(no subject)

[arachnophobe]

WHO: Alejandro Borges AND YOU, YES YOU.
WHAT: Alejandro shows up at Skyhold. It's incredibly exciting!! He's probably getting drunk or getting to work so take your pick.
WHEN: End of Guardian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Alejandro's mouth might deserve a warning. Also, feel free to use prose or brackets; I have no real preference.

COURTYARD
"Well, isn't this a fuckin' thing."

There weren't many survivors from the O'Bannon, but the few that did live needed a refuge. For a time, Alejandro ensured that they made it someplace; Redcliffe seemed the best, least crazy place to be, and that's including the damned rumors about Tevinter mages that hung around. Alejandro wasn't thrilled with that one, but they needed a place, and that was as good as it was going to get.

Him? Well, he always got through his issues with a hammer, anger, and intent while at a forge.

Alejandro adjusts his pack on his shoulder, taking a moment to look over Skyhold. It was impressive from a distance, but damn if this isn't some kind of fortress.

"Shit, and a place to get trashed," Alejandro says with a snort. "Well, they've got the right idea."


UNDERCROFT
This isn't a bad location for a forge. Hell, downright fancy in comparison to the places he's been.

Alejandro's dropped his pack and taken a moment to review the area. It's wide and open, excellent space for anyone to work in. Frankly, he's pretty damned impressed with it; it's not fancy, but spacious as hell.

As he's exploring the space, Alejandro stops when he sees the crawl of something out of the corner of his eye. It's a bit hard to not have a good sense for this kind of shit after everything he's seen and witnessed, and he knows what it must be.

"Fuck," he whispers, eyes widening.

It's a small spider, not any larger than a sovereign, crawling innocently along, minding its own business.

Alejandro slams a bucket over the critter, frowning in thought as he tries to determine how to handle this. He commends himself silently for not screaming, but now he needs to keep it there. After glancing around a moment, Alejandro yanks a shield over and lays it on top of the bucket, keeping it still.

After pausing for a moment, he scribbles out a note and sticks on the shield:
DO NOT FUCKING MOVE
- A.B.

"That ought'a do it."


TAVERN
The day is long. It's always long. It's going to be that way for everyone, and he knows everyone's got a sob story. No one here's gotten by without a scratch, and everyone has their way of dealing with it.

Sometimes it's work for Alejandro. Sometimes it isn't.

He sits down at a table and orders himself some ale -- cheapest they have, which is gonna taste awful, but beggars aren't choosers and he's not loaded with money. Alejandro unstraps his prosthetic and lets out a sigh as the weight comes off his shoulder before he's placing the thing on the table so he can make some adjustments to it.

Sometimes it's work. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's a bit both.


WILDCARD
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Comments

UNDERCROFT

[stabsbooks]

"What is this?"

Cassandra's shield had been badly damaged in the battle with the Kaltenzahn, and while she doesn't plan on needing it anytime soon, she is still eager to see it repaired. But when she had made her way down to the Undercroft, she had found no smiths hard at work, no mended and freshly painted shield waiting for her to pick up and carry back into battle.

Instead, there is...her shield, still damaged, resting on something in the middle of the room. She bends down to read the note placed on top and jerks back at the harsh language, scowling as she addresses the empty air.

"Who is 'A.B.'?"

[arachnophobe]

Well shit.

Of course one of the first people to come down is Seeker Pentaghast. A bit hard to not know who the hell she is, after all. Alejandro raises a brow and watches her march over to, of course, the shield and the note.

He coughs and shrugs one shoulder as he goes to his pack. "Some guy, I'm sure. Maybe it's a nickname. Angry Bear or Actually Bees or some other thing. I've seen some weird and stupid shitty names. You'd be surprised."

She's not asking him technically, so technically he doesn't have to tell her the truth.

[stabsbooks]

Oh, there is someone here. Cassandra throws a vaguely annoyed look at the man, but doesn't bother answering him directly. It's not as if he'd been especially helpful himself.

"Ridiculous," she mutters, though she could easily have been referring either to his nicknames or to the note itself. "I do not see any need for this." And just like that, she bends down again, crumpling up the note before reaching for the shield itself.

[arachnophobe]

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it happening like in slow motion. The note tossed away, and she's reaching for the shield. The horror sinks in.

"Don't touch that!" is all but a scream, his eyes widening. "There is some serious shit under that bucket!"

[stabsbooks]

Too late. She's already picked up the shield, but she jumps back immediately, clutching it tightly in alarm. It's been a long time since she's heard anyone's voice reach quite that pitch, and she looks wildly between him and the bucket, crouching instinctively into a defensive pose, ready for anything.

"What? What is it?" She stares at the bucket in horror, tensing, but there's no indication of what the serious shit might be. No movement, no sign of a spell gone awry or a rune about to explode. "What's happened?"

[arachnophobe]

"Just-- put it back down! It might get out otherwise!" In reality, he knows that there are bigger and worse spiders out there. Hell, he's had to deal with them. But it's a little hard to convince a phobia to behave.

So he's just going to hope that his desperation is obvious.

"Look, just bear with me for a second here. Put some goddamn weight on it before I can deal with it!"

Because there's one true way to deal with this.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra levels him a look full of distrust, but dutifully steps forward to place the shield down once more. She doesn't know what's going on, but the gravity of the situation is clear. The man would not be reacting the way he is if that bucket were not containing something truly dangerous.

To that end, she places the shield back onto the bucket as gently as possible, then steps back carefully, her boots silent on the floor as she retreats to a safe distance.

"All right," she says quietly. Perhaps it is sensitive to loud noises. "What now?"

Tavern

[doneisdone]

At the adjacent table, a pair of shifty eyes watch him remove his prosthetic. They belong to a thin, hawkish woman, who is idly at work mending a blue studded tunic with a mug of ale in front of her. Should Alejandro meet her gaze, she smirks in wry greeting. There's no mocking there, nor is there sympathy; she's acknowledging him as a fellow survivor of Some Shit.

[arachnophobe]

That is a gaze, at least, that he can relate to. He doesn't necessarily want pity anyway, so the respectful look is appreciated. A little mock salute is sent her way before he's having a swig of the ale presented to him by the local barmaid.

"How's the night?" Small talk, but it's a distraction while he works on adjusting his prosthetic.

[doneisdone]

Teren raises her mug in a salute back. "Blessedly quiet," she answers, "I hear this place can be quite the riot at times."

[arachnophobe]

"It's a tavern. That's definitely what people do," he says wryly, snorting a little. "'Course, I haven't been here long myself."

Maybe a riot means things are on fire, for all he knows.

[doneisdone]

"Oh? And where do you hail from?"

Teren takes a drink from her mug, watching the man out of the corner of her eye, assuming he'll answer.

[arachnophobe]

"Kirkwall, a few months ago. Was kinda on a vessel for a few months before I decided: the world's kinda shitty right now, would kinda like it to be less shitty." He wiggles his fingers. "And here I am. My magical tale."

TAVERN.

[bunko]

A hero's return deserves a hero's reward. And after his work in Emprise du Lion, Scipio has decided to crown himself a hero.

Now, this does not mean that he has gone so far as to wear an actual crown. A crown was not even considered, truly. This hero's crown is a crown of metaphor only. Chiefly what the crown means is that Scipio rewards himself as often as he is able. After so daring a feat, after so bold a mission, a new knowledge has been opened to him. Life is very sweet, and very fleeting! Danger awaits at every turn. A man could die--or he could live. And Scipio has lived.

This is a philosophy that he has been repeating since his return, profoundly and soberly, to any and all that would listen. Mostly in the tavern, since these words are a good way to earn himself free drink. This, Scipio thinks to himself, on his way back to his table with a mug of ale in his hand--this mug of ale is a far better reward than any crown.

To Herosim! A silent toast. Unfortunately, it occurs mid-stride, as he's passing by a table, and the force of the toast slops ale over the side of the mug, spattering the table and the patron both.

Oops.

"My apologies, ser!" Sincere, even if he's not lingering. He doesn't even look twice. If he had--well, who's to say if he would recognize a certain blacksmith? Such things, they were so long ago, so far away--so removed from him, a Grey Warden and a hero.

[arachnophobe]

When Alejandro is splashed, so is his table and, well, his arm. He lifts his hand up and flicks off the ale with an irritable, "Are you fuckin' serious?"

The apology does sound sincere, so he just sighs and says, "Just watch yourself, all right? This thing is a pain to clean, and--"

There's a pause as Alejandro peers up at the other man from where he's sitting. Oh, maybe for Scipio, it was sometime ago and forgotten easily, just another man conned, but Alejandro doesn't easily forget. Not when he was working his ass off for as much money as he could.

A fist slams down and Alejandro is standing up. "You cheap bastard!"

[bunko]

There have been many times, in many taverns, where Scipio, for the better or for the worse, has been recognized. While this man might be yelling at anyone in the tavern, it is most likely that he is yelling at Scipio, because people often tend to yell at Scipio in taverns.

So. Scipio takes a few more steps before he lets himself realize, that this cheap bastard might be him. Indeed, a few others have glanced between him and the man doing the yelling, mild interest. Scipio looks around, blankly--and then looks over his shoulder, and finds the man in the crowd.

"Ser?"

As if to say, again: your pardon. As if to say: perhaps there has been some mistake. Indeed, the arrangement of his features is puzzled and begin, just another man here for a drink, no one at all. Behind this facade, Scipio is thinking very quickly. Who is this and what has he done to him, where has he seen this face before, flipping through a mental catalog of men from the past. If only Rafael were here.

[arachnophobe]

"Don't give me that blank look," the blacksmith growls. Arm or no arm, he's going to start approaching Scipio and is definitely looking like he might want to at least sock him in the mouth, if not more than that.

"I doubt I'm the only guy you swindled." It's Antiva and all. "But crafting the kind of blades you were lookin' for? Doesn't come cheap, and your coin was worthless!"

Sure it was a few years ago, but the memory is sore and his temper? Not much better these days.

[bunko]

Oo-oooh.

Scipio does not give the appearance of having taken a step backwards. But in truth: he has. Just a small step, yet in such close quarters, when a man comes toward you with purpose and an intent to punch gleaming in his narrowed eyes, even the smallest step and the smallest distance makes a great deal of difference.

Anitvan. The man is Antivan. And missing an arm, but that hardly matters; Scipio has fought with one arm tied behind his back (for show), and he has witnessed men with one arm holding their own. If there is passion, the lack of arm will hardly translate as a true lack. Still, he is trying to place it all: worthless coin, worthless coin, there have been so many worthless coins--blades, blacksmiths, worthless coin--

"I think there must be a mistaking, here, yes?" Still polite. The door is not that close. Scipio might yet make a run for it, but not if his new foe gets much nearer. "I do not know what you speak of. And I am very busy, so I do not have time to help you, ser, and for that, I am sorry, I must beg your pardon, and be on my way, and pray that you will find whatever man that you seek--handsome, obviously, if you have mistaken him for me, me for him--"

[arachnophobe]

"Cut the shit! You can't get yourself out of this one, and if you think you're gonna scamper off before facing me--" Alejandro grabs his prosthetic arm and shakes it in the other man's face. "I will jam this in places you don't want."

No, that probably won't happen, but it's a damned fine threat.

"You ordered fancy ass knives. I delivered. You paid me in crap coin that was worthless. You and your prettier half." Sorry Scipio. "And if he's here, you both got shit to answer for."

Courtyard

[ombranera]

"Now there is a voice I did not expect to hear." Not for a long, long while- especially not so far south. Zevran did not often swing through the courtyard, preferring to keep to the shadows or warmth of the hold's halls proper but it is most fortunate that he chose to do so this day. Who knows how long it might have taken him to run into an old friend otherwise. Bundled in a cloak half a size too large and lined with fur, leather patch covering his right eye, Zevran alters course to meet up with Alejandro. Truly, it has been too long.

[arachnophobe]

If there were going to be any familiar faces for him, Alejandro was expecting the worst of them. Despite Zevran's former profession, however, he'd never particularly been someone he hated to see.

Instead, Alejandro is grinning, letting out a sharp laugh. "You and me both!" His eyes flick to the eyepatch for a split second, but he doesn't have any desire to ask. Not right now. It's not like he's all that unfamiliar with losing a part of himself, after all.

"So, whenever the world's in deep shit, you just gonna hook up with some heroes and do something about it now? When the hell did you get so noble, Zev?"

[ombranera]

"It is not so noble as all that- they pay well for Assassins here and besides. I happen to like the world when it is not burning down around our ears." He reaches out to clasp Alejandro's wrist, grinning. "So why not fight to protect it and get paid while doing so, mm? Seems like a simple enough choice to me. Besides. This time it's demons, not darkspawn. Different shades of awful, different cast of heroes. As long as I am not the hero, all is well."

On account of the hero always dying in the tales- the Herald had passed after doing all she could in Haven. Zevran wouldn't spit on that- but he would rather not wear those boots.

[arachnophobe]

"Yeah, I guess it's impossible to ignore what the hell is going on, no matter who you are or where you are." For as much as Alejandro wasn't thrilled to get involved in everything in Thedas, even this was something he didn't have much choice in. Funny what'll happen to motivate you to stop the crazy shit from happening.

"So how bad is it looking here? This rift shit seems insane."

[ombranera]

"Civil war, Demons, a blighted dragon, evil mages in a blood cult, Templars growing lyrium out of their skin- I would put it at an eight out of ten on the 'we are all going to die horribly within the year' scale." Which was pretty bad. Not quite Blight incoming bad, but- bad.

A different kind of bad.

[arachnophobe]

"Oh, good. You know. That's only a little worse than I figured." After what happened on the O'Bannon vessel? He completely believes it. "I wouldn't have guessed the blighted dragon, honestly. I heard that there are people fallin' out of rifts now, too. I'm thinking that getting back to a normal state is gonna be a long time coming."

Not that he'd seriously expect it anytime soon.

"How are things looking for the Inquisition?" No matter the answer, Alejandro doesn't really think that there's anyone else trying to do something about the state of things in Thedas. Everyone else is hiding, or plugging their ears and ignoring everything else.