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Entry tags:
Closed | Lemme put some kush up in it
WHO: Guy Makara and Merrick Ashara
WHAT: First real meeting, a hookup for the good herbs
WHEN: Some general time after returning to Skyhold from Emprise du Lion
WHERE: Skyhold's gardens
NOTES: Drugs/discussion thereof, profuse swearing, others to be added in time
WHAT: First real meeting, a hookup for the good herbs
WHEN: Some general time after returning to Skyhold from Emprise du Lion
WHERE: Skyhold's gardens
NOTES: Drugs/discussion thereof, profuse swearing, others to be added in time
The gardens seemed to be the best place to start when it came to his search for some Thedosian equivalent to the herbs that he was used to smoking in the world he'd come from. He was wandering there with a reference book under his arm and a little cheat sheet to try and understand the letters on the page in front of him. It was easy enough, like translating a simple code made up in middle school to throw teachers off of passed notes. He mused over this as he strolled between patches of flowers, looking up at the trellises and their collections of climbing vines. Pretty, but otherwise he didn't know much about them yet.
He had a contact now, of sorts. When he'd spoken at length with the little pale elf, Cyril, he'd learned that there were sources of smokable herbs and information on what was available for how much. It was as good a place to start as any, and he'd attempted to send word through the Inquisition's elves to find the Ashara in question. If he didn't show up it wasn't really a loss, but it would make his life a good deal easier to be able to speak with someone that knew what they were talking about.
He was sitting on one of the low stone walls with the book open on his knees, his fingers tracing along the pages as he looked over a couple of different images and their captions, comparing what he was sitting beside with the information he was looking over. He looked and felt a bit out of place here, surrounded by people with odd, archaic ideas and so much pale skin it was like he was back in Boston, but he had at least found some clothes that fit him and made him look a little more at home, relatively simple jerkin over a tunic and breeches with calf-high leather boots. His dreadlocks had been tied up around themselves to keep them out of his face, but one or two had escaped around his face. It was getting toward evening, probably making him a little more difficult to spot in the middle of all the shadows and foliage as the sun started to sink below the outer walls of the hold.
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Cyril had mentioned some guy who wanted to smoke with him, who is apparently waiting for him in the garden. He still doesn't feel much like socializing, but the prospect of finding new and interesting things to smoke is enough for him to seek out the guy.
He's pretty easy to find. Merrick walks over to him and sits, whipping out his pipe without so much as a hello.
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"Merrick, right? Gam." He holds out his hand at that for a shake, saying no more or less. Merrick doesn't look like the type that would want to talk to him at length anyway.
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He doesn't visit the garden as often as he should. It's nice. He'd be content to just sit here in silence and smoke, but...
"So what do you want?" he asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question.
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