heaven, a gateway, a hope

[byblow]

WHO: Grey Wardens & You
WHAT: A daring and not at all ragtag group of Grey Wardens has walked all the way across Orlais to inform the Inquisition--just in case it hadn't already realized on its own--that everything is terrible.
WHEN: Harvestmere 22
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This post has: (1) A single group "we just got here, we're freezing, who is in charge, what do you mean you haven't decided yet" starter that we'd like to keep to one chronological thread. (2) Open starters for individual Wardens set later in the day/week.

OOC Note: Regarding the first starter--threadjack away! Anyone is welcome to wander onto the scene to see what's going on and wander back out at their leisure, to fall silent for a while, etc. No tagging order. But let slower taggers get a word in edgewise!

Comments

[bunko]

"Of course it's a game. Everything is." This would sound more jaded in anyone else's mouth, but Scipio only sounds delighted. The little smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth, that's even more amused than bitter.

He leans a little closer to confide in Kitty. Eyes still on Drea, down along the bar, who keeps her eyes on the glass that she's polishing and repolishing with her dish towel. "La Vita es un juego. Every place in the world has a saying like that. You can't tell me you find life to be tiresome."

[rathercommon]

"I find life to be quite serious, actually." The self-conscious, rather put-on irritation fades, replaced by a quiet sort of firmness. It's clear she's bothered by the sentiment: as soon as the Warden had said that bit about everything is, her expression had tightened, her frown smoothing out into something tense and wary.

"A game has the board wiped clean at the end, doesn't it. Life spirals out and touches others, and nothing can ever be undone. People just talk themselves into thinking it's a game because they either don't want to think about the consequences of their actions or because they're unable to deal with them and don't want to think about it. So. That's quite different from being tiresome."

She follows that up with a short, sharp shrug.

[bunko]

She's so intent, this barmaid, with a young round face picked out sharp. Scipio's gaze flickers from Drea to study Kitty, quickly, at just a glance. There are things that turn people hard. There are people whose games have gone roughly. Something in her expression speaks to that, like a crouch, like the string of a lute strung too tautly.

He doesn't need to charm her. Whatever story she lives in, it's different than his. But he can't resist. He likes the conversation. He likes Kitty, the barmaid, with her face set firmly. "You can play seriously, this game. You can think of the rules, and the board, and all the big and little consequences. Your spiral of life. None of that makes it any less of a game. Nothing can be undone in a game either, isn't that so? Once you move your piece, it stays moved. Turning back only happens when the die says to turn. You keep going forward, and luck, or skill, or chance, that is what turns it all for you."

And when Scipio looks away, his smile softens his face again, a smile he trains on the lovely Drea, a beam cut clear across the bar. Her ears go a little pink again. He can see that even from this distance. "There's games in games, and games in those games, too. If you find this one tiresome, you don't need to stay. But--"

He flicks another glance at her, with a smile for her. "But you do make a good conversational partner."

[rathercommon]

After a moment, she admits, "You're all right, too. Even if you get yourself way too twisted up in metaphors. I mean, really, that all sounds awfully poetic, doesn't it, but in the end we're saying the exact same thing. I'm just saying it less prettily but also in about a quarter of the time. And without the horrible overtones of frivolity."

And then she considers, drying her hands off on her apron. He's not an idiot, is he? And, more to the point, he's not...arrogant. Or stupid. Or wicked. You have to be careful of Wardens. Sometimes they're good people, forced into service, and sometimes they're the worst ones possible, monstrous folk who have been shuffled off to die fighting monsters. Like her Legion of the Dead. But this pretty, loquacious man - he's all right.

And so Kitty says, her manner a little quieter still, "If you are going to - flirt with her, or whatever - be kind. She's had a bad go of it. Since the war started. She doesn't say much about it, but she says enough."

[bunko]

Her clipped response makes him laugh. "No--but you said it's not a game, and I said it is. How are those the same?" And, more to the point--he taps his index finger against the bartop, a quiet noise to catch the attention-- "Words are important. Pretty words most of all. For instance--"

And, finally, Scipio leans back away from Kitty, hooking his fingers around the handle of his mug to pull it with him. He's back to eyeing Drea, who is polishing the same glass, so intently she might have worn a hole into its side by now.

"It's pretty words I'll use for Drea. I know how to be kind, and distracting. And frivolous," and he repeats her with amusement, curls the word around his tongue, "but frivolous, that's what people need. Even you. Even if you will tell me it isn't so. So--" He touches his chest with his fingertips, tips his gaze toward Kitty again. "Until later, I think."