fade rift. inbox.

[charmoffensive]

crystal / correspondence / action

Comments

action; post-rift nonsense

[sulahnan]

[ So maybe she's incorrigible.

Athessa catches up to Loxley some day, back in Kirkwall or about the Gallows, jogging until she can fall in stride beside him and very casually flash him a smile at the same moment she tries - and it is an attempt, never successful - to tuck her hair behind her ear. ]

I got somethin' for ya.

[charmoffensive]

[ He's walking near and around the Gallows docks, tall enough by human (and elf) standards and nevertheless oddly shaped for someone with silver skin and curling horns. Hand on sword hilt, dressed in tall boots and long coat, he is watching the passage of ships in the bay as Athessa presents herself as a more interesting prospect to behold. ]

For me?

crystal

[bouchonne]

[ His voice is quite dry. ]

I have been informed in no uncertain terms that I am a fool if I don't give you another chance.

[charmoffensive]

[ The benefit of crystals: you can make a face, and no one will know. Particular as his tone simply matches Byerly's as he says; ]

And is that what this is?

action; sometime recent pre-crossroads, a thing from the jobs list

[sulahnan]

[ It's day three of their week-long stakeout of the Merchants' Guild office, and right now Athessa is peering out the window at the building in question.

The same guard at the same time both days prior had started to leave, gotten halfway down the street, then hurried back to fetch his keys and actually lock the doors. That guard is the one she's watching now. ]

He's gonna forget his keys again. That'll be three days in a row.

[charmoffensive]

We should get his name.

[ --through a stifled yawn, and there's a shuffle of fabric as Loxley arranges his coat in some manner. ]

Along with a description, obviously, although I don't know how it is you can recognise him from here.

[ This isn't the first time Loxley's made comment as to Athessa's especially sharp powers of vision which are probably totally normal. The shuffling stops, and then there's another familiarity: the sound of a metal cap, being undone. ]

But an exploit is good to know.

morning after - action;

[sulahnan]

[ In the same way that naps can be disorienting, getting enough sleep after months of the bare minimum can be kinda confusing for the first thirty seconds.

Which is why Athessa startles awake, looking around to try and see where she is--then shoving her mane of curls out of her face to actually be able to recognize her own room.

Oh, and Loxley is here, limbs still mostly entangled with hers.]

[charmoffensive]

[ He doesn't remember falling asleep, but then, who does? More accurately: he doesn't remember the intention to fall asleep. So there is trace confusion when he rouses at Athessa's twitched moment, squinting.

Afternoon light is pouring in through a window. Yikes.

He starts to retract his limbs a little, waking up to twinges and numbing tingles. Raises his head. Drops it. ]

Morning.

[ It is not. ]

action.

[cozen]

[ As luck would have it, they live on the same floor, and it requires barely any reconnaissance work at all for Bastien to catch up to Loxley in the corridor and fall into step with him one morning. ]

Monsieur. Do you mind if I walk with you?

[ He sounds friendly—he is friendly—but there is a small warning sign, in the form of a sheet of notes and a pen held together in one of his hands. ]

[charmoffensive]

[ There's no elaborate double take to ensure he is the one being addressed, but it is surprising nonetheless. Loxley, dressed for the day and already on an enthusiastic trajectory that's likely to wing by the kitchens before it hits the docks, only slows for the time it takes him to gesture welcomingly-- ]

It's a free corridor.

[ Maybe Bastien is after his autograph. ]

As is the staircase upcoming, I think.

crystal; mid-guardian

[clawings]

Yo.

Ain't seen you around in a minute.

[charmoffensive]

Hello.

[ 'Yo'. He's not sure he could deliver that with Erik's particular charm, but it's tempting to try. ]

Yes, I—ought to've mentioned I'd relocated out of the Gallows, though I hadn't intended to vanish quite so much. Sorry about that.

How's it been?

book

[nonvenomous]

[ in the wee hours of a rainy bloomingtide morning: ]

I'm sorry.

After several increasingly desperate engagements with gnoll maurauders in Jamayah, I stopped arguing for Rah-shak to stay with us. The city was overrun. We were surrounded.
She died fighting to ensure our escape.

Naj died aboard our airship while defending against a goblin ambush. I was unable to revive her.

[charmoffensive]

[ A few hours later, around when the sun rises, there's a small inky dot of a pen press to the page. It lingers there for a while.

Words form, eventually; ]

Thank you for telling me.

crystal / return to kirkwall

[tender]

Loxley?

[charmoffensive]

Speaking.

post tourney celebration pt 2.

[tender]

Loxley's lodgings are small, but tidy, lit by a cluster of candles in a shallow bowl. In her previous visits, Derrica noticed how neatly he kept the room, along with the little decorations, the orderly way he'd lined up his boots by the door. It was the type of detail about him that stuck in her mind, that strike her as sweet.

It comes to mind now as she watches him move through the room. It stalls her halfway out of her coat, which was moments away from being left in a puddled heap on the floor, and redirects it to drape over the chair instead.

"The tavern is not so loud yet tonight," is a stray observation, as Derrica leans a hip against the edge of the table to begin the process of undoing her boot laces. Maybe they've picked a good night for this, when so much of Kirkwall is drinking at the tourney into the wee hours.

Derrica is still watching him, attention evenly split between the task at hand and Loxley himself.

[charmoffensive]

His own coat is off, draped over the chest at the end of his bed. The little scarf tied around his throat goes with it, and with his back to her, he tips his head as if to judge the sound levels. She's right: there's the faint strains of a stringed instrument somewhere, the occasional thump and scrape of furniture, the swell of noisy conversation that dims away again, but not as rowdy as it can get.

"It usually quiets off before the sun starts," Loxley says, turning and sitting down at the edge of his bed. He follows her action, tugging loose the buckles of his boots, shucking them off.

Noticing that she's watching him, and so returns the favour, corner of his mouth curling. "But I don't doubt a whole horde of drunken louts will come flooding in from the Tourney," thump, goes the second boot, "us being the first of them."

That said, he feels oddly clear. He'd ceased to drink after that last beer and on purpose, and there is always something uniquely sobering about a woman of Derrica's beauty. And she certainly seems steady on her feet too.

crystal / i'm back.

[tender]

Loxley?

thank goodness.

[charmoffensive]

It is. Good guess.

crystal.

[nonvenomous]

Do you have plans this evening?

[charmoffensive]

Not yet.

backdated a smidge to the beginning of the month.

[tender]

The first ferry into Kirkwall comes very early. Derrica knows this because there have been times in which she has waited for it, scuffing her feet on the dock, prepared to slip into the Gallows as if she had been there all night.

She not, however, taken the first ferry into Kirkwall. The city is very, very quiet, and the wind is bitingly cold even through the heavy weight of her cloak. A few Lowtown stalls are opening, and a trio of gangly teens are extinguishing torches in the greying dawn, but otherwise all is still.

It occurs to her that she hasn't planned this very well when she approaches the darkened tavern. But though the door is locked one window is cracked open, and she spills in over the ledge before taking the stairs two by two to rap on Loxley's door and hope he is at home.

[charmoffensive]

There's a long-ish pause in the dim hallway, grey light seeping through a thick glassed window towards the front, all other potential sources extinguished at this hour. Then, some subtle sounds. A scrape, followed by a louder series of thunks and clunks as numerous locks are undone and unlatched, rattling and tumbling.

The door opens to Loxley who was definitely about as deeply asleep as he gets less than a minute ago, which is not extremely. He's managed to put on some pants but has a knit blanket pulled around bare shoulders to protect him from the deep chill both outside and inside his own room.

"Morning," he says, shuffling backwards to let her in rather than ask what brings her. Bed unmade and warm, a few of last night's dishes left on the table by the window, the stove in the corner cold and lightless.

crystal;

[tender]

Loxley? Will you be home tonight?

[charmoffensive]

I intend to be. Or I could intend not to be.

crystal.

[biggame]

Hi.

[ He probably deserves more of a preamble than that, but no. ]

How are you at guarding bodies?

[charmoffensive]

[ A beat, then, ]

Normal, I'd say.