prompts and some custom made.
WHEN: Some prompts can be backdated, if you like! Otherwise, spanning the end of fantasy land January.
WHERE: various!
NOTES:brackets or prose are fine, I'll match whatever you prefer :Db feel free to pp me on @swoons on plurk, or pm me if you'd like a custom starter! I'm more than happy to whip one up.

( herald's rest. )

( and there goes someone slinking out of the tavern, and they may just have knocked into your character on their way. they have lost a fine dagger and a bag of coin to a woman sitting in the corner, who is presently shuffling cards with a slight, pleased smile. it was foolish to let skills atrophy, whether it is the wielding of blades and arrows, or the brutal delivery of a winning hand. she has finished her wine, and is waiting for the man at the bar to deliver more. )

( gardens. )

( In the past she would spend more time in their little improvised Chantry, have lit candles and murmured prayers. She finds herself lacking the inclination, today. The Chantry has been a comfort to her for so many years, now, but she has always existed at odds with others. The brothers and sisters in Lothering had doubted her, and there had been part of her that relished the attention, even as she was appalled by their self-centered obsession that the Maker's love must make you unique. The memory makes a sharp, unpleasant smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she wanders the garden. It has become something of habit, letting the sun's descent and the pulling away of the yellows and oranges pooled across the sky and the inky blue and black of the night sky truly falls. Perhaps it is dramatic of her, but she would like to allow herself the indulgence.

Perhaps she hears the approach, and it breaks her from her reverie, or perhaps it is one of the rare occasions where she chooses to make the approach. )

It is beautiful, no?

( wildcard. )

I'm lazy, hit me with whatever idea grabs you :]b Rookery? Nug adventures? idk ANYTHING

( alistair. )

( Most people give their friends some warning before visiting.
Most people, however, are not Leliana, and so it is that she is standing at the entrance of Alistair's chambers just as he is leaving to go somewhere, a squeaking nug following at her ankles. She cannot loom over Alistair (it's not like she can physically loom over most people, actually) but she still has something of a presence, and she sometimes forgets not to loom in social settings. Or maybe she just wants to see the look on his face, because Alistair is so terribly expressive. She can't imagine a worse spy, but that's an endearing quality in a friend. ) Did I catch you at a bad time?

( That smile suggests that she isn't overly concerned about it, actually. )

( maria hill. )

( There were not many templars she held in esteem. Or, perhaps, there were not many templars that she deemed worthy of their rank and responsibility-- no. Leliana frowns, discontent with her own thoughts. The Chantry was a flawed thing, a thing that needed gutting and reworking in its entirety, as much as she suspects the very mention of such thoughts would make some amongst her frequent company less than easy. The Maker was a being of love, of acceptance - and he made mages, and granted them their gift. Why, then, was it the Maker's will that they be torn from their families, treated as if they were abominations before a demon could so much have dreamed of tempting them. Their gifts were shackled, and their wills, and all the while murderers and thieves like Leliana herself could walk free. It was not right, and the thoughts of Chantry corruption, of templar abuses of power and the suffering that those who claimed to do the Maker's bidding brought was insufferable. It could not endure.

Leliana paces, one hand balled into a tight fist as she walks the ramparts, eager to gain some air away from the rookery. And perhaps these thoughts leave her a hypocrite, because what is she, if not a bringer of death? She could bring men to their knees with a threat and a whisper, and cut their throats for the sake of certainty. She was no better, that she knows, but it is not for herself that she Chantry must be reformed. No, she knows the darkness within, and it is only one so well-versed that could dream of cutting away such a foul infection with the surgical precision required.

Perhaps the Maker has a sense of humour, that she looks away from the stretch of blue skies and mountains, only to be met with... a templar, and a cooperative one, at that. The hand that was so tightly clenched relaxes, and Leliana eases her posture, leaning against the ivy-strewn wall. ) Maria. I trust all is well?

( zevran. )

( Luncheon between assassins. It was laughable, in a way. Still, she has put off catching up with her old friend for far too long, and of all people, Zevran is one of few she has the most tolerance for. It is not that she is impatient, and she can play parts well, it is simply... Zevran knows her well, better than most, and so there are those who wish to make an impression on Sister Nightingale, on the advisor and the spymaster, or they are afraid of what she knows and what she can do. Neither particularly bothers her, but sometimes it is pleasant to be in the company of those who do carry the same expectations. Perhaps being in the company of one who remembers the earnest bard come lay-sister is a relief, as well, who has seen her evolution.

Leliana is sitting on a rooftop, eyes closed and inhaling deeply, relishing the way the mountain air stings her lungs on the deep breath, and has something of a picnic - if such a term can be used, in these circumstances - laid out. Eyes still closed, she smiles ever so slightly. He may move silently, stalk with the best, but she is Sister Nightingale, and detection is something she has known for decades, now. )

You made it.

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[fightingale]

It keeps away those who desire casual conversation, ( she replies, and very dryly at that. Leliana's reputation, the constant movement of agents and scouts reporting, and the general aura of impending death likely is more repellent than the smell of Varric Feathras, Marian Squawke and all their fellows.

Leliana has not looked up for the letter she is composing, allowing it just a moment to dry before rolling it up and attaching it to Ser Quillby's leg. These are quick, practiced motions, and the bird is out the window in a matter of moments. A breath, and finally she turns to her friend, body language just fractionally more open than what she'd offer most people. )

I trust you aren't here with recommendations of potpourri?

[theproperglove]

Well, no. ( Josephine shifts her weight to the other foot again, mulling over her thoughts. She's sure that Leliana has more important things to be worrying about - isn't that, after all, why they are here? Although she does her best to smile, it falls flat. ) Although, if you would be amenable to suggestions, I-- ( Then, she cuts herself off because they both know this isn't the reason for her visit. She takes a deep breath before continuing. )

Is this a bad time? Because I can come back later, if you'd like.

[fightingale]

( Oh, Josie. Leliana cannot begin to count the reasons that she is glad Josephine decided the bard life was not for her. She reminds Leliana all too often of a doe, elegant, with so much energy - any yet, vulnerable, too easily harmed by the reckless and selfish blundering of others. She is not armoured, as Leliana has learned to be, and there must be some with softer hearts to rebuild the world as a better place, once those who have done what was necessary set aside their tools and their plans.

Taking a step towards her friend, Leliana tilts her head slightly, expression a little kinder, a little more-- more Leliana, and less the Nightingale. )

The potpourri can wait, ( with just a gentle note of humour, ) but I am at your disposal. What is troubling you?

[theproperglove]

I, well, if you're certain you have the time -- there is something that is troubling me. ( she admits it finally, although she certainly expected Leliana to pick up on that much. Still, Josephine knows herself: she is the type of woman who throws herself into her work to distract herself, earnestly believes that if she tries hard enough, she will be able to solve every problem that will come her way. The Inquisition, however, is larger than anything she has ever dealt with before. The fate of Thedas hangs in the balance of their actions; how can that not be absolutely terrifying?

Josephine also knows that her doubt and fear is playing across her face and body right now: it is in the knit of her brow, the tension of her muscles, the now downward curve of her lips. She takes a deep breath. There is no point hiding it anymore, at least not from Leliana. Maker's breath: is there ever a point in hiding something from Leliana? She folds her hands on top of each other. Stop putting it off, Josephine. )

It's just a minor concern-- ( why is it this hard to talk frankly? Perhaps she has been embroiled in the Game for far too long. ) Just, sometimes, I feel that whatever I do for the Inquisition, it isn't enough. ( The first sentence is the hardest to articulate, the next is much more forthcoming. It rushes out of her in a gush of air, as though she cannot restrain her doubt any longer. ) I fear that I'm not the person you hoped I would be.

( Now that she's said it, she almost wants to laugh. It sounds so silly, hanging in the air like that, but nonetheless, she feels better for having said it. )

[fightingale]

( This is it? This is the concern? Perhaps it is telling enough that Leliana looks, for a moment, genuinely surprised. It is not that she thinks it is a foolish concern to bring to her, to confide in a friend... no, for all that she and Josephine will argue over the right way to do things, over the best method, that is one of the very reasons she recruited her old friend to this cause. Such a massive underestimation of her own skills, of her capabilities, that Leliana is left momentarily speechless. )

You are not serious?

( But she must be, earnestness and seriousness are two of her finest qualities. )

Josie, I recruited you because you are exactly the person this Inquisition needs. If your concerns stem from my own conduct, then l--

( Leliana stops, pauses, considers. In years past, she would have taken Josie's hand in her own to help her understand how genuine the sentiment is, but she is not longer that girl. It has been a long time since they saw parties through to the small hours and Leliana dragged Josie through all manner of mischief. Steady yourself, Leliana. The shift in her expression is a subtle one. Slightly cooler, more contained. )

You are more than our diplomat. Every time you suggest a path that counters the one I would take, you do this Inquisition justice, and that is exactly the person I trusted you to be. Your integrity and your compassion do you credit.

( Especially after, you know. She had to pass that wacky test Leliana set up. Leliana holds herself rigid, her jaw is clenched, and for all that the furrowed brow betrays her concern. Not entirely the Nightingale, then. Not this moment. )