[ Unlike certain quartermasters, Sabine is hard to find. But eventually, huffing and puffing, an extremely put upon Walrus man corners her in the Gallows courtyard to thrust a slightly damp package into her hands.
Unfortunately when she unwraps it, she'll find all the contents are also slightly damp.
She has received:
(1) collection of handwritten, sring-bound stories labeled "campfire tales"
(2) balls of bright red yarn
(1) bottle of antivan rum
and an extremely sharp knife in a leather sheath
The Walrus man expects a tip but will leave without one, grumbling the entire time. ]
[ She will grab onto this man's collar until he tells her who the gift-giver is, and then seems to chill when it is no one she knows. She instructs him to pass along her appreciation. She is very stern about the whole thing.
[ His face is smushed against her sternum, approximately. Not really in a sexy way. More of an on his way to a nap any minute now way, if he doesn't move, because between the two of them and the fire it's slipped past warm and into stuffy beneath the blankets.
His head is fuzzy enough for recklessness. ]
You could stay here.
[ That isn't unusual. Or specific enough. ]
I mean—this could be your room. [ He turns his head to unmash his mouth a bit more, for coherency's sake. ] And you could also have your other room, too, for a secret pirate hide-out or... second room... for things. [ Coherency is apparently a lost cause. ] You could have five rooms, now that I'm thinking about it, with all this space.
[ If he falls asleep, she will slap his head. Not hard. But even not hard, even gently, this is assuming Sabine will be able to coordinate her arms and the hands attached to them in a coordinated manner. Right now she is laying a little akimbo, half under sheets and half under Alistair. One raised, bent knee tents the covers, and the curl of her foot conforms to his calf.
She is thinking about some other shit when he says that, and she raises an eyebrow at no one. Tucks her chin in so she can look at him, which is mostly just a ginger blur. ]
A room for each secret, [ she thinks out loud, suggesting. Off topic.
Her hand comes down on top of his head, but it's not a slap, not even of the gentle variety. Blunt fingernails skritch through hair, idle. ]
But then I could stay in this one, with you in it. Right? [ Just to be clear. He can't see clearly from there the play of her smile, which gives away the joke better than dry affect, so he'll have to use his imagination. ]
[ Right, of course right, but he lifts his head—and one of his arms, to catch her hand and make sure her skritching fingers don't get too far away—to try to fix her with a fake-offended glare. And to fail, mostly, because raising his head disrupts the delicate tenting of the blanket and makes it fall in front of his face instead.
[ Sabine grins at him, the familiar kind that she can have in place of a laugh, and just as hard to reign in. Equal credit to joke and stupid face, as well as the fact that her mood is fair weather. ]
Oui, and they are room-sized.
[ Skritching fingers migrate to settle at the base of his neck. ]
[ His glare crumbles at its edges and has to be put back into place, more than once, the same way someone falling asleep sitting up might have to right themselves over and over. ]
—if it would be convenient, I’d like seeing more of you. Or—seeing what I’ve seen of you [ which is ALL, because he’s seen her NAKED, in case she’s so good at forgetting things that she can forget them while they’re happening ] more frequently. I’m getting very old, you know, and going looking for you every evening is not easy on my knees.
[ Feral toothy grin softens, lessens (if only after his initial correction, during which it had sharpened). There is a brief impulse to lift her head and scootch down to kiss him hard enough that the tiny thoughts about what 'old' means for a Grey Warden are scared out of her forethoughts, bats from a belfry, but resists.
There's a joke, there, about whether sharing a room would truly mean going easy on someone's knees, but that eludes her too. ]
But I enjoy being found, [ she contradicts, which could be a 'no thanks' until she adds, ] so you will indulge me by acting surprised, sometimes, when you open the door, and voila.
[ She has emphasised this by laying her arms above her head, spine stretching. ]
let’s say herian’s been snoozing a couple days y/n
[ The surprise finally wearing off, and maybe she finds somewhere to sit down, crossed legged, in tall pale yellow grass that snaps beneath her fingers as she fidgets with it. ]
I am in the Anderfels now, but when we're done with our task, it will be a quick journey back. Through the mirrors. So it will be soon, I think.
[ The obvious questions rise. How is she. Why has she come to Riftwatch. They'll come. For now, instead; ]
( So much time has passed. Between Sabine’s stealth-demanding projects and ever-transient efforts, Herian’s self imposed exile to Skyhold, long stretches had passed. How much could be assumed forgivable between old friends?
Aye, Cóiméad. I journeyed to Salzklippe, and then begged a templar to render me Tranquil.
Some aches remain and some new appear, and Herian has never been gifted with the wit needed to navigate such revelations well. )
I have. I hope you’re spared any sandstorms. Kirkwall does not deserve your ire as you wrestle sand from your hair for weeks.
[ A quick laugh, dry, familiar, casually unfamiliar with the paths Herian's mind journeys down. ]
The eluvian we came through is at the bottom of a lake. I am still picking my tangles free.
[ A sand storm would be—inexcusable, frankly. ]
We are some days outside of Hossberg. There are plains like this in Orlais, where you can see everything, but the air here is different, like there is always a fire somewhere.
[ Hard to say how exactly. These are Blight-touched lands. To remember that makes her skin prickle. ]
You missed the blizzarding in Kirkwall. Now it is miserable with the aftermath. When did you come in?
[ These are true things, but also: sunrises Sabine has never seen before, and a particular dry heat that seems to make the sun more bearable than she's used to.
Not very bearable, just more. ]
Establishing the eluvian somewhere better than a lake. Inside Hossberg, hidden.
[ Access. But the answer is given quickly, almost dismissive, as she asks, ] And what takes you to the infirmary?
[ They've been back for weeks; between how tired he was and how much he missed her, it's taken him that long to spend much time in their room both dressed and awake. He's only just now putting the last of his things away in the space he's reclaimed half of, with an orderliness that will dissolve within the month. ]
What's your opinion, [ he asks gravely while he places one of Kieren's feather-and-stone animal figures on a shelf, ] on couples' Satinalia costumes?
[ Sabine is lounging, comfortable in lazy recline while she stitches a torn sleeve on a shirt. She is doing a fine job of it, even, careful fingers and short, practiced tugs of a thread. She doesn't look up at that question, only raises her eyebrows, allows a smile to only slightly touch her mouth. ]
I matched with Gwenaëlle once. I was a slutty Empress Celene, and she was an even sluttier elf courtesan. I think.
So obviously only if it is very political and sexy.
Ah, it takes all the fun away if you offer it first.
[ That's a lie. It's fun every time.
And maybe it'd be easier for them both if Sabine did that, but by now, she's had to make peace with enough humans that she pauses before she says, instead; ]
An apology coming out of a human's mouth is much rarer than the other shit you said, so, I will have it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honk honk time to defile this inbox
Unfortunately when she unwraps it, she'll find all the contents are also slightly damp.
She has received:The Walrus man expects a tip but will leave without one, grumbling the entire time. ]
dirty.
And then she will give him a copper. ]
action.
His head is fuzzy enough for recklessness. ]
You could stay here.
[ That isn't unusual. Or specific enough. ]
I mean—this could be your room. [ He turns his head to unmash his mouth a bit more, for coherency's sake. ] And you could also have your other room, too, for a secret pirate hide-out or... second room... for things. [ Coherency is apparently a lost cause. ] You could have five rooms, now that I'm thinking about it, with all this space.
no subject
She is thinking about some other shit when he says that, and she raises an eyebrow at no one. Tucks her chin in so she can look at him, which is mostly just a ginger blur. ]
A room for each secret, [ she thinks out loud, suggesting. Off topic.
Her hand comes down on top of his head, but it's not a slap, not even of the gentle variety. Blunt fingernails skritch through hair, idle. ]
But then I could stay in this one, with you in it. Right? [ Just to be clear. He can't see clearly from there the play of her smile, which gives away the joke better than dry affect, so he'll have to use his imagination. ]
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Still: ]
You have five secrets?
[ So many! (It's not many.) ]
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Oui, and they are room-sized.
[ Skritching fingers migrate to settle at the base of his neck. ]
Tres convenient, this arrangement.
no subject
[ His glare crumbles at its edges and has to be put back into place, more than once, the same way someone falling asleep sitting up might have to right themselves over and over. ]
—if it would be convenient, I’d like seeing more of you. Or—seeing what I’ve seen of you [ which is ALL, because he’s seen her NAKED, in case she’s so good at forgetting things that she can forget them while they’re happening ] more frequently. I’m getting very old, you know, and going looking for you every evening is not easy on my knees.
[ His knees are fine. ]
no subject
There's a joke, there, about whether sharing a room would truly mean going easy on someone's knees, but that eludes her too. ]
But I enjoy being found, [ she contradicts, which could be a 'no thanks' until she adds, ] so you will indulge me by acting surprised, sometimes, when you open the door, and voila.
[ She has emphasised this by laying her arms above her head, spine stretching. ]
let’s say herian’s been snoozing a couple days y/n
I return, and yet there is no celebratory parade or garlands of flowers?
get u that beauty sleep
[ The sounds of a crystal being fumbled with. ]
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( it only took.... literal years )
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Herian? Why—
[ A huff. ]
I was distracted.
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( A pause, and her breath sounds thin and weak through that brief flare of amusement. )
Know you when you might return?
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[ The surprise finally wearing off, and maybe she finds somewhere to sit down, crossed legged, in tall pale yellow grass that snaps beneath her fingers as she fidgets with it. ]
I am in the Anderfels now, but when we're done with our task, it will be a quick journey back. Through the mirrors. So it will be soon, I think.
[ The obvious questions rise. How is she. Why has she come to Riftwatch. They'll come. For now, instead; ]
Have you been this far north before?
cw ref past suicidal ideation / Tranquility
Aye, Cóiméad. I journeyed to Salzklippe, and then begged a templar to render me Tranquil.
Some aches remain and some new appear, and Herian has never been gifted with the wit needed to navigate such revelations well. )
I have. I hope you’re spared any sandstorms. Kirkwall does not deserve your ire as you wrestle sand from your hair for weeks.
no subject
The eluvian we came through is at the bottom of a lake. I am still picking my tangles free.
[ A sand storm would be—inexcusable, frankly. ]
We are some days outside of Hossberg. There are plains like this in Orlais, where you can see everything, but the air here is different, like there is always a fire somewhere.
[ Hard to say how exactly. These are Blight-touched lands. To remember that makes her skin prickle. ]
You missed the blizzarding in Kirkwall. Now it is miserable with the aftermath. When did you come in?
no subject
( The tug of war between low spirits overall and genuine delight at speaking with Sabine after so long is complex. )
Two days past, I think. Time becomes ill-defined when kept to the Infirmary.
( Her sigh is... tired? Frustrated? Bored? )
I remember it tasting like bad eggs, at times, in those wastes. And grit between your teeth, even when your mouth is covered over.
( Her tone is pensive, moreso than the quiet scorn that might be anticipated in their banter. )
What takes your there?
no subject
Not very bearable, just more. ]
Establishing the eluvian somewhere better than a lake. Inside Hossberg, hidden.
[ Access. But the answer is given quickly, almost dismissive, as she asks, ] And what takes you to the infirmary?
action.
What's your opinion, [ he asks gravely while he places one of Kieren's feather-and-stone animal figures on a shelf, ] on couples' Satinalia costumes?
no subject
I matched with Gwenaëlle once. I was a slutty Empress Celene, and she was an even sluttier elf courtesan. I think.
So obviously only if it is very political and sexy.
few hours later;
(a beat before she offers,) Feel free to tell me to fuck off any time.
no subject
[ That's a lie. It's fun every time.
And maybe it'd be easier for them both if Sabine did that, but by now, she's had to make peace with enough humans that she pauses before she says, instead; ]
An apology coming out of a human's mouth is much rarer than the other shit you said, so, I will have it.
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(that would show her. but teasing is what got abby in trouble in the first place, so she clears her throat, drops the tone.)
Thanks.
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Did someone kick your ass about it? Or did you locate your head in it by yourself.
[ She doesn't imagine that Waverly had this effect. ]
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(... and abby hopes that isn't ratting her out, having already said it and being unable to take it back.)