Richard Dickerson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nonvenomous) wrote2034-10-19 09:51 am
nonvenomous) wrote2034-10-19 09:51 am
Inbox - Fade Rift
Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.
Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.
There, there. Richard pats his left hand over the back of her bloodless right, and also uses it to assist in gently (wincingly) prying it off whatever crunched cartilage and bone remains of his half of the shake.
“If she does, she'll let you know,” he tells her, and stands to lead the way to the door, on the subject of sunny rock indulgence.
“Should you have any questions, you know how to find me.”
“If she does, she'll let you know,” he tells her, and stands to lead the way to the door, on the subject of sunny rock indulgence.
“Should you have any questions, you know how to find me.”
"What magic?"
Blithely as though Richard were a carpenter. His eyes shut comically, before reopening. As far as the Chantry's concerned, any Rifter is already a lost cause — but no point to voicing that. There are degrees to these things, and he hasn’t struck him as dumb.
"Mending the wood may be enough. I think it at least worth the trial."
Sentiment. His head tips aside, considering. It’s a pleasant thing, to hold a secret; it looks, upon occasion, something like an upper hand. Better it not, just now. An offer of his own:
"Would you like to see something careless?"
An exchange.
Blithely as though Richard were a carpenter. His eyes shut comically, before reopening. As far as the Chantry's concerned, any Rifter is already a lost cause — but no point to voicing that. There are degrees to these things, and he hasn’t struck him as dumb.
"Mending the wood may be enough. I think it at least worth the trial."
Sentiment. His head tips aside, considering. It’s a pleasant thing, to hold a secret; it looks, upon occasion, something like an upper hand. Better it not, just now. An offer of his own:
"Would you like to see something careless?"
An exchange.
"I haven't been able to figure it out," Ellis admits, tossing one unnaturally bent limb across the garden towards the discard pile. "Every time I think I've found the last of them, another crops up."
Just par for the course with Wysteria's house. Ellis straightens up, stretches until his back cracks. His sleeves are rolled up. The laces at his tunic are undone. He's been at this for some time today.
"You look nice," Ellis observes, then offers what he clearly thinks is a reassurance, "I'll do most of the heavy lifting. I just need someone to hold things in place."
And here's Richard, just the person for the job.
Just par for the course with Wysteria's house. Ellis straightens up, stretches until his back cracks. His sleeves are rolled up. The laces at his tunic are undone. He's been at this for some time today.
"You look nice," Ellis observes, then offers what he clearly thinks is a reassurance, "I'll do most of the heavy lifting. I just need someone to hold things in place."
And here's Richard, just the person for the job.
As if possessed by the spirit of a rigid stick jammed somewhere delicate, Wysteria rises from her seat and allows herself to be lead toward to the door. Once across the threshold and out into the corridor beyond, she manages to say (to weakly insist), "A week or two. And then I will return her."
Presumably more heartfelt expressions of gratitude and enthusiasm for their newfound partnership will have to wait.
Presumably more heartfelt expressions of gratitude and enthusiasm for their newfound partnership will have to wait.
Richard turns his head to follow the arc of the discarded limb in flight. It rocks to rest in the pile, and he fixes back on Ellis, only to pause mid-sleeve roll, still out of his element, teetering uneasily on the cusp of suspicion.
“Thank you,” he says. “So do you.”
He doesn't glance down to undone tunic laces. That would be weird. He looks at the broken statue instead, because it's there.
What a normal exchange. Well done to everyone involved. He finishes rolling, and nods again, this time at Ellis’ assurance that he hasn’t been called here with the expectation that he’ll be effective as heavy labor. Or as a joke.
“Are these chickens for eggs or chickens for science?”
“Thank you,” he says. “So do you.”
He doesn't glance down to undone tunic laces. That would be weird. He looks at the broken statue instead, because it's there.
What a normal exchange. Well done to everyone involved. He finishes rolling, and nods again, this time at Ellis’ assurance that he hasn’t been called here with the expectation that he’ll be effective as heavy labor. Or as a joke.
“Are these chickens for eggs or chickens for science?”
An important note for the audience: this isn't Fabio levels of unlaced.
The question is actually fair. Ellis is going to have to make the case for chickens at some point, whenever he actually procures chickens or whenever Wysteria notices the coop, whichever comes first.
"Eggs," Ellis says decisively, before amending, "And they'll be good for the garden."
He steps around the roll of mesh, moving over to Richard to indicate the corner of the garden.
"We'll put it in that corner. Her neighbors on the left are less irritable than the ones on the right."
As if the chicken coop is going to be the tipping point and not the minor chemical fires.
The question is actually fair. Ellis is going to have to make the case for chickens at some point, whenever he actually procures chickens or whenever Wysteria notices the coop, whichever comes first.
"Eggs," Ellis says decisively, before amending, "And they'll be good for the garden."
He steps around the roll of mesh, moving over to Richard to indicate the corner of the garden.
"We'll put it in that corner. Her neighbors on the left are less irritable than the ones on the right."
As if the chicken coop is going to be the tipping point and not the minor chemical fires.
Edited 2020-08-21 04:00 (UTC)
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/prHMXHqUVaU/maxresdefault.jpg is fabio
nonvenomous
2020-08-21 07:21 am (UTC)(link)
Oh yes, that corner-shaped corner in the corner. Chicken coops go in corners. Richard furrows his brows, arms akimbo. At the surface, at least, he looks he could be an authority on just about anything, including coop placement. The vest helps.
“It looks -- suitable.”
???
He stoops to move his satchel off the mesh, carrying it to rest at the back door. Or the side door. Whichever one it is they keep sending him to that isn’t the front door, for some reason.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“It looks -- suitable.”
???
He stoops to move his satchel off the mesh, carrying it to rest at the back door. Or the side door. Whichever one it is they keep sending him to that isn’t the front door, for some reason.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
For the first time, Richard crooks a smile at her across the threshold, knowing, sidelong, keenly aware of what he has done.
He closes the door between them.
Bye-eee.
He closes the door between them.
Bye-eee.
"I've the base together already," Ellis says, though he doesn't kid himself that Richard is invested in the process. "And everything's mostly cut to size. It's a matter of hammering it together."
He claps Richard on the shoulder as he passes, hefting the base from where he'd left it leaning against the side of the house. It's heavy, and ungainly, but he promised Richard would be spared the heavy lifting so—
"Can you pull that mesh aside for me? Lean it up against the gate?"
He claps Richard on the shoulder as he passes, hefting the base from where he'd left it leaning against the side of the house. It's heavy, and ungainly, but he promised Richard would be spared the heavy lifting so—
"Can you pull that mesh aside for me? Lean it up against the gate?"
Who knows. This could be useful information to have, if he ever has to pass as a chicken coop salesman, or if the world fully does end and everyone has to raise their own chickens and sow their own gardens.
Dick is still peering deep into this chosen corner and the deep unbidden dread of the unknown it stirs in him when Ellis claps him on the shoulder. He returns to the present as easy as that, one hand scuffed under his nose, the other still at his hip. He nods, also.
This is just helping, and helping is easy.
With care taken not to snag his vest, he tips up and maneuvers the roll over as directed, end over end. Picking it up and lugging it over would probably have been faster.
“Is this something you’ve done before?”
Dick is still peering deep into this chosen corner and the deep unbidden dread of the unknown it stirs in him when Ellis claps him on the shoulder. He returns to the present as easy as that, one hand scuffed under his nose, the other still at his hip. He nods, also.
This is just helping, and helping is easy.
With care taken not to snag his vest, he tips up and maneuvers the roll over as directed, end over end. Picking it up and lugging it over would probably have been faster.
“Is this something you’ve done before?”
“Mm.”
What magic.
It’s both the ideal sentiment and thin reassurance -- Dick’s dry approval of how naturally it comes across isn’t quite enough to let off the tension pinned up stiff behind his ears. Then again, even his wardrobe is severe. This might just be the way that he is.
“If you’ll show it to me,” is certainly the answer of a man who is accustomed to having his hopes, dreams and lunch money stripped from him and dangled just out of his reach.
He is very still while he waits, interest keen with suspicion.
What magic.
It’s both the ideal sentiment and thin reassurance -- Dick’s dry approval of how naturally it comes across isn’t quite enough to let off the tension pinned up stiff behind his ears. Then again, even his wardrobe is severe. This might just be the way that he is.
“If you’ll show it to me,” is certainly the answer of a man who is accustomed to having his hopes, dreams and lunch money stripped from him and dangled just out of his reach.
He is very still while he waits, interest keen with suspicion.
"Hold on, then."
He comes up at last with an apple: Small and red, and unremarkable. Look, Says the flourish of his hand, Dinner and a show.
For a moment, nothing much happens. Another, and his fingers shift, dig into flesh. It's soft. Juice bursts mealy upon his palm, and the air tastes briefly of nectar; a cider tang. The apple-skin bruises — brown-purple-black — freckles into new rot. Something's gone off. Sour, cadaverous.
Isaac's fist closes about the shriveled mass. White fur sprouts from between the line of his knuckles, collapses in that last squelch of rancid pulp. If one of them will make a secret of mending, well,
"There's a handkerchief on the bench."
Please and thank you.
He comes up at last with an apple: Small and red, and unremarkable. Look, Says the flourish of his hand, Dinner and a show.
For a moment, nothing much happens. Another, and his fingers shift, dig into flesh. It's soft. Juice bursts mealy upon his palm, and the air tastes briefly of nectar; a cider tang. The apple-skin bruises — brown-purple-black — freckles into new rot. Something's gone off. Sour, cadaverous.
Isaac's fist closes about the shriveled mass. White fur sprouts from between the line of his knuckles, collapses in that last squelch of rancid pulp. If one of them will make a secret of mending, well,
"There's a handkerchief on the bench."
Please and thank you.
dick https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/000/250/493/d16.jpg dickerson
nonvenomous
2020-08-24 05:25 pm (UTC)(link)
The initial tang of cider rot that prickles the air pulls a swallow out of him, followed by a clearing of his throat; he otherwise watches with the same kind of wary attention demonstrating the slice of a freshly-sharpened knife through the same apple would warrant.
Context clues are telling enough that this is a no-no. Richard looks up to Isaac from his pulpy hand to acknowledge his handkerchief want with an of course nod and a is something wrong with your legs/why don’t you get your own handkerchief/Richard will remember this glance. It’s a glance given as he turns, with just enough pause for clots of mouldy pulp to start dripping if Isaac doesn’t get both of his hands involved to stop it.
Petty.
“Are apples especially sacred to the Chantry?”
Kerchief retrieved, he offers it out with a flick.
Context clues are telling enough that this is a no-no. Richard looks up to Isaac from his pulpy hand to acknowledge his handkerchief want with an of course nod and a is something wrong with your legs/why don’t you get your own handkerchief/Richard will remember this glance. It’s a glance given as he turns, with just enough pause for clots of mouldy pulp to start dripping if Isaac doesn’t get both of his hands involved to stop it.
Petty.
“Are apples especially sacred to the Chantry?”
Kerchief retrieved, he offers it out with a flick.
"Yes, but it's been some time."
There is some measure of trust here, a small piece of a long-dead history handed off to Richard. Maybe Ellis should tell him it doesn't much matter; who cares to know what a dead man once occupied his time with?
The base of the coop fits neatly into the corner. Ellis scuffs a foot in the dirt beside it thoughtfully, thinking of trees.
"It seems I still have a knack for it," Ellis continues, before beckoning Richard over. "Stand in the middle of the base. Here. We can get the back wall in place before I hammer down the mesh."
His tone is patient. Richard is doing him a favor. The alternative is dragging Fitz out of the library, and Ellis doesn't quite trust him or Tony not to make the coop more complex than it needs to be.
There is some measure of trust here, a small piece of a long-dead history handed off to Richard. Maybe Ellis should tell him it doesn't much matter; who cares to know what a dead man once occupied his time with?
The base of the coop fits neatly into the corner. Ellis scuffs a foot in the dirt beside it thoughtfully, thinking of trees.
"It seems I still have a knack for it," Ellis continues, before beckoning Richard over. "Stand in the middle of the base. Here. We can get the back wall in place before I hammer down the mesh."
His tone is patient. Richard is doing him a favor. The alternative is dragging Fitz out of the library, and Ellis doesn't quite trust him or Tony not to make the coop more complex than it needs to be.
Richard doesn’t seem to register the significance of receiving an answer. It was an honest question, in that it is the kind of thing a person asks when they’re high-stepping awkwardly around the disembodied components of a chicken coop.
It might occur to him later.
For now, he is well and truly occupied with getting himself into the middle of the base without treading on an exposed nail or cracking any wood.
“I’ve never kept an animal.”
Or built anything sturdier than a tent. This goes without saying. So much so that his next question is inevitable.
“Aren’t there others who live here?”
Where are they and why aren’t they helping?
It might occur to him later.
For now, he is well and truly occupied with getting himself into the middle of the base without treading on an exposed nail or cracking any wood.
“I’ve never kept an animal.”
Or built anything sturdier than a tent. This goes without saying. So much so that his next question is inevitable.
“Aren’t there others who live here?”
Where are they and why aren’t they helping?
"They would, if I asked," Ellis says, very generously. "But you've met Wysteria and Tony, I assume?"
Surely Richard can divine the danger in asking either of them to ask with a relatively simple task. There's a pause while Ellis levers the first panel into place, crouches to line up the first nail.
"And Fitz is busy with the library."
The war over how to catalog the books rages on, which is potentially what's driven Ellis into the garden rather than insert himself into the middle of a debate over which form of organization is best when he is familiar with neither.
"Hold it steady, if you don't mind."
Surely Richard can divine the danger in asking either of them to ask with a relatively simple task. There's a pause while Ellis levers the first panel into place, crouches to line up the first nail.
"And Fitz is busy with the library."
The war over how to catalog the books rages on, which is potentially what's driven Ellis into the garden rather than insert himself into the middle of a debate over which form of organization is best when he is familiar with neither.
"Hold it steady, if you don't mind."
“Mm,” after a pause sounds like fair point.
He has met them.
Richard flattens his hands to the panel to hold it steady, and continues to do so as directed without comment or complaint, past clarifications about where exactly, to grip, or at what angle. It’s neither the dirtiest job he’s done, or the most boring.
There’s purpose to it.
When he falls into a more concentrated silence, it has more to do with slotting comfortably into drone work than it does disinterest or distraction.
He has met them.
Richard flattens his hands to the panel to hold it steady, and continues to do so as directed without comment or complaint, past clarifications about where exactly, to grip, or at what angle. It’s neither the dirtiest job he’s done, or the most boring.
There’s purpose to it.
When he falls into a more concentrated silence, it has more to do with slotting comfortably into drone work than it does disinterest or distraction.
It's companionable, working quietly together. Richard isn't practiced, the way Ellis' father and neighbors had been once, but he's focused. And he's a good sport, as Ellis is aware this is probably not how Richard would choose to spend an afternoon.
And the final result is neatly assembled, sturdy. After a coat of paint, it'll be a fine home for whatever chickens he can scrounge up.
"Thank you," he says, as he watches Richard line up the ramp. "Next time I have to carry luggage into the guest rooms at the Gallows I know who I can ask."
Big news for Richard, now considered reliable.
And the final result is neatly assembled, sturdy. After a coat of paint, it'll be a fine home for whatever chickens he can scrounge up.
"Thank you," he says, as he watches Richard line up the ramp. "Next time I have to carry luggage into the guest rooms at the Gallows I know who I can ask."
Big news for Richard, now considered reliable.
It is true that Richard would not elect on his own to spend the entirety of an afternoon building a house for chickens. It is also true that if he did have some other plan established for himself, it was very likely along the lines of sampling something he brought back from the jungle and spending the remainder of his waking hours drooling on himself at his desk.
“You’re welcome,” he waits to say, until everything is aligned and he is creakily stood back up straight. Bones pop at the base of his neck and the butt of his spine. Sweat has seeped dark through his temples and under his arms, in spite of the lack of ‘heavy lifting,’ as it’s defined by Ellis the Warden.
“Please feel free to call upon any other able-bodied denizen of Riftwatch.”
“You’re welcome,” he waits to say, until everything is aligned and he is creakily stood back up straight. Bones pop at the base of his neck and the butt of his spine. Sweat has seeped dark through his temples and under his arms, in spite of the lack of ‘heavy lifting,’ as it’s defined by Ellis the Warden.
“Please feel free to call upon any other able-bodied denizen of Riftwatch.”
"I hope not. We only burned Andraste, imagine if they’d shoved her in a pie."
Isaac lifts his fist to inspect. Sticky fruit dribbles to soak his sleeve, spatters the wood below. The slant of his chin, waiting for Richard, isn't unamused — it stays him a further moment, before at last reaching for the kerchief.
There are some things that you excuse after you’ve done them. This little secret wouldn’t mean a pyre, nothing like the others he keeps; but even Ilias’ work draws the wrong sort of attention. When people write of witches, they write of withered things.
"But I don’t imagine they’d look kindly for the waste." He works the clot first from stubby nails, then down his arm, to the desk at last. The apple’s corpse lies half-crushed upon cloth. "For all faith, some things can’t be remade."
In an image, or the palm of a hand.
Isaac lifts his fist to inspect. Sticky fruit dribbles to soak his sleeve, spatters the wood below. The slant of his chin, waiting for Richard, isn't unamused — it stays him a further moment, before at last reaching for the kerchief.
There are some things that you excuse after you’ve done them. This little secret wouldn’t mean a pyre, nothing like the others he keeps; but even Ilias’ work draws the wrong sort of attention. When people write of witches, they write of withered things.
"But I don’t imagine they’d look kindly for the waste." He works the clot first from stubby nails, then down his arm, to the desk at last. The apple’s corpse lies half-crushed upon cloth. "For all faith, some things can’t be remade."
In an image, or the palm of a hand.
"I could, but I'd enjoy the company less."
A compliment, surely.
There's still minor things to be done, but most of it can wait. The chicks aren't in residence yet, so there's time. Ellis scrubs his palms on his tunic, having given it mostly up for lost. It'll be bound for the laundress.
"I feel as if I should offer you help with something. This has taken up a fair amount of your time."
Richard has been a good sport. That should count for something.
A compliment, surely.
There's still minor things to be done, but most of it can wait. The chicks aren't in residence yet, so there's time. Ellis scrubs his palms on his tunic, having given it mostly up for lost. It'll be bound for the laundress.
"I feel as if I should offer you help with something. This has taken up a fair amount of your time."
Richard has been a good sport. That should count for something.
A Compliment.
Richard arches a brow, tired, sidelong, still skeptical to his core.
But as offers go, the one that follows is well-timed, given how recently the subject of significant favors was raised in Dick Dickerson’s thoughts. Normal people, when faced with such a proposition, will take a moment to think, if they don’t dismiss the sentiment out of hand.
“Will you agree to saw my hand off in the event the chantry calls for the capture or execution of rifters?”
Richard asks, plainly, and shows the hand in question, palm out to expose the splinter of otherworldly green embedded in the heel. It’s quite not as filthy as Ellis’ paw, but he has hand prints of his own he'll have to contend with, once he’s back at the Gallows.
Richard arches a brow, tired, sidelong, still skeptical to his core.
But as offers go, the one that follows is well-timed, given how recently the subject of significant favors was raised in Dick Dickerson’s thoughts. Normal people, when faced with such a proposition, will take a moment to think, if they don’t dismiss the sentiment out of hand.
“Will you agree to saw my hand off in the event the chantry calls for the capture or execution of rifters?”
Richard asks, plainly, and shows the hand in question, palm out to expose the splinter of otherworldly green embedded in the heel. It’s quite not as filthy as Ellis’ paw, but he has hand prints of his own he'll have to contend with, once he’s back at the Gallows.
It would be impolite to ask how well it scales to human beings.
Left with idle hands while Isaac cleans himself up, Dick watches at the same quiet distance as before, his interest prickled coarse with the implications. As magics go, this one does not seem alarming to him, or even unfamiliar.
Just a little intimidating in a closed office with a stranger. That’s all.
“Is the vitality channeled elsewhere or simply destroyed?”
Left with idle hands while Isaac cleans himself up, Dick watches at the same quiet distance as before, his interest prickled coarse with the implications. As magics go, this one does not seem alarming to him, or even unfamiliar.
Just a little intimidating in a closed office with a stranger. That’s all.
“Is the vitality channeled elsewhere or simply destroyed?”
me googling arguments about spontaneous generation in the 1700s like i did this to myself
wythersake
2020-08-27 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)
It's a good question. It's as clearly one he didn't expect to be asked. Isaac considers,
"Encouraged, is how I've always thought of it." Thought is its own shape, within magic. "But transfer is perhaps more accurate. There must be a tipping point. To which each of us, our life belongs elsewhere."
Something levels in the pitch of his brows, less performative. It would be easy to mistake for discomfort. A moment passes, is shrugged off. Light:
"If it's wet enough, you get mushrooms."
"Encouraged, is how I've always thought of it." Thought is its own shape, within magic. "But transfer is perhaps more accurate. There must be a tipping point. To which each of us, our life belongs elsewhere."
Something levels in the pitch of his brows, less performative. It would be easy to mistake for discomfort. A moment passes, is shrugged off. Light:
"If it's wet enough, you get mushrooms."
‘Encouraged.’
Richard nods his understanding, half to Isaac, and half to himself. Practice keeps him from glancing away as he does it, his skepticism banished to a sliver of a delay in processing. When Rah-shak halves a gnoll’s skull with her axe, is she encouraging its brain to leave its case?
It doesn’t matter, he just has to make it out of this room without being turned into a moist bed for fungi.
“I’ve heard hill giants can have that problem.”
Jock itch on a massive scale. Anyway --
“Your staff,” he reminds.
Richard nods his understanding, half to Isaac, and half to himself. Practice keeps him from glancing away as he does it, his skepticism banished to a sliver of a delay in processing. When Rah-shak halves a gnoll’s skull with her axe, is she encouraging its brain to leave its case?
It doesn’t matter, he just has to make it out of this room without being turned into a moist bed for fungi.
“I’ve heard hill giants can have that problem.”
Jock itch on a massive scale. Anyway --
“Your staff,” he reminds.
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