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[thereneverwas]

[For correspondence, private scenes, and anthrax.]

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one million years ago

[limier]

[ the details don't matter. there's a door, and several important men and women behind it. the two in front, markedly less so. it's been hours,

and hours,

and hours. the young pair outside are a lot of things, not only unimportant. they're certainly only human. ]

And so he says, the act is called: The aristocrats!

[thereneverwas]

[The punchline is met with a brief silence when it lands, but, like the calm before a storm, it's abruptly followed by a loud guffaw that is only barely contained by Ser Barrow's hand clapping over his own mouth. He squeezes his eyes closed in anguish as his shoulders convulse, occasionally pausing to try and open them again, only to remember why he's trying to be quiet and it starts over again.

It's several minutes later when he's finally collected himself, cleared his throat, and stood straight again, but he can't quell the smirk that continuously fights its way onto his face.]

You've got an imagination.

[limier]

I am Orlesian.

[ who said it was imagination, etcetera. he's humoured the joke long enough; the guffaw gratifying enough to shift her own grin loose. the swagger of youth, momentarily unrestrained.

(he's good at that.) ]

But it is your turn, yes? A story.

[thereneverwas]

A story. Oh dear.

[His smile is easy, twitching up further at the sight of hers: it's too bad they'll be off doing some official thing or another whenever this eternity of a meeting is over, or else they might get to actually know each other. He wouldn't mind that.]

I'm not very clever about these things, but... how about a poem?

[limier]

Should you swear not to chant it.

[thereneverwas]

[He holds up his hand with a solemn nod, and clears his throat, the very image of sophistication.]

A harlot was shut in the loo,
for to fill up her nethers with glue.
She said with a grin,
if they pay to get in,
they'll pay to get out of it too.

[A pause, and then he smiles earnestly. See, he knows culture.]

post-mission, evening

[keenly]

Barrow thought he could escape medical attention, but he underestimated Athessa's ability to just tell the healers he needed help. Colin tries the man at his room, his office, any haunts he knows the man may have until he finds him.

[thereneverwas]

It's at the sparring pitch, where Barrow sits on a spectators' bench with a cigarette clamped in his mouth, gazing grimly at nothing-- it's likely he came down here to practice, or to watch other people practice, but nobody else is here. So he's just sitting.
He'll get up later.

[keenly]

Colin circles to come around into Barrow's field of vision well before he comes anywhere near him. He gestures at the spot on the bench beside him.

"Can I sit?"

[thereneverwas]

With a grunt, Barrow nods. He doesn't look at him.

[keenly]

He sits. Doesn't touch him yet, doesn't start healering yet, just gives it a moment.

"The infirmary's quiet now," he whispers after a minute or two.

[thereneverwas]

"Oh, yeah?"
Polite engagement; he doesn't see what it has to do with him, or at least has decided he doesn't.

[keenly]

"Barrow. I know you're in pain."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow looks down, in the way of someone anticipating a lecture and knowing better than to argue. It's true, of course.

[keenly]

"Let me help."

[thereneverwas]

Though he takes a breath as if to protest, Barrow just sighs it out and nods, his brow furrowing morosely. He can't live with pain like this much longer, as much as he's trying to soldier through it.

[keenly]

A gentle, relieved smile. "I'd like to get started here so you don't have to walk to the infirmary in so much pain. Just a moment."

He settles his hands like butterflies on Barrow's shoulders, resting no weight on them, only touching. After a moment, there is the gentle blue glow of the spirit's magic, channeled through Colin and encompassing Barrow's body. The lessening of pain is drastic and noticeable almost immediately. He can't expend too much of his energy all at once now, since they still have to make it to the infirmary.

"All right. Let's get you to where I can take a look at those ol' joints." He stands, ready to offer aid if Barrow feels unsteady, but he should be able to walk with a great deal less pain now.

[thereneverwas]

The relief of it is so instant that it's dizzying. Inhaling deeply, Barrow's breath shakes as he blows it back out again, and he turns his head slightly to press at his eyes, concealing the dampness that has formed in them.

"Give me a moment," he mutters, not daring to raise his voice above a near whisper for fear of it breaking.

[keenly]

This is the sort of reason Colin knows he's in the right place. Cooking is his art, his passion, something that makes people feel good. This? This is less of a passion and more of a calling, a need more than an art. As a healer, he helps in a very real way, relieving very real pain. Cooking got him through the hardest times of his life, but healing has changed him into something else entirely, and he likes the change.

"Take all the time you need."

[thereneverwas]

When he's certain he won't lose his composure, Barrow nods once more and stands, much more easily than he would have before Colin's visit. He even flashes him a sheepish, apologetic smirk, though this is more out of habit than any actual amusement: when in doubt, ensure that you're not a bother, that you're being a good sport.

"Go on then," he murmurs, prepared to follow.

[keenly]

Once they make it to the infirmary, Colin has him sit on a cot and remove his shirt. He gives a thorough but careful examination involving the shoulders and surrounding tissues, the feeling and movement in the hands, fingers, feet, and toes, and checks for any bone breaks.

"Did your hips dislocate as well, or only your shoulders?"

[thereneverwas]

The welts have gone down at least, but the cuts, burns, and bruises all over Barrow's upper body make themselves known with the removal of his shirt, which he does with some reluctance. He gazes flatly at the ground while Colin looks him over, hands folded between his knees.

"They did," he confirms in that same low, barely audible voice, with another nod. "Derrica took care of it most of the way." She'd done her best in the time they had, with a spell to right his legs from ankle to hip, but obviously couldn't be too thorough.

[keenly]

Colin doesn't make Barrow take off his trousers, just checks the movement and sensation.

"She did a good job," he comments as he helps him put his shirt back on. "And you deserve the very best of care, especially after what you've done for us all. I want you on bedrest for a week. Meals will be sent to you, and a healer to be by at least once a day to check you and give you medicine. After the week is over, you'll be guided through gentle exercises for eight weeks after."

He hesitates. "It's...likely you will find your joints prone to rheumatism from here on out."

[thereneverwas]

"Bedrest? For a week?"

This is the loudest Barrow has spoken since the conversation started, and even then it's not by a lot-- he's just alarmed, perhaps even a little offended, not that he would ever raise his voice to someone as gentle as Colin.

"Maker, I'm not an invalid." He laughs, but it's a bitter sound, and directed mostly at one of his hands, which he's flexing uncomfortably.
"I hardly did a damn thing, anyway." Bedrest. It's not fair, when he practically had to be carried like a damsel through the enemy castle, such a burden to so many and ultimately of so little use.

[keenly]

"You're not an invalid," Colin agrees pleasantly, "you are simply unwell, which is temporary. And the less you cooperate, the longer you will be unwell and the less you'll be likely to get your full range of motion back. You can have visitors. I'll bring you books to read, whatever you need. But we need to give your body its best chance to heal, and this is how we do that."

[thereneverwas]

Though he's grumpy about his words getting turned back on him by a quicker-- and kinder-- mind, Barrow lets it be, giving a heavy sigh and letting his head drop forward to run his fingers through his hair.

"Right. Right."

[keenly]

"If you're in pain, always contact me over the crystal and someone will get you some relief. Probably me. And when I say you've earned it, I mean it. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, but you endured more than I ever could and it hasn't broken you. Though you might...think that, sometimes. When I start to think that way, I talk to a friend. That gets me through."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow nods again, but isn't going to be easily convinced on this one.

"...more than you?" he asks, angling his head to raise an eyebrow at Colin, "that seems unlikely."

[keenly]

Colin lets his professionalism drop, for now. He sits beside Barrow and offers a wan smile.

"Apples and oranges," he sighs. "And I was never in a position where giving information would make it stop, or I would have."

[thereneverwas]

He considers that for a moment, and nods his understanding.

"I've never--" he begins, and clearly feels ashamed, by the way he ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck.
"...I've never felt powerless before." It's the kind of experience that rattles one to the core even when they aren't an unflappable wall of person. "Now I'm not certain I ever won't."

[keenly]

Colin bobs his head. He gets it. They sit in companionable silence for a moment as he collects his thoughts on the matter.

"I used to think it would just take time. Time heals, time will tell, that rot. Then seven or eight years on, I wondered why nothing was changing. I realized I still saw the world as a place that was out to hurt me at every turn, and in order to get better, I had to train myself to think differently. Though that might be putting the horse before the cart, for you. You have to...digest. Maybe even grieve. Take it in little steps, and don't be afraid to ask for help. People sincerely want to help you. You've helped me so much."

[thereneverwas]

Silent while Colin speaks, taking it all in, Barrow only responds to his last remark. Brow knit and eyes wide, he looks genuinely touched.

"Really?"

It's easy to feel like a bit of a bastard, throwing mages off their game on purpose.

[keenly]

He nods. "When you first Silenced me, in battle, I went...back there. I wasn't even in the battle anymore. Everything I saw, heard, smelled, it was just..."

A little shake of his head. "And as hard as it's been, sticking with our exercises, you've never asked questions. You've never pushed me further than I was willing. You've been respectful and kind, and I've improved a lot. I still hate being Silenced, it still makes me think of what happened, but maybe I won't be a liability in battle anymore."

[thereneverwas]

"Well."

A long pause.

"I'm glad to hear it."

And he is, even if it feels a strange thing to be glad about.

[keenly]

"And you don't pity me."

[thereneverwas]

"You've done nothing to earn it." He smirks, a twinkle of genuine fondness in his eye.
"I've pitied some. Perhaps I shouldn't have." He purses his lips and looks forward again, his eyes going distant.
"What's pity worth when what someone needs is help, after all."

[keenly]

"Exactly. And it's incredibly condescending and reductive."

Colin stands up and quickly starts collecting a few medicines.

"I'm going to send you home with something to help you sleep, and before you go, I want to give you another good healing. Unfortunately, there's only so far even magic can go, and even I won't know how much is left unhealed. The sheer magnitude of the damage to your body can only be guessed at. You'll probably have pain and swelling for a time, and even the bits that have been healed may not immediately realize they've been healed. Do you have any questions?"

[thereneverwas]

Barrow nods-- Colin has done enough for him, in fact, that he knows better than to reject what the mage thinks is best. Still, those words are difficult to hear, and the fatigue creeps back into his face.

"You say that this will... likely never completely go away," he says, perhaps just for confirmation, that he heard him right. Something else he has to process.

[keenly]

"I'll do everything I can to help," Colin clarifies calmly. "All of us will. But cases this extreme...you'll probably have to expect the onset of rheumatism earlier than you might have. It will be vital that you stick with the exercises I mentioned for the duration of your healing process. Don't push yourself, just be consistent. The herbs will balance yellow bile and reduce the inflammation, and a nutritious diet will strengthen your body and refine the healing process. I can't tell you how debilitating it might be, but you're strong and healthy otherwise, which counts for a lot.

"And, unlike any of the case studies I've read about, you have a spirit healer at your side. And I was taught by the very best."


A little encouraging smile.

[thereneverwas]

That's better than nothing. ...especially with the spirit healer.

"Well. Glad to have friends on the other side," he says with a wink, some of his natural jollity returning. "Thanks, lad."

[keenly]

Colin beams and puts the medicines into a little bag, which he hands to Barrow.

"I'm going to cast again," he says, placing his hands back on his shoulders, "and you'll be free to go after."

He says it now because in a few seconds, he is going to be exhausted and isn't sure what he'll say afterward. With a deep breath, he reopens himself to Compassion and channels its healing magic, holding nothing back. When it's over, he sways a little, but manages to avoid embarrassing falls or obvious drunkwalking.

"Rest well." His voice sounds distant to his own ears.

[unshut]

At some point during Barrow's week of bed rest, a rap of knuckles and some cheerful exchange of pleasantries arrives at his door, preceded Fitcher's arrival in the room. She's seated now beside the bed, and cannot mean for the visit to be altogether brief for her heels have been hooked up on the very edge of the mattress.

"Now, this one," she is saying, passing over a little pot from the basket she has balanced in her lap. The pot's contents are blood red and smell faintly of both something green and some faint undercurrent of butter. "Is for rubbing on troublesome joints. I find it helpful in the winters."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow accepts the pot and, like any sensible person would, holds it immediately to his nose for a whiff. When it's not too offensive, he nods and, with some difficulty, sets it on his side table before returning his fond gaze to Fitcher.

"It would seem all my joints are troublesome now," he remarks, "...you're very kind to think of me."

[unshut]

Never mind her kindness.

"For the present, perhaps. Big strong lad like yourself? I'm certain you'll be as fit as a fiddle shortly. Now," she continues, shifting few assorted things in the basket and finally retrieving a wax paper packet. "This must be a secret between the two of us, as I bribed one of the girls in the kitchen terribly to make it. So promise to eat it quickly once I've gone so that scoundrel you're rooming with won't have a chance to pick it off you."

The little packet is rather heavy for its size. Inside is square of pecan brittle. Fitcher seems quite pleased with herself on behalf of it.

[thereneverwas]

He makes a sound a bit like a gasp, the air leaving him quickly as he takes the packet with as much care as if it were a treasured prize. Perhaps it is.

"...well you'll have to share it with me," he decides, carefully breaking it in half, "all this lying around and eating sweets, I'll have to be rolled back down the stairs."
He offers her half.

[unshut]

It would be rude to refuse, so she doesn't - takes the broken half of the brittle in her fingers regardless of how slightly sticky it might be.

"Then I'll pretend I haven't already eaten some before I arrived." She raises the candy in lieu of a glass, then commences to snapping off a corner. It's slightly better for having had the chance to cool properly, and rather less likely to take teeth with it.

[thereneverwas]

Taking a much less dainty bite of his own, Barrow is unable to resist an "mmm," that has him falling back onto his pillow. It's been ages since he had something like this.

"You're a bloody saint," he murmurs, "coming to me with this in my hour of need."

[unshut]

"I've heard it said before," she is happy to confirm, crunching her way through another bite of the brittle.

"Now the rest is all nonsense," she says, setting what remains of the candy between her teeth and talking around it and she shifts through the remaining contents of the basket with her small fingers (for they are the least sticky). "There is a pair of socks in here and a bit of elfroot if you care for the smoking of it, but if you don't then I suspect Serah Lazar may be willing to cut bargains for it. I have no idea what the healers have said that you may or may not have, so I trust you will use all of this with the correction amount of discretion. Including the socks, I suppose."

[thereneverwas]

"I love nonsense," he sighs, his contented gaze shifting to look over the contents of the basket and enjoying all of it.

"Serah Lazar can bloody fight me for it," he mumbles with a smirk, "...I suspect he'll win, but don't say I didn't try." Taking the socks in hand, he feels them with a nod of approval. One doesn't come by new socks too often, at least without actively seeking them out.

"You're too kind to me."

[unshut]

The sound she makes and the wave of her hand together say, Not at all as she crunches through the last bite of her piece of the pecan brittle.

[thereneverwas]

Setting down the socks, Barrow heaves a sigh of contentment, or admiration, or perhaps both. He angles his head to look at Fitcher: the curve of her jaw, the angle of her brow, the corners of her mouth set just so.
And she's come to see him, of all people.

"I'm very fond of you," he confesses, before he can stop himself. Immediately he winces with an apologetic grin-- it's difficult to be properly suave and debonair when one is lain out in one's underclothes.

[unshut]

Her smile in reply is quick - more clever fox than hungry wolf. With her elbow on the chair arm, she sets her chin in her hand and only after considers that her fingers are slightly sticky from the sweetness of the honey.

"Well of course, Barrow. I'm very charming."

[thereneverwas]

He grins back at her, opens his mouth as if to say more, but thinks better of it-- he isn't sure what reaction he was expecting, but it must have been one that gave him more confidence to continue.

Instead, he just clears his throat. "That you are."

[unshut]

She laughs, head tipping back from it. It's such a pleasant, low sound - unvarnished. Fitcher leans slightly forward in her chair, lying her hand on the bed rather than touching him (because he is broken all over, and she might poke some bruise otherwise).

"You're not meant to agree with someone when they say something so impolite, Ser," she scolds him, fox grinning. "But I do enjoy it when you humor me."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow's smile only broadens in response, her laughter warming him, and though he doesn't forget what he'd wanted to say, he's already lost his nerve-- and the conversation has already moved on.

"There are many things one isn't meant to do," he replies, with an impish waggle of his eyebrows, "but I'd gladly do them to hear you laugh, my lady."

[unshut]

"How agreeable you are, Barrow," she says, all good cheer. The curve of her laugh is still in her mouth as she draws her hand back to herself.

"Now, you must swear that you'll tell me should you need anything while you're so laid up. If I can't do it myself, I have fast friends in the kitchens and on the docks and so on who owe me a favor or two. You may consider it a trade for if my hobbies in Kirkwall ever catch up to me and I find myself in need of your support. Do we have a deal?"

[thereneverwas]

"A deal it is," he agrees easily, and after a moment to think, once again he gets That Look on his face.
"There is something I would ask," he muses, "but only if you're willing. And if not, be certain I shall never ask again."

[unshut]

It's a dangerous thing, that Look. Licking her thumb, Fitcher rubs it against her stickier fingertips in an attempt to mitigate some of the tackiness left there from the brittle, and finds all she's managed to do is smear it around.

C'est la vie.

She smiles at him - her expression
a broad, good natured thing. "You may ask whatever you like, Barrow."

[thereneverwas]

"Just--" he falters, and is he blushing?
"--a kiss. To bolster courage." He grins helplessly, knowing she'll see right through his reasoning, but hoping beyond hope that it won't matter.

[unshut]

"A kiss." Her eyebrows climb by a few scant degrees, and that smile tugs crooked. "Is this how they ask for a lady's favor in Ferelden, Ser?"

She's giving him a hard time, but it's such a pleasant kind of thing - not so different from singing loudly in a ferry.

[thereneverwas]

At least Fitcher hasn't yelled at him yet.
"Only scoundrels," he replies, his smile as cheeky as it is apologetic. He doesn't rescind the request.

[unshut]

"And is that what you are, hm? A scoundrel?" She starts to set her chin in her hand, remembers a moment too late that her fingers are sticky to save herself, and so simply commits to a sugar tacky cheek.

"I suppose I can see it. There is a certain roguish quality to your face, Barrow."

[thereneverwas]

Smirking at Fitcher's struggle with her hand, Barrow nods. "I'm surprised you didn't already know."

[unshut]

"By way of rumor, certainly." Though of course they've resolved that whole matter with Poesia in the jungle, so let's not linger on it. "But to my person? You have been nothing but the most steadfast of gentlemen. I should pay more attention to the gossips, it seems."

Says the biggest gossip in the Gallows. The way her smile twitching against her fingers says she realizes the joke.

"But of course," she says, at last removing the basket from her lap and drawing her heels down off the edge of the bed so she might sit up and lean slightly forward in her chair. "I could never kiss a rogue because he asked me to. But I have a very soft heart, so I will kiss you where you hurt most. Is it here?"

She sets a finger on his forehead. "Or here?" She taps his cheek. "Or—?"

She lifts her finger and awaits his direction.

[thereneverwas]

"Cruel," Barrow remarks with a grin, "perhaps I ought to hit myself in the face, so my lips will ail the most."
He hesitates.

"...or, you know, since you're so fond of doing it-- but I wouldn't ask you two favors in the same day."

[unshut]

"I am not fond of it and I'm rather offended you'd say so," she says, too breezily to be actually put out about it although the look she tilts at him is at least somewhat sincere. Really now, Barrow. What respectable woman is proud of her temper?

"If any case," she says, turning her hand slightly so she might scratch absently at the scruff of his beard just there near his ear. "I'm neither a healer or a mind reader, so I am entirely reliant on your opinion in this matter. For all I know, you sprained your mouth terribly while escaping your captors—in saying something very witty, no doubt."

[thereneverwas]

He grins when Fitcher rises to her own defense, clearly pleased with himself for getting her goat, even if gently.
He angles his head toward her hand when it draws near, and raises his eyebrows, intrigued.
"Wouldn't you know it, that's exactly what happened," he says, feigning dismay, "and I've spent so many lonely hours up here talking to myself, I'm certain I've pulled all the muscles in it."

He's full of shit; he's had constant visitors.

[unshut]

Her hmm is very skeptical indeed, punctuated with a narrowing look as if she might catch him in a lie if she simply squints hard enough.

"Perhaps I should fetch back Lazar then. I'm sure he would be happy to do all the talking for you in exchange for something. The socks, maybe?"

[thereneverwas]

Barrow reaches forward to gently place his hand on hers. He remains smiling, but there's the subtlest of sadness behind it now: he can take a hint, and he swore he wouldn't press. That doesn't mean Fitcher's evasiveness doesn't hurt, hunting for excuses to do anything but what he asked.

"Perish the thought," he says, charming as ever, though some of the wind has left his sails.

[unshut]

Let the wind go out of them. It would be the greater kindness to keep him at this little reserved distance so that later, should things go as they eventually must—

(she has been at this work far too long to let herself pretend that they won't—eventually she will disappear; if she is clever, it will simply look like she got bored, or she died, or she ran away with someone)

—he will be allowed to think 'Well at least we weren't so close as all that.' Or maybe even, should the very worst (being discovered) come to pass, 'Ah, it all makes sense now; she cared about me enough not to use this part.'

Wouldn't that be lovely?

Fitcher smiles at him, her nails scratching idly at the scuff of his beard.

"I doubt he's much of a kisser though, that Lazar. Over eager. Very wet." She taps the side of her nose, punctuating it with an unnecessarily mugging squint as if to say she has seen the type before.

She leans down and kisses him then, brief and honey sweet, because she is working and painful things are sometimes necessary in all business.

[thereneverwas]

He almost doesn't expect it, after all that. Surely she's aiming for his cheek, but then Fitcher's lips touch his, and Barrow has just long enough to touch his fingers to her jaw before she pulls away.

A silence passes between them, then, as he looks up into her face, his eyes hazy with admiration and, worse, trust.

"A raft for a drowning man," he says gently, after a moment.

[unshut]

"Nonsense," Fitcher says, all good cheer as she pats his cheek and withdraws. She doesn't kick her heels back up onto the edge of the bed, but she doesn't move to rise from the chair either. "That's far too much responsibility for a clerk."

Instead she settles back in, rifling through the pockets of her skirts until she finds her pipe and tobacco tin. She tips her head toward the basket and, presumably, the elfroot therein.

"Care for a light?"

[thereneverwas]

"Please," Barrow chirps, sated at last, his worries at least temporarily put to rest.

"How is everyone faring after the incident? Athessa tells me the only death was the Abomination himself."

[unshut]

"Oh, as well as can be expected," she says, producing her little tinder box from her pocket.

"But Athessa is correct. I believe we were all extremely fortunate; the only real casualties on Riftwatch's side are the dining hall's ceiling and the rear wall of the kitchens. I have no doubt that both will be set to rights as quickly as the Seneschal can manage."

It takes some moments to arrange all the accoutrements of this habit—the shake loose the tobacco, pack the bowl of the pipe, and at last to set the stem between her teeth. Striking a spark into the bowl is a simple matter; she has been practicing for a very long time.

After a few puffs, she leans back over so he might fetch a light from the pipe's ember.

[thereneverwas]

"I'm glad to hear it, as glad as one can be in the aftermath of such a thing." He puffs gently at the blunt after lighting it, finally managing to take a deep draw as he rests back, sighing it out with contentment.

"Nice to be able to help, too, though if looks could kill those mages would've had me dead on the floor in a heartbeat."

a gold star (post-abomination, pretend I'm not late);

[katabasis]

[When Barrow collects his pay next, he'll find he's received a nominal abomination-killing related bonus.]

[thereneverwas]

[TIME 2 UNWISELY SPEND IT ON FITCHER]

crystal.

[poleaxed]

Oi, mate. We're partners, now.

[thereneverwas]

Just like that? Buy a fellow dinner first, won't you?

[poleaxed]

Mate, c'mon. What would we talk about?

Anyroad, Stone wants me to help you with training in the yard until you heal from what ails you.

[thereneverwas]

Stone?

And I'm afraid that's going to be a long wait.

[poleaxed]

Yeah, the Commander.

Good, it'll give me something to bloody do. And you can sit on a dais and tell me how I've fucked it up, yeah?

[thereneverwas]

Now that sounds like a plan.

I wonder who’s in possession of the softest chair in the Gallows, and what I have to do to get it from them.

[poleaxed]

Aww, you don't think pretty please will work?

[thereneverwas]

Worth a shot.

Do you think that’ll also work to get a tarpaulin and an assortment of maidens to feed me grapes?

[poleaxed]

I think maidens are in short supply in this outfit. Only monsters. I'd toss grapes into your mouth. Target practice.

I would sincerely enjoy throwing food at you from a distance, mate. Or a height.

[thereneverwas]

Are they? Damn.

But I'll accept that challenge, as long as it's food I want in my mouth.

[poleaxed]

It's a date, then.

Crystal

[muckspout]

Do you still have the soup spoon and glass I gave you? It turns out they are very dangerous...

Re: Crystal

[thereneverwas]

Erm...

dangerous how?

[He can't recall if he's used them yet; they went into his camping supplies.]

[muckspout]

[uhhhh hadn't figured that part out yet.]

they were poisoned!

[spoken in dramatic hushed tones.]

[thereneverwas]

Oh.

[A long pause.]

I'll... wash them?

[muckspout]

I think it might be better if I washed them for you.

[thereneverwas]

No offense, mate, but I'm not convinced you know what washing is.

[thereneverwas]

[A beat of revelation, far too late:]

Who poisoned them?

[muckspout]

I know how to wash things! And I don't know who poisoned it! It's not like I have a list of your enemies.

[thereneverwas]

Then how do you know they're poisoned?

...did you poison them? Edgard, [admonishingly,] I thought we were friends.

[muckspout]

[Extremely defensively.]

No! I didn't poison them! But, they are poisoned and I need them back, so I can wash them.

[thereneverwas]

Maker's breath, mate, if you want them back you can just say so.

[muckspout]

[Extremely long pause in which Edgard considers hanging up.]

I want them back.

[thereneverwas]

Then come get them, you goblin.

[muckspout]

Alright, I'm coming to get them. And it is Mr. Goblin.

Post Dream Action

[okayimin]

[ Regardless of how Barrow's morning is going, Sawbones will find him with a wild and distinctly sleepless look in her eye. ]

Can demons posses nonmages.

[thereneverwas]

[He takes a step back, having learned long ago that Sawbones being short doesn't mean she can't destroy a man his size.]

Yes?

[He scratches the back of his neck.]

They've been known to possess animals. [pause.] ...and, you know, the occasional Templar.

[okayimin]

[ She sets her hands on her hips and glares up at him. ]

Can they posses a man's penis.

[thereneverwas]

[He smiles at her, in a frank, vacant way, his mind naturally going at once to a visceral mental image of what that might look like.]

One shudders to think.

[okayimin]

[ This has done very little to calm the wild look in her eye. ]

The brewer's dick is possessed.

[thereneverwas]

[With cheerful abandon,]

Maker preserve us.

[okayimin]

I helped birth his children last night.

[ She takes a step closer, the wild look increasing. If he weren't so inconveniently tall, she might have grabbed his collar for emphasis. ]

Seven babies. Seven!

[thereneverwas]

Demon babies?

[He's tempted to take a step back, but restrains himself.]

[okayimin]

[ Okay that actually brings her around. She blinks, her normal frown falling in place and her hands going to her hips. ]

No, normal babies. Surprisingly healthy, come to that, given they kept coming out. I'd be more concerned about the mother starving to death, but they're well off enough to manage.

I suppose the virility of young surface males is a natural phenomenon. [ She eyes Barrow with what looks like suspicion. ]

[thereneverwas]

So the possession is likely....

[He wavers his hand around as if looking for a word,]

...metaphorical.

[Look, there was once a time when he had to take this stuff seriously. However, he is instantly distracted by the look she gives him, as if he's done something wrong and he just doesn't know what yet. He cocks his head with a pleasant, curious smile.]

I'm afraid there's not much a Templar can do about that.

[okayimin]

Likely.

[ And in her state, she might have agreed begrudgingly, but there's a new curiosity right before her now: ]

How long were you a templar before the rebellion or whatever they're calling it these days?

[ Sleep deprivation has not improved her tact. ]

[thereneverwas]

[Well that's a good fucking question. Barrow has to actually pause and straighten to sort through it in his mind, eyebrows cocked.]

...twenty...? Years? Fuck.

[okayimin]

[ Well, that's just even more puzzling. ]

Twenty years? You're joking. You'd have hardly been old enough to be away from your mother.

[thereneverwas]

[He opens his mouth to disagree, then closes it again, cocking his eyebrow down at her.]

...how old do you think I am, Sawbones?

[okayimin]

[ Hands on her hips, looking up at him, she says with a great deal of confidence: ]

Well, it's always hard to tell when you lot are so tall, but you can't be older than me with a face like that. And I'm not in my 30s yet.

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow blinks down at her, then up into the middle distance, with that same smile as before, as though his entire brain is quietly short-circuiting but he's too polite to mention it.]

What,

[okayimin]

[ She squints up at him. ]

I suppose you might be in the 30s. Certainly not older than Bastien or that Silver duster.

[thereneverwas]

[30s?? with further confusion, mingled with delight,]

--what,

[okayimin]

What?

[ His confusion is getting exasperating. ]

[thereneverwas]

With a face like mine?

[He's downright tickled.]

[okayimin]

[ She rolls her eyes, huffing primly. ]

Please. I know you lot do that business with the knives to your face, but you hardly look old enough to grow a proper beard.

[thereneverwas]

[This assertion yields a strange feeling. Is it... affront? Barrow can't shave in the morning without having stubble later that night.

He didn't work too hard to get where he is, but surely his manful body hair deserves some recognition.]

I think you'd be surprised if you saw me in the morning, Sister, [he says genially, waggling his considerable eyebrows--he might as well be a rascal and double the meaning, while they're both here.]

[okayimin]

[ The looks she gives him is entierly unimpressed. ]

I've sawed off legs that have more hair on 'em than that bit of fluff you get in the morning. Go on, how old are you then.

[thereneverwas]

[Incredulously, but still with good humor:]

Forty-nine.

[okayimin]

[ Frowns!!! ]

Well, that can't be right.

[thereneverwas]

We've all had to come to terms with some terrible things, Sister.

[okayimin]

[ She smacks his thigh, because that's the highest spot she can reach. ]

Me more than anyone it seems. How old is that Marcus then? I thought you two were the same age.

[thereneverwas]

[It could've been higher and more alarming, but Barrow still gives a start when Sawbones smacks him.]

Hey!

[He holds up his hands as if to defend himself,]

I don't know! We aren't acquainted!

[You can't just start hitting people!

Unless you're like.
Into that.]

[okayimin]

[ She'd definitely have smacked him again if he threw that last bit in. As it is, she just frowns up at him with her hands on her hips, the picture of tiny indignation. ]

Well! Now I don't know who to ask who you might know. All of them seem about as young as you, but if you ain't young at all.

[ She ponders that. ] They can't all be old or we would have more joint problems around here.

[thereneverwas]

[Incredulously,]

I have joint problems!

[He motions to himself.]

...though for what it's worth, I think I'm one of the oldest people here.

[okayimin]

[ Another prim huff, this one a dismissal. ]

Figured that was a lyrium side effect, you being a templar and all.

[ And she does consider this a moment. ]

It doesn't make a bit of sense, of course, but most things surfacers do don't make sense, so I suppose it all fits at least. Now this is just going to bother me.

[thereneverwas]

[A touch testily,]

It's from being strapped to a fucking rack for the better part of a week, glad you remembered.

[He's not that mad-- it's just a sore spot, much like his knees. And wrists. And elbows...]

I s'pose you've got a lot to think about now.

[okayimin]

Of course, I remember that. You got field aid on the spot, but couldn't get proper healing til you got back to Riftwatch, then we had the Abomination and you haired off from bed rest.

[ She waves off the prospect of thinking. ]

That won't do much good, since I obviously can't tell top nor bottom from you lot. I'll just have to ask.

[thereneverwas]

What a struggle.

[He's somewhat less sympathetic than he was, having somehow been shamed himself while, however vaguely, trying to shame her.
It always ends up this way, somehow.]

Well. Hopefully you won't have to deal with more possessed unmentionables, at least.

[poleaxed]

[With something like anger:] Am I sure about him, Barrow? Really?

[thereneverwas]

[Genuinely taken aback,]

I-- suppose I didn't realize you'd be so bothered.

[poleaxed]

Mate, remember that time when you told me all about your fancy woman, and I didn't even ask for a bleeding name.

[thereneverwas]

Look.

[He's serious, but his voice is warm.]

If you had, I'd've given it. But point taken. Just fucking about, Jone, nothing meant by it.

[poleaxed]

I don't like any nose in my business ain't mine. Understand you're trying to be... whatever you're trying to be, I do. But it ain't your cause to give judgement on.

[thereneverwas]

[Chiding,]

Please. Like my judgment's worth shit in the first place.

...just sort of endearing, is all, big fucker in armor sniffing around for you. I'd never actually interfere, I hope you know that.

[poleaxed]

See, here's the thing. You already clearly got a lot of ideas about-- again-- my business. I could correct 'em. But I dunno if you realize yet it ain't your business.

[thereneverwas]

[There's an extended pause, in which Barrow considers his response: how to express affection without continuing to poke at her, a chasm across which he sees no obvious passage. But he is, if anything, conciliatory-- some things in life are won and maintained by just... rolling over and admitting defeat.]

All right.

[There's nothing harsh or bitten back about the words, short as they are.]

[poleaxed]

We ain't fucking, or gonna fuck. He's a good fighter, and flirting riles him up. It's funny. That's all. If it were serious, like, I'd not have said a bloody thing.

[thereneverwas]

Got it.

[A pause.]

...it is funny.

[It's good they agree.]

[poleaxed]

Yeah, he's a laugh. Just trying to figure what makes him tick.

[thereneverwas]

Suggesting he can't beat someone in a fight seems to do it.

He's got some lofty ideas, that one. Seems to think there should be more executions around here.

[poleaxed]

Which is why no one here'll ever take him serious. Harmless, he is.

But don't fight him, mate. I mean it.

[thereneverwas]

Mate you think I'm gonna fucking fight him? He clove a training dummy in half. In twain.

I can't even fight you. No thanks.

[poleaxed]

[Finally, something like a laugh.] In twain. You knob.

He's a beast to fight, you're right about that.

[thereneverwas]

Look, it was extraordinary. It deserved an extraordinary word.

speaking of comeuppance,

[cozen]

[ Some average Spring day or another, when Barrow steps off the ferry and onto the docks in Kirkwall, there's someone waiting.

Someone is not Bastien. Someone is a girl, twelve or thirteen at most, with dark hair and eyes, kicking her heels against the shipping crate she's sitting on until the sight of him makes her straighten up and go still. She stays that way for a few seconds, then takes a visibly deep breath and hops off to approach him. ]

Are you Ser Barrow?

[thereneverwas]

[It's not often that children speak to him, so Barrow is briefly perplexed by the girl, but he offers her a kind smile nonetheless.]

That's me. Who's asking?

[cozen]

Anne.

[ She sniffs and wiggles her nose, because it itches but she's trying too hard to make a good impression to scratch it. ]

You're from Ferelden?

[thereneverwas]

[With creeping dread,]

Yes?

[cozen]

[ A long moment of courage-gathering silence, and then she is very frank, with very earnest eyes: ]

My mum says you're my father.

[thereneverwas]

[It's enough to make a person's whole brain shut down.]

...excuse me?

[RUN, RUN YOU IDIOT]

[cozen]

My mum says you’re my father.

[ With earnest patience born of being a little too young for a teenager’s attitude. She looks him over. There’s a little bit of skepticism to her face—a bit of him?—but mostly interest. Someone looking for a resemblance would be able to claim to see one. ]

She called you a lot of other things, too, but I’m not supposed to say them.

[thereneverwas]

[Shit. Fuck. Run. Throw her in the harbor? No, that wouldn't do, he couldn't,]

Which one-- er, [maybe she just wants money?]

--what's your mum's name? [Maker, it could be anyone.]

[cozen]

Lorna.

[ Another itchy nose wiggle. ]

She's working, but—I can take you to see her if you want. Maybe she's wrong.

[thereneverwas]

[He's still wracking his brain for a 'Lorna' when the girl speaks again, and Barrow goes very still, furrowing his brow at her.]

Working?

[He blinks rapidly.]

She's here?

[cozen]

[ Anne shakes her head, taking here to mean right here, and points off toward the rest of the city. ]

She’s a laundress.

[thereneverwas]

[Something is amiss.]

And how long have you two been living here in Kirkwall, Anne?

[cozen]

[ A shrug, a screwed-up thinking face, and, ]

Five years? I was seven.

[thereneverwas]

And where'd you come from before that?

[He starts lighting up a cigarette.]

[cozen]

[ She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the cigarette. Or at the question. Or both. ]

I remember Highever and Amaranthine. I don’t know. We traveled a lot.

[ Her arms cross. The slightest glimmer of an attitude. ]

Where’d you come from?

[thereneverwas]

Ferelden, [spoken cagily, one arm crossing under the other as he squints down at the girl.]

Your mum always been a laundress?

[cozen]

[ She squints back at him. ]

No.

[thereneverwas]

[sqqquuint.]

No? What'd she do before?

[cozen]

[ A sqqquuint back, and a stubborn little chin lift. ]

This and that.

[thereneverwas]

Yeh?

[He tilts his own chin up, exhaling a puff of smoke.]

What's her family name?

[cozen]

[ She scoffs a little. ]

We aren't that fancy.

[thereneverwas]

[There it is. Barrow smirks.]

So whaddyou want, money?

[The question comes out as a grumble, not especially threatening.]

Who told you I had any?

[cozen]

[ She doesn't know she's been had. Her bottom lip comes out, just a little, as if she's hurt but trying not to show it. ]

I don't want your money. I only wanted to meet you.

[thereneverwas]

No no, none of that.

[He shakes his head fondly, digging into his coin pouch.]

You had me going for a moment there, kid. Take this, go on and get yourself a better scam.

[He approaches her to offer out what equates to around half a day's wage in coins.]

[cozen]

[ She considers him, considers the coins, and snatches them out of his hand. ]

How long did I have you going? You think five minutes?

[thereneverwas]

[He scoffs.]

If that. But.

[He leans down a little closer.]

I'll double that if you tell me who put you up to it.

[cozen]

[ She has to count the coins first, comparing what she’s being offered to what she stands to be paid if she keeps her mouth shut, but then she says, ]

Him.

[ And turns to point down the docks, a few vacant slips away, where Bastien is leaning on a wall. Looking at the sea, mostly, but his peripheral vision includes them enough for her point to make him turn and open his mouth in feigned outrage and shock. ]

[thereneverwas]

Aaahh.

[A knowing sound, and Barrow tips the rest of the coins into the girl's hand.]

Good kid. If your mum's real, buy her something nice.

[Then, he starts off toward the perpetrator. He looks friendly enough, but that in itself can be a warning sign.]

[cozen]

[ Anne, if that is her real name, does not stick around to find out if she’s in trouble—which is her loss, as Bastien would have paid her anyway, snitch or not.

He waits for Barrow where he’s been standing, looking utterly unafraid and unapologetic. ]

[thereneverwas]

[Stopping a few feet away from Bastien, Barrow removes his cigarette from his mouth long enough to ash it.
He's still smiling.]

A little below the belt, mate, don't you think?

[cozen]

[ Heh. ]

I’m Orlesian. We have no sense of proportion when it comes to revenge.

[thereneverwas]

So that's how it's gonna be, eh?

[cozen]

I am afraid so.

[ Do your worst, etc. ]

But she was good, non? She looked the part. Not much commitment, but she is twelve.

[thereneverwas]

[Oh. He will.]

She had me for a moment, but she got sloppy on the details. Or. Well. There were things she couldn't have known.

[He smiles around his cigarette.]

I plan to keep it that way, you fucking monster.

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a wincing ooh face that doesn’t actually look insulted or hurt, because he’s also laughing. ]

You don’t want to be a papa?

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow shakes his head, exhaling.]

I can barely keep my own shit together. Not about to inflict that on some unsuspecting sprog.

[cozen]

Aw. [ He grins, then gives half his attention to a few seagulls brawling over a bit of garbage. ] Your shit seems alright to me.

[thereneverwas]

Well. Thank you.

[He's actually touched.]

...but don't think buttering me up will make your punishment any less dire.

[cozen]

Bien sûr. Just be sure, whatever you do to me, you are ready for me to do something [ he gestures vaguely in lieu of trying to actually quantify taking the beard oil vs. bastard fake-out ] however many times worse.

[thereneverwas]

Oh, of course, of course.

[He puffs thoughtfully at his cigarette.]

...mate, you fucking escalated.

[It's honestly impressive.]

[cozen]

I really wanted that beard oil.

[ And now he wants a cigarette. He fishes around in his clothes for the necessary supplies. While he's doing that, he finds some coins and holds them out. ]

Here. It is what I was going to pay her.

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow chuckles, and holds up his hand to deny the money.]

Nah, she gave me a good performance. It was worth the coin.

[Since his Cigarette Things were already out, he offers Bastien his matchbook.]

Crystal, after their return to Kirkwall;

[illithidnapped]

Tell me you survived, darling.

[thereneverwas]

You survived, darling.

[he's going to be fine]

[illithidnapped]

Ahah. Cute.

[faintly amused, but only just. It’s clear enough he’s not exactly reaching out for the sake of mischief and amusement.]

And your chest?

[thereneverwas]

[But mischief and amusement, Barrow would argue, are the only things worth talking about. Especially when actual pain is involved.

He clears his throat.]

Whole.

[illithidnapped]

Well, obviously. You are talking, after all.

But does it hurt? Are you troubled by it?

[thereneverwas]

I expect it'll hurt for some time. But I'll be back on my feet, mate, don't worry about me.

[A pause.]

What about you?

[illithidnapped]

Oh, the healers absolutely loved me. [This, my friend, is bragging. Blatant bragging.] Made sure I didn't feel a thing beyond their own impressively tender caress.

In fact I'm fit as a fiddle, and not a scratch to be seen.

[thereneverwas]

Well.

[Somewhat mirroring the smugness, albeit to a lesser degree,]

I suppose there may be people less well-regarded than myself to our resident healing mages, but it still suits me fine to stay out of their way.

[illithidnapped]

Oh come now, they don't bite. Hard.

[He's joking, of course. The map of his own comprehension when it comes to the delicate balance between magic and— well, everything in Thedas, is more than clear enough by now.]

Not half as well as I do, anyway.

[But from there, it falls away, that preening mood. Slips low into something far more delicate.]

...by the way, apropos of purely nothing: you're not planning on going to our dear leaders to report on the specifics of what happened back there, are you?

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow chuckles easily.]

I'm not going to snitch on you, Astarion, if that's what you're asking.

[A pause, in which he clears his throat, becoming a little more serious:]

I prefer to think the experience was punishment in itself.

[illithidnapped]

Oh good. [Relieved. Beyond relieved. Cheerful, even.]

Then we’ve all learned a valuable lesson. Together.

[thereneverwas]

[Astarion sounds a little too relieved. Barrow feels a subtle shift in his own opinion, and makes up his mind.]

...though I might make you make it up to me anyway. Not sure how yet.

[Without being able to see him, one can still imagine him thoughtfully scratching the stubble on his cheek.]

Got my fuckin' lung punctured for you, mate.

[illithidnapped]

What, my company alone isn't good enough for you?

[Relief bleeds out of him instantly, quick as a fresh wound. In fact, he sounds distinctly offended by the very suggestion, now that it's clear enough bygones are not yet bygones.]

It's just a lung: you've got two.

[thereneverwas]

[Oh is that what we're doing now,]

Well so do you, mate, can I have one of yours then?

[Imagine such a ridiculous operation being possible.]

[illithidnapped]

You poor darling, if only I could.

Elves, you see. Completely incompatible with all your— hm. Fragile little parts.

[thereneverwas]

[Fair enough. Still.

Grumbling,] we'll see who's fragile next time I have to drag you away from a losing battle.

[illithidnapped]

If you hadn't interfered I wouldn't have lost.

[Oh, wonderful. From resolution and closure all the way back into argumentative petulance. Well done, Astarion. Very mature.]

[thereneverwas]

That so?

Maybe you should explain it to the Commander, if that’s the case.

[It’s not a real threat; he’s just tired, and grouchy, and trying not to admit he’s a bit traumatized by the whole ordeal.]

[illithidnapped]

What— no.

[Abrupt panic gives way to high, breathy laughter when he presses, quickly:] No no no. No need for all that, now.

We're dear friends after all. No point in dredging up the past, right?

[thereneverwas]

Of course not, no point at all.

[The smile in his voice is audible.]

I'll let you know when I need a favor.

[illithidnapped]

Or consider instead [Astarion starts, pressing only lightly so as to worm his way out of owing a blank check to anyone here ] I could tell you a secret.

[thereneverwas]

Hmm.

[He makes a big show of thinking. Then,]

or I could just make you do all the cleaning on the training pitch until I'm all healed up. [these things take time]

[illithidnapped]

Trust me, this is one little tidbit you'll want to have in hand.

Worth months of training pitch cleanup. Possibly even years.

[thereneverwas]

Well. That's a long time.

[He hesitates.]

Why'll I want to have it in hand?

[illithidnapped]

Because it’s of interest to you. [Astarion says ever-so-gently, before adding, with far more weight behind it:]

And it relates to you.

[thereneverwas]

[A long-suffering sigh. He hates that this is working.]

Relevant in a good way, or bad?

[illithidnapped]

That depends on your perspective. [For once, it isn't deflection: the flatness in his tone might even convey that much, given a lack of typical coyness.]

I'm a reliquary of vital information, not a mind reader.

[thereneverwas]

[Ugh. Damn it.
Barrow may be lazy and avoidant, but he can’t stifle his curiosity.]

Fine.

Deal.

[illithidnapped]

Our dear Lady Seeker is terribly concerned for you. In fact, she's been wrestling with the temptation to come see you for quite some time now.

[Delicate, his delivery. Like handling glass, all of it.]

Never once managing the nerve for it.

[thereneverwas]

[Well that's.

Not what he expected.

But also not, shall we say, an unwelcome revelation.]

...what?

[illithidnapped]

She told me herself. And you know, she’s never struck me as the indecisive type.

Yet here we are: her confessing to me a desire to see you— and you left completely in the dark. No doubt because she’s fallen prey to all those restless worries.

It’s a bit tragic, if you ask me. Wanting something, and yet...

[He scoffs quietly, clicking his tongue as though scolding himself.]

Well.

That’s not exactly my business, I suppose.

[thereneverwas]

One might argue none of it is your business, [Barrow sighs, but point taken, it was a secret pertaining to him.]

I won't go chasing her down, if that's what you're after. The last thing someone like the Seeker needs is a fat old bastard breathing down her neck.

[illithidnapped]

Don’t sell yourself short. Self-pity is a terrible habit— and an absolute bore. [Unless it's Astarion's own self-pity, and then it's charming and fair and entirely reasonable.]

You’re a handsome devil, even if you’re not glistening with spring dew.

But if you’re too put off by the idea, I won’t corral you into it. Just offering you a little perspective to use as you like.

[thereneverwas]

Well.

As long as you think so.

[It is physically impossible for Barrow not to flirt with everyone he meets, even as cruel as it is that he's only actually interested in half of them.]

[illithidnapped]

[Utterly cruel. How very dare.]

Ahah. Don't.

Now you're just toying with what's left of my cold, dead, heart.

[thereneverwas]

Surely a fellow like you has prospects throwing themselves at his feet.

[It's genuine; he's a bit surprised.]

[illithidnapped]

Well. I certainly have friends in low places. [A little joke, given how much time he spends in Lowtown’s more colorful districts.]

But no, there aren’t any parades of suitors lining up in front of my door.

I’ll survive. Flatterer.

[thereneverwas]

I expect you will. No matter the odds.

[It's a compliment and an indictment all at once.]

[illithidnapped]

[He wouldn’t have it any other way.]

Rest up, darling. And do check in on her when you have the time.

I’m sure she’ll be just thrilled to hear your voice.

action.

[cozen]

[ The evening after this, after Bastien’s finished work for the day, he walks one whole door down from his own and raps on Barrow’s door. ]

Barrow. [ Through the door. ] I need a drink and you have to come with me.

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow performed all his duties as usual today, but was uncharacteristically quick to return to his quarters and has not emerged since. Thus it is that, when Bastien knocks, he hears the slow and heavy shuffle of feet as Barrow comes to the door, a purring cat cradled in one arm and another draped over his shoulders.]

Everything all right? [he asks, glancing distractedly past Bastien as if checking for trouble.]

[cozen]

[ Bastien waves a hand above his shoulder to indicate there's nothing to see. ]

As fine as it gets. A long day.

[ And a brief aside to the cats: ] Qui sont les jolis chatons? C'est vous!

[thereneverwas]

[It’s actually something of a wonder Barrow isn’t already drunk, but perhaps it can be chalked up to his current unwillingness to be seen in public.]

Right, then. [It’s defeat and relief in one; he won’t argue, too glad that someone is being friendly to him. Turning back momentarily, he sets down the one cat and encourages the other to take its leave by shrugging his shoulder toward the bed.

Once cat-free, he turns back to Bastien with a wan smile as he comes to head out.]

Athessa’s.

[cozen]

Ah.

[ His face doesn't change much, but it does get sadder around the eyes while he steps back to make room for Barrow to join him in the hallway. ]

They might be yours now. She is fine, if you didn't know that already, but I don't think she is coming back.

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow's face falls in such a way that suggests he has been holding it all together and this may have been the last straw. A good ally is hard to find, it would seem.
But he says nothing, just offering a grunt of acknowledgment as he steps out and closes the door behind him.]

Where to?

[cozen]

[ Bastien gives Barrow a rueful little smile, at the change in his face—a chin up, buddy smile from someone who's struggling with chin elevation himself, on this particular subject—and starts walking. ]

We can go ashore or we can raid the dining hall for table wine. Your choice.

[thereneverwas]

Ashore, [Barrow volunteers at once, without even taking the time to look properly thoughtful about it.]

Think I'd prefer not to be seen about, for a while.

[cozen]

Fair enough.

[ It won't change what direction they go until they're outside. ]

They are terribly judgmental sometimes, [ he adds, voice quiet, ] for people whose future relies so much on not being judged.

[thereneverwas]

[An uncomfortable laugh, and Barrow shrugs.]

Can't even say I blame them, really. [He looks at the ground as he talks, no doubt afraid to speak too loudly.]

Nobody likes feeling that the choice is already made for them.

[cozen]

No.

[ Bastien is quiet for a few steps. ]

How old were you when you started your training?

[thereneverwas]

Oh...

[He tilts his head to and fro, thinking.]

Older lad. Fifteen, sixteen..

[cozen]

[ Bastien wasn't much younger than that when he started his training—his very different training. He nods a little. ]

What made you want to do it?

[thereneverwas]

Wanted to leave the farm, see the world. [He sighs wearily, shaking his head.]

This way it was an honor, instead of an escape. Going away to do Andraste's work, not just fucking off because I didn't feel like shoveling cow shit anymore.

[A grim pause.]


Least the cows wanted to be there, I suppose. Or didn't care one way or the other.

[cozen]

[ Bastien grins sideways at him and says, ] Freeeee ussss, [ in a low drone that sounds passably like a sound a cow could make.

But more seriously: ]

Did you see the world?

[thereneverwas]

[A tired laugh.]

I saw Ferelden.

[cozen]

Well, that is—

[ A pause for arithmetic. His fingers are involved. ]

—about an eighth of it. Good start. And now you are seeing more.

[thereneverwas]

Eighth?!

[Barrow has to pause too, also counting on his fingers-- and after a few moments he gives up rather than try to puzzle it out.]

Well, never mind that, I've seen more since joining you lot. That's what counts, innit?

sometime a day after the mage discussion crystal business

[voidtransport]

[A growler of ale has been left outside of Barrow's room - it's probably not the best money can buy, but it has been chosen as Drinkable at least, and Enjoyable at most. There's a little note sealed up and tied to the large bottle.]

I hope that you can find the time to enjoy this and that it may bring you a measure of peace (even if only momentary until you are sober again).

I cannot say anything on behalf of what was said between you and other members of Riftwatch - even with what I've come to understand about the politics and such here, it's not my place to say which party was right or wrong, whether you should feel guilt or be absolved of it, or to hold you accountable for anything. You seem like despite whatever may have been in your past to be a decent sort and so I can only say that I hope you reflect upon and know where your responsibilities and accountability lie. Whether you act upon it and how are none of my concern. Others may expect more of you, and they may be well within that right to do so, but we are practically strangers still and therefore this is all I can ask of you.

I appreciate the time that you took to provide me with guidance, and apologize for any part, however small, that action has contributed to your ordeal.

May you be well,
Allumin

[thereneverwas]

[The growler does eventually disappear inside the room, though nothing is said to Allumin on the matter, at least for now.]

(crystal)

[arkitect]

Barrow, was it?

Provided you are not too occupied, at present, I'd like to speak with you.

Re: (crystal)

[thereneverwas]

[It's been a Day, and Barrow is tired. He braces himself.]

Yep, that's me.

[arkitect]

Well, you will have to pardon me for referencing overheard conversations, but... to be direct, I do not believe you were wrong in saying you would be an effective source to learn from.

I have somewhat more interest in that than in asking others, frankly.

[It's just a different experience, dealing with someone who only knows what to expect versus employing something themselves.]

[thereneverwas]

[Intriguing.]

That a fact.

[As much as he hates to engage with the topic, it’s nice to know he has the potential to be useful.]

You’ll be wanting to practice against actual magic negation, then?

[arkitect]

That would be preferred, yes. I know how to fight without the use of magic, that part isn't going to be a problem, but... no explanation of it would be better than experience.

[After a moment, slightly more reluctant:]

It has never exactly been a threat. Not until coming here.

[It's an unpleasant thought, but it's better to take it into account early rather than being surprised when he needs to keep his focus.]

[thereneverwas]

[A sigh. He may get flak for this, but he did, after all, openly offer it.]

Right then. I'm at the sparring pitch most mornings.

[arkitect]

Then I will see about coming by.

Unless, of course, you prefer to make less public arrangements.

[thereneverwas]

[He thinks on it, but--]

Nah. Out in the open.

[The more clandestine the arrangement, the more it'll be seen as trying to keep a secret.]

[arkitect]

Well, if you insist.

[He certainly doesn't sound like he disapproves.]

But I will leave you be for the moment, then.

[and I'll just make a new starter in my log when I am next not driving if you don't do it first, SO.]

[bouchonne]

[ Without preamble or warning: ]

You made a good offer, messere, when you offered to help in training. I expect you do not need to be told it was a good thing, but it was.

That's all.

[thereneverwas]

Oh.

[This is not an interaction he had been expecting.]

Well thank you, Ambassador.

[bouchonne]

Cheers.

[ And that's it. ]

[thereneverwas]

[HOW NICE]

a delivery

[fairforce]

[It is well after Satinalia that two decent bottles of whiskey finds their way to Barrow. Attached to one is a crisp red ribbon tied around a tag, upon which is written a message in a careful hand:]

Happy Satinalia. I am very sorry this is late in reaching you, but if you think about it, this year's late Satinalia gift is really next year's early Satinalia gift. Which is why there are two.

Enjoy, you've earned it.

action.

[cozen]

[ This evening—Bastien's cajoling invitation to come out to a Lowtown tavern to keep him company, the cheap ale, the pleasant small talk about the weather and work—it is all a trap. A friendly and enjoyable trap, so far as Bastien is concerned, but a trap, all leading up to: ]

Why were you hiding that you were a Templar, before?

[ It has the tone of an idle question, but he's looking at Barrow with evaluative interest. ]

[thereneverwas]

[What has been a warm and easy smile gradually gives way to something more guarded, exasperated even. Nobody likes to be tricked, and as much as Barrow leans into being an inconsequential oaf, there’s a shrewdness to him that Bastien has clearly identified.]

Because, [he says with a lightness incongruous with his wary glance,] my departure was not, shall we say, official.

[They’re all mates here, aren’t they? Besides, he did say he wouldn’t lie anymore.]

[cozen]

Comme quoi, you snuck out in the middle of the night?

[ They are all mates here. And the image of such a great bear of a man on tip-toe, bag slung over his shoulder like a child determined to run away and live in the garden, makes him smile. ]

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow snorts, and some but not all of the tension leaves his shoulders.]

Didn't have to. The mages rebelled, said they were leaving. They did. Then so did I.

[cozen]

Why?

[ The question is chased directly by a big mouthful of his ale, enough to make his cheeks puff out a bit. ]

[thereneverwas]

Why stay?

[He shrugs one shoulder, taking a small and pensive sip from his own mug.]

What's a dairy farmer without any cows?

[For once, he realizes in the moment that that is, perhaps, not the most appropriate comparison to make; he winces, waving one hand defensively in anticipation of... well. The usual.]

No, not... I don't mean it like that--

[cozen]

[ Bastien's mouth scrunches up in the opposite of a smile, because if he smiled the ale would leak out of his mouth, disgustingly. He has to swallow it first. But once he has, he smiles. ]

Metaphors. Always luring innocent feet into mouths.

[ He props his chin in his hand. ]

Maybe we say you are a shepherd. Fewer udders that way. Why not go after the sheep? Your fellows did, non?

[thereneverwas]

Aye, out of their duty to... I don't know, Andraste.

[He sighs, pushing his hair back off his forehead.]

It's different though, innit, with sheep or cows. They don't mind, long as they have grass to eat and shelter from the rain. You can't just...

[He weighs his hands, struggling with the analogy, or perhaps with the concept itself. He spent so long trying not to think too hard about it, it almost resists being thought about.]

...well a shepherd's there to protect the sheep, not... you know, jail them. His whole job isn't built around making sure they don't start thinking they're people, and punishing them if they do.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums. In this metaphor, of course, the sheep can set fire to fields and summon lightning, and perhaps they will be possessed in their sleep and ravage an entire village. If Barrow had built up less goodwill, over these—years, shit, it's been years now—Bastien might press on that distinction more gently. Try to tangle him up in it. Instead, he's direct: ]

I suppose a lot of them think they are protecting other people from the sheep, too, in this case. Baa.

[ With some unsheeply bared teeth, to make the baa vicious. ]

Did you always think of it that way? That you were jailing them?

[thereneverwas]

Usually just when I actually was, [Barrow replies with a glint of bone-dry humor in his eyes, his resulting smirk an ironic one.]

Ask any Templar who operated in a Circle what their job was, not one of 'em will tell you it was all Wicked Grace and shooting the shit all the time. Anyone who does is lying. We all had Harrowings in our rotation, we locked up the troublemakers, we secured the soon-to-be-Tranquil for their branding. It's not something a person likes to do, unless they're the wrong kind of person for the job. And there's a lot of those.

[He sips from his ale, his brow set darkly.]

Maybe it's necessary work, who the fuck am I to say. I suppose pulling in kids from the region under the guise of joining Andraste's own army, while not entirely the truth, will filter out most of the sadists. Or they'll all go to Kinloch.

[He makes a lazy shooing motion, directing the sadists to Kinloch, no doubt.]

...to be fair, the shit that went down over there, maybe the Rite of Annulment was a good decision. [He sighs.] Fuck it, I'm rambling.

[cozen]

I asked, [ Bastien reminds him. ] I'm interested.

[ He sits back in his chair. ]

What happened at Kinloch—during the Blight, you mean?

[thereneverwas]

During the Blight, yeah. The attempted Annulment after what'shisname decided he'd had enough.

[cozen]

Hm.

[ Thoughtful. ]

Why would all the sadists go there?

[thereneverwas]

Dunno. But based on what went on over there, it seems that's where they all ended up.

crystal;

[heirring]

Ser Barrow! Good day.

I need assistance judging the appropriate measure for a dosage of refined lyrium. Will you help me or should I refer my questions to Ser Orlov?

[thereneverwas]

Oh. I... should be able to help.

slings this @ you for when you're upright again

[heirring]

Most excellent! Should you prefer it if I took notes during this conversation, or if we discussed the matter in person and more practically?

one million years later

[thereneverwas]

Ah... no preference, I suppose. Might help you to see it, if you prefer.

a note.

[luaithre]

[ Waiting for him, early morning, a summons; ]

Barrow,

After your morning shift, please see me in my office. I wish to speak on matters of internal security.

Marcus
Captain of the Guard

action

[thereneverwas]

[In the early afternoon, around when most people are taking their lunch, a pleasant tapping comes on the doorframe of Marcus' office.]

[luaithre]

It's open.

[ The office space has been fitted for two, and is only just big enough for that much. That said, one desk furthest from the door is busy with items, such as a mostly-spent candlestick, a dish and water pitcher that have yet to be walked down to the kitchens, several stacks of paper, volumes, scroll cases.

The other desk is much neater, and is where Marcus is sat, writing something. He looks up to see Barrow, and then goes about setting what he was doing aside, exchanging it for clean pages. With a pen, he gestures to the chair opposite, while arranging his things. ]

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow makes his way inside with an easy, affable composure, taking a seat as instructed.]

What can I do for you, Enchanter?

[luaithre]

Something you ought to have done a long time ago.

[ For all that his words are pointed, his tone trends towards flatness, frankness, scarcely looking up as he writes something down. ]

Which Circle did you serve, and what was your ranking title?

[thereneverwas]

[A little grunt of surprise, perhaps slight offense: well there’s a fine how do you do.]

Jainen, [he replies patiently, hoping that the path of least resistance will get him out of here faster,] and just Knight. No special rank.

[luaithre]

[ Scrtch-scratch of his pen. ]

And when did you abandon your post?

[thereneverwas]

[It’s an effort not to squirm. The literal Seeker of Truth didn’t make him this nervous.]

Um, [he mumbles, drawing his hand over his mouth to scrub down his chin,] don’t remember the exact month. Around the time the rebellion started in earnest. Must’ve been 9:37.

[luaithre]

[ Marcus writes down the year. Presses the pen nub next to it, doing the math. ]

And the circumstances of your leaving?

[thereneverwas]

Well, the mages all left.

[He smirks lightly, discomfort bringing out what little humor he finds in the answer.]

Nobody wants to guard an empty tower.

[luaithre]

[ There's no smirk back, an even stare across the desk with his pen only barely touching the parchment. ]

The Order remained intact, empty towers or not. Even when they severed their ties to the Chantry, years later, they marched beneath a shared banner. There was a war.

[ Or did Barrow miss it? There is a bluntness to the way Marcus speaks, now, an impatience, but no spark of stronger feeling. If he's speaking to a deserter, then there are others would who sooner be upset to hear it. ]

Did all of the Templars of Jainen lay down their arms and quit the Order, or only you?

[thereneverwas]

Don’t know, [Barrow admits, and something in Marcus’ gaze finally pierces his composure.]

Sorry, Enchanter, am I in trouble of some kind?

[Asked politely enough, but with an edge of impatience: if he doesn’t have to sit here and be interrogated like a wayward schoolboy, he’d rather not.]

[luaithre]

[ The answer—don't know—gets a long look, steady and dissatisfied. The follow up question steers Marcus' focus back down, initially, as he writes down another note. ]

Riftwatch has found itself the target of multiple acts of sabotage from what we might assume to be splintered Chantry-affiliated forces. It's time we knew better our own company to guard against infiltration.

As of now, you're in no more jeopardy than any of us.

[thereneverwas]

I see.

[The clarity helps, and his figurative hackles lower. Barrow may be a lot of things, but Chantry-affiliated is not especially one of them.]

...it wasn't out of any religious passion that I joined the Templars, [he explains, hoping to offer some clarity in return.] I was a lad too restless for the farming life, with parents who'd only relieve me of my duties there in exchange for service to the Maker. It was an education and a ticket out of Crestwood. I had no idea what I was signing up for.

[luaithre]

[ Barrow's hackles lower; Marcus' even regard across the desk fails to let up. Offers of clarity met with no particular give or relent, and midway through Barrow's explanation, he turns his focus back downwards to his page.

It is over the last few things he says, this picture of a child of simple origins hoping to find some form of material purpose without fully understanding where it might lead, that Marcus asks; ]

How well do you know Madame Fitcher?

[thereneverwas]

Fitcher?

[That's a name he wasn't expecting to hear, in this manner of conversation or otherwise, and Barrow is visibly confused by its invocation. What does she have to do with anything?]

We were close for a while, played cards sometimes. I s'pose we sort of fell out of touch. [He idly scratches the stubble on his cheek.] Why?

[luaithre]

Her recent actions implicate her in a long campaign of sabotage against Riftwatch,

[ almost tonelessly, but his focus on Barrow is needle-sharp. ]

When did you fall out of touch?

reanimates

[thereneverwas]

[The news settles on him in the same way a dark cloud would roll over docile countryside: gradual, silent, but unmistakably shifted.]

Her-- [he begins to say, but trails off, struggling to comprehend.] I-- suppose about... I don't know, a year or so ago?

...what has she done?

welcome

[luaithre]

I'm not at liberty to provide details.

[ —probably. Probably he wasn't at liberty to say much at all, but he sounds confident. ]

What happened a year or so ago?

Re: welcome

[thereneverwas]

[Huh. Somehow, this question is actually worse than the interrogation of his motives as a Templar; he leans back a little bit, scrubbing a hand down his face in anticipation of Unpleasantness.]

There was some, ah, confusion about the nature of our relationship, if I recall.

[He recalls better than he claims, on account of he's still confused about it.]

[luaithre]

[ An instinct for weakness means that Marcus can tell that this is a soft spot, available for clawing. But there is something so distinctively inoffensive about Barrow that this desire to watch a Templar squirm has lost, just a little, of its edge. The doubt that this man is truly a co-conspirator, despite Templar, despite Fitcher.

Still, here we are. He turns his hand, a prompt. ]

In short?

[thereneverwas]

[It occurs to Barrow that he might actually prefer to be back on that Venatori rack, getting all his joints re-fucked and his mind magicked to the Void and back, than to be here sharing his personal romantic failures with a man who visibly hates him. Maybe this is punishment for some cosmic sin that he hadn't even factored in, like cracking an egg on his sister's head when they were children, or for taking Fitcher to a restaurant he was confident was authentic Antivan and having to watch the light in her eyes die as he bumbled his way through a plate of perfectly serviceable spagetty, or however you call it--]

I may have perceived interest that wasn't there.

[One hand is curled awkwardly over his mouth, his posture having slouched somewhat since this leg of the conversation began.]

[luaithre]

[ Marcus lets that answer just hang there for a second, before he places pen back to paper. Little scratching sounds in the silence as he spells out the words perceived interest, ink sinking into parchment. ]

What was your last conversation with her, before now?

[thereneverwas]

[Having to think on this is a welcome respite from the current conversation, and Barrow falls silent for a long enough pause that, for a moment, it may seem like he's not going to answer. But eventually he stirs, his brow knit as he recalls.]

We played cards. Someone was getting married and most of Riftwatch had gone off for it.

[He idly runs one finger along his stubbled chin, his gaze distant.]

She told me her first name.

[luaithre]

[ To his credit, Marcus is only patient while Barrow falls silent, watching him across the desk and awaiting whatever interesting thing will be spoken. His brow twitches at what he gets, and he notes it down.

Hardly the picture of an accomplice, and even in all his ready paranoia, it's hard to think that Barrow is capable of painting this picture deliberately.

Still. There are so few people he can ask. He continues. ]

Did she know of your history, as a Templar?

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow rubs his temple. Has he always been this bad at making decisions, or did nice tits really skew his judgment that much?]

Ah... yes. I believe I did mention it to her. [Like a stupid oaf.]

[luaithre]

Before or after the incident with Felix Naegle? The Abomination we slew,

[ in case Barrow has forgotten his name. Marcus is sure he has not forgotten participating in its slaying. Marcus did not, remembering that odd, holy resolve cast from Barrow's epicentre. How his skin crawled. ]

[thereneverwas]

[To be certain, Barrow has not forgotten, but he falls silent a moment, eyes narrowed as he thinks on it.]

I'm afraid I don't recall. The timing of it, I mean. There was a lot going on, around then.

[luaithre]

[ There's another short silence, Marcus writing something down, but the silence persists afterwards. Minor frustration, and while it isn't out of affection for Barrow that Marcus doesn't direct it at him, it's kept mostly contained. Increasingly more certain he's not going to get anything he's looking for.

So it's with a hint of that frustration when he asks, ]

Did she ever say anything to you? Of the rebellion, or of the Chantry, the Order. Of mages.

[thereneverwas]

[Being on the older side as far as Templars go, and still very much taking the lyrium, Barrow is well aware that his memory isn't what it possibly should be even at his age; all the same, he tries, his eyes going distant for a long moment as he considers the question.
At a certain point, he furrows his brow, tilting his head slightly as a memory surfaces.]

Do you remember Leander?

[luaithre]

[ Marcus has patience for as long as Barrow sits and thinks, a silence waiting to be filled. When he speaks, Marcus nods, once. ]

[thereneverwas]

Funny little fellow, that one.

[He scratches his head, thinking back.]

That dream we all had, where everything was different. We were in the Frostbacks, he and I were having a chat-- he got killed. Shot through the face from behind.

[He shudders slightly, in spite of himself. He's seen plenty of people die, and gruesomely at that, but the suddenness of it sticks with him.]

She appeared, not long after. With her crossbow. It was just a dream, but. [He shrugs one shoulder.]

[luaithre]

[ There are minor tensions that form as soon as Barrow says the word 'dream', but otherwise focused forward. A stillness and silence as he listens that speaks to processing something complicated

before he dutifully sets this down onto his page. ]

And did she say anything to you then? Or on waking?

[ —asked while he writes elaborations, that simmer of frustration from before now gone. ]

[thereneverwas]

I asked her about it. She was very skilled at answering without answering.

[He looks a bit disturbed by the resurfacing of the memory,]

...in the dream, she'd said I made a good distraction.

[luaithre]

[ Well, at least he asked about it.

For this next part, a small tell, then, from Marcus while he writes, a subtle tic at his jaw and barest shake of his head that can only translate as: this bitch.

Another two seconds of pen scratches, before he says, ]

Thank you.

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow's relief at the sound of those two words is near-tangible, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders.]

That everything, then?

[Freedom. He can taste it.]

[luaithre]

[ Marcus looks down at his notes, evaluating them, mouth tightening in the corner with some amount of dissatisfaction, but to what specifically— ]

Aye, [ setting pen aside, and pages to dry. ]

But, [ the kind of intrusive qualifier spoken by a man who has in the past managed children desperate to also escape whatever lesson he's been imparting, and being made to sit still a little longer ] if there is more you can think of, with Fitcher, anything that seems suspicion now to you, I'd have you bring it to me.

[thereneverwas]

[Having been one such child once upon a time, Barrow casts an anxious glance back toward Marcus as he hefts out of his chair, but offers a solemn nod that communicates his understanding. He certainly has no intention of seeking out Enchanter Rowntree for any reason after today, so it's for the best that he doesn't have more information to give anyway.]

Righto, [he grunts, making his way toward the door. Time to go drink away whatever the fuck that was.]

crystal

[inkindled]

Serrah.

Commander Flint says you're to work shifts in the laundry. For the foreseeable future, he said.

[Very calm and matter-of-fact and not at all gleeful :) :) :) :) ]

[thereneverwas]

He—

[it takes him a moment for that statement to sink in.]

…what,

[inkindled]

It's what Commander Flint said, serrah.

[thereneverwas]

[Another pause, this time longer. Then,]

...fine.

[He could argue the origin of the fleas until the cows come home, or he could shut up and take his licks and they can all keep living their lives.
Maybe the steam will be good for his joints.]

[inkindled]

[Maybe that pause got him looking forward to an argument, but... Resigned acceptance is fairly satisfying. This is what Matthias settles on, after a brief moment of review.]

Good that you can take an order.

[And also this power thing is cool.]

As you were, then, serrah.

[thereneverwas]

[Oh, now it's something.]

Anything else I can do for you, milord? Shine your boots?

[inkindled]

No, thanks, I wouldn't trust you.

[thereneverwas]

[Well, he walked right into that one.]

Great.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

[Left in Barrow's box will be a small package containing half the bonus money given to Jude by Flint, along with a small honey cake and a note.]

Here's yours. :)

crystal

[thereneverwas]

You're a real one, mate. Didn't have to do that.

Re: crystal

[foolsmakeitcolder]

You made it fun.

[thereneverwas]

[He chuckles.]

Right back at you.

action;

[katabasis]

It's mid-afternoon and the ferry is late.

Potentially the ferryman, still on the Gallows side of the harbkr, had slipped their spyglass from their pocket and, noting only two figures waiting on the Kirkwall docks, had decided against braving the chop. They could wait, whoever they were, until the wind blew out and the way across became slightly less treacherous.

That certainly is the theory Flint has settled on. Stood on the rainy Kirkwall dock ferry slip next to Barrow, he lowers his own glass from his eye and blinks back the gathered raindrops that threaten to slip from his brow and into his eye. It's dumping, and the waxed hooded overcoat he's in only accomplishes so much.

Click, click. The spyglass collapses down and is tucked into his belt.

"We may as well find ourselves a drink," Flint says, turning from the roiling black surface of the harbor.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow looks an absolute menace in his oilskin, and it's no wonder he used to get hired out for thuggish purposes; with his friendly eyes obscured, he might as well be just another Lowtown tough.
But his smile is still visible-- and then immediately tempered-- when Flint not only speaks to him, but does so with overtures of ...maybe not friendship, but one might call it Time Spent.

"I know a place," Barrow offers, because he knows lots of places, each one scummier than the last. But at least it won't be Authentic Antivan.

[katabasis]

"All right," is about as ringing an endorsement as Riftwatch's Commander is likely to give.

With a flick of his coat's edge to draw the layers back in over themselves and an adjustment to the heavy lay of the waxed hood, Flint begins up the docks.

[thereneverwas]

Erring on the side of closer, but not so close that the place will be full of piss-drunk sailors, Barrow wends his way a street or so down to an establishment he knows decently well. It's not nice, per se, but it's dry, and a cursory glance around reveals that it isn't too crowded.

Flipping back his hood, Barrow shuffles toward the bar and glances back at Flint. "What'll you have?"

[katabasis]

Here, a pause as Flint rummages in his pocket, produces a punch of coins and hands them off to Barrow.

"Something cheap," is perfectly safe instruction in a place like this, where exactly that probably comes standard.

He offers no further guidance, leaving Barrow to it as he crosses further into the public house. Not crowded, no, and there's a fire going in the stove in the corner that's at least turning the wet air from miserable and wet to sticky and warm. Flint finds a narrow table not too far from it, sheds his dropping waxed coat, and drapes it at the end of the nearby row of hooks populated by similarly soggy garments.

By the time Barrow returns, Flint has made himself something like comfortable.

[thereneverwas]

Taking the coins with some reluctance-- look, he was going to buy it, but ok-- Barrow nods, turns back toward the bar, and orders them a couple of ales, as un-hideous as he can manage. He rests there on his elbows, humming idly to himself and pushing a coin around with his finger while the barkeep fills the order, then thanks him and brings the drinks to the table with Flint, where he sets them down and hangs up his own cloak.

Seating himself with a wince over his angry knees, Barrow falls silent a moment. Though he wants nothing more than to be the sort of fellow who's stupid and oblivious and therefore carefree, he recognizes Flint as something of a flighty animal, likely to take off running or strike out and attack if one comes on too strong, talks too much. Sometimes it's best to let him initiate conversation, if he's going to.
And if he's not, at least they're warm and relatively dry.

[katabasis]

As is typical for Lowtown public houses along the dock yards, there are no windows here save for the slits carved into the very front wall. There will be little telling when the rain decides to a ate, except for the comings and goings of the people at the door. If Flint has coincidentally set himself up on the six of the table that will. Be able to clock this

Well. Then so he has. The ale is presently more relevant. He takes a prompt drink off the top of the cup as Barrow settles himself, and either the drink is what he expects or he has no quarrel with mediocre booze for it fails to warrant either a lip curl or an approving nod. Yup, that's warm beer all right.

"How'd the ballista drilling go?"

Apparently they're going to have a conversation.

[thereneverwas]

"...well,"

Barrow stalls a moment, in part caught off-guard by the initiation of talk, but also finding it necessary to choose his words. He takes a sip of his own ale, thinking on it.

"Fine," he concludes, but casts a pensive glance toward Flint. "...though there are more Riftwatchers than I'm comfortable with who seemed surprised the ballistae might ever be needed."
He cocks an eyebrow, a tension in his face belying his restraint in speaking aloud the sort of comment that would get him yelled at on the crystal.

"Not sure everyone realizes we're fighting a war, Commander."

me clocking my 100 typos: jesus the era of phone tagging is truly over

[katabasis]

Flint doesn't laugh. As rumor would have it, it's possible that the concept is entirely foreign to him. But he does breath in a short, punctuating noise that falls somewhere between a grunt of assent and a scoff of disdain and maybe that's close enough to count if one is determined to find any shred of humor in the man. Barrow isn't wrong, seems to be the general sentiment. Indeed if Flint is at all surprised by the assessment, it seems to have more to do with the fact that it's been said aloud than it does with the facts of the thing.

He has himself another pull of warm ale, and then sets the cup aside.

"Riftwatch's ranks have shrunk considerably. The smaller our numbers, the more isolated we become from the heart of the conflict. I've little doubt that Granitefell has the look of bad luck, not inevitability."

the phone taggon' age

[thereneverwas]

Flint's reaction yields the tiniest of smirks from Barrow, in a sort of commiserating way rather than anything actually being funny.
He's mid-drink when Granitefell is invoked, and although his recovery is quick, there's a little cough that emanates from behind the tankard, which is swiftly pulled away, and Barrow's resulting posture is tense.

"Bad luck," he repeats hoarsely, still clearing the ale from his windpipe.

gdi cami

[katabasis]

Flint gives him a level look. His forefingers shifts away from the cup, a shrugging gesture reduced to the movement of a single digit.

"Obviously certain individuals may feel differently." Like maybe certain Fereldan ex-Templars who narrowly avoided being corpses by a freak conjuration of blood magic. "To say nothing of the fact that the broad perception of the thing has little bearing on the reality of it. But if the bulk of the company were truly concerned for their security, Yseult and I would presently be discussing how to challenge the impulse toward desertion."

(Which he knows because they did.)

"I'm not surprised you found them difficult to motivate."

I've never done anything wrong in my life

[thereneverwas]

Even if he didn't have Barrow's full attention before, Flint certainly has it now, in a sort of hangdog way as Barrow cures his cough by way of more warm ale. If nothing else, it covers up the lapse in dignity. Or is supposed to.

"What's the solution, then?" he says, clearing his throat once more as he sets his mug down, composure regained, "let them all learn the hard way when we're overrun and have done nothing to stop it? Have Rowntree terrify them into submission? Fake an attack on the Gallows?"

[katabasis]

"Hope and pray Tevinter doesn't get this far is a good place to start."

It's bone dry, but there's something like a snip of humor lurking very low behind the eyes. He's being serious; but also, he realizes it's a shitheel kind of answer to a perfectly legitimate point.

So, less so:

"You can't make them smart. You can only make them ready. So forget trying to get anyone to take it seriously. Make a game of it, if you have to. If they don't find defending themselves from the Venatori compelling, put them in competition with one another instead.

"Frankly," he says, nipping a drink from his cup. "Having everyone in the company lying awake in their beds at night contemplating the semantics of being overrun will only exhaust the company. Better to do that thinking for them."

A significant look and a tilt of the cup in Barrow's direction almost looks like affirmation. Being the most concerned person in the room is a sign he's doing his job.

[thereneverwas]

Flint's look toward Barrow is the thing that stops him spiraling as he looks hopelessly out at the dingy room, letting the Commander's words sink in. This is, he grudgingly acknowledges, precisely the reason he has never sought out a leadership position before. Who the fuck is going to listen to him, anyway.

But Flint is acknowledging him, he sees that. And he gives a reluctant nod in return, raising his mug with a sarcasm imbued in the motion, as if he knows how foolish this all is but is doing it anyway.

"I'll have a think on it," he murmurs, "thanks, Commander." He means it.

[katabasis]

Presumably Flint's low Mm hummed across the lip of his cup stands in for 'You're welcome.' It is only half swallowed by his taking a nip of lukewarm ale. For just the barest moment afterward, it seems as if silence might lapse in over their corner of this crowded public house—this exchange already being somewhat more substantial than a simple question might have called for.

But:

"If you run into trouble, we can discuss it. It's not work that comes naturally to all men."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow is fully resigned to the conversation being over, so it's a pleasant surprise when Flint speaks up again-- and it yields a touched, perhaps even flattered smile that quickly turns self-effacing.

"'s not that it doesn't come natural, Commander," he intones with a shrug and a sip from his own ale, "or-- well, not that it does, either. The trouble lies in half the company still seeming to think I'm out to lock them out, or turn them over to the Chantry."

[katabasis]

This elicits a snort from the man across the table—a certain curling of the lip and a wrinkling of the nose. It is a brief, but blatant flash of something very like impatience and shockingly candid in its shape for a man who is so thoroughly opaque for so many hours of the day.

He raises his cup, saying,

"Unfortunately, there would seem to be little means by which to cross that particular gap."

And takes a brisk sip of lukewarm ale. This southern mage business is a shit show.

[thereneverwas]

Although Barrow's face remains pleasantly impassive, the Commander's reaction is carefully filed away to be considered more deeply later. It's not that it's rare to find someone with such an view, especially among the native Thedosians, but for Flint to be demonstrating a genuine opinion at all is novel in itself.

"Dunno," Barrow muses, after letting the silence draw between them for a while, "maybe someday." He sips at his own ale, his gaze drifting over the muggy tavern, "...and in the meantime, maybe I'll tell them the most devoted students can vote on who to launch into the harbor."

[katabasis]

"Small pleasures," sounds vaguely like approval. Sure. That would probably do it too.

To a similar end, Flint drains what remains of his cup's contents and sets the tankard aside. The point of his attention swivels back toward the door, searching out the latest individual to have come through it for the purpose of sussing out how soaking wet they are.

Left in his cubby hole:

[sprent]

(A set of good leather working gloves, nicely made and dark-brown. There is a tiny note left inside one of them.)

Sir Barrow,
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the way that I behaved at your trebuchet lessons. My behaviour was unbecoming, and I hope I did not ruin that afternoon's lesson for you and the other students. Should I come back another time to relearn what I missed, once I am feeling better? Let me know.

Love from,
Gela

action;

[extortionate]

He's in Barrow's bed.

There's a perfectly good, empty one right around the edge of that screen. Only, no one's dressed it up all nice with clean blankets and tucked corners. It's a little further from the fire. It's clearly not meant for human habitation -

So obviously, he took this one. Boots on and slung over the end, a cat burrowing determinedly into his armpit. He's fast asleep. Honk shoo, mi mi mi.

[thereneverwas]

A few of the other cats have taken up residence on the opposing bed, where they sit with their feet and tails tucked neatly under them, keeping stiff and steady watch as though their gaze can pierce through the screen. One of them chirps a greeting as Barrow enters, but his attention is on the rather larger presence, who elicits a deep and bone-weary sigh.

"HELLO, LAZAR," he booms, tossing his bag to the floor with an unceremonious clatter, "MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE."

[extortionate]

A cautious man would wake at the first loud noise: When you aim to survive, it pays to be quick from dreams. A clever man would argue that it's the quiet noises that are the problem right now, that any problems loud enough to hear are clumsy enough to handle.

Lazar isn't either of those things. What he is, is lazy. An answering groan rumbles loose from Barrow's pillow (yeah his face is just all mashed up in there), one bleary eye winching onto the bag.

"What you got there? Bowling balls?"

Out of fashion right now. Difficult to pawn. Maybe he'll go back to sleep -

[thereneverwas]

"Why don't you catch it and find out," Barrow grunts, moving through the room with a nudge of his toe to the bag, which he has no intention of picking up again-- it was enough lugging it up all those stairs, with or without bowling balls inside.

He comes to rest with his back to the windowsill beside his bed, arms folded as he regards Lazar wearily from above.

"What's got you back here? Finally get kicked out of wherever you went?"

[extortionate]

"Wife's a bit worked up," A hand flutters up just enough to prove that it's whatever, settles heavily onto the cat's twitching haunch. "So I figure: Give her a little space - do a little good. Win-win."

He yawns.

"Surprised you stuck around."

[thereneverwas]

“Imagine,” Barrow grunts, offering no further commentary on Lazar’s relationship (he has a wife?? Maker), “why’s that?”

Why the surprise, that is.

[extortionate]

A wife, and don't get any ideas, Barrow.

"Well,"

Older means slower - but Lazar knows better than to go there. If Barrow was gonna die like that, would've done it already. - Older means don't get yourself fucked up by him, it'll be embarrassing.

"Reckoned you might've closed the deal on one of them Hightown broads by now."

[thereneverwas]

The scoff that this elicits does contain sincere amusement, but just as much incredulity.

"Hightown," Barrow repeats, shifting his weight unconsciously as a cat leaps from the windowsill to his shoulders, "your opinion of me's higher than I thought."

[extortionate]

"There's plenty of them get bored, start taking in strays," He finally huffs up to his elbows, displacing the armpit wriggler. Lazar spins a finger: "Wrap 'em up in sweaters. Hell, you could have hot milk, twice a day -"

[thereneverwas]

Barrow's expression lightens a bit as he considers, and eventually dismisses the thought with a shrug.

"Too many stairs."

[extortionate]

"Too many here already. They oughta move this place somewhere flat."

[thereneverwas]

Lazar is right, and that's upsetting.

"We can move people through eluvians," he muses, "maybe, if we combine all the eluvians, we could move our base to... I don't know. The Hissing Wastes. Nice and dry there."

He is, however slowly, warming to the presence of his erstwhile-erstwhile roommate. Except,

"That's my bed, by the way."

[extortionate]

There's a face that Lazar can make. It's even worked before - alright, sometimes, occasionally; less often than he'd like and almost exclusively with women of a certain age.

But he's making it.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow may be of a certain age, but sadly he's not a woman.

"Up," he grunts, jerking his thumb back toward the other bed.

[extortionate]

When you're being mean to him, this is who you're being mean to -

A thirty-five year old man who groans out of Barrow's bed like he's twelve, and toward the hall. Someone probably left their blankets behind when they vanished into a Rift. Or just didn't lock their door.

He'll be back, unfortunately. Eventually.

casual conversation;

[extortionate]

That kid shit, [ idly, somewhere between the crossroads and orlais ] You know how to fight like that before the Chantry?

[thereneverwas]

Mm? [It takes him a moment to remember, then he shrugs idly:] aye, yeah, didn't take long to suss out I was bigger than the other lads back home. Mostly playing, you know.

[extortionate]

'S not just size there. You got a knack for it, reckon that's why they shipped you off?

[thereneverwas]

Barrow snorts.

"Nobody shipped me off, mate. I couldn't wait to leave."

[extortionate]

"Hell, you too? Ma used to tell us if we didn't quit it right now, she'd write the Sisters to steal us off."

He spits.

"Sure kept hoping."

[thereneverwas]

This yields a quiet chuckle, and Barrow shakes his head at the mental image: it's easy enough to picture, especially based on what he witnessed in the Crossroads.

"It was either stay and tend the farm, or go off in Andraste's service," he explains, "don't think anything else would've been excuse enough. My sister and her husband took it over, at least.

[extortionate]

Married with land. Just filing that one away -

"I got this recurring nightmare that someone shows up here with a shitload of goats," Hands splayed to indicate the size of this caprine problem. "Says, we need Riftwatch on farm duty,"

[thereneverwas]

"Better goats than pigs." Barrow shrugs a shoulder.

"...and better pigs than chickens, truth be told."

[extortionate]

A shudder at the mention of pigs -

"Must be why y'get kids. Smells worse for a bit, but after that it's their problem."

crystal.

[portalling]

( Straightforward, matter-of-fact, definitely with his metaphorical Head Healer hat on today: )

This is Obeisance Barrow, yes? I know we’re not very well-acquainted, but I’ve a matter to discuss whenever you have a moment. Somewhat delicate and medical in nature.

( The opening message is a little stiff and stilted. )

[thereneverwas]

Just Barrow, [is spoken reflexively, but quickly gives way to a sort of cautious curiosity.]

I-- all right, though if it's medical I may not be of all that much use.

this is a convo about fantasy drugs sry

[portalling]

( A small, amused huff of breath. )

No, I’ve got that part covered, don’t worry. And Barrow it is.

It’s about your lyrium regimen. I’m speaking to all the templars about it. I understand if this is personal, but as Head Healer, I was hoping you could tell me what sort of dosage and frequency you’re on. For your own safety, I want to ensure that we’d be able to maintain even if there’s a shortage, or if you’re incapacitated and unable to administer it yourself for whatever reason. The last thing we need is for our templars to be knocked out of commission because no one else knew to look after their lyrium needs.

( And frankly he thinks it’s ridiculous that this is a religious thing and not a healthcare thing, but let’s not get into that can of worms just now— )

[thereneverwas]

Ahhh, aha.

[That makes sense, and isn't especially offensive at that.]

Well that's-- kind of you, [he muses, even if it's established that it's also just necessary for the war effort.] Records might be a bit sketchy since I got it, uh, externally for a time, [all very above board and legal of course], but since Riftwatch started supplying its own it's been about [enough to power a medium-sized horse] every week.

[what's the point in lying? there isn't one, not anymore.]

[portalling]

( There’s a flicker of relief at the honesty, and the answering scratch of quill on paper. The doctor’s taking notes, in some kind of horrible chickenscratch hieroglyph, but they are notes. )

Excellent, thank you. This’ll go into your care file, but rest assured it’s under lock and key and only for healers to look at. It’s all part and parcel of getting the infirmary records up-to-date—

( Actually maybe this is a good time to get the rest of it, too. )

While we’re at it. Do you have any deathly allergies one should be aware of? Shellfish or tree nuts or anything?

[thereneverwas]

Sure, sure. [The sound of someone who isn't especially bothered: he's already literally died once, what's the worst that can happen?]

Ah..... no.

[Is 'allergies' a thing? It must be.]

If you've got anything that'll help with the rheumatism, though, that'd be. Something.

[portalling]

( That’s unexpectedly familiar, but— all his first thoughts are of medication, surgery, all the things he can’t do here. So Strange has to go puttering around for a moment, digging through some reference material on local anti-inflammatories, dredging for ideas. )

Hmm. Nothing that can cure it fully, unfortunately, but there’s a few things that can help, if you haven’t been doing them already. Turmeric and fish oil, for the inflammation. Painkillers in general. Physical therapy and exercises for joint flexibility.

Quitting smoking, if you smoke.

[thereneverwas]

Smoking? Fuck, really?

[One gets the impression he said this instead of “NOOO”.]

[portalling]

( rifter agenda ACTIVATES )

Sorry to say. It’s astonishingly bad for you; like makes literally everything worse, in unexpected ways, everywhere. Quitting’s probably one of the single best things you could do for your health.

[thereneverwas]

Now you’re just trying to hurt me.

[(-NOOOOO)]

[portalling]

I’m afraid not.

But if it makes you feel any better, plenty of doctors are hypocrites and smoke anyway, so, I can’t force you. And to tell the truth, I’m more preoccupied with the part about managing the lyrium.

[thereneverwas]

Well, [SIGH,] all right.

[He's getting over it quickly.]

Appreciate it, mate.

[portalling]

You’re welcome, ( … what goes here ) bud?

( ‘Bud’ feels weird. Why did he say that. )

[thereneverwas]

[There's a pause on the line, like Barrow is trying to figure out how to respond to that, and he ultimately gives up. Let's just. Let's just leave that there.

No wonder the man's name is Strange.]