(no subject)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's previous foray might have been accidental, but this one is on purpose -- and he has set up a small experiment, even, to run in his absence.

It is well after nightfall in Kirkwall's Gallows, and Cullen has taken a new beeswax candle -- the kind that tells the hours -- and smeared a thin line of ink just below the top. He will stay gone long enough for the candle to burn down, and if it doesn't... well. If it doesn't, chances are Cullen has an undeserved reprieve from Kirkwall.

Still: night has fallen, evening prayer is over, his latest reply to his sister in South Reach went out today. Cullen would rather keep his mind occupied than not. So: experiments. So: civilian clothing, or what passes for it -- breeches, shirt, surcoat, in varying shades of dull.

So: Cullen, looking uncomfortable, seated by the window looking out to the lake, in a place where he can see most of the room. He is in the company of a small glass of West Hill brandy, untouched; a steaming mug of tea, half full.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

Liranan bounds toward Cullen, yipping delightedly as he does so.

Ysalwen follows behind, significantly more sedately, wearing purple and grey mage robes and a traveling cloak. She has her staff to hand, as well as her sword strapped to her back.

Someone may be coming in from the beginning of her journey to Weisshaupt.

Go figure.

"Oh! Cullen! I'm sorry to interrupt, I hope Liranan isn't bothering you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen looks up from politely mangling the mabari's ears with a small smile.

(For what it's worth, he looks less like a bogfisher decided to sit on him than he did last time Ysalwen saw him.)

"Ysalwen. Neither one of you are interrupting. -- is that a sword?"

...Cullen is just primed to notice certain things that closely match his interests. Such as dogs. And swords.

[freedom_is_grey]

She smiles at him, a quick, crooked quirk of her mouth.

"It is, indeed. Spellweaver. It's elven, if you wondered, and used by a particular ancient sect of mages called Arcane Warriors."

It's neat!

"Do you mind company that isn't dog-shaped?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen looks as though he's not quite sure what to think about Arcane Warriors --

(that's all we need, a sour voice mutters in his mind, mages as warriors)

-- and fortunately he is saved by basic manners. "Of course not. Especially not yours." He gestures at the chair opposite. "I think it's my turn to procure something for you."

[freedom_is_grey]

Just one mage, really.

The rest are -- or will be -- Knight Enchanters. That's a separate discipline entirely.

"That's kind of you," she says quietly, lowering her staff down beside the chair, then changing her mind and propping it against a chair she pulls from a nearby table.

It's -- more comfortable, that way.

"We could go halves on something fancy? I'm on the road just now, and I already miss food that isn't stew or dried meat."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's eyebrows rise. "Did you have something in mind? I'm sure we can do better than travel rations."

Also, Cullen's palate is not what one might call adventurous. He is kind of worried about what Ysalwen means by fancy.

(Frankly, he'd rather her staff be where he can see it. Which he does realize is ridiculous -- she doesn't need it to do magic, and she doesn't mean him harm. And yet.)

[freedom_is_grey]

"I don't know. Roast pheasant? Boar? I could actually probably eat half a boar by myself, really. Which -- well."

Her mouth twitches.

"I probably shouldn't."

(Ysalwen will let her staff out of her reach when someone kills her and takes it. And maybe, given how terrible the world is, not even then.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"...no, it might make your travel on the morrow rather unpleasant." Cullen looks amused as he pushes himself back from the table. "I'll return shortly."

And looks down at Liranan. "Don't worry -- I haven't forgotten you, either."

[freedom_is_grey]

Liranan barks cheerfully, tail wagging. He did not think Cullen would forget him! He is Fereldan! They never forget dogs! Almost never!

"Thank you."

Ysalwen grins up at him, and while he is gone will doubtless take off her boots, and maybe her stockings, as well. Just to stretch her toes out.

And if she rubs hard at her forehead as if to forestall a headache while Cullen is not looking, what of it?

[howtoactfereldan]

Over the last few days he has gone out of his way to remind himself that providing a few creature comforts to the people around him is, in its own small way, also a kindness to himself. It feels good to look out for others, to be kind.

There wasn't much room for that, in Kirkwall. Especially not toward the end of Meredith's tenure.

And so perhaps it should not be a surprise that Cullen returns pushing a tea cart (although he does look bemused by its presence, and not a little sheepish), with a handsome-looking beef bone on the bottom shelf for Liranan and a small feast for Ysalwen (and himself, but mostly Ysalwen): the requested pheasant; small pies, both sweet and savory; greens, fresh and boiled; fresh bread and butter; a bottle of wine; and the small butter cookies of which he is quite fond.

"I... hope this will do." Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin's looking for a seat as he's stretching after a long sword practice with Etienne and holding a glass of soda and a sandwich. He's ready for court in breeches and a light shirt with a short sword at his side, his bronze hair sweaty with his pointed ears just showing.

When he sees the view Cullen's looking he stops and nod, Cullen seems like someone who would fit in his world, "Have the squid showed themselves tonight?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen glances up, and represses a sigh.

Turning his attention to his tea: "I'm afraid not."

Cullen doesn't know anything about any squid and he would prefer to keep it that way.

[heatherandsteel]

He raises an eyebrow and shrugs as he sits down at a free table,

"Too bad, they're lovely to watch when they appear."

[howtoactfereldan]

If you're into tentacles, which Cullen is not. You know what else has tentacles? Abominations.

He sips from his mug of tea.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin starts on his soda though he does keep an eye out of the window in the case he spots the Luidaeg.

[2goodarms]

This has...not been the easiest length of time for Curtis. However long that length of time might've been. Fuck if he knows; he still can't tell time too well in here.

(Dejah's a bright spot, as usual. At least he can hang onto that.)

Cullen's view of the lake gets interrupted, briefly, by Curtis pushing open the back door as he comes inside. He's bundled up in his usual multitude of layers -- more than the slight chill can account for -- and his left hand glints bright silver under the bar light.

[howtoactfereldan]

The light catches his eye. Cullen looks up.

It's not armor -- or at least, none he's ever seen.

It's possible Cullen gets caught studying the man.

[2goodarms]

It takes a beat or two, but pretty soon, he notices the guy by the window who kind of looks like he's sizing Curtis up. He pauses, eyeballing him right back.

And then he nods, and lifts his metal hand under the pretense of waving hello.

Shit, if the guy's gonna stare, might as well give him a better look. (And prove Curtis isn't carrying a knife or anything. That seems -- extra-important, lately.)

[howtoactfereldan]

In another world, another time, Cullen would happily self-identify as a gearhead.

Which means the metal hand is a source of extreme interest. "I don't wish to trouble you, serah -- if you'll forgive the intrusion -- may I ask about your armor?"

It looks not unlike illustrations of elven plate he's seen.

[2goodarms]

"My -- " A blank look crosses Curtis' face, then clears. "Oh."

Guess it does kinda look like that when he's wearing a coat.

"It's a fake arm, not armor." He rotates his hand, flexing it at the wrist; a few glimmers of blue light peek between the plating. "I mean, I can still tell you about it if you want, but..."

It might not be the information this guy's going for.

[howtoactfereldan]

This guy is, in fact, kind of in awe.

That's one way to get around wearing plate, he thinks, pleasantly stunned. Being plate.

Still --

"If it wouldn't be a burden," Cullen says, "I should like to hear about it, very much."

[2goodarms]

It's a lighter burden than other ones he's been carrying lately. Why not.

Curtis shrugs. "Sure," he says; picking one of the free chairs at the table -- one that doesn't block Cullen's sight lines -- he gets to work unbuttoning his coat. While it's a hell of a lot cleaner than when Curtis arrived, and patched up with more than tape and clumsy stitching nowadays, shabby would be one of the kinder words you could apply to it. Same with the sweater beneath, when he succeeds in pulling off the coat and dropping it over the back of his chair.

He rucks up his left sleeve to the elbow to show off more of the prosthesis. "It goes up to about here," he says, indicating a spot a few inches above the bend in his arm. "Somebody here made it for me."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen -- stares. Marvels, really. "They can make such things in this place?"

And looks up at the other man, one side of his mouth curling up. "And here I was told this place was a mere tavern and boarding-house."

[2goodarms]

He quirks a dry smile. Wiggles his metal fingers for extra effect. "Well, you get boarders from every planet and universe you can think up, some of 'em will have better tech than you do."

(Or most of them, in Curtis' case.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Not that Cullen has much conception of either planet or universe.

Also, from Cullen's perspective, the jacket and sweater are impressive: the tightest weave, cleanest stitch, he's ever seen.

"Have you tried fighting with it?" Cullen is leaning forward, as though that will help him understand how the fingers wiggle. "Do you need extra armor for it?"