Ah, yes. [ Ashey Pelt. Richard’s field of focus shifts back through Fitcher, rather than at her. He can see forever. ] He asked me to find out what kinds of flowers she likes.
[ And now he is here with a roommate of hers. What providence. ]
She would prefer he be clear on what kind of young lady she is. Which is to say, neither the marrying kind or the... [her pause is only half to do with the jerk of the boat, the way all the color (what little there is of it) drains from her face in reply] Well. As I said. She is very honest.
With respect for flowers, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea. For now say wild daisies, as they would suit her hair and your friend would have to get fetch then himself. But if you would be so kind as to temper Serah Loxley's expectations, I might find out.
Loxley is resilient. [ Daisies quested for in the wilds, got it. He makes a mental note, sky writing it out there somewhere in the haze where the sea meets the rain. ] And open-minded. [ Like, very. ]
You flatter me, [ he adds dryly on his own behalf, forced to zero back in on her from the cover of his own hood. ]
But yes. It was warmer. [ He is just drunk enough for it to be very apparent that some of his current state might be derived from how little he's enjoyed this (very light) dissection Loxley's honor, nevermind his swaying with the motion of the boat. The recovery of his focus correlates directly with how far they are from the subject. At this rate, he might not be finished drinking for the night. ]
Fleeing occupied Orlais, I meant to join the Inquisition and went North instead of South. By the time I reached the Gallows, it had split away. [She doesn't shrug or tip her head (Maker, anything but that), but there is something in the line of her shoulders which suggests it all the same.] One clerking job is much the same as any other, and I'd rather sleep in a bed than in a tent up in the Frostbacks.
[In these circumstances, she is prone to bad habits: talking too much, turning a screw when she sees one.]
Have you or your friend had much trouble with it? Here. I imagine Kirkwall less than gracious to serah Loxley. Past problems with the qunari, you see.
[ Richard listens, caught up enough on world events to follow cause and effect without any obvious muddling. His nodding interest is uncomplicated, stripped like a wire, and low effort enough to read cold in the driving rain. A little clinical.
Then they’re back to Loxley. He probes her face, suspicion creeping in tight at the corners of his eyes.
Is this a cougar thing? Is she on the hunt? Should he be concerned? ]
[is punctuated by a following slap of a wave and another hiss of spray; Fitcher recoils, one gloved hand clapping down in the boat's combing to steady herself off.]
[ Richard’s bench jumps beneath him, sending a ramrod shock up his spine to his shoulders. Fuck ‘Drakonis,’ and fuck this ferryman and especially fuck ”The Maker.”
But the docks are finally within sight, black against all the grey and mottled with lamplight. ]
There's no end of paperwork for the division if you're fond of it, [she manages, forcing herself not to close her eyes. These things always go more poorly in the dark.] I for one would welcome the assistance; the last time I can recall being current with the filing was prior to Serah Dalat's departure.
[Her attention has fixed on the bilge cover between them, and only now does she realize she can see the water at the bottom of the boat sloshing back and forth under the soles of their shoes.]
Pardon me for a moment, Richard.
[She has business over the boat's side to attend to.]
‘Fond’ is a strong word, [ for paperwork, ] but I wouldn’t mind an occasional retreat into monotony. [ The demons of this plane are a very physical people, and he left his crossbow in another dimension.
There Fitcher goes, while he’s still thinking about his crossbow.
After a moment, he leans to brace a hand at her shoulder, steadying with a supportive pat pat. The look on his face while he does it is inscrutably distant, but only the ferryman is there to see. And he’s busy. ]
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no subject
Date: 2020-03-14 10:39 pm (UTC)[ And now he is here with a roommate of hers. What providence. ]
What would she mislead him about?
no subject
Date: 2020-03-14 10:55 pm (UTC)With respect for flowers, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea. For now say wild daisies, as they would suit her hair and your friend would have to get fetch then himself. But if you would be so kind as to temper Serah Loxley's expectations, I might find out.
—You look almost as ill as I feel, by the way.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-14 11:25 pm (UTC)You flatter me, [ he adds dryly on his own behalf, forced to zero back in on her from the cover of his own hood. ]
It’s been a long winter.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-14 11:39 pm (UTC)[Matchmaking and discussing the weather. Maker, she has become quite the bore.]
no subject
Date: 2020-03-15 12:44 am (UTC)But yes. It was warmer. [ He is just drunk enough for it to be very apparent that some of his current state might be derived from how little he's enjoyed this (very light) dissection Loxley's honor, nevermind his swaying with the motion of the boat. The recovery of his focus correlates directly with how far they are from the subject. At this rate, he might not be finished drinking for the night. ]
What brought you to the watch?
no subject
Date: 2020-03-15 03:51 pm (UTC)[In these circumstances, she is prone to bad habits: talking too much, turning a screw when she sees one.]
Have you or your friend had much trouble with it? Here. I imagine Kirkwall less than gracious to serah Loxley. Past problems with the qunari, you see.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 01:54 am (UTC)Then they’re back to Loxley. He probes her face, suspicion creeping in tight at the corners of his eyes.
Is this a cougar thing? Is she on the hunt? Should he be concerned? ]
Trouble with what?
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 02:02 am (UTC)—ly pale with seasickness.]
Adapting. To the place.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 02:22 am (UTC)No, [ is an easy answer, repeated with even greater certainty: ] no.
He’s always had horns. He’s used to being disrespected by humans.
[ Dick bundles deeper into his cloak. ]
I'm sure he feels right at home.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 04:23 am (UTC)[is punctuated by a following slap of a wave and another hiss of spray; Fitcher recoils, one gloved hand clapping down in the boat's combing to steady herself off.]
Maker.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 05:17 am (UTC)But the docks are finally within sight, black against all the grey and mottled with lamplight. ]
I’d be better off clerking.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 05:35 am (UTC)[Her attention has fixed on the bilge cover between them, and only now does she realize she can see the water at the bottom of the boat sloshing back and forth under the soles of their shoes.]
Pardon me for a moment, Richard.
[She has business over the boat's side to attend to.]
no subject
Date: 2020-03-16 07:13 am (UTC)There Fitcher goes, while he’s still thinking about his crossbow.
After a moment, he leans to brace a hand at her shoulder, steadying with a supportive pat pat. The look on his face while he does it is inscrutably distant, but only the ferryman is there to see. And he’s busy. ]