(no subject)

[igetthatalot]

Kirkwall's beyond a mess and Varric does not want to think about it right now. Since deliberately Not Thinking about A Thing is a guaranteed way to keep that thing in mind, he is choosing instead to Think About Something Entirely Unrelated, namely, the approval he just got for his latest proposal to Randy Dowager Quarterly.

Which means that he stops after a few paces, because the Bar took advantage of the fact that he was so incredibly distracted as to reroute his destination entirely.

"Huh. Haven't been here in a while," he mutters to no one in particular before flagging down a wait-rat. He'll park himself at a nearby table shortly to play a favorite game of his, in which he picks random tavern-goers out of the crowd and scribbles a few sentences about what he assumes they're like in whatever story he's currently working on. (Which, given that he's working for Randy Dowager, is... going to be a little interesting.)

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen, wearing a pale gray and lavender set of mage robes, moves toward him, Liranan trotting at her heels.

"Hard at work, Varric? And if so, am I intruding?"

[igetthatalot]

"Hard probably isn't the word for it. I'm mostly just warming up," says Varric, as he puts his quill aside. "I heard somebody say once that every writer in the world has a hundred thousand bad sentences inside them, and that if you want to get good, you have to get all the bad ones out first."

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen smiles, quick and crooked, and settles down across from Varric. Liranan parks himself next to her chair, flopping down like a big dog in need of a long nap.

"How far into your predetermined bad sentences are you? Almost done?"

[igetthatalot]

"Judge for yourself," says Varric, and slides the parchment across the table.

Six years. That’s how long I spent behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit— the murder of the woman I loved. Now I’m free, but life on the outside is a different kind of prison. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. At least I have my sister, Avexis. She never stopped believing in me. She even got me a job with the mercenary company that cleared my name. And then Janara Banris walks into the headquarters of the Blue Flames and kicks my world on its ass.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen's expression twists into something halfway between surprise, alarm, and fascinated horror.

"So, you've only got another eighty thousand terrible sentences to go, right?"

[igetthatalot]

"More like seventy-eight thousand. I started from the sister's point of view," Varric says, indicating a crumpled scrap of parchment that's fallen off the table. "It's gonna get worse before it gets any better."

[freedom_is_grey]

"At least you'll never be bored?"

Hey, if it works for him . . .

[errant_valkyrior]

It'd be a long, and ultimately fruitless, day. All she'd wanted was drinking money, was that too much to ask for? Seems so.

When Milliways appeared aside from her quarters, she'd hoped she could get something on credit, but all Bar would give was something sweet, foaming, and cold. And so she sits staring down a root beer float trying to decide if it's alcoholic or not.

I forgot that this was a tag to Varric rather than Peter. My apologies.

[igetthatalot]

"Something wrong?" says the dwarf a few seats down, who's more in the process of getting himself a refill than actually parking himself in a seat. "She serves some weird things at times."

Re: I forgot that this was a tag to Varric rather than Peter. My apologies.

[errant_valkyrior]

[OOC: NP :) ]

Scrapper looks over and then down. "I don't know. I was hoping for something alcoholic and I got this instead. I'm not used to sweet things being alcoholic."

"Or served with whatever this cold lump on top is."

[igetthatalot]

Varric leans over to get a better look. "Well, I don't know that I recognize the brown stuff, but that cold stuff on top is made from milk," he says. "Probably cow's milk. I think they call it 'ice cream' here. I don't recall ever finding that in alcohol, either, but there's a first time for everything."

[errant_valkyrior]

"I have heard of such things," she allows, though might have to assume it is in reference to the ice cream. She looks the drink and then the small man, a dvergr?, then back again before shrugging and proceeding to down the contents of the tankard.

All in one go.

Without a pause for breath.

She slams the glass down, not breaking it out of habit, before her right eye twitches and she cants her head to the side, seemingly in some kind of pain.

Still squinting some and raising a hand to her head, she says, "I would not advise doing that."

[igetthatalot]

"Yeah, it doesn't look like that'd be much fun," Varric says, wincing in sympathy. "You okay there?"

[mjolnir_retriever]

Here's a totally normal, boring, easy-to-overlook tavern-goer in the crowd!

Wait, no.

Here's Thor Odinson. My mistake.

[OOC: About to vanish for a few hours, so let me know if you'd rather take a raincheck! But I couldn't resist.]

[igetthatalot]

[OOC: as the time stamp will show, not a problem!]

Hm. Somebody looks like he went looking for the Wardens as a youngster because he wanted the chance to wrestle ogres. Too bad he couldn't catch up with the recruiter and was forced to spend several years pitting himself against every kind of foe in the Fereldan Hinterlands to make sure he'd be worthy once the Wardens finally found him.

Okay, so that's mostly bears, but c'mon, there were at least a few dragon sightings in that part of Ferelden last year. Varric'll let him have some of those.

[mjolnir_retriever]

Thor would find this life path totally comprehensible, so good eye, Varric!

If he catches the short guy (hey, looks maybe not human, cool) watching him, Thor will give him the cheerful smile of someone who is 1) an extremely extroverted people person, and 2) a lifelong public figure.

[igetthatalot]

It's likely to happen sooner or later, since Varric isn't making any particular effort to be subtle today. The smile gets a slight wave in return. "Don't mind me," the dwarf says. "Unless doing a little people-watching's a problem, in which case, let me get my apologies ready."

[mjolnir_retriever]

That gets more of a grin. "No apologies needed."

Thor knows he's eye-catching and awesome!

His voice is of a part with that smile; Thor is open and genuine, but he knows exactly how to pitch his words. (Maybe wrestling dragons requires rhetoric and battlefield commands.)

"Milliways is a good place for that."

It's weirdly full of humans for an interdimensional nexus, but regardless of species, very few of the patrons are boring!

[igetthatalot]

Varric nods. "Positively inspirational," he says. "Not to mention a nice change from the usual people I see in Kirkwall. The last thing I need is to wind up writing the same characters and settings over and over again all the time."

[iprotectyou]

Having foregone his armor, a giant of a man sits at a nearby table, cutting thin Visco string into small fuses. He's got an empty bowl of what was soup--vegetable beef with weird, English alphabet letters--next to his elbow, and a cup and pot of black tea. He's moving cautiously, stiffly, as if his back torments him.

When he spots the non-human entering, he smiles; the smile only broadens when he sees him writing.

"If you don't mind interruptions, what are you working on? I'm Baze Malbus. May the Force of others be with you!" he says, his deep, booming voice pitched to carry across their tables.

(OOC: I know you're in slowtime, but I couldn't resist!)

[igetthatalot]

"Oh, I'm just trying to get past a minor case of writer's block," says Varric cheerfully "Varric Tethras, at your service. A pleasure to meet you, ser Malbus."

He'll get up and come around if the conversation seems likely to persist. It's simple enough, and it's bad form to make someone with back problems move around much.

[iprotectyou]

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Varric Tethras," Baze says, beaming at him.

"You're a writer? I've never met an actual writer before! Do you get your work published?"

[igetthatalot]

"Varric'll do just fine. People who call me by my full name usually work for the Merchant's Guild," Varric says. "And yes, I do- most of the time. I get rejection letters every so often just like any other writer."

[iprotectyou]

Baze has never heard of a rejection letter. This whole process is fascinating to him. He continues cutting the string up into small fuses, being economical with his movements.

"What do you like writing the most? Essays? Stories?"

[igetthatalot]

"Novels, mostly," says Varric, "with the occasional shorter story and maybe a nonfiction piece or two along the way. And however you want to classify multi-part serials, although most of those wind up getting collected together into novels if they go on long enough, so I guess that's how they count."

He sets his quill aside.

"Haven't actually got any of my books on me at the moment, or I'd have a sample to show you."