milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Hawke's in the bar tonight, hunched over small stacks of paper and coins as she writes on the former of the two in sharp, small writing. Elsewhere, and on other sheets, if one is inclined to look, is a larger, more blocker hand scrawling across pages of notes and numbers.

RED HARED LOWD 1 WANTS HELP IN BARRACKS
KNIFEERS CAME LOKIN FOR YOU
PIRAT WONTS TO DRINK WIT YOU AT HANGED MAN

Fisting a hand in her hair, the woman begins meticulously transferring the old notes to new sheaves of parchment.

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The coins are what get Ellen's attention first. She doesn't see them much back home, these days. The papers get a glance a little later- a brief one. No sense in staring.

Then she realizes she recognizes the person in amongst all of them.

"Transcription job?"

Her head jerks up sharply before tired blue eyes settle on Ellen.

"Only a little," she says after a moment. "Mostly bookwork so I know who I owe and how much."

Beat.

"Hello again, Serrah."

"Settling accounts is never easy," Ellen says. "The Scribes back home complain about it all the time."

She has to think for a moment before she finally digs the name out of memory- "Serrah... Hawke, right? I'm sorry, it's been a while..."

"It has," she agrees. "And yes, you have the name right."

She pauses, gesturing at her work.

"Settling accounts, making sure my family will be able to eat, and saving up for an expedition into the Deep Roads."

Ellen nods, right up until the last part; then she holds up one hand. "Deep Roads?" she says. "I don't think I recognize that name."

"Ah. Hmmm."

She pauses, thinking on how to explain.

"Did Fenris ever tell you about the Blight? Or the Archdemon?"

"A little, I think," Ellen says. "He mentioned darkspawn, but not much about them. They sounded like some of the mutated things back home, at least in terms of how they behave."

A nod.

"That's enough. You see, a Blight is when the Darkspawn surge to the surface and out of the Deep Roads, and under the command of the Archdemon, essentially taint and devour anything in their path. After the Blight is over, there is a brief window of time where it is safer than normal to venture into the Deep Roads and claim it's riches from abandoned Thaigs."

Ellen nods slowly. "I see," she says. "Not much like what happens at home at all, then, except for the people who try to go scavenging in the old Metro tunnels, or look for abandoned Vaults to raid. . . and I don't even know how to pronounce that last word you mentioned. I'm really sorry."

She pronounces the word for Ellen again, slower this time.

"Don't worry about it. There's bound to be plenty of differences between our worlds."

"I would imagine so," Ellen says wryly. "I don't think I've met anybody in my world who could do the things a mage does, from what you told me last time."

"Yes, well, mages are rather spectacular, especially my sister. But there are some that can be terrifying."

Maker knows she's run across plenty of Blood Mages so far.

"That wouldn't surprise me," says Ellen. "Reverend Avellone always said nobody was born good or evil, no matter what their other gifts were. It's all down to what kind of people they decide to be, or get shaped into."

"Thank you," she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air briefly. "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell people."

Ellen blinks a little at that, startled. "I'm guessing you're not having a lot of luck?" she says cautiously.

She gives a humorless smile.

"No one listens to the woman living in Lowtown who does almost any odd job for some coin."

"Oh. Yes. I ... can see where that would be a problem." Ellen winces. "I'm sorry. People can be stupid about that kind of thing no matter where you go."

"I just..."

She huffs out a breath and scrubs a hand though already messy hair.

"People are people, you know? And there are assholes and saints everywhere, no matter what."

"I've noticed," Ellen says. "Can I buy you a drink, or something? You look like you could use it."

And if it heads off the kind of mood spiral that ends up creating someone like Scribe Bigsley, so much the better.

Hawke looks woefully at her notes and ledgers in response.

"I- I won't be able to pay you back for it. Not for a while in any case."

"That's all right. You can pay me some other time," Ellen says. "I don't like owing people either, but I'm pretty sure I can trust you for this."

She smiles, looking grateful and relieved all in one.

"Thank you, then. I would love a drink right now."

"Sure thing," Ellen says. "Anything in particular? I'm not a very good judge of most alcohol around here. They've got so many kinds."

"A glass of ale would be marvelous. Bar's standard quality far outstrips what I can afford back home, since there is no merchant's guild to inflate the prices here."

"All the beer at home's just bad," Ellen says. "There's no breweries in the Capital Waste, just people with stills and things, so all the beer is either old or comes in from some trade caravan, and it's nasty by the time it reaches us. The stuff here's much better."

She'll just go get whatever the Bar has to offer and bring it back. Preferably something that doesn't cost a lot of caps, so Hawke doesn't have to pay her back much in future.

"I've heard of a few people trying their hands at their own stills. Doesn't sit well with the merchant's guild."

She watches Ellen go for just a moment before turning her attention back to her paperwork, managing to jot down a few more figures before she returns.

"Thanks again."

"You're welcome," Ellen says. "I used to have to take jobs here fixing people's clothing to pay my way, so I know how it feels."

Wry:

"Sounds much better than traipsing all over the city and sometimes beyond for the odd job."

"Oh, no, that was what I did on my side of the door," Ellen says. "To make enough money for supplies to go and try to find my father, and learn how to survive out in the wild, I agreed to help the town tinkerer write a book on survival. Turned out that meant doing things like hitting mole rats with sticks, finding my way to the center of a town full of hidden traps and a crazy old man with a sniper rifle who shot everything that moved, going to her with a serious injury instead of trying to treat myself in the field, things like that."

Hawke snorts a laugh into her drink before she manages to compose herself.

"Maker, that sounds remarkably close to what I have to go through."

Beat.

"What's a sniper rifle?"

"It's a- hrm." Ellen considers. "It's a distance weapon we have at home. A long metal tube, with- okay, I remember now, I think Fenris told me. The Qunari, in your world? They have something called gaatlok that explodes? A sniper rifle is a long metal tube, about so big, that uses what you would call gaatlok to propel metal pellets at a target, like arrows from a bow. It's got a device on it that lets you see your target very clearly from very far away, but you have to be extra careful and extra skilled to use it properly because a tiny change in your aim becomes a very big change in where the bullet goes when you're firing at a really faraway target."

Hawke whistles low, shaking her head.

"I can think of more than a few people who would love to get their hands on something like that."

"They're popular," says Ellen. "Difficult to learn to use, but popular. So are other kinds of gun back home- what your Qunari call gaatlok, we call gunpowder, and that's mostly what we use it for. Weapons like that."

Knifeears, who was sitting on the floor in a dark corner by the fireplace, now stands quietly behind her.

The brooding presence has gone unnoticed for now, as Hawke's guard isn't as high as it usually is, what with Milliways being something of a safe place.

For now, she rubs a tired hand over her eyes while she continues to write.

'Visit Fenris', her own writing translates from her uncle's blocky writing. Then, a note underneath after looking other other papers: '-Owe him two gold sovereigns for a few nights of gang patrol.'

Fenris clears his throat and says, "Hawke."

The woman in question jumps, hand closing around a hidden dagger briefly before the familiarity of Fenris's voice registers.

"Hello, Fenris."

After a pause, he says, "There is an extraordinary amount of food outside. (http://milliways-bar.livejournal.com/24345675.html)."

Another pause.

"And drink."

"A feast, then?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "I wonder what it's for..."

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