Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.

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[venenifer]

[The hour is exceptionally late when there is a quiet tap at the door of Mage Tower 4F RA.]

[nonvenomous]

[ An optimistic man would have candles burning. Incense, perhaps.

Richard is slow to answer because he has to drag himself out of bed. Upon Loxley’s cot, a nug in a crate huddles shivering in the dark; he slouches to check on her first, squinting at clean hay for any trace of passed stool, and finding none. ]

Disappointing, [ he tells her, and pads to the door to open it.

He looks much the same as he did however long ago when he does. ]

[acreage]

[ without preamble — ]

Would you do me a favor?

[nonvenomous]

[ after a gathering beat to brace: ]

Of course.

so then what happened

[unshut]

The room's occupant is neither asleep nor in half so bedraggled a state as she'd been left in. She has washed her face and scrubbed under her nails with the help of some small porcelain basin. Her dark hair has been combed into a sleek curtain, damp enough still that it gleams in the low lamplight where Fitcher has made herself perfectly comfortable in bed among the various light summer blankets and assortment of collected pillows.

She is smoking, wreathed in some faintly sweet smelling vapor. If the assortment of pages loosely arranged in her lap and alongside her hip is any indication, she has chosen to organize papers in an effort to keep herself occupied and conscious. He has been a long while, and she has almost worked her way to a semblance of something like order.

Is there anything quietly missing from where it had previously hung about the room? Any papers omitted from her current stack which might have earlier been among the collection scattered on the neighboring bed? Any locks carefully turned or compartments once open judiciously shut?

Who cares; without a shift under it, the modesty afforded by Fitcher's steely blue damask housecoat is blatantly more suggestion than reality.

"Did Mado slip out of Hasmal with you?"

[nonvenomous]

His survey isn’t as keen as all that. It’s late. The light has changed. He’s returned with intent. Part of him is surprised to find her awake at all, nevermind Orderly -- snared and held tell-tale in a second glance before he rolls the bolt over behind him, tok. A flash of gold leaf catches behind his eyes for just an instant when he turns, strange against the bed-ready ranginess of him.

Trick of the light.

“He did.”

Mado the canine mage. Mere mention of him is enough to give Silas additional pause; there’s a thoughtful delay to his placement of folded clothes atop Ashey Pelt’s old bedding.

“We parted ways at Tantervale.”

book.

[charmoffensive]

[ Without preamble, an address is scratched into a page, transmitted to Richard's book. It's a Lowtown residency of some description, possibly a known tavern inasmuch as it's useful to know certain haunts.

Postamble— ]

You ought Memorize this and then eat the page.

[nonvenomous]

Is this where I'm to check for your body after your next sustained departure?

i was promised camping and i'm here to collect

[heorte]

It is easier to travel within the Frostbacks to and from Skyhold now than it had been years ago. But it is still bracingly cold, even in the cave they've set their camp in. The Inquisition has made these waypoints habitable to a point. There is firewood, supplies. The mouth of the cave is narrow, better fortified against the wind.

But regardless, the cold finds a way in.

They've a fire. Ellis holds bare hands above the blaze. He's been quiet since they've left Skyhold, though that's hardly so notable as to be worth remarking upon.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, eyes lifting from the fire up to Silas.

freeze

[nonvenomous]

Silas is a strange, humped shape on the bedroll he’s seated on atop a slab of stone, grasshopper legs bent long from the wooly heap of the cloak piled up on his shoulders. It must have been a bear at some point, great spines of black fur singed clear through to the hide along the edge where Matthias was a little fast and loose with his spellwork. The coat beneath is also black, lined at the collar. His hands are in gloves, alternately tucked under his arms or shown to the fire, as they are now.

And then there’s the hat.

Thot is an owl, little more than a pair of flashing eyes in the cocoon of Dick’s cloak.

There are games he could play, manners he could employ. A little or are you hungry? It’s cold. It’s been a long day. Hard travel is hard travel. He says:

“Yes.”

crystal, a few day's after all of the kerfuffling

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's voice is rough and low. ]

Dickerson. I - owe you something beyond an apology. I know it is insufficient, but - I am sorry.

[nonvenomous]

Apology accepted. [ His is placid, on a short delay. Very even. ] How are you fairing?

crystal.

[hornswoggle]

Mister Dickerson. I've heard that you're something of a healer.

[nonvenomous]

Something of one, yes.

backdated skin rp.

[tender]

"Would you mind if I had a look?"

A question posed quietly from the foot of Richard's infirmary bed. Derrica is hovering there, hands coming to rest on the footboard. He can tell her to go, certainly. There is no pressing danger. Richard has some healing ability of his own, and there are other healers in attendance who will have kept an eye on him.

But still. Derrica wants to offer.

is for me??

[nonvenomous]

In the aftermath of an evangelist attack on the kitchens one day and skeleton hell the next, Dick Dickerson has the look of a man who would very much like to switch off the game and go outside for a walk. He’s ill-rested, drawn, and exposed in a kept setting he prefers to inhabit as the keeper, with pants and a shirt and maybe a handsome vest.

So he breathes in long and slow under her scrutiny and he says:

“Please.”

He’s between applications of salve, burns scabbed at his elbow over the sheets, stitches in his cheek ready to come out. Superficial. The round clay tab of a small talisman sits at his sternum on a leather cord.

Beneath the blanket, his right leg doesn’t look ready to take his weight without cracking and oozing: a work in progress, better than it was. A crutch might be enough to see him back to his own quarters, provided he doesn’t miss a step.

crystal, whenever it makes sense timeline wise;

[heirring]

We should make a formal report of our findings. I've my Rifter survey notes to write up as well, and the two ought to marry together well enough.

[nonvenomous]

A written report for the archives?

[ Just to be totally clear. ]

I will condense my notes.

bangs open door (hit this whenever)

[tender]

Is Richard in his room? The increasingly frantic hammering at his door says that Derrica certainly hopes so.

cracks knuckles

[nonvenomous]

He is not.

At the far opposite end of the hall, a hunched, sneaking shape emerges silently from the slip of a cracked door, closed quietly after him. One second the corridor beside her is empty, the next, Richard’s rickety corpus is ssssing at her like a stray cat to interrupt the racket as he fumbles his keys up out of his pocket.

He’s hastily-dressed, barefoot and with his coat bunched under one arm, and his assessment of her for injury in aside is at least slightly accusatory. Honestly.

“What’s wrong?”

[delphian]

( in the sort of without preamble way of someone who has probably been reminded more than once to restart a conversation with the internal context of whatever she's been thinking to prompt it, )

Is it only you, from where you came?

( it's even odds whether she assumes her voice to be distinctive (it is) or has forgotten to keep track of whether or not she's recognizable over the crystals entirely. )

[nonvenomous]

[ The glow of the crystal catches him slouched over his desk with pen and paper, reading by the light of his lamp. He looks at it for a long moment. ]

No.

[ So far as he knows. Back to his notetaking. ]

Why do you ask?

crystal;

[unshut]

I've a favor to ask.

[nonvenomous]

What kind of favor?

crystal | hello snakefriend;

[illithidnapped]

So.

Hypothetically speaking.

How good are you at healing?

[nonvenomous]

That depends. Am I at the very bottom of your list?

crystal.

[charmoffensive]

So that's what you've been up to.

[ —on a slight delay, after That Post, but what is he meant to do, check the network every day or something? ]

I suppose you might have told me already if you've discovered something disastrous, in all your studies.

[nonvenomous]

Do you?

[ Suppose? ]

How would you like me to contact you in the event of such a disaster?

crystal;

[unshut]

You can ride a horse, can't you?

Or a mule. Something with more or less four legs that walks on the ground. I suppose the breeding isn't important.

[nonvenomous]

fitchertime

[hassaran]

Mr. Dickerson. [ Polite, professional. ] Forgive the interruption of your current mission. When you have a moment, I need a private word about some of your past work in Tevinter.

[nonvenomous]

[ Somewhere on the coast, Mr. Dickerson pauses in the process of comparing two blankets in the shadow of a broad-brimmed felted hat.

At a distance, it’s impossible to gauge what the cause could be for any delay. ]

I happen to be alone now.

crystal. backdated.

[charmoffensive]

[ Midday, a message, spoken with the air of someone who has given a little thought about how to go about it— ]

Hello, [ brightly cheerful, an approach proven to work against undead illithids, even— ] Hope you're having not too many adventures without me. When do you think you'll be back?

[nonvenomous]

[ No answer. ]