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.
In low places, mainly.
I didn't see you at the Tourney.
I didn't see you at the Tourney.
I was eliminated from the joust in a preliminary round.
Pity.
I made a relatively poor showing so the less witnesses the better.
I made a relatively poor showing so the less witnesses the better.
I ran into an early opponent (in the Melee) with No sense of humour and a Large axe. Most of these fights are done in plate apparently.
Derrica did as well as me there but won the Quintain.
Derrica did as well as me there but won the Quintain.
I wasn't aware you were interested in the quintain.
Oh you know.
[ A long delay, and then, ]
It's very graceful.
[ A long delay, and then, ]
It's very graceful.
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
A nod in return.
It spurs Ellis into motion, pack opening, some minor construction of cooking implements. All very industrious, but so practiced that it comes to Ellis without much thought.
"Does Thot eat?"
Ellis had never thought to ask.
And it's maybe a minor diversion. Away from Skyhold and whatever overly interested parties inhabited the castle, they might talk more freely. Even having spent time there, digging into the records, being tolerated in the great drafty hall of Skyhold, Ellis has not yet considered exactly what approach he might take to what they find.
A clank, as he suspends his cook pot from a small hook above the fire. A stew will be forthcoming.
It spurs Ellis into motion, pack opening, some minor construction of cooking implements. All very industrious, but so practiced that it comes to Ellis without much thought.
"Does Thot eat?"
Ellis had never thought to ask.
And it's maybe a minor diversion. Away from Skyhold and whatever overly interested parties inhabited the castle, they might talk more freely. Even having spent time there, digging into the records, being tolerated in the great drafty hall of Skyhold, Ellis has not yet considered exactly what approach he might take to what they find.
A clank, as he suspends his cook pot from a small hook above the fire. A stew will be forthcoming.
He could help.
He might, if he was a better hand at camp fare, or indeed anything more complicated than collecting eggs or killing an animal and cooking it over a fire until it’s soft enough for his flat human teeth to strip off the bone.
“She doesn’t.”
All the more reason for Ellis to take her with him down the road, a spark of salesmanship sneaking in sidelong while he watches Ellis work.
“She doesn’t sleep either.”
He might, if he was a better hand at camp fare, or indeed anything more complicated than collecting eggs or killing an animal and cooking it over a fire until it’s soft enough for his flat human teeth to strip off the bone.
“She doesn’t.”
All the more reason for Ellis to take her with him down the road, a spark of salesmanship sneaking in sidelong while he watches Ellis work.
“She doesn’t sleep either.”
Edited 2021-08-29 07:02 (UTC)
A smile pulls at Ellis' mouth, even as his attention is directed downward to the contents of the pot.
"I've never met a creature that didn't eat."
But then, what is Thot, exactly? Something pulled from the Fade, leggy and curious and more durable than she had a right to be.
"Is she cold?" seems a relevant query. His gaze flashes up to find Thot in the furry folds of Silas' coat, then lift further to Silas' face, eyebrows lifting questioningly.
"I've never met a creature that didn't eat."
But then, what is Thot, exactly? Something pulled from the Fade, leggy and curious and more durable than she had a right to be.
"Is she cold?" seems a relevant query. His gaze flashes up to find Thot in the furry folds of Silas' coat, then lift further to Silas' face, eyebrows lifting questioningly.
“She is.”
Counterintuitively, perhaps.
Firelight ripples from the catch of Thot’s goggly eyes to the steel of his breastplate under collar and coat and fur, now retroactively present. He’s warmed enough to pluck at the tips of his gloves, leather peeled away inside-out and dropped to dry between his boots.
“But I’m not sure she’s a creature.” Something else.
“Back at home she was a celestial spirit, summoned from the upper planes and bound to my service.”
Counterintuitively, perhaps.
Firelight ripples from the catch of Thot’s goggly eyes to the steel of his breastplate under collar and coat and fur, now retroactively present. He’s warmed enough to pluck at the tips of his gloves, leather peeled away inside-out and dropped to dry between his boots.
“But I’m not sure she’s a creature.” Something else.
“Back at home she was a celestial spirit, summoned from the upper planes and bound to my service.”
A few diced hunks of potato drop into the pot. Ellis gives Thot an appraising look.
The explanation might have meant something to Wysteria or to Tony. But to Ellis, it is a very abstract concept. And it seems lofty, when applied to Thot herself.
"I see."
Maybe. Maybe not.
"Did you name her, or did she name herself?"
The explanation might have meant something to Wysteria or to Tony. But to Ellis, it is a very abstract concept. And it seems lofty, when applied to Thot herself.
"I see."
Maybe. Maybe not.
"Did you name her, or did she name herself?"
“She knew her name.”
Whether it was a name she was given or gave herself, an arch to his brow suggests he isn’t sure, and might never have thought about it up to this moment. He looks down to her in the shadow of his cloak and she looks back up at him with her ears laid back flat. You know, like an owl has.
“Celestials are from planes roughly analogous to your ‘Golden City.’ They’re usually well-intentioned.” In the cosmic sense.
“I suspect the less that’s known about her nature here, the more likely she is to be tolerated.”
Whether it was a name she was given or gave herself, an arch to his brow suggests he isn’t sure, and might never have thought about it up to this moment. He looks down to her in the shadow of his cloak and she looks back up at him with her ears laid back flat. You know, like an owl has.
“Celestials are from planes roughly analogous to your ‘Golden City.’ They’re usually well-intentioned.” In the cosmic sense.
“I suspect the less that’s known about her nature here, the more likely she is to be tolerated.”
"Aye, that's true."
Why pretend otherwise? Silas' instincts are correct. Maybe the majority of Riftwatch might not be so affronted, but there are enough potential objectors that it's wise to allow Thot to exist as a cat or bird or some variation on the two. A flicker of a smile is raised, just for Thot, where she is peering from within shrouds of fabric.
Ellis lapses into quiet after, attention falling to his preparations. There is the tink and thunk of ingredients tossed into the pot to fill the silence, rustling as Ellis draws out handfuls of rice, a pleasant bubbling noise as the stew simmers.
There is much to think about. Spirits manifesting as cats becomes one more item to consider.
Why pretend otherwise? Silas' instincts are correct. Maybe the majority of Riftwatch might not be so affronted, but there are enough potential objectors that it's wise to allow Thot to exist as a cat or bird or some variation on the two. A flicker of a smile is raised, just for Thot, where she is peering from within shrouds of fabric.
Ellis lapses into quiet after, attention falling to his preparations. There is the tink and thunk of ingredients tossed into the pot to fill the silence, rustling as Ellis draws out handfuls of rice, a pleasant bubbling noise as the stew simmers.
There is much to think about. Spirits manifesting as cats becomes one more item to consider.
Ellis doesn’t drink, or he might busy himself portioning out whiskey from a flask in his pack. As is, he boosts Thot to a perch at his shoulder to rustle it out for himself -- wax-sealed leather twisted out from the tuck of his journal and an extra scarf. Just a bolt to scorch his throat and warm his chest, the cork worked back in firm before he thinks to tilt it across Ellis’ preparations in silent offer.
It’d be rude not to.
And everyone knows how well-mannered and civilized Mr. Dickerson is.
Then he’ll either put it away or he won’t; Thot will blink her lantern eyes and bustle out through the crevice into the night at some unspoken exchange. The quiet lasts for a while.
“Have you ever considered caring for an animal of your own?" He pauses. "Something more personable than a chicken."
It’d be rude not to.
And everyone knows how well-mannered and civilized Mr. Dickerson is.
Then he’ll either put it away or he won’t; Thot will blink her lantern eyes and bustle out through the crevice into the night at some unspoken exchange. The quiet lasts for a while.
“Have you ever considered caring for an animal of your own?" He pauses. "Something more personable than a chicken."
The appearance and portioning of the whiskey is observed without comment.
There is always, unceasingly, a part of Ellis that just craves—
No. It is unconsulted. It is of no consequence.
"No."
There is no real invitation towards further discussion in the answer. Ellis' life is not very well suited for pets of most stripes. However, after a moment when he makes a thoughtful noise, almost relenting, Richard might assume it's Ellis reconsidering his position, but the addition is, "I've wondered if Wysteria would keep a goat."
Wysteria would not.
There is always, unceasingly, a part of Ellis that just craves—
No. It is unconsulted. It is of no consequence.
"No."
There is no real invitation towards further discussion in the answer. Ellis' life is not very well suited for pets of most stripes. However, after a moment when he makes a thoughtful noise, almost relenting, Richard might assume it's Ellis reconsidering his position, but the addition is, "I've wondered if Wysteria would keep a goat."
Wysteria would not.
Dick settles into more of a recline, his elbow braced across the back of the bedroll, cold let to creep up through the earth under his seat.
There’s no outward reaction to firm denial, past a twinge of doubt between his brows for the swift finality of it. No. In much the same way a caiman might tolerate a frog’s flopped landing or a scatter of loose dirt from a creature traipsing along the bank, he weathers it with an impassive kind of stillness. His follow-up was curiously specific.
“Why a goat?”
There’s no outward reaction to firm denial, past a twinge of doubt between his brows for the swift finality of it. No. In much the same way a caiman might tolerate a frog’s flopped landing or a scatter of loose dirt from a creature traipsing along the bank, he weathers it with an impassive kind of stillness. His follow-up was curiously specific.
“Why a goat?”
Well, because Silas has asked—
"Aside from the milk, they've a taste for weeds. It'd save me some time to have one clearing those when spring comes."
There's some amusement in a look Ellis directs across to Silas as he stirs the pot, observing the contents before he continues, "Are you developing an interest in farm animals?"
A signal that Ellis is happy to lay out his ideal plan for the ecosystem he's establishing in Wysteria's back yard, if Silas leaves room for it.
"Aside from the milk, they've a taste for weeds. It'd save me some time to have one clearing those when spring comes."
There's some amusement in a look Ellis directs across to Silas as he stirs the pot, observing the contents before he continues, "Are you developing an interest in farm animals?"
A signal that Ellis is happy to lay out his ideal plan for the ecosystem he's establishing in Wysteria's back yard, if Silas leaves room for it.
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