faderift | and I'm haunted

Entry tags:

and I'm haunted

WHO: Hercules & Leliana & Ruby & whoever would like a thread with them 8Db
WHAT: a catch all for February-March;
WHEN: the next monthish :|b
WHERE: Skyhold, Emprise, maybe somewhere else.
NOTES:
1. individual starters in el commentos
2. specific themes and warnings will be dropped into subject lines as necessary.
3. if you are threading with Leliana it would be amazing if you could reply to this post re: information she could know about your character.
4. if we have discussed doing a thread but there isn't a starter here, feel free to just barge in and set one up! otherwise prod me and I can add it asap, I have a to-do list but I am also scatterbrained ;u;
5. I'm not doing open prompts this time for Leliana, but if you would like a thread with Leliana, please don't hesitate to get in touch with me! I am just trying to do custom things because she is in a particular state of mind, at present.
6. I am sorry there are so many notes

apparently I am being pretentious this month

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There's a little smile on his lips at 'dorian pawvus.' He's wanted to approach the Tevinter mage for quite some time, but that may well be even more dangerous than this. All the same, Tevinter was so close to getting it right. One day he'll get his chance. ...Provided he survives this.

"That would have to be for a cat that's extremely well-kept. I've seen the way he dresses." And how precise the man's mustache is kept. "There are a few around who might fit that, but I really only have time for the one. Perhaps you should name it and give it to the man yourself? It may have more meaning if it comes from someone who has had a conversation with him."

If she's fishing there, she's on the wrong track. Beyond his voice being friendly, Anders doesn't have a full opinion on Dorian besides being glad it's clear there's a mage people can like and relate to who has been free all his life. It sets a good precedent.

"But distinguished? Nugs? I may need to hear how you can justify that categorization. They seem... well. Floppy. Flighty."

"If you can believe it. I believe he thought he was being witty." Leliana sounds both unimpressed and amused, in that dangerously ambiguous way of hers. "Nothing makes someone seem so grand as the assurance that they were once desired." And nothing makes them seem so desperate as the continuous assertion of the fact, she could add, though it hardly needs to be granted voice.

"Me?" The question is not really a surprise. She rather opened the door to it, and Leliana is drawing a dagger from her belt as she considers, idly spinning it at the tip of her finger, the handle loosely held in the opposite hand.

Nothing, she could say. There are times when she wonders if she thinks of nothing real, nothing of substance, nothing that will guide them and grant them comfort in the darkest hours. Those moments of doubt are so very rare, though, times that she always looks back on with sadness, and that renew her faith.

"I think of the Maker," she replies, entirely honest. "I think of protecting those who need it, and felling those who would bring suffering to the world." She used to think of mercy and compassion, and pray for the souls of the lives she took. She still does, in truth, but those are thoughts that belong to Leliana, and are indulgences the Nightingale cannot afford. Leliana moves quick, the knife that was idly being twisted cutting through the air and embedding itself deep in the centre of the next target along, although Leliana has already corrected her posture. "And focus, of course. I find that rather helpful."

She's just the cheeriest, isn't she? Nice kid, he thinks, though to be honest he's got no idea how old she is. Elves seem to be like that.

"Sitting," Herc suggests. "Don't want to make it too easy on ourselves, do we? Just gotta make sure we angle it so the head don't fall off." Maybe they can chuck in a couple of eggs at the end, if they're feeling good about it. Maybe.

He chuckles a little bit at the thought of Merrill's face if the head did fall off, before reminding himself that would be bad. "All right. You done much snow sculpture before? This is serious stuff. Gotta make sure we've got the right equipment."

As such, he is pulling a spare set of gloves out of his pocket, before stopping himself short. "I know Dalish aren't that excited about shoes. Dunno if that goes for gloves too, but it'll keep 'em from goin' numb."

Even a lack of dramatics can be a clue. There are those mages who revile Tevinter, those who admire it, those who are suspicious of blood magic and necromancy... so many possible responses to consider, but Detlef does not seem troubled at all. That is nice, she thinks, for Dorian's sake if nothing else.

"I suspect you might be right."

She cracks a very slight smile. "Their noses. It takes a lot of personality to have such a spectacular nose and such perky little ears." Perhaps he has seen the odd nug scuttling around Skyhold, though it seems unlikely. For the most part Schmooples, Morrinug and Nugistair are around the Rookery and her quarters, and she had never even heard of nugs before she ventured to the Deep Roads.

Curious, again.

"Dwarven ale will knock you solidly on your bum." Bethany stated with all due seriousness, as she tilted slightly to the side, before she makes a face, "Good. It's disgusting. I prefer Nevarran ale. Much smoother."

She made another face, before she reached for the mug.

"I am ... quite strong. For a mage. And a girl. A girly mage." She laughed a little at that. "A mage that is made up of girl and mana, that's me."

Eggs may be easier than the rest of the griffin. Maybe. Depends on their artistic skills in general, really, and the elves do tend to lean away from realism.

Then again, Merrill uses a ball of twine to get around major cities. She's probably not the best example. And while yes, the Dalish tend to not be overly fond of shoes, she is wearing a pair of boots. She's not necessarily enjoying it, but it's cold, and Anders will scold her terribly ig she ends up with frostbite. The gloves are, therefore, happily accepted.

"Oh, thank you! I don't mind, really; I know a healer who'd have been terribly cross if I refused. Of course, he tended to be terribly cross a lot." At least when it came to her, Templars, injustice, Tranquil, mage rights, anything Fenris said...

"And- it's been a while, admittedly. Sometimes I'd help the children in the alienage, but as the fighting in Kirkwall got worse, we tended not to go outside so much."

"I have a rather spectacular nose." It is, possibly, one of the dumbest things he can say. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to his physical appearance. The second last thing is to flirt with someone who has the connections to figure out the truth of his identity. And here he is anyway.

"I can't claim my ears are that perky, but yours could do. Do you feel distinguished, Madam Leliana? Forgive me if you've a title you'd prefer." At least he can try to redirect attention back on her with this. "Advisor? Hounder of Scouts? Mistress of Crows?"

How easily is she flustered, on a scale of Aveline to Isabela? If it's closer to Aveline... If it's closer to Aveline he'll get stabbed. He needs a better scale, and he's certainly not putting Velanna on it. Maybe Bethany to Isabela. Much better. Closer to Bethany would be preferable.

"Nevarrans can certainly be smooth talkers," he'll agree. "Not sure about the ale. I've always been a fan of the Ferelden stuff." A moment, and then he tacks on, "but I hear I've got pretty low standards, when it comes to that stuff. Mostly from Free Marchers, mind."

A shrug, easy. People are a little ridiculous, he reckons. Nothing to fuss about.

"That you are. Can't say that I think that girls are any less strong than boys be default." A quiet, rough laugh. "Actually, there was this kid that used to give Chuck a real run for his money. Can't remember her name for the life of me, but he always tried to figure out how to win a fight against her, and he never once got it right."

Hilarious. Definitely hilarious, and he shakes his head at the memory, fond, before take another draw of his ale. "And don't think for a moment that I imagine you gave your sister or your brother an easy time."

Ambiguous, indeed. Harding isn't sure she'll get a reply to as what Leliana thinks when she shoots, or fights; the knife tips back and forth, no real indication of whether she'll answer or no. It could be the truth, or a fraction of it. Harding herself wasn't so good at imparting half-truths about herself, far too honest and far too direct, but that served her well enough, accomplishing what she needed to do.

But Leliana was different. You didn't get to being an organization's Spymaster without the ambiguity, without a few secrets. Harding knew enough to trust her implicitely, to do as needed, but there were doors she wouldn't dare to open. It's partly why she gives Leliana the escape; she doesn't have to say.

But as she does, Harding chooses to take it as the truth. The Maker is fitting for her, as is the rest. The knife hits the target before anything but her intuition notices it, which is when she chooses to respond. "And surely there's no better place to go about that than here in the Inquisition," she starts, but then shakes her head, amused. "Almost sounds like a campaign. Or a slogan." Something a dwarven merchant would say, probably. "Helping others sounds about right for you, though." Not Leliana's word choice, but reading the actual words is not the only thing Harding can do. Between the lines is more fruitful.

Ah. Her true loyalties. What are they? Not the Inquisition, to be completely honest - no. Kitty's true loyalties are...deeper. Different. If she'd joined the Inquisition a few years ago, or if she'd joined it without having had the experiences she'd had, maybe she would still be capable of being loyal to an organization. But her time with the Resistance in Tevinter had shown her how easily organizations can get corrupted, lose their way. No...Her loyalty is to ideas. Not to constructs. So as long as the Inquisition serves those ideas, yes. She'll be loyal to the Inquisition. But if it loses its way...

Probably best not to lead with all that.

"Well," Kitty answers, shoving her glass of wine around a bit rather than drinking from it. "Do you want to ask now, or...later?"

"Can they be? I've never had a Nevarran smooth talk me. I bet they would be nice about it. I bet I wouldn't even know I was naked until I was." She sighed and listed slightly, "That would be nice." Another pause, while she gave him a mock glower, "Are you saying we Fereldans have no taste? We do! In bucketloads. Just because we have dogs doesn't mean we don't have taste."

She'd fireball the first person who said she didn't.

A beaming smile, "See? Girls can whip boys, but good, and I could whip them all with a KAPOW. Right to the head." She shook her head so hard, she nearly fell off the chair. "Never gave them the chance to have a diffucult time. Too busy ... sorting arguments. Always the reasonable one, like."

"That depends," Leliana asks, with a bit of a smile. "Would the answers change?"

Part of it is a genuine question. Timing, context, can change a great deal. Partly she is being just a little contrary, a little... playful, almost, though it is not an entirely carefree trading of banter.

"Do you present a danger to the Inquisition, or to yourself?"

People can always lie, of course, but there are times when choice is a precious indulgence, and trust must be embraced, even in this line of work. Especially, one could contend, in this line of work.

"Perhaps we could make some posters," Leliana replies rather lightly, not even a hint of dryness in her tone. Surely dryness is unnecessary for one who knows her so well as Lace Harding. It made her wonder, at times, at the differences in expectation or understanding some of her scouts might have of her, compared to those who knew her during the Fifth Blight. It was a strange source of conflict for her, aggravated somewhat by her recent discussions as to the value of life, as to whether she was wrong to protect her scouts and deny them the greater warning that might have spared Evelyn's life. Harding has certain spent more time in the company of the Herald than most of Leliana's scouts, but Leliana would not burden her with such a question. The knowledge was hers to bear, though the consequences weighed on them all.

That helping people befits the Nightingale... she does that know if that speaks well of her efforts, or of some portrait of herself she has painted. It troubles her. Let us hope that you are right, she wants to say, but holds her tongue. Instead, she brushes the comment aside, smiling one of those faint smiles of hers, before she turned to face Harding rather than the targets.

"At your leisure," she starts, because it is important to know this is a request and not an order, "I have some potential new scouts I am considering. Not all to be approached immediately, and perhaps some not at all, but our web expands and weaves a more complex pattern at time goes on. I would appreciate your thoughts, but your other duties remain the highest priority."

A moment of quiet consideration, gently surprised and partly incredulous. Rare were the days that anyone turned a flirtatious tone towards the Spymaster. Perhaps understandably, people had a good many suspicions regards bards, and that was before they served the Chantry and gathered networks of loyal scouts to be their eyes and ears across Thedas. For a moment she wonders if he is bold, absurd, or simply trying to distract her - because how often did she turn to seduction when a bard? How many did not wake for the error they had made in lover?

It is barely two seconds of thought, in truth, and she lets her brows raise a little, mouth quirking in a smile that is more calculating than sincere, though she is extremely good at projecting the latter. All part and parcel with spy work. Leliana allows herself to lean forward ever so slightly, as if seriously scrutinising his nose, if this is the game they are to play. "It is a fine nose," she admits, sharing her professional nose assessing opinion, "and you appear to wear it well."

There is a note to her seriousness that could be taken for playful, or for a woman with a great deal of responsibility allowing herself a moment of playfulness, even if it is wrapped up in subtlety. There are notes of truth in Leliana's lies, and perhaps that is what makes her so very good at being a bard. She can use the earnestness of Leliana to make the Nightingale all the more dangerous, when it suits.

"Though I am not sure my ears will ever compare to a nugs, all the sadder for me." If he is making this a deliberate means to redirect, she would credit him at least with doing an entertaining job of it. Not all men could turn a conversation about nugs to flirtation. "Leliana is more than adequate. Sister Nightingale, if you've a flair for the dramatic."

And, that said, she crosses her arms and cants her head, and it might just seem playful. "Do you have a title you'd prefer? King of Cats, perhaps?"

I had one smooth talk me and steal my knife, he could say, but Councillor Thevenet had been nothing but cordial since he got here, had returned his knife, and he isn't really in the business of being unnecessary unpleasant or making things difficult for people.

On the other hand, suddenly Bethany is talking about nudity and he exhales a rough chuckle. "We'll find you a nice Nevarran, someday. There's bound to be some friendly ones around here."

The Councillor and the Seeker are probably not the people Bethany wants on such a list, though, he's guessing. "I'd say it means we have better taste," he agrees, amused and placating, "but I also like brown leather and fur, and I hear that's not all the rage these days."

As she wobbles with the shake of her head, Herc places a steadying hand on her elbow, waiting to need to grab her if she topples. In his experience, it's harder to get a drunk back onto a chair from the floor than it is to stop them toppling in the first place. "Life's hard when you're the diplomat," he agrees. "Got you plenty of practice for keeping the Wardens in line, though." Bright side? Maybe not so much.

"Healers can be a cranky lot," he agrees. And, conspiratorially, "can't imagine why they go into healing, if they get so mad about people giving 'em work."

Very much a joke, and maybe his smile gives him away as much as his tone. Mostly he's just glad she accepted the gloves, and he circles around a generous bit of snow, thick and layered up from not being disturbed too much from Inquisition folks stomping about in it. He's almost wading in it, which is probably why it's gone so long undisturbed.

Still, he stops short, looking at her for a moment with a more serious expression, halfway to scooping up some snow. "You were there for the Rebellion?"

He's heard stories of course, heard a fair bit from Bethany, but he's got a lot of things on his mind. Doesn't immediately make all the connections. After a moment's pause, he adds, "Must've been rough."

"I'll get right on that," Harding says, more smirk that smile. "You never know." It could be a nice, relaxing, rewarding group activity. Whether the intended message would be translated was another matter, so, probably not a worthwhile use of her time, was it.

Though she recognises it as a request, Harding still nods briskly, settling into business. "I'm willing, whenever you wish. I have some time before I need to head back out to Emprise du Lion..." she pauses, a faint sign of worry, or consideration in that frown; the sooner the better, of course, but she did feel more comfortable being there, with her fellows. Not just to make sure they were following orders, because they would. She had faith in them. But though she was their superior first, the scouts were more than just comrades. So much time together, and they had become a quirky family, of sorts, not something that she entirely expected, but not inevitable, either. Still. Sheep, at least, were much easier to wrangle. The frown subsides, however. "Maker knows what I'll get back to. Still, anything I can do, I will."

Whether it's working as an actual diversion or not, Anders feels like they're on safer ground. Flirtation isn't always honest as it is, and they're mostly off the topic of him.

"I'll go with Leliana, then. It's melodic." And Chantry sisters rarely deserve the title. Leliana seems pleasant enough, Hawke hadn't had anything to say against her, but she'd still gone to Kirkwall to protect one of the two people making everything worse.

Anders looks down at Purrelden as if considering her question before shaking his head and looking back up, his little smile finally reaching his eyes.

"No. Dogs can have rulers, people can too, but cats? They're far too independent for that. King of Cats is entirely unsuitable. Cat attendant would be more appropriate, but there's nothing glamorous about that. Friend of Cats. I could go for friend of cats." Purrelden gets another glance and a rub of her chin. "They've been friendly to me."

Especially when he'd been all alone in the dark. Mr. Wiggums hadn't just saved his mind and his life, the cat won over someone who would remember him for the rest of their life.

"As you like." Melodic, was it? It's been a while since she'd heard that one. There are worse compliments she has received, and the quietly amused laugh has an element of very convincing surprise layered on. "I will remember you said that."

And she will remember that his smile seemed a little different after looking at his cat. A shift in sincerity, or perhaps a fondness... it is hard to know so quickly without context, without knowing a person longer, but the change is committed to memory.

"Detlef, Friend of Cats. A very fine title, and rather melodious in its own right." Her tone is almost teasing. The time has come, she thinks, to make her departure. There are matters she feels she must look into, things tugging at her memory, and she nods to the healer respectfully, and then the cat. "My thanks for your aid with my scout. I had better get back to my sad, catless tower."

A nod, approving. Good. If ever these posters do mysterious materialise, she will amused and impressed, though she is hardly going to hold her breath for a joke, prankster though she might still be, from time to time.

"Some of the particular persons I have in mind are rifters," Leliana ventures, tone deliberately light and easy, though her gaze scans Harding's face carefully, watching for any hint of a reaction, a betrayal of opinion (for better or worse.) The consideration is not one that has come easily or quickly to her, though perhaps that is assumed easily enough, with the likes of Leliana.

She allows herself a little more of a smile. Considering that Alistair was there, chaos was a thing to reasonably expect. "Nothing that you cannot handle," is what she says instead, rather more diplomatically.

"Would now suit you, or would you sooner continue your practice?" Leliana is a great enthusiast of training, and then training some more, and then just squeezing in a bit more training, because there was no such thing as being too prepared. Practice must be allowed precedent over some things, or it might never be afforded time.

Ruby's window shopping, as well as you can window shop when you're looking at a collection of supply carts that don't have any windows. 'Cart browsing' just isn't as catchy, and when you spent thirty years window shopping, sometimes it's hard to go back to doing everything the ye olde fantasy land way.

What she's looking for is a decent bow. She was able to make something incredibly basic for the sake of getting them to Skyhold and scrambling together some food and keeping them safe without her needing to let the Wolf out, but making bows had never been her specialty. She was better at firing them and assembling arrows, when she needed to. Bows? Not so much, and why spend hours upon hours trying to master the art when she could just buy one?

None of them are really leaving her that inspired, is the problem. Even if she's not been an archer for some thirty odd years, she still remembers what it should feel like, what she preferred, and nothing's doing it for her. Not that big a drama when she needs to save up more coin anyway, she just... feels restless. A glance along the row of carts to someone else makes her brow quirk a little, intrigued, and she moves along in long strides, head canted to the side when she greets him. "Hi."

And a little wave, because she's Ruby, in all her red leather gloves and red brocade cloak and general forest peasant princess glory. "I just wanted to say that looks like an amazing crossbow. I'm more of a bow girl, myself, but I'm pretty sure my Granny would kill a man to get hold of something like that."

Varric was looking for paper. For all that these merchants wrote him and complained, you'd think their carts would be overflowing with the stuff, but nope, not a scrap to be found and the current "shopkeep" (if one could be called a shopkeep when they neither had a shop nor kept anything) was being about as Orlesian as anyone could dream of being. That was to say, he was being an obstinate, uppity jerk and refused to consider selling Varric any of his personal stash of paper.

He was about a breath away from throwing up his arms and stalking away from the haphazard assortment of carts when, all of a sudden, he was in the presence of tall, dark, and crimson. Her head was tilted off angle but humans occasionally did that when talking to dwarves; you got used to it.

"What can I say? Bianca's always been popular with the ladies--little old ladies included." Varric shrugged and, on reflex, shot Ruby one of his most dashing, roguish smiles. "Varric Tethras, at your service. You looking for a bow, or just picking up a gift for your Grandmother?"

Skyhold was an odd location to shop for gifts, but the Frostbacks weren't exactly overflowing with better options.

The joke makes her laugh as she pulls on the gloves, the too-large cuffs rolled up to help keep them on and the snow out. (They will almost definitely come unrolled within the hour.) She doesn't follow him directly into the snow, instead adjusting the legs of her pants and tucking them into her boots a bit further. If it's up to Hercules' waist, it's likely going to go further on her.

"Yes," she responds, simply, even as she fusses with the heavy fabric of her winter gear. "It- well. Knight-Commander Meredith and the Templars that believed in her way needed to be stopped. Obviously killing people wasn't the best answer, though. But... I knew something was coming. I didn't know what, but I knew it would be some sort of end."

Now she sighs, looking up. "I just didn't realize that friendships would end with it." Not necessarily her friendships, but Anders' actions had certainly splintered the group, her makeshift clan.

There's a pause and then, a bit more lightly- "Or that Meredith would turn into a statue. That was a bit weird."

"No," Clarke says, looking down at the book as if she's forgotten it's shut. The ash is still on her fingers. If the book hadn't seen battle—literal battle, in addition to the metaphorical battle against the element and dozens of past smudgy fingertips—she might be bothered. After a moment she amends, "Recently."

It isn't a joke. There is a double meaning. A whole village on fire.

And Leliana knows her name.

If she weren't so sad and tired and old, for eighteen, she might panic.

"I could get used to it if I had a finer point," she says. Normally, she thinks. "I used to be really good."

"Bianca, huh?" Well, if that's not delightful she doesn't know what is. "Very distinguished. I can see why anyone'd be charmed by her. " She can play along with the ridiculousness of the conversation. Ruby does well at that kind of thing, in fact.

"Varric Tethras, it is very nice to meet you. I'm Ruby Lucas, but... most people just call me Red." Ah, and the question draws an amused little sigh. "I was trying to find a couple of bows that weren't terrible enough to pass for something I could make blindfolded, buuuut I'm coming up empty, so far. I mean, I'm sure Granny would love a souvenir..." Ruby trails off, brow furrowed. "I don't think I'm going to find any snow globes for her collection here, though, and she's scary enough with just the regular crossbow, frankly."

And she grins, slightly apologetic, realising that some of her ramble probably doesn't help him much. "Sorry, maybe a Rifter thing. Snow globes are basically these little... scenes, I guess, in a glass dome and you shake them and it looks like there's a flurry of snow? Kind of a signature tourist trap thing. A little Skyhold one could be pretty cute, though."

She's talking too much. She does that, sometimes.

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and I'm haunted

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FOR VARRIC TETHRAS.

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you're gonna regret that when I'm still tagging this thread two years from now

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