Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

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

Comments

crystal;

[kantikoy]

Hello. My name is Adrasteia and I am hoping to reach Richard Dickerson.

[nonvenomous]

[ Groggy, late to answer: ] What do you need him for?

[kantikoy]

I was given his name by Warden Ellis.

Is this him?

[nonvenomous]

[ Why.

Another pause: ] Yes, this is Richard Dickerson.

[nonvenomous]

This would be a lot to process for a sober Dick, but he seems to follow well-enough not to disagree, for all that he also listens as intently as he might through a closed door, lest he miss some critical piece that connects everything together. Brow furrowed and eyes forced into focus, he holds upright with muppet intensity. Exaggerated with Effort.

He has Takes. Hot ones.

The pen disappears. Whatever important thing he’d gathered up behind his breastbone to say goes with it.

She passes him the note. He takes it, and lists forward to set his elbows on his knees to study the lines. He’s a long time looking at it, working to remember, loathe to let the subject drop while he still has it somewhat in his teeth.

“What we do is important,” he agrees, to the map. If he was going to say something wise, he can’t remember what it was. “The Venatori knew your value. They would have hunted you.”

[kantikoy]

I'm sorry if I've woken you.

Ellis informed me that he's leaving for Ferelden for some time and left me your name in case I needed anything. To save myself from the possibility of having an emergency come up without knowing whom exactly I am reaching out to, I was hoping we could meet.

[nonvenomous]

I overslept.

[ So presumably no apology is necessary. Rustled bedding may not carry over the crystal, but long pauses certainly do, telling in their own way. ]

Where would you like to meet?

[kantikoy]

[ Adrasteia harbors no judgment about people oversleeping, honestly, but there's no polite way to make that insistence now. ]

Do you have a favorite place to eat in Kirkwall?

[nonvenomous]

No.

[ But that’s not entirely true, is it? ]

There is a place near Engel House, in the market district. I don’t remember the name.

[kantikoy]

I'll pay, [ she offers, because it's the least she can do for dragging him out like this. ]

How long would you need?

[nonvenomous]

That's kind of you. The signage is red with gold lettering, across the street from Engel House, near the stairs.

I can be there in approximately one hour.

& action;

[kantikoy]

Then I will meet you there in one hour, Ser Dickerson. I'm the elf with the long hair up in braids, I'm sure you'll spot me easily.

Until then.

[ Come an hour past, she's there, not seated but standing and talking to one of the proprietors about the effects of the recent snowfall and local news. Chat chat chattyson. ]

[nonvenomous]

Mm.

[ A rush of cold wind marks Dick’s entry. He is lean and drawn and windtorn in a great shaggy black cloak, furry hat in hand -- bookish in build, once he’s unfastened the cloak and smoothed the coat underneath. The cloak goes over a hook at the door. The hat he keeps with him as he turns to sweep the room, pale eyes landing quickly on Adrasteia.

He’s also a few minutes late, but surely that’s what the approximately was there for.

The place itself is nothing special: a small tavern that services hungover patrons from any number of inns cramped into the western end of the district. It’s late enough in the morning now that most of them have cleared out.

He approaches slowly, and without interrupting. ]

[kantikoy]

[ No one else has entered this tavern since Adrasteia has arrived so she does surreptitiously glance towards the door, when the air turns cold suddenly, smiling in Richard's direction before the proprietor says something that has her turning away again. She laughs, as is expected of her after whatever's just been said, and gives a little bow saying: ]

I suspect my company has arrived.

[ She then turns to Richard and bows in his direction. ] Ser Dickerson, I presume? [ An open hand gestures towards the several open seats surrounding them. He can choose one as he wishes and she'll follow. ]

[nonvenomous]

[ Some buried instinct spurs him to bow back to her in half-assed and hazy mirror, passably polite. This is Warden Adrasteia.

The pause for him to take her in head on is distinct. ]

‘Richard’ is fine. [ He isn’t feeling very much like a Mister or a Serrah or a human at all on this day, hungover and tired and muddled over his own presence here. There’s a tell-tale weariness to the way he nods and turns away to seat himself, dark circles around bright eyes while he watches her follow. ]

How long have you been a Warden?

[kantikoy]

'Richard' it is, then.

[ She is familiar with what someone looks like when hungover and takes a mental note of it, but doesn't think anything poorly about him as a result; it's been a difficult time for many, and Ellis' regard carries a lot of weight in her mind to begin with. He'd have to do worse than be hungover to take a step down from that. ]

Ten years. [ A sigh. ] Almost eleven. [ There are memories there, and they are not all good ones, if the slight darkening of her expression is to mean anything. ] I was young when I Joined. How about you? How long have you been with Riftwatch?

[nonvenomous]

[ It’s a little strange how closely he watches her for the first moment or two they’re sat — curiosity keen for her answer in spite of the state he’s in. He’d been skeptical of a Warden morale officer, but he’s already less sure, preconceived notions about the attitude of the average Warden tipped evaporating as they speak. ]

I understand that’s an impressive tenure.

[ Less impressively: ]

I’ve been here for a year and a half. Just water, [ he adds, aside to the aforementioned proprietor approaching with a horn of ale, ] eggs and toast, if you have it.

[kantikoy]

It is less... impressive, [ she counters, considering, ] and more, perhaps, a matter of luck meeting stubbornness. Both will eventually wear out, I know, and then I'll be like all other Wardens.

[ She's somewhat used to not being what people expect of a Warden, honestly. Too bubbly, too honest, too young. Too apparently unscarred from a life of horrors. As it is, she smiles at the proprietor sweetly. ]

Ah. [ Hm. She hadn't considered food. ] Do you have any sausage?

[ The proprietor nods and bustles off, leaving the ale in front of Adrasteia. Well. She'll have some but there are no guarantees she'll be able to finish a drink of that size. ]

[nonvenomous]

I’m certain skill is also a factor.

[ Richard peels his gloves off while she orders, and there’s the anchor shard wedged like a glass splinter in his left palm. He flops the gloves aside; an oversized cup of water is placed down before him, not near enough of a distraction to interrupt a slightly more skeptical survey of her person now that they’re settled. ]

What kind of an emergency are you anticipating in Warden Ellis’ absence.

[kantikoy]

I suppose you're not wrong.

[ She takes note of the shard but doesn't stare, is too polite to do so. Instead she sips the ale and waits for food, or a question, whichever comes first.

It appears that 'question' wins. ]

I don't know, actually. Part of the difficulty of Riftwatch I'm finding is being uncertain of what to expect, other than newcomers at some point, possibly via tears in the Fade or simply by word of mouth.

[nonvenomous]

Most challenges are anticipated and addressed as coordinated missions or assignments. Oftentimes additional complications are discovered and contended with upon our arrival.

[ Should she be taking notes? Probably not. Dick seems to think this is all very routine -- the sort of information that could just as easily be disseminated by a pamphlet. He pulls his cup in closer, and raises it to drink after a pause to consider the state of his stomach contents. ]

It’s rare for a threat to find us in the Gallows. Last year, an abomination made its way inside our walls. And we remain vulnerable to outside influence within the Fade.

[kantikoy]

[ There is a pamphlet, as far as Adrasteia knows, but it was geared towards Rifters and so she'd merely glanced at it. Though that's neither here nor there, as she finds his way of disseminating the information helpful and fascinating both.

She folds her hands underneath her chin as he continues to speak, nodding along. A few moments after he stops, while she's considering her response, the proprietor has returned with eggs, toast, and a side of spicy-smelling sausage set on the table between them. ]

It's fortunate that nothing has seen fit to come to Kirkwall's shores, [ she settles on, but there's an obvious thread of worry in her words. At some point, it'll be worse than just an abomination crashing through the walls, of that she's certain. She wonders what sort of siege capabilities the Gallows has to itself.

Something to look into actually. ]

Anyone and anything with even the most tenuous connection to the Fade remains vulnerable to outside influence within it, [ she points out, but there's no heat in her statement, just an issue of fact as she understands it. ] Especially when whatever is doing the influencing is native to the Fade.

[nonvenomous]

You should know that I don’t hold any rank or authority.

[ There have been more pressing threats in years past. Before Riftwatch or after it. Their food has arrived, and he is briefly distant as the scent turns his stomach. ]

I only know what I see, and what I’m told.

[ He’s more tired in saying so than he was upon his arrival, his fork turned and lifted. ]

It’s nothing more terrible than anything you’ve already contended with, I’m sure.

[kantikoy]

[ Adrasteia shakes her head. ] Rank and authority don't always mean that someone has seen what's happening around them, and a lack thereof doesn't mean you don't have points that are solid.

[ There's a little headtilt, but she doesn't say anything more about it. Instead she smiles. ]

I can think of several things I've seen in the Deep Roads that I hope never reach the light of the Gallows dawn.

[ She pulls the plate of sausage closer to herself and picks up one of the forks from the center of the table. ]

What sort of things do you think I should be worried about, in Ellis' absence?

[nonvenomous]

Morale, [ is Richard’s first and only answer, half-hearted over the click of him forking into scrambled eggs. ] Hardly his area of expertise but rarely at the forefront of local minds until recently. As far as I know.

[ He measures the clot of egg white on his fork before putting it into his mouth, reluctant to look up to her from his plate now that their food has arrived and the conversation has narrowed. ]

Anything more immediately deadly will necessitate improvisation.