faderift | 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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Returning from the Emprise early had not been a great concern for her. It made sense if Cassandra was in the field for the other founder of the Inquisition to be at Skyhold, the Divine's hands monitoring matters and extending their reach. Hearing of the rift opening in the castle was alarming, though she has not found herself overly consumed with concern on that count, since her return. There have simply been so many things: Zevran, Alayre, the gathering hosted by Lady Vivienne, conversations with Morrigan, endless threads that must be grabbed and pulled, allowed to to the work of unravelling themselves. Their resources are not what they could be, or what Leliana would like, and she finds herself overstretched.

She will endure it. She must.

What catches her interest, though, and justifies a descent from her tower, is the news of a young woman arrived to the castle. A mage, one with scars on her palms, if her scout's words are worth anything at all. It is a concern, but Leliana would sooner she approached the young woman than someone else - so many are quick to judge, with mages, fast to condemn. Better to try and understand, first, even if the Nightingale would condone strict, swift action. Not in this - not against mages, simply for suspicion and based on who they are. That the scars can be seen and that she has come to the Inquisition must mean something, and Leliana is not so far gone as to deny people the right to change.

It is a silly contrivance, really, but silly is so disassociated with Sister Nightingale that it seems the best option, for this. Simple, painless, and it never hurts to let her nugs get a little more socialised. She's fairly sure they enjoy the attention.

"Schmooples!" Her oldest nug friend, still as delightful as he was during the Blight, and her most reliable comrade for such exercises as these. The elderly nug is scuttling across the courtyard, beelining for Clarke, with what appears to be little brown parcel held in his mouth. Despite his age he is still speedy with his scurrying, shooting between Clarke's ankles and lurking behind her. "I apologise for the trouble," she exhales, moving to the young woman in long strides, arms crosses as she looks around her to the nug. "He always thinks he can get away with murder if he runs to a new friend."

Her tone is very dry, an accusation directed at the little bunny-pig, and he squeaks uselessly as he drops the parcel. "Don't make that face at me, ser," she retorts, and the creature does not look even a little chastened.

Clarke doesn't appear to be a person who smiles very often; she's only eighteen, and she looks it, but even standing in the courtyard and idly rubbing ashes from the surgeon's fire (for want of ink or paint) into the blank final pages of a spellbook in the vague shape of mountains, her resting expression features a worried line between her eyebrows.

The nug's appearance doesn't erase it. She snaps the book shut out of reflex when he darts between her feet, steps in place like she's worried he might run into her or up her leg, and then looks at his apparent owner with uncomprehending skepticism.

She understands what the woman has said; she understands who the woman is. What she doesn't understand is:

"Schmooples?"

Schmooples. It doesn't make Sister Nightingale a less intimidating person to be approached by, when one is a young blood mage with many regrets, but it does put that concern on hold for a moment.

"Yes. We've been together since my first trip down to Orzammar," Leliana explains, bending down to collect the parcel and inspecting it for damage before it disappears into a satchel hooked to her belt. "I have heard not everyone shares my taste in names."

A slight smile is hidden at the corners of her mouth, suggesting just a hint of self-mockery, or maybe a more generous serving of good humour. Perhaps both? It's hard to tell, at times.

"I do not believe we've met. Clarke, isn't it?" Not met, and yet, creepily knowing her name. Sorry about that, tiny mage. "Do you always work with ashes?"

The question is genuine, as she nods to the book, closed as it is. All artists have their preferred medium, and for some, ash would be superior to any other instrument.

"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."

Recently. Recently so many things had been scorched down, literally and metaphorically, and her brow creases.

"Used to be?" Leliana cannot help sounding gently incredulous, trying to pin down Clarke's tone. Used to be hardly seemed as though it should even fall into the vocabulary of one so young as Clarke, but Leliana knows as well as anyone else that age can rarely be used as a marker for such things. Tilting her head just slightly, she observes Clarke for a moment longer before speaking.

"There will be plenty of time to resume your passions. Skyhold is home to many beautiful things, I think. An artist is more likely to find them than others. Showing things to people in ways they might not have considered previously is a gift well worth pursuing."

And what is art, music, storytelling... what are all of those things, if not the presentation of new perspectives and insights?

and I'm haunted

CLARKE. SKYHOLD. after the rift in skyhold/zevran's return/idk other stuff

I'm here I'm sorry hiiii.

no apologies are ever necessary with me bruh

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

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED