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

[ombranera]

"Fatevi vedere, vigliacchi!" Hiding and running is a viable and commendable tactic in a situation such as this and any other moment Zevran is happy to applaud such efforts. Hide quick and stay alive, it's marvelous. But when he is the one seeking, when the ones he seeks are these pasta bandits? It is more irritating than it is commendable- more vexing than viable. They should face him down and be done with it before they end up lighting another goat on fire or painting the courtyard with jams and creams.

It'd been an interesting night, meeting these two. Interesting and frustrating. And he'd sworn that should he ever meet them again? They would get their comeuppance. Now they are here in his tavern drinking his ale and charming his barmaids and he is to simply let it be? No!

Snarling in uncharacteristic ill humor he vaults to the next table, scanning the crowd of bodies. He will find them, and when he does? "Quando ho finito con te le loro madri non riconoscono quello che è rimasto!"

[bunko]

"NOODLE STRANGER!", absolutely in unison and Scipio doesn't dare to look at him. He lets Rafael get an eyeful, while he still has eyes. All that shouting, all those threats. The last one gets a loud HA, and a finger jabbed toward Rafael, fear temporarily suspended.

"HA! Ha, he doesn't know we haven't got mothers to recognize us--" No, wait, that's a sad thing. Rafael's girl is trying to lean around the table's edge to see them, concern plain on her face, but here are real words of love: there is a back door.



Not like that.

A real back door, wood and iron, a door to freedom and escape, and Scipio ahhs accordingly. Good work, Rafael, way to read the architecture of the room. He doesn't need to be told twice to hurry, he jumps up and bolts, shoving aside tables and patrons, excuse me excuse me scusi scusi. The commotion that springs up around them means they are momentarily highly visible to the avenging Noodle Stranger, but there's nothing else for it.

The door is right there. The door, the door; Scipio, with one arm hooked around some part of Rafael, trips. Midway through his fall, he corrects it, slams a shoulder into the solid wood instead with an owww--the move looks almost purposeful, but since the door opens inward, and not outward, it doesn't budge.