(no subject)

[igetthatalot]

As of today Varric has missed no fewer than nineteen critically important meetings of the Dwarven Merchants' Guild. That's what he calls cause for celebration. Preferably in the Hanged Man, but hey, if Milliways shows up instead he'll take what he can get.

"Oh," he says as his flagon appears, "and while I'm at it, could I have a bound book of blank pages and a quill and some ink? I've got a couple of ideas for new serials I wanted to write down while my beloved brother is busy arguing with the Guild instead of me."

There's an untapped market in City Guard fiction, and far be it from Varric to leave a market like that untapped for long.

(no subject)

[hecu_marine]

Good God but Shephard missed getting out of the damn Greenbrier this past week. No offense to nobody but he's got no damn clue how those poor bastards on submarines can stand being locked up with each other in small spaces for so long.

There's a fair number of Xen predators that won't be eating anything Earth-born ever again thanks to his activity the past few days. There's also a good few chunks of soil missing from the region now, most of them about an inch across by six or seven inches deep, all of them labeled as neatly as that metal hand of his can manage. As far as water, well, this isn't a real good time for water per se; what he managed to bring back was frozen river ice.

(It's not all altruism for someone from an Earth more screwed than his. He spent about the same amount of time securing samples for his brother and the local scientists for testing to make the spring plantings easier when the time comes. If you're already up to your elbows in dirt, a little more won't hurt.)

Anyway, he sets the box of samples on the Bar, along with a tightly sealed package marked with various 'do not open this because it used to be alive and now it is squishy and drippy' emblems, along with the biohazard symbol. You learned to mark that kind of thing pretty clearly in HECU response training. Each individually wrapped sample in the package's been labeled by species, with as much information about the individual creature as Shephard was able to discern. "Mind givin' this to Dr. Augustine?" he says to the Bar. "She gits any questions 'bout any of this shit, tell her to come'n find me, I'll answer. I ain't gonna write her a book less'n I got to."

Mostly because he's got a book of his own to write. It's been a while since he sat down with the tablet Nepeta gave him and just let the silver hand write, so that's what he's gonna do- let his right hand write dead men's memoirs on its own while he watches the goings-on in the rest of the room.

Meanwhile Out Back

[crossbowkillshot]

Daryl had set up some rudimentary targets to keep his skills with the crossbow sharp. There were already two bolts in the target, both relatively close to one another and close to the center. There was another target that looked a bit more humanoid. Daryl had his crossbow at his side and then quickly brought it up, firing the bolt. The bolt hit the humanoid target right in the eye. It was a difficult task for most people but then, when approached with the zombie apocalypse, all of the survivors' aim had gotten quite a bit better.

He moved to the targets and began to retrieve his bolts. He checked the fletching on each one and then put them back in his quiver. He still was unsure of this mystical bar place even though he had already been here for a few months. He appreciated the relative silence though. No zombies to worry about, at least, not the walkers who would bite and infect him. He paused for a moment above the round target and thought about the rest of the group. He wondered whether or not they would end up at Milliway's eventually or if this was a place where he could be away from them.