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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"A moment, please." It's been a while since he'd last needed to be used to superiors coming in to ask after their people. Over a decade, in fact. He's unused to this. But it's something he's going to have to get used to - not stiffening when someone shows up behind him asking questions, maintaining his focus despite how he could be in danger, all of it.

After a couple of moments as he finishes up his initial work, Anders turns to see Leliana there. At least she's here for her scout and not for Anders. That's the only consolation, really.

"He'll live. I need to..." He nods at the table near here and crosses, pulling a few things out of jars and getting to work. "The infection's dealt with, the deeper tear is as well, but the poison's in his bloodstream. He's going to need to take a dose of what I'm making twice daily. And, like most things that are good for you, it will taste awful."

His voice is pitched enough so that the scout can hear him as well. He might as well be efficient with notifying them both of what's going on. "He'll need to be off-duty for at least a week, and I'd like him in here again at the end of that to take another look. Should he start hallucinating, or his leg fall off, bring him in sooner." There's a short beat as he looks up from what he's doing for a moment. "The leg falling off is a joke, his limbs will be fine."

Of course. She held Wynne in too high an opinion not to respect a healer's space - especially when they work in such challenging conditions such as these. Another thing that needs attention, needs work, but there are only so many hands and so many hours in the day.

Nodding at the information, her mouth tugs into a slight from with the description of the injury, gaze casting towards her scout for a moment in a brief, severe reprimand that does not last more than a moment, before she retrains her gaze on the healer.
"I understand." He will have his medicine, every drop, no matter how he protests the taste.

And at the joke, she doesn't quite smile, there there is a hint of something at the corners of her mouth. Not quite smiling, not quite amused, not quite anything beyond the Nightingale.
"Do not worry. If he does not comply with his rest order," Leliana replies, quite calmly, "there will be no need for his leg fall off." A significant look at her scout, who nods, and the shadow of a smile. Leliana's brand of caring is complex, perhaps, but her people are valuable to her, and she will do everything she can to protect them, to keep them safe - even from their own bull-headedness. This is a scout who returned to Skyhold sooner than seek medical attention. Dedicated, but reckless with his own well-being. Her threads come from a loving place, one could suppose.

"I appreciate your assistance. No doubt Scout Shawling does, as well. Detlef, isn't it?"

He is very glad to not be that scout, with the little hint of a threat there. A shame he'd never been able to intimidate Hawke into behaving enough to let things fully heal. Then again, she'd at least had him nearby. The scout could be sent anywhere next, far from a healer.

"It is." Just Detlef, just a healer, please let her inquiries end there. Varric's help had certainly fleshed out his background, but there's no telling what resources Leliana has. The chances of her directly knowing more about Laysh than he does are slim, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have someone there.

He finishes the mixture up and carries it back to the scout, holding it out. "One mouthful at dusk and one at dawn. If you miss a dose, don't take two, come see me." Once that's handed off he comes back to the table and starts cleaning up, 'aided' by his hand being batted by a tiny black-and-white-spotted paw sneaking out of one of the canisters. "Or Adelaide, if I'm not currently available. I'll leave notes on the toxin and your name in case of that."

Chances are he'll be here, but there's no telling where he'll be needed. "Was there anything else the both of you needed?" Maybe they'll say no.

Leliana makes a mental note of the instruction, and as the scout eases himself up to go leave, she adds, "Report to me after you take the mixture this evening." A dismissal and a reminder, masking her concern and her inherent need to check on her scouts, make sure they are all right. If they are hurt in service to the Inquisition, that is on her shoulders.

"I hoped to speak with you more generally," Leliana replies, after a bit of a pause, turning matters over and examining them from each side, as is so much her habit, waiting until her scout is gone before she continues. "You have done much to aid our people since you arrived, I hear. You and Adelaide both."

It sounds pleasant enough, complimentary and grateful, and perhaps it is. Perhaps this is just a friendly acknowledgement from the spymaster, for looking after her people. "Have you worked as a healer long?"

Andraste's toelint. Why? Why would she want to speak with him? At least he can busy himself with continuing to clean up after the scout instead of simply looking at her. Next time he sees Varric, he needs to ask for help with his face, because bluffing is just not a thing he's good at.

"I've done what I can, as I think any spirit healer would." You need a certain amount of compassion to get into this anyway; spirits have a habit of knowing when someone's motivations aren't exactly in line with their own. Her follow up means he can't get too comfortable with the compliment, though. Future scouts he'll send to Adelaide, just in case this happens again. Provided he makes it though this.

Anders gently extricates Purrelden from behind the canisters, shushing her when she protests. "I've been a healer for some time. As long as I've been able. I don't think it exactly counts when you're sitting around in a Circle, no matter how many ribs you need to fix because a few fellow mages aren't fast enough to dodge the Templars who are in moods that day."

...He needs to make it milder, go easier. Holding his kitten and in one arm and rubbing her head with his free hand between small tasks help. "What, interested in learning?"

Interesting. She is, of course, not naive to the abuses within the Circles. It is abhorrent that men and women of faith could inflict such suffering upon those placed into their care. Magic is to serve man, perhaps, but that did not mean that those born with such gifts should be enslaved, abused, and worse. Conditions within the Circles did vary, of course, and some mages flourished within them - Wynne and Vivienne both fine examples. Leliana remembers well that the Templars had been willing to condemn their mages to death, though, and it makes her shudder to think what might have happened to Wynne that day, to all those so cherished there.

It is not so unusual to hear a mage who reviles the Circles, but... some are more inclined to hold their tongues than others. The potential for conflict is something to note, along with so many things that Leliana keeps in mind - what accent he might have, the play of syllables and emphasis and so much else.

"I agree," she replies, not lacking sympathy, even if her manner remains somewhat aloof. "What Circle were you with?"

The question makes her smile a little, as do the explorations of the cat and her resulting extrication. "I lack the gift and the inclination," Leliana admits, moving a step closer and waving her fingers a little at the cat, an invitation to play. Set the owner a little at ease, perhaps.

"You are much more agile than my nugs," she informs the cat, before addressing the healer. "What is her name?"

He raises an eyebrow, expression going cold for a moment. "I'll talk about the worst parts of my life if you'll talk yours. An even exchange. It should be pleasant for all. Or perhaps we'll move on from that."

She can't possibly think asking about his Circle would be a pleasant storytime. She's likely fishing, and there are so many reasons he's not interested in talking on that topic. The passing comment is as far as he wants to go there, and so he's hoping she'll move on as he does. At least she calls it a 'gift' and not a curse. The fact that she's letting Purrelden bat at her fingers has Anders relaxing again... until he realizes how stupid a name he'd given his cat.

If he's lucky, he looks more embarrassed by the name than anything else.

"Her name's Purrelden. ...Hero of. She's very... It's not meant to be offensive. I like cats." Maker, he's an idiot. "And she's heroic." A beat. "Against crickets."

Oh, Detlef. It would be so easy to lie. To play it down, instead of sparking her curiosity further. Her expression is deceptively apologetic as she pauses a moment before responding, as if processing his words.

"I meant no offence, only to gather a better understanding of how the Circle standards might have varied depending on location," comes the easy reply, as if his comments were nothing but water off a duck's back, as if she is content to let it go.

(She is not. She might never let anything go easily again, with how she feels these days.)

The name earns a breath of laughter, and that is sincere, even if it seems very specific.
"Well, I do not doubt she is far more adept at felling crickets than the Prince Consort." Straightening up, Leliana's smile is as relaxed and easy as is believable in someone of her rank and position.

"One of the Grey Wardens here travelled with the Hero of Ferelden, in fact." And, that reminds her. "You were in the party that rescued Zevran, weren't you?"

A little gentler, a little softer. Another brother of hers. Another dear friend, and one whose life is owed to the people who retrieved him.

He has no idea if his attempt worked or not. Reading people is something he's decent at, but Anders can't actually work on it right now. There's no telling what sort of things she's looking for and she is the head of intelligence for the Inquisition.

But she may be willing to let it go, thankfully. And she's not even bothered by Hero of Purrelden's name. Maybe this won't be so painful after all.

"It takes a certain sort of bravery to go up against the things that skitter and crawl. Especially when they're as large as your leg." The cat makes an attempt at wrapping her paws around Leliana's finger so she can try gnawing on the tip of it. Anders doesn't try pulling the kitten back - if it serves as a distraction, so much the better.

"I was. I went along to heal him. And be the voice of reason that everyone ignored when the monstrous... thing burst out at us and the corpses started moving again." There are three Grey Wardens who traveled with the Hero here, actually. But Alistair is remembered for good, Nate forgotten, and Anders remembered for ill. And if Anders says anything, it'll just be more trouble.

Nate deserves better, though. He hopes the judgment in his voice is read as aimed at those who wanted more injuries, rather than at the woman who has just overlooked one of his dearest friends. "No one's content with a glyph of paralysis when you've qunari who can charge putrid, oversized creatures."

"Or larger," she notes, remembering the many horrors she witnessed when travelling with Jonas. "I mentioned the Alistair before, because he and I all travelled together with the Hero of Ferdelden." And Zevran and Shale and Morrigan, but the Hero of Ferelden was so much associated with the Grey Wardens that it marks Alistair's relevance over the others. "I can't say that Alistair appreciates a good pun, unfortunately."
He can't appreciate much when it comes to Jonas Cousland, truth be told, and with entirely good reason.
Truth be told, she does know of Nathaniel Howe. She knows he arrived with Bethany, from the mouth of the younger Hawke sister herself - another Grey Warden who has travelled with someone with something of a heroic reputation. Leaving Nathaniel out was no slight, she simply does not know him, cannot recommend his character personally, though she has no issue with the man, unfortunate lineage aside.

"I can't say the Deep Roads left me terribly fond of the skittering and crawling, but I can't speak for the others. Deep stalkers, ugh."
Deep stalkers were hideous, though hardly the worst of the Deep Roads. She is not sure she will ever be rid of the memories of the Brood Mother, and letting Purrelden gnaw at her fingertip is welcome enough. Perhaps not as distracting as her behaviour suggests, however.

"I think I speak for all of us when I thank you for that." A pause, and a wry smile. "I used to know someone who'd probably share much the same lament."

"I knew you did. Hence the mention of meaning no offense by my cat's name. And I can't say I found the time to test his appreciation of puns. He was preoccupied on the way there, and I was extremely busy on the way back. Which you don't have to thank me for."

He gives her a faint smile as he draws the kitten closer again after Purrelden's gotten a little gnawing in, rubbing her chin and feeling her purr against his chest. Justice might not approve of having the cat, but Anders always feels a little better when he has one purring in his arms. It's easier to stay calm.

"I also can't say I appreciate skittering and crawling things. I take it you've not had good encounters with deep stalkers? They've never sounded pleasant in stories." As long as he sticks to things that are true, he might be able to make it through this. "Or maybe a story of whomever it is who would lament would be easier."

He's outmatched. If he can get her thinking about herself, on her stories, maybe he has a chance. ...And then he may well need to contact Varric about running into her.

"I see." Interesting that he thought it could cause offence, but then, perhaps it made sense. The Hero of Ferelden was a respected man, looked up to my many. He had done much to help Leliana herself, had shown her kindness and good faith. Even so, he was not a man without flaw, and Leliana could not say how she would interact with Jonas now. Surely he could have done more to help mages, to protect, shown more initiative in these long years.

Perhaps she is too hard on him. "It might be that I could have named Varric Feathras and Marian Squawke more sensitively, then," Leliana starts, nodding towards the tower where stands the Rookery, "But some names are simply too good to resist."

A tilt of her head, curious. Something does not seem quite right, here, and she has learned to trust her instincts on such things. They are not without flaw, but something is worrying at her, and it leaves her equal parts curious and cautious. "I feel there should be more stories on nugs, personally, but I have been told not all share my love for them."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

His only relief is that he's looking down and trying to extricate a few teeny claws from his robes when she says the names, but why those names, and to him? If she knows, there would already be Templars here. Right? His heart is pounding in his chest and it takes work to remember to breathe.

"Have you considered Cassandra Pinionghast?" His voice sounds even to his ears, but it might not be. Then again. He's lived so much of his life in fear. Maybe he's getting used to it. "Not quite as good, I'll admit. I may have to put some thought into it. Cat puns are so much easier. ...And far easier than nug puns, I think. I can't come up with any in the moment."

Which is another sign he's stressed, but at least there's no way for her to know that much. They've never spoken before. "I suppose it's a good thing I prefer cats. They're superior to any other animal."

It is an interesting thing, to observe people in environments where they are comfortable. In all sorts of surrounds, really, but one would suppose that these are the ones whee hiding is easier, and the clues that can be caught become all the more remarkable for that, an intriguing thread to catch and tease at before they undo themselves. Cat puns are easier, indeed, and for some reason it troubles her that Hero of Purrelden was thus his choice. Why is it so significant, Leliana?

Instincts are strange things, one supposes. Instincts lead her to discover Marjolaine's treason, but not to prepare herself for a stab in the gut. Faith lead her to Jonas and Alistair and Morrigan, but some would call that instinct as well, and others would simply call her deluded.

"The most imaginative I've gotten with the nugs is Nugistair," she admits. "They don't really lend themselves to puns. Far too distinguished." False banter, false ease, as she quietly assesses the man before her. "Cassandra Pinionghast is worth considering, though may not be best appreciated by her. I hope you'll advise me of any other ideas you have. Dorian Pawvus, perhaps, is another to consider."

Sorry, Dorian, but it is interesting to see how people react to the mention of a Tevinter mage. He does tend to provoke opinions. And it would be a fitting name for a cat, even if Detlef's assertion that they are superior to any other animal is terrible and wrong.

Still. Blond, spirit healer, cats. The combination is evoking a memory at the tip of her tongue, and yet it eludes her. Infuriating.

Edited (curse you, 'e') 2016-02-29 01:35 (UTC)

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."

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.

"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.

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?"

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."

He doesn't know if he's distracted her at all, or made himself forgettable. He needs to be better at both of those, but how do you practice that? ...Maybe with the few rogues he knows, actually, but it's too late for this encounter. Anders nods to her and tries to seem like he's just busy.

"And I need to prepare a few things for the group in Emprise. Have a good day, and let me know if you ever need a cat in your tower. There are two close to having litters, and cats appreciate a home when it's cold."

There. That's casual enough, and it gives him the freedom to turn away from her and get back to actual work, letting Purrelden get back down on the table and bat at his hands in the meantime.

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and I'm haunted

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elegantly sails in ten years late with an entire starbucks tbh

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