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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Red bleedin' templars. Suffice to say, he made it back in one piece and the templars didn't, but he's scooping snow up in his hands and pressing it against his face to cool his skin and wash away the flecks of blood and lingering sweat. There's a small gash on his cheek that stings for a moment with the ice held against it, before it eases just slightly. It'll have to be good enough, and he's washing the back of his neck and letting snow slide down his back as he does away with his armour. He'll go out again, likely, do some hunting (of game or more templars he's not decided) but first he wants to check out a nick on his arm. Not deep, but bleeding.

So there he is, shirtless in the snow, bandaging his own upper arm in what he thinks is good enough for him, but if he saw on someone else he's probably make an unimpressed sound at. One handed wound wrapping is never going to go well.

And it's now, of course, that he spots her. Not when he is in his armour, looking passably useful, but now, and it seems appropriate enough. She'd probably prefer it if it left him off-kilter; she seems like the sort. Unfortunately, he doesn't care all that much.

"Councillor," he starts, with a respectful nod. "How's the Emprise treatin' you today?"

--he isn't wrong, but Benevenuta would prefer Hercules off-kilter in general simply because she finds him much easier to deal with when she has the upper hand. (This is true of most people; that she's forced to acknowledge it so much is less common.)

"Better than it treats you, Warden," she says, eyebrows raising as she approaches - she looks much as she did the first time he met her, a few extra layers of fur in addition to the grey and embroidered traveling clothes she's made good use of since, her hair in two neat braids half pinned under her furred hat. A bit more sure of herself, though; less hesitant of the terrain, less easily spooked. A bit more of her indoor saunter to the way she carried herself, in aura if not practicality.

"Let me look at it? I am certain I can fix a bandage better with two hands, at least."

This is a bit more familiar, isn't it? She's more a traveller, now, and less a politician, or whatever it is a fancy lady like her probably wants to go and call herself. It's all ranks and titles, and much as he understands it, sometimes it just seems like a waste of energy.

Her question makes a smile quirk the corners of his mouth, as he idly rubs his jaw, feeling the harsh rasp of stubble against the palm of his hand and the pads of his fingers, and he chuckles very quietly. "I didn't know politician types still liked to get their hands dirty in the field."

Honestly, it's meant as a compliment. Plenty of people think that once they have some foothold, some power, they don't need to do the hard yards any more, that it's just for the footsoldiers. But she's here instead of in Skyhold, and she could have moved on, but she's offering to help him out, and the way he tilts his head says sure, why not?

Politician is precisely the word that this fancy lady prefers to use for herself, and if she were prompted - she would say she is no less that for being here, but arguably just better at it than most. Smart enough to see there's more than one way to skin a cat, and the success your rivals don't see coming is all the more effective.

...but her somewhat brutal approach to politics is not the matter at hand. He earns himself a small, close-mouthed smile for his remark and she gestures him to sit on a nearby rock fit to the purpose, tugging her gloves loose.

"My hands go wherever the rest of me goes," she says, peeling away the bandaging job he's haphazardly achieved for himself. "And they do the work required of them. Politics; for, of, relating to citizens. Is that not what this is?"

And he will comply with her suggestion, moving a little stiffly on account of picking a fight with a red Templar, and stubbornly refusing to let it slow him down.

"Traditionally that's how it goes," comes his good-natured reply, taking a moment to study her face, to figure out what it is she's thinking, though he's happily already concluded he's not got much chance of that, and he's all right with it. "I'm not making any argument with you, there. Just in my experience politicians don't always care that much about the citizens, the practical parts, and all. They like their figures and their promotions and the pretty paintings of places they've never even bothered to visit."

And a nod to the general...ness that is the Emprise, right now. "Hard to reckon the likes of the Empress would have laid eyes on this place, for example."

She's had time, since their first and slightly disastrous (in her opinion) encounter in Skyhold, to get her bearings on the idea of him; less tightly wound, the precise primness of that exchange has been shed in favour of her more usual blandly serene affability, the small hint of a smile impersonal and not to be trusted.

"I'm not an Empress," she observes, separating the bandages out til she has a clean strip she can use to wipe aside the blood and see what she's working with. Steady at her task, but attentive; if she ever relaxes enough not to be acutely aware of what's going on around her, it's not often and not in company. "And," with a flare of fire around her fingertips that she applies deftly to cauterize where he's still bleeding, giving him all of no warning that she intends to do it, "I am not unfamiliar with the reputation of my profession."

Benevenuta thinks of herself as politician first. But, summoning flames to her hand with such ease, she is probably in the minority on that.

"That you aren't." Is he repressing a smile? Barely, because he's teasing her and he's not sure if he should, but he's doing it anyway because his sense of self preservation has never been top notch.

Maybe that comment is exactly why he deserves stealth cauterisation, that earned a surprised, sharp intake of breath that almost sounds like a hiss. There's no reprimand, no explosive outburst, because he thinks he understands what she's doing - though whether it's being helpful and avoiding him tensing up, or just being a bit of a shit, he's not sure. Also seems apt enough for a politician, if he's being honest.

It takes only a couple of moments for him to relax after the sudden flame biting into his skin, and he releases the breath he's been holding slowly. "They're both pretty incendiary," Herc agrees, and the pun is not deliberate, though it does occur to him and he does roll his eyes at himself.

If he asks, it was to keep him from tensing up and anticipating the pain, but let's be honest - Benevenuta isn't a healer, she doesn't know how much difference that actually would've made. There's every likelihood it was at least fifty percent being a little shit where she can get away with it.

(Always an ulterior motive.)

...she rolls her eyes at him, too, glancing up from what she's doing underneath her lashes. It's a sidelong, sly thing that doesn't really argue for or against it being a good idea to tease her, since his mileage may vary on whether it's actually a good thing that she might react other than prissily repressive. Does he need any encouragement. Should he get any. Probably the answer to both of these questions is a resounding 'no', yet here we are.

"I am a firm believer that if you want something done, you should do it yourself."

She doesn't delegate well, historically.

A quiet laugh, at that. "Well, that's how I became a Warden. Seems stupid expectin' other people to go fixing the world for you." Even with that, though, his smile is crooked, and he casts his gaze towards the rest of the camp. "But wanting to get something done and actually following through are very different things."

He hasn't saved the world, yet. They haven't even managed to save the Wardens. There's no self pity in it, just a grim determination. Keep going, no matter the cost. Make the world a better place, hopefully. Might be the best he can manage, at the end of the day, and he can make his peace with that. Saving one person wasn't the same as saving the world, but it might just be enough.

And then, after all that, he nods to the work he's doing on his arm. "Apparently, though, sometimes people come along and say they'd do a better job."

"Everyone a critic," she says, her smile a bit brisk and aimed roughly at his shoulder as she fastens the new bandage in place - more secure, yes, better, if you like. "Most of them wrong. But most of them, also, announcing it in a strongly worded letter that they would have, if they had this, that and the other."

She pats his arm when she's finished--

"Don't worry, I'm sure you still sword very good."

But if she could pull off strolling up and doing that better, too, she absolutely would.

"You've saved my best hacking and slashing arm," Herc replies, so very serious. "Thanks for that, incidentally."

Not that it was a dire, life threatening thing, but he does appreciate the quick stop to the bleeding and the superiority of two-handed bandage work, over his own, and leans back, both arms propped across his knees.

"So," and he exhales, trying to figure out where exactly the conversation should go from here. They seemed to be doing better than the last time. "Max'll be sorry he missed you. Think he's gone run off with Asher's mutt." A beat, of consideration, and he rubs his jaw as his brow furrows a little. Or just with Asher, maybe. Funny bloke, that one, probably not above stealing a man's mabari with how much he loves them. Thank the Maker for imprinting.

"It is my lot in the south to be better regarded by mabari than their masters, I think," she says, a little bit amused by the mention (and absolutely not mentioning the gift she has for Max, all prepared and even wrapped, ready for Wintersend), "though Captain Reynolds would never tease me so."

Out of fear, mainly. Mal Reynolds has a healthy respect for Thevenets elder and younger, and Benevenuta should probably leave the poor man alone.

Herc laughs at that, a rough and quiet thing, leaning back to observe her. "I never said that," comes first, and then, "and I wouldn't have thought the opinion of stinkin' Fereldan's would matter that much, anyway."

Love his country he might, but he's not blind and he's definitely not deaf. And they do maybe have an excessive enthusiasm for brown, leather and dogs, with a distinct lack of delicate pastries that Orlais and Nevarra seem to be so good at.

"I don't tease. That doesn't sound near serious enough, for me." (He said, teasingly.)

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and I'm haunted

BENNY. EMPRISE. some...time???

im terrible and late but i love u

luv u moar tho

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