ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 22, 2014 7:39:36 GMT
Maeve’s nerves raced in a way that reflected the pitter patter the rain thrummed into the rooftop, and all she could do was be grateful that they actually had a roof now. And, well, try not to think of all of the others in the alienage who didn’t. Her mother was out on business, helping an old friend with her husband’s leg. An “accident” involving a Chevalier. Maeve had faith in her mother’s abilities. It would heal right. If they could survive long enough, he would be able to get work elsewhere. Maeve did not worry for her mother; her friend would surely let her stay until the downpour at least settled down. Her father, however, had not returned from hunting, so she waited by the door, anxious and listening as best as she could manage. She was not used to this much space in one place. It was something she had always craved, being entirely alone in her own space, but at this moment in time it just made her feel worried, perhaps not entirely for her father’s sake. Her fingers itch, and she bounced from the ball of her feet back to flat once, twice, thrice, in an attempt to ground herself back down before she heard something. It could just be a cat. Or maybe it was a templar, as if they didn’t have better things to do. Still, she cracked the door open and poked her head as far out as she could without getting entirely doused in the rain, still carrying a bit of bounce with the movement. She saw someone. Most certainly not her father, but something kept her from immediately retreating back inside and slamming the door. Instead, she stared brazenly at this stranger. mark amellcoded by electric of gangnam style |
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Post by mark amell on May 22, 2014 12:57:10 GMT
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the thing about mark's skill set is, it really was not adapted to helping him camp outdoors for the long term. to be fair, he never expected to be on the run for this long. for maker's sake, he was still making campfires by hand, and bandages have become his best friend. all of this made mark unusually hardy for a mage, but not even he could dominate nature forever.
aesthetically, mark rather liked the rain. except admiring aesthetics for its own sake is a luxury for those who actually have a roof, and the mage admittedly does not even have a street corner to call his own. that was dangerous to anyone who was
vulnerable to hypothermia, which certainly included him at the moment.
so maybe a human mage shouldn't have been wandering around an orlesian alienage, but it certainly beat the streets of val royeux. he had intended to keep a low profile after the run in with the warden mage, and that didn't happen in the posh streets of the orlesian capital. without his set of warden robes, his usual traveling cloak was ragged enough to draw more than a few stares from the humans who cared so much about personal upkeep. as long as he kept his hood up and his head low, mark actually passed for one of the alienage's residents fine for awhile, as long as nobody looked too hard. once the rain started, certainly nobody was doing that. they had the sense to scramble indoors - the ones who had the means to, at least.
he had given passing glances to the elves shivering in the streets and thought that maybe the dalish were right. perhaps the city elves were getting more human than they think. inequality was never a uniquely human invention, but that proximity certainly helped. mark does not give it a second thought, shrugging off guilt that is not even his. he is used to these thoughts - used to the idea that people like him are no more than corrosive poison.
mark is soaked by the time that he reaches the door of this particular residence. he felt little impunity in asking for help, at the very least. there is the risk that the people inside were of an unsavory nature, certainly, but he will take the risk over the streets of the alienage. besides, if they caused him any trouble, he could just freeze them and sit it out in the house for awhile.
although he sincerely hoped that would not be necessary. good company was always in short supply for an apostate on the run.
"hello." he does not even seem to mind her gawking at all. "i don't suppose that you'll let me in for a piece of silver, would you?" stolen from a dead templar, certainly, but still serviceable after he wiped the blood off of it. perhaps economic need would triumph over basic self-preservation instinct.
Maeve Flynn |  |
coded by electric of gs |
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ELF
“ waste of time or waste of fear? ”
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Post by Maeve Flynn on May 30, 2014 8:56:24 GMT
Troublemaker. Maeve could almost hear the words as she didn’t immediately slam the door shut, staring at this hooded stranger with a stave who approached. Somewhat tall for an elf, but she was more surprised when he offered coin. She hesitated, pretending to eye the silver to buy herself time. Troublemaker. She could feel it, tendrils of a ... connection, she almost thought, but that was not the description she was seeking. She wasn’t surprised, obviously; he had been carrying a staff. But the sinking in her gut came with the realization that there was a good chance that such things went both ways. ”Fine.” She says quickly, stepping back and opening the door just enough to let him in. If he was another elf, perhaps, maybe there was little to worry for? Maybe. She remembered her mother’s hands gripping her tight, her words sharp with worry. ”They would do nothing to protect us in turn, Maeve. Remember that.””Quick and quiet like, then, yeah?” as if enough hadn’t already seen in the packed alienage of Val Royaeux. ”Hurry.”mark amell coded by electric of gangnam style |
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