faderift | we did not ask for this || semi closed, semi open

Because Thedas is a small place, Bellamy has seen her around.

Her: not the her he came to Skyhold for. Despite Kane's instruction of stay with her, Clarke is very good at not being stayed with. Typical. What does Bellamy care, except, of course, he cares very much. And all of this caring has made him more irritable, which is why when he sees the dwarf girl from the road, the one who had insisted on checking him over after his fall, Bellamy doesn't approach her. He turns down a side way and heads in the other direction. He might have done this even if he hadn't been so irritable.

But, because Thedas is a very small place, and Skyhold is a further dilution of that small pond... he sees her again. This time, Bellamy is on his way out of Skyhold, with a full pack, and he'll have to pass by her to get through the gates. Though he doesn't believe in fate, he shifts his pack so he can dig out an apple, which he lobs at her, in passing. To her, really. It's a soft enough toss that she'll be able to catch it.

"Now we're even." You're welcome. He doesn't break stride or look around at her, just continues on out, firmly shouldering his pack as he walks.

Oh, yeah. She'd have been able to catch it if she weren't in the process of turning away towards a little knot of refugees when he throws that apple at her. Sure. But she is turning away, and so the apple thumps into her shoulder and drops to the ground. For all intents and purposes, Bellamy is just throwing things at her. Things that hurt a little when they hit.

"Ow!" She turns back towards him, her face working into a truly scathing scowl. "What the hell was that for? - Come back here! Hey! You, come back!"

While Bellamy fully intends to keep walking, the sharpness of her demand makes him glance back at her, eyebrows raised in mild interest. Yes? Got anything else to say besides demands?

He takes a few backwards steps, waiting, expectantly. No? Okay. Turns around, keeps walking, and does not come back.

Well, fine. His legs are long, irritatingly so, and his stride is quick. She won't be able to catch up with him without difficulty. And so the solution is a simple one: she bends over, scoops up that apple, and lobs it at the back of his head. Hard. Her aim isn't flawless, so it hits his back instead, but it hits with some force.

The demands on the limited accommodations within Skyhold means a ring of tents without, camps that range outwards in vaguely concentric circles, clinging to rocky plateaus, ranging out into the valleys. The longer that they stand there, the more established these encampments get. Footpaths have become like alleyways and streets; tents become more like homesteads, still portable, if necessary, but growing more grounded by the day.

All the same, this roughshod civilization gives way quite quickly to wilderness, like there's some invisible curtain wall that surrounds the tents, keeping them tucked in safe. Once outside that invisible wall, the wild filters in, paths that are little more than tramped-down patches of dirt and brittle grass, hulking rocks, deep caves and swales and sheer drops when you least expect them.

And demons. Which is why Kane and Bellamy are here, dispatched from Skyhold with specificity. One of the most fringe encampments has had trouble with demons--rage demons, supposedly, an ever-shifting number. Bellamy's mixed emotions come of being dispatched and having a purpose, something to do. He's put himself ahead of Kane, sword still sheathed, shield still fixed to his back. All this way and he hasn't apologized or explained to Kane about riding ahead to Skyhold. Nor has Kane asked. He probably won't ask.

The precarious way means they're on foot. Their mountain horses could have picked out a path, but riding a horse at a demon would be a foolish move. They've long since left the last of the tents behind. The noise out here is mostly the wind, sifting through the tufts of grass and spindled tree branches, whistling around the crags of the rocks.

Up ahead, where the path bends, movement becomes clear through the screen of scrubby bushes. Bellamy stops. His hand goes for his sword.

The apple strikes high on his back, closer to his shoulder. The thud is muffled dully, having struck the strap of his leather spaulder; the impact smarts more than it does ache. But it does something of what she wants, anyways: Bellamy stops.

He picks up the apple, now bruised and a little muddy. "Y'know, if you're not hungry? You could have given it to someone else," he tells her. Ungrateful, and wasteful. "Or saved it for later."

"You're the one who threw it at me first," she bites out, her thick eyebrows drawing down dangerously. She stalks over towards him, scowling. "Apologize."

"I gave it to you," he corrects her. "What, so I have to apologize for gifts now? Come on. And why didn't you just catch it? I don't see how this is my fault, or that it's something I should be getting blame for."

Being glared at by her is like being glared at by a small terrier. It's not that it's difficult to take her seriously, but it's a little difficult to take her seriously.

"You did not give it to me. Here." She steps forward, fishing a withered old carrot from her pack. (The carrot is for Carrot. Carrot loves carrots. It's a bit perverse.)

"This is the process of giving something. Hold out your hand. Go on."

Bellamy looks from the carrot, to Kitty's face, and back to the carrot. Then he folds his arms over his chest.

"Come on. Seriously? That thing looks like shit."

She shakes it at him. Its limp, sad end sort of flops around as she does.

"Come on. Hold out your hand, I said."

"This is pathetic," Bellamy grumbles, but okay, fine, yes. He holds out his hand. "That carrot's pathetic. I don't care how you hand it over, it makes for a pretty lame gift."

"Please," Kitty says, a little louder to drown out the irritating sounds of his irritating boy-whining, "take this gift. As a token of our friendship, and an apology for my earlier bad behavior." And then she drops the carrot into his hand, and then drops her chin so she can stare into his eyes very pointedly. "Did you get that, or should I do it again?"

Easily, he catches the carrot. Not like he has any choice, there's only so many directions for the carrot to go in, but. Still. Hand closed around it, he looks up to meet Kitty's eyes.

Then he takes a bite of the carrot.

Chewing, with his mouth open, he tells her: "Thanks for the gift." And he takes another bite.

"What - Hey!" What the hell. The carrot is limp and old and a little hairy and has been tucked in her saddlebag a long time, so what he's doing is quite gross. More, it's for Carrot. She reaches out to grab his wrist, then draws back; he's too stupidly tall and lanky for her to reach.

So she goes for another bit of revenge instead.

"I hope you enjoy pony spit. My pony licked that carrot earlier, which is why the cook gave it to me."

Carrying around a carrot that a pony licked is pretty damn disgusting. Worse than carrying around the carrot is biting into a carrot that a pony licked, but Bellamy's not about to advertise that. He can play this game.

"Love it," he tells her, deadpan. And he takes another bite.

It's a pretty hairy bite, and two's good enough. He holds the partially-eaten carrot out to her to take back.

"But you already knew that, didn't you. Or else why would you make a gift out of a carrot that your pony licked. Not much of a gift."

"Maybe I don't want it back now," she answers. "Pony spit - " Non-existent pony spit; she was just being a shit to be a shit - "is bad enough. But irritating boy spit is a hundred times worse, isn't it."

Still, she takes it back from him nevertheless and tucks it into her bag. "Well done this time, though," she says sardonically. "You actually handed it to me."

Irritating boy? Bellamy looks down at himself, like this will help to illuminate or explain some of Kitty's disdain. He gives himself a good once-over, arms spreads slightly, eyebrows arched, the whole thing. Then he looks up at her again.

"Yeah," he says, slowly, "right."

Sounds fake, but okay. How old is she, anyways? Younger than him, probably. That's a dumb argument to make and he's above it.

"So let me get this straight, if someone lobbed-- let's say a gold coin at you. You'd take offense."

Kane doesn't need to ask.

Boys will be boys, for one thing, even grown up ones, and now Bellamy and the mages have had a taste of freedom beyond the Circle. And on the other hand, to question it would be to admit an act of insubordination, and Kane had a reputation for how he dealt with insubordination (which was swiftly, and without empathy). He can't be that man anymore, and Bellamy isn't truly his charge.

But he is, whether Bellamy would agree or disagree, Kane's responsibility. Whether or not he is capable of ordering the young man around anymore, won't change that.

He's content to follow in this expedition, going careful down the rocky terrain, hands as considered as his feet. He's had his fair share of demon killing, Red Templar slaying, and wolf stabbing in Emprise du Lion, and the break from all that corrupted hostility was nice and all, but something to do, and to do it for the Inquisition, suits him. Conversation is kept to a minimum -- professional, speculation as to demonic activity, advice about shaky footing on the mountainside -- and dwindles completely as they get nearer.

Behind him, Bellamy can hear Kane placing a bolt into his crossbow, which he'd brought along at the news of the vicious, fiery demons harassing the edges of camp. It will all come down to blades, but if he can do some damage at a distance, first--

"Bellamy," is very quiet, just enough to register at the edges of his hearing. A tip of Kane's head indicates he should move to the side. Ambush.

"If someone lobbed it at me? Yeah. I absolutely would." And there's no uncertainty there at all, no hesitation; she's absolutely certain and firm in her answer. Her eyes are fierce and her chin is tilted stubbornly up.

"I'd sooner be poor than - bow and scrape and thank someone who hucked something at me. Money gets lost, but humiliation doesn't."

Now, that's something Bellamy can appreciate, enough so that a smile crosses his face. All right, Kitty. One point.

"Good," he tells her, shoring up that smile with a genuine word of compliment. Although: "Except I threw an apple at you, not a gold coin, and I didn't do it because I wanted to humiliate you. And it was a good apple, before you threw it in the mud. Picked it out myself. Some gratitude."

Huh. He doesn't seem to be defensive when he says that. No signs that indicate that he's lying. Her eyes narrow just a little in skepticism, but she asks, her anger a little mitigated, "Really?" She shifts from one leg to the other, crossing her arms. "Cause where I was standing, it just seemed like you lobbed something at me to be a shit." And then, just in case he gets the wrong idea about anything: "And I hardly need your approval, do I."

"It was payback, you idiot. Not approval. For helping me out on the road? You remember that, right? Or did someone throw a coin so hard at your head you lost some short-term memory."

Just in case she gets the wrong idea about him being some nice guy. Bellamy gives her a once-over, like the head injury suggestion is a terribly plausible one after all.

"If I wanted to throw something at you to be a shit, I wouldn't pick good food. Come on."

He spares half a glance back at Kane, first at the steady heavy sound of the crossbow bolt. Then a little more than a glance at his name, enough to get that cue.

"Yes sir." Also in an undertone, gruff and quiet, but still with a touch of humor to it. You're the boss, which is simultaneously true and not true. Whatever he makes of rank and authority, Bellamy's not stupid. He can follow this lead. Picking ambush makes good sense. Anything to give them an advantage.

Bellamy's boots crunch in the thin soil and rocks as he steps to the side of the path. Hunched to keep out of sight as much as he is to get a good sightline, he keeps his hand on his sword, and his sword still in its scabbard.

The nice thing about rage demons is, they're like beacons. Especially out here in the wilderness, all grey and brown and mottled green. The low grumble is a dead giveaway, a sound like two half-molten rocks getting rubbed together. Bellamy narrows his eyes, trying to make out their number through the dense thicket of branches, the rise of the rocky hill.

Careful not to disturb too much of the loose grit of the soil, he side-steps slow around a boulder. Already he's picking out a path for himself, a clear shot that'll get him about halfway around where the demons are clustered. Rush from that side. As long as there's no sudden drops or surprises over there.

"Three," he tells Kane, still in that undertone. "Your move."

This isn't fun, but it sort of is.

Her eyes narrow further - but, somehow, that just serves to make her expression less suspicious, less hostile. Instead, she looks like she's just studying him - still a little skeptical, yeah, but...growing less so.

"Of course I remember helping you out," she responds. "I was under the impression you thought that was less helpful and more annoying."

"Hey, I never said it wasn't annoying." Just in case Kitty's thinking of getting too friendly. Because it was very annoying. Bellamy shrugs all the same. "One good turn deserves another, or however you wanna say it. That's all."

He takes a step backwards, closer to his way out of both Skyhold and this conversation. "So, we good? 'Cause I've got somewhere to be."

Kitty pulls a face at him, but waves her hand in acknowledgment. "Yeah," she answers. "We're fine." And then she hesitates, and tosses her head a little stiffly, and says, "And I'm glad to see you can show proper gratitude. That's sort of refreshing."

And then she waves her hand, turning back away from him.

Great. Fantastic. Bellamy's snort is mostly to himself, as he turns away from her at right about the same time. Whatever, Kitty.

But also, not whatever. The feeling of being dismissed is not a feeling that Bellamy appreciates. If they were really fine, she wouldn't have added that last part, right? Consequently, he gets about four steps before he turns back to her.

"Why is it refreshing?" Just, you know. Enlighten him.

She swivels towards him in return, rather pleased by his question. She likes Mr. Cool-and-Composed asking her questions. And so, when he meets her eyes, for a moment she's wearing a pleased smile - and then she tosses her head and sighs, all irritation and hauteur.

"Because not many people can," she replies matter-of-factly. "Most people go about it the wrong way."

He doesn't miss that little smirk of hers, or how quickly she follows it up with her imperious air. Oh, he thinks, one of those. Which, nothing against those, exactly, but now he knows a little bit more about Kitty.

"Uh-huh." Dull, unimpressed. Bellamy sizes her up. (That's not a short joke.) "There a rule about what's the right way and what's the wrong way?"

"Not really," she replies with a shrug. "There are lots of right ways, after all. Rather fewer wrong ways. But I guess - it's wrong, I think, when you're resentful about it. Lots of people get angry when they owe someone something - sort of hate them for it. That's wrong."

And then she looks at him - not challenging, but just considering. She wasn't completely sure whether that made sense, and so she watches to see if he understands what she means.

In answer, Bellamy continues to look at her for a few moments after she's lapsed into silence. Too flat to be truly judgmental; just lingering enough to suggest that maybe he's checked out.

Then he breaks it, when he raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah. You're just talking a lot and hoping that I'm gonna agree with you."

we did not ask for this || semi closed, semi open

KITTY - payback & rescuing a cat (an elaborate setup for my bathtub mead plot)

bathtub mead!!!

we'll get there someday

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KANE - demon fites

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