Who?
[ she sounds like she just woke up, which is to say: vaguely annoyed and inclined to be difficult rather than think through to the answer on her own ]
Why?
[ she sounds like she just woke up, which is to say: vaguely annoyed and inclined to be difficult rather than think through to the answer on her own ]
Why?
Edited 2017-10-17 02:42 (UTC)
You're a knight-enchanter. How would you feel about babysitting the young Tevinter mage while he's in the library, reading? Not the full magister, the little one. Norrington's allowing for the possibility of Benedict being allowed out under guard, and I've asked him to consider mages being the guard and not Templars.
It's risky. But it could be useful.
[The note's not signed; he figures she'd know who would send an unsigned note and still wants to keep conversations between them mostly covered up.]
It's risky. But it could be useful.
[The note's not signed; he figures she'd know who would send an unsigned note and still wants to keep conversations between them mostly covered up.]
[ she makes the runner wait and return a reply. she also asks him who he got it from. ]
Useful how?
Useful how?
"nice tits" and other successful pickup lines, a guide by melys
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galvanising
2017-11-22 05:21 am (UTC)(link)
[ Nell couldn't tell you what it is she just said, the thing that finally caught Melys's ear. Something complimentary probably, if lines like there or do that again count. She's not a talker, left to her own devices, but far from shy and now with a laugh in her throat bit back just beneath the urging, lingering under the hoarse rasp her voice slides into so easily when she's breathing hard.
And she is breathing hard now, quick and loud in the close confines of the closet, the crowd and the music from the main room a muffled buzz, not quite enough to drown out the creak of the wood shelves she's currently braced a hand on, or the soft thump of wall meeting the barrel she's backed Melys up into, or the rustle of cloth shoved out of the way. (Nell didn't flinch the first time that green shard of magic touched skin, shoulders braced up like someone expecting a blow and goosebumps racing down her chest in anticipation of it, a flicker of disappointment when it doesn't come. Anticlimactic, but she expects to have that made up to her.) Callused hands tripping over clavicles, sternum, ribs--
That's what she'd said, tracing the sharp jut of a hipbone with a fingertip: I don't think I've ever fucked anyone even bonier than me. You could just about cut someone. Romance, alive and well in Nevarra. ]
And she is breathing hard now, quick and loud in the close confines of the closet, the crowd and the music from the main room a muffled buzz, not quite enough to drown out the creak of the wood shelves she's currently braced a hand on, or the soft thump of wall meeting the barrel she's backed Melys up into, or the rustle of cloth shoved out of the way. (Nell didn't flinch the first time that green shard of magic touched skin, shoulders braced up like someone expecting a blow and goosebumps racing down her chest in anticipation of it, a flicker of disappointment when it doesn't come. Anticlimactic, but she expects to have that made up to her.) Callused hands tripping over clavicles, sternum, ribs--
That's what she'd said, tracing the sharp jut of a hipbone with a fingertip: I don't think I've ever fucked anyone even bonier than me. You could just about cut someone. Romance, alive and well in Nevarra. ]
Edited (My turnnnn) 2017-11-22 13:51 (UTC)
[ Melys couldn’t tell you what did it, what tripped those last syllables and ground them into recognition. I don’t think, and it’s been hard to think for a bit now, just the way it ought to. If you stop to think, you stay your hand before it’s had any chance to trace a scar —
She doesn't miss the expectation, the way it falls away with press of flesh-and-blood palm, but that's alright. Makes her feel a bit less shit to be bracing herself, when there's plenty else to be feeling just now: Warm breath past her neck, and skin under her teeth, and all the lilting rhythm of the room outside; the girl within.
I don’t think,
She’s thinking. ]
Hang on, [ The words catch on inhale, and she stops entire — ] I heard you before.
[ Maybe that’s not such an obvious source of objection, not much of an objection at all as one skinny thigh presses out again, instinctive. But she’s thinking now, and there’s no taking that back. Her brow furrows. The song beyond the crowd seems a little louder now, the lyrics unkind.
(Can’t begin to guess what they’re saying, not in bloody Nevarran.) ]
She doesn't miss the expectation, the way it falls away with press of flesh-and-blood palm, but that's alright. Makes her feel a bit less shit to be bracing herself, when there's plenty else to be feeling just now: Warm breath past her neck, and skin under her teeth, and all the lilting rhythm of the room outside; the girl within.
I don’t think,
She’s thinking. ]
Hang on, [ The words catch on inhale, and she stops entire — ] I heard you before.
[ Maybe that’s not such an obvious source of objection, not much of an objection at all as one skinny thigh presses out again, instinctive. But she’s thinking now, and there’s no taking that back. Her brow furrows. The song beyond the crowd seems a little louder now, the lyrics unkind.
(Can’t begin to guess what they’re saying, not in bloody Nevarran.) ]
My most charismatic and iridescent friend,
I hope this finds you as flawlessly delightful and full of spirit as always. If not, I will be sure to the Free Marches latest fashions.
I promise I am not writing solely to entertain. As you may already be aware, Antiva is not wholly at ease with the increased presence of the Qunari at sea. I cannot imagine any state being thrilled by it. It’s my understanding that the Inquisition has begun to seek means to build its own presence, as well, and I’m happy to say that my family has been persuaded of the benefits in lending their assistance. I think I will be visiting Kirkwall with a little gift after mid-winter, to see if the Inquisition will receive it happily.
What news from you? Are there any trinkets you might need when I visit?
Behave yourself,
Marisol
I hope this finds you as flawlessly delightful and full of spirit as always. If not, I will be sure to the Free Marches latest fashions.
I promise I am not writing solely to entertain. As you may already be aware, Antiva is not wholly at ease with the increased presence of the Qunari at sea. I cannot imagine any state being thrilled by it. It’s my understanding that the Inquisition has begun to seek means to build its own presence, as well, and I’m happy to say that my family has been persuaded of the benefits in lending their assistance. I think I will be visiting Kirkwall with a little gift after mid-winter, to see if the Inquisition will receive it happily.
What news from you? Are there any trinkets you might need when I visit?
Behave yourself,
Marisol
I cannot speak to my own delightfulness but I can tell you something I suspect will delight you to no end: I am now for the first time in our acquaintance in possession of a closet. An empty closet, which I must prevail upon you to help me fill. Try to contain your excitement--my opposition to golden lace and that many pearls remains, and the Inquisition salary is not so very great in any case--but I've need of a few dresses for the formal occasions that seem to arise here and so I put myself in your hands, if you will still have me. (I see now how this sounds, but I am not about to mess the page by scratching it out or begin the whole letter again. Make of that what you will.)
You should for certain come to Kirkwall. The Inquisition can no doubt tell you more of the Qunari presence, having (I hear) had dealings with them recently, and it is my understanding that any assistance with their naval endeavors would be much appreciated. Your skills could be put to excellent use here as well, in their service and in service to our own endeavors. I've few allies in Kirkwall (just Kostos and Gareth at present) and there are plans I think might interest you.
I cannot fault you for wishing to avoid the winter. It is miserably cold here, and wet always. Should this continue I may be forced to amend my own habits and let dalliances stay the night simply to keep the bed warm. Come as soon as you may, and bring furs.
Ever,
Nell
You should for certain come to Kirkwall. The Inquisition can no doubt tell you more of the Qunari presence, having (I hear) had dealings with them recently, and it is my understanding that any assistance with their naval endeavors would be much appreciated. Your skills could be put to excellent use here as well, in their service and in service to our own endeavors. I've few allies in Kirkwall (just Kostos and Gareth at present) and there are plans I think might interest you.
I cannot fault you for wishing to avoid the winter. It is miserably cold here, and wet always. Should this continue I may be forced to amend my own habits and let dalliances stay the night simply to keep the bed warm. Come as soon as you may, and bring furs.
Ever,
Nell
[ The first morning it's truly freezing in the towers, Kostos is at Nell's door early (before the sun has fully risen, maybe early enough to wake her up, hopefully at least early enough she hasn't left for the day) and wrapped in the quilt from his bed, because he and Gareth are out of coal for the brazier, and he could go get some, but he could also do this.
He doesn't smile, exactly, but he pulls his teeth back as sheepish sort of please. ]
He doesn't smile, exactly, but he pulls his teeth back as sheepish sort of please. ]
[ Nell's neither gone nor woken by his knock--judging by the damp hem of her skirt and the bruise still darkening on her collarbone she's only just arrived. But there's a fire already lit in the hearth behind her, and his pleading grimace draws a smile to belie the roll of her eyes as she steps back to gesture him in. ]
It's like someone's hit the whole city with Winter's Grasp.
It's like someone's hit the whole city with Winter's Grasp.
[ a second what? is very nearly her response but maybe that's not the best way to start off whatever this is ]
What would that involve?
What would that involve?
Of course, Mage Vivas.
Why are we standing on ceremony, precisely?
Why are we standing on ceremony, precisely?
I remember a lot of talk and not much come of it. Why?
crystal; sometime shortly after the phylactery plot concludes
wheretheferngrows
2018-03-09 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
How did it go?
[asked not quite shyly, but with enough nervous energy to make it clear that Fern has been sitting on this question for a bit of time, summoning up her courage to begin the conversation.]
With the phylacteries, I mean.
[asked not quite shyly, but with enough nervous energy to make it clear that Fern has been sitting on this question for a bit of time, summoning up her courage to begin the conversation.]
With the phylacteries, I mean.
Fine. The people who had them are mostly dead, and the phylacteries were recovered.
Is there any word on when mages will be permitted to weigh in on the issue of the phylacteries?
[If, really. But he's not going to voice that particular misgiving just yet, if at all.]
[If, really. But he's not going to voice that particular misgiving just yet, if at all.]
[ ugh ]
I believe you've said the same yourself.
I believe you've said the same yourself.
Did you at least manage to lose the phylacteries in a gorge or a river? They're easier to throw.
You know,
( the exhaled sigh of someone who has listened more than she's spoken, worked quietly on deciding how exactly and when she intends to respond more directly, and is altogether too sober for all of these people, )
I should take more grim satisfaction in the opening of eyes to their situation if I did not see them so clearly fixed upon no more than that, and more than I had imagined ready to coddle that short-sightedness.
( when she wades in, it will be more diplomatically than that, but if anyone can appreciate her frankest view— )
( the exhaled sigh of someone who has listened more than she's spoken, worked quietly on deciding how exactly and when she intends to respond more directly, and is altogether too sober for all of these people, )
I should take more grim satisfaction in the opening of eyes to their situation if I did not see them so clearly fixed upon no more than that, and more than I had imagined ready to coddle that short-sightedness.
( when she wades in, it will be more diplomatically than that, but if anyone can appreciate her frankest view— )
[ a snort is all nell requires to express her agreement, but she goes on anyway ]
I'd enjoy it more myself if it weren't accompanied by the sudden concern of so many who couldn't be bothered when it was their own kind facing similar straits. And if I were sure it wasn't going to somehow be used against us when it turns ugly.
I'd enjoy it more myself if it weren't accompanied by the sudden concern of so many who couldn't be bothered when it was their own kind facing similar straits. And if I were sure it wasn't going to somehow be used against us when it turns ugly.
A deaf wyvern.
[ He's nursing wine, and he's not being remotely fair. A deaf wyvern is still a wyvern, and Nell outdid every other Southern mage. If someone else has anything to say about it, he might deck them, because he's really very proud. The pride is not quite hidden by the smirk.
But he also wouldn't want it to go to her head. You know. ]
Shameful.
[ He's nursing wine, and he's not being remotely fair. A deaf wyvern is still a wyvern, and Nell outdid every other Southern mage. If someone else has anything to say about it, he might deck them, because he's really very proud. The pride is not quite hidden by the smirk.
But he also wouldn't want it to go to her head. You know. ]
Shameful.
An enormous deaf wyvern. That could heal itself!
[ Nell has spent the last few hours both licking her wounds over having just barely missed making the final and celebrating having beaten every other non-Tevinter mage. They both involve a lot of drinking and a lot of recapping and rehashing the events, a great deal of shouting to be heard over the noise of the general revelry. So she is hoarse, and drops heavily down to sit beside him. ]
I would have had it sooner if it hadn't been so fucking big, or couldn't heal. [ she knocks him with an elbow ] You didn't even try.
[ Nell has spent the last few hours both licking her wounds over having just barely missed making the final and celebrating having beaten every other non-Tevinter mage. They both involve a lot of drinking and a lot of recapping and rehashing the events, a great deal of shouting to be heard over the noise of the general revelry. So she is hoarse, and drops heavily down to sit beside him. ]
I would have had it sooner if it hadn't been so fucking big, or couldn't heal. [ she knocks him with an elbow ] You didn't even try.
Assuming you mean something the rifters did, no. I don't think they're organized enough to do much of anything on purpose.
Knight-Enchanter Voss, [ the appropriate amount of pause to give someone a chance to grab their crystal. ] I've asked that you join the group of us infiltrating the warship.
[ the pause to realize his mistake-- ]
You can swim?
[ the pause to realize his mistake-- ]
You can swim?
Afraid I'll go after the Archon myself once the battle begins? [ She sounds more amused than threatening, not that that's necessarily much comfort. ]
[ Hope is almost worse.
Losing people is normal. Dozens of apprentices, older than him and then younger and younger, snuffed out by Harrowings and only acknowledged afterwards in whispers. Mages vanishing, too. Transferred, at best. Suicides. And then the war. Their shitty little cell used to be less little, if never less shitty. Pour seven out. Keep moving.
But they—some other they, a dozen other people either better suited to the task or with less necessary things to do here—are going back, and everyone else is stuck on the precipice of loss, waiting for it to be definite.
It feels like when his family used to visit, only worse.
Nell might be handling it better than he is, or at least differently. She might not be in her room, and if she is she might be asleep, and if she isn't she might not want company. And unlike with most people, Kostos does care what she wants. But he's exhausted his other options, including picking a fight with his brother and picking another, more physical fight with a large sailor, so he and his black eye are here knocking on her door around four in the morning anyway.
If it helps, he brought a flask. ]
Losing people is normal. Dozens of apprentices, older than him and then younger and younger, snuffed out by Harrowings and only acknowledged afterwards in whispers. Mages vanishing, too. Transferred, at best. Suicides. And then the war. Their shitty little cell used to be less little, if never less shitty. Pour seven out. Keep moving.
But they—some other they, a dozen other people either better suited to the task or with less necessary things to do here—are going back, and everyone else is stuck on the precipice of loss, waiting for it to be definite.
It feels like when his family used to visit, only worse.
Nell might be handling it better than he is, or at least differently. She might not be in her room, and if she is she might be asleep, and if she isn't she might not want company. And unlike with most people, Kostos does care what she wants. But he's exhausted his other options, including picking a fight with his brother and picking another, more physical fight with a large sailor, so he and his black eye are here knocking on her door around four in the morning anyway.
If it helps, he brought a flask. ]
Edited 2018-08-30 01:32 (UTC)
[ She was sleeping, that's clear from the messy braid of her hair and wrinkled shift she's wearing when she answers the door, but not for long, that's a fair guess based on the whiff of smoke and wine she still brings with her. Don't ask how she got back so long after the curfew.
She doesn't ask about his black eye or why he's here, at least not before stepping aside to let him into the room. It's as uncomfortably warm in here as in every other room, despite the wide open window, and Nell's bed (wider than his, built for two, an indulgence she saved up for) is a tangled mess of sheets kicked into knots. Nell flops back down on it anyway, on the side nearest the wall, bare arms folded beneath her head. ]
What do you want?
She doesn't ask about his black eye or why he's here, at least not before stepping aside to let him into the room. It's as uncomfortably warm in here as in every other room, despite the wide open window, and Nell's bed (wider than his, built for two, an indulgence she saved up for) is a tangled mess of sheets kicked into knots. Nell flops back down on it anyway, on the side nearest the wall, bare arms folded beneath her head. ]
What do you want?
Apparently.
[ she's a little disappointed, but less than some ]
[ she's a little disappointed, but less than some ]
[A brief message in a spidery but well-practiced hand has found its way into the hands of everyone in the newly-rechristened Hostile Powers project. None of this newfangled magical book business.]
In light of recent events abroad, their ongoing implications, and the necessary narrowing of our focus as a project, your input is requested at a project-wide conference that will be held via crystal at eight o'clock Tuesday evening.
Please let me know if you are unable to listen in. Minutes will be made available to those who cannot.
--Enchanter Vandelin, Assistant Project Leader
In light of recent events abroad, their ongoing implications, and the necessary narrowing of our focus as a project, your input is requested at a project-wide conference that will be held via crystal at eight o'clock Tuesday evening.
Please let me know if you are unable to listen in. Minutes will be made available to those who cannot.
--Enchanter Vandelin, Assistant Project Leader
You're bored.
[ This voice is not Nell's voice. ]
She has been upstairs with the only attractive person— [ whatever tavern he's in, the person sitting nearest to him gives him a look ] —in this Maker forsaken hole for nearly an hour.
[ This voice is not Nell's voice. ]
She has been upstairs with the only attractive person— [ whatever tavern he's in, the person sitting nearest to him gives him a look ] —in this Maker forsaken hole for nearly an hour.
[In one of Lowtown's many miscellaneous taverns, one of the girls in her smudged apron, her pinned and capped hair slides up alongside Nell. She has a tray under her arm, a harried look in her eye. She raps her knuckles on the table to demand attention.]
There's a man upstairs asking after your company. Just there.
[The girl gestures up into the tavern's mezzanine loft with a tip of her head to indicate a table at the railing where a familiar dark coat and its owner have apparently taken up some temporary residence.]
There's a man upstairs asking after your company. Just there.
[The girl gestures up into the tavern's mezzanine loft with a tip of her head to indicate a table at the railing where a familiar dark coat and its owner have apparently taken up some temporary residence.]
[ Nell leans forward out of the lazy recline against the wall, both hands around her cup as she follows the girl's gesture up. She's surprised to see Flint, that much is obvious. This isn't at all what she'd thought that message meant--though for a moment she squints, and wonders--but it's every bit as intriguing.
She finishes the wine in her mug and leaves it on the table as she rises, making her way up the stairs. She doesn't wait for further invitation before taking a seat across from Flint. ]
Evening.
She finishes the wine in her mug and leaves it on the table as she rises, making her way up the stairs. She doesn't wait for further invitation before taking a seat across from Flint. ]
Evening.
Looks alone, or do I have to take into account...everything else about them?
[ Templar. Rifter elf. Married. Etc. ]
[ Templar. Rifter elf. Married. Etc. ]
[One night, in an appropriately seedy tavern, somewhere in Lowtown or Darktown, Nikos sits down in the chair opposite of Nell. It was recently vacated by someone, whoever has been trying to chat her up all night--no one Nikos gave a shit about, so he did a cursory look and summary and filed them away as boring.]
You're supporting Grand Cleric Elise.
[It might be confusing, at first. He's wearing a cloak, and even when he shakes the hood out, he still looks enough like Kostos in the greasy tavern light. It's the little tells: under that cloak, he's much less fit, thicker in the face, purpler shadows under the eyes and a worse shave. Plus he smells like he's been dip-dyed in cheap rum.]
You're supporting Grand Cleric Elise.
[It might be confusing, at first. He's wearing a cloak, and even when he shakes the hood out, he still looks enough like Kostos in the greasy tavern light. It's the little tells: under that cloak, he's much less fit, thicker in the face, purpler shadows under the eyes and a worse shave. Plus he smells like he's been dip-dyed in cheap rum.]
[ It takes a moment, because she has been drinking--as one does in seedy taverns at this time of night--and because she was expecting Kostos to lose at cards nextdoor and come join her at some point and because they really do look most alike when glowering by tavern-torch.
But the cloak gives it away. Kostos doesn't do conspiracy cloaks. She takes a drink to demonstrate that she doesn't intend to let her night be entirely derailed by whatever this is, and then nods. ]
Of course.
But the cloak gives it away. Kostos doesn't do conspiracy cloaks. She takes a drink to demonstrate that she doesn't intend to let her night be entirely derailed by whatever this is, and then nods. ]
Of course.
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