inagutterson: (Take that!)
Yngvi Congealedinagutterson ([personal profile] inagutterson) wrote2016-08-21 01:29 pm

ic/ooc: inbox/plot with/contact post




{sending crystal | notes & letters | personal visits}

Note: I work Mon-Fri and I'm basically away 11 hours a day but I do tags in gdocs and I try to do a round a night. Timezone is GMT.
limier: ([ green: impatient ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-21 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
If only we were all so resourceful.

[ Does she want to know the origins of that sound? If she knows, she might have to do something about it. Curiousity and plausible deniability briefly arm wrestle.

Getting completely shitfaced sounds — well, appealing. Wren doesn’t typically drink in public; not as anything more than a means to put others at ease, to get their own tongues flapping. But she also doesn’t typically travel in time, so.
]

Are you busy? The Tevinter Imperium stole my flask.

[ RIFP. Few other things in life can claim to have touched both Samson's and Oghren's lips.

... On second thought, that's probably for the best.
]
limier: ([ green - sarcasm ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-24 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
I was not aware that one left the Coterie.

[ Or that nugs could handle appointment books, but you know, who's she to limit their potential? ]

But perhaps in five years, I shall commission to engage them. You are truly a gracious soul; shall we say half an hour's time? Somewhere other than the Herald's Rest.

[ There are cellars here with stock enough that they'll not miss a bottle or two — at least, not until she can make the time to apologize and cough up some coin. Less need to watch her words, less chance of encountering it once more. ]
limier: ([ grey: sarcastic ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-26 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[ A cloak. Dear, sweet baby Andraste.

By the time that footsteps announce him, she's well clear of the door. Has in fact taken some small pains to ensure that the crates and barrels are too — best if no one cracks a skull tonight. She'd have to let him bleed out, or worse, talk to Anders.

Wren's already started in on a bottle when he arrives (cups are for chumps), uniform traded for a sweater that might be charitably described blind grandmother chic. It's clearly not her own: too short in the arms, stretched loose in the gut. She watches from her seat on the floor, calls out:
]

Four out of five.
Edited 2017-03-26 23:42 (UTC)
limier: ([ murky: remark ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-27 08:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Wren hasn’t curtsied in at least thirty years, and she doesn’t intend to begin again now. But a limp-wristed sweep of an arm implies its vague association. ]

I do aim for nostalgia. [ Dryly. She presses it out to him: Wine, some Antivan thing, cloying as the words that must have accompanied its donation. ] Even brought the Fereldens, for my lord's comfort of home.

[ A loose gesture to the ceiling. They’re up there. Somewhere. Lurking — alongside with the lists, the letters announcing that home's comforts rapidly draw closer. ]

I am afraid that I could not arrange the poisoned madwoman upon such short notice, but the night is young yet.
limier: ([ mint: are you shitting me ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-29 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ A snort. ]

We could do with a bit of lava up here. It would take care of the mold.

[ Her eyes linger on the tension in his smile. At least they’re both in a mood, however quickly the reasons diverge. Elves, then, but which ones? Something to listen for. ]

Dreaming is a crock of shit.

[ She shifts up slightly, the better to lean against a shelf and behold his woebegone, laughing form, ]

It’s just hallucinating four or five hours, [ Sure, that’s how much you're supposed to sleep. ] While abstract concepts try to possess you. Same as dodgy mushrooms.

[ But, wait a moment, she's realized — eyes narrowing — ]

— Where are your nugs?

[ Maybe they can drink to them. ]
Edited 2017-03-29 02:23 (UTC)
limier: ([ green: really ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-03-29 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Depends. How good is the dream?

[ Are there tits involved? Nice ones? As though reciting from memory: ]

As the body rests, the dreaming mind enters the Fade. Non-mages do not retain awareness of this. Events shall seem as though they are real, however strange they become.


[ The dullness of her tone falls away. ]

But you — what, black out? Is that it? It sounds odd.

[ It sounds relaxing. She shakes her head, reaches for the bottle again: ]

To Stroganugg, a finer protector I have not known.
Edited 2017-03-29 18:50 (UTC)
limier: ([ grey: quip ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-03 12:04 am (UTC)(link)
Parts of them.

[ Wren admits. ]

How the boar tasted — for instance. You would still have the experience, just no hair in your teeth.

[ Well. She might not. Dwarven beards get serious quick. ]

There was a boy in training who would always dream of being smothered to death by geese. He was terribly concerned — Is it a demon? I am going mad? He prayed over it. Wept many pious tears. Atoned.

In the end it was solved by the confiscation of his very fancy pillow.

[ Nobility. What can you do. She mulls it over; ]

But I suppose you shall find out, if you ever wake to more nugs.

[ There is the warden from Orzammar now, she almost suggests, and abruptly thinks better of suggesting. ]
Edited 2017-04-03 00:05 (UTC)
limier: ([ grey: aww ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-04 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)
I am not paid enough to handle your funeral costs.

[ Not that she expects the Nightingale to object to thrown nugs — rather, that tempting her with a potential inheritance of the creatures seems a good way to mark oneself dispensible. ]

I am uncertain that I might be of help, we were never allowed to name our geese. But for you, Monsieur, I shall try,

[ She deliberates, one finger held aloft: ]

Roulade. [ For the heavy-roller. ] Andouille. [ For the dumbass. ] Sabodet — [ For the blockheaded. Look, no one stuffs sausage puns like a butcher. ]

— Ah, there is no Gunnar?

[ One must honour one's blood somehow. ]
limier: ([ murky - chit ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-06 08:24 am (UTC)(link)
Then the matter is settled. If a goose kills you, we shall leave the body for it. Very tidy.

[ Then you roast the goose, later, and the whole thing's catered. But Maker, did he almost admit to knowing patisserie? They couldn't have that.

Other pertinent questions: Where'd that wine go? How is this bottle empty already? Wren shifts up to inspect the others upon the rack.
]

I used to tell the other children that we minced my brother up for pies. [ She hadn't started that rumour, but she'd been happy enough to spread it. It scared them more than the threat of a black eye. ] How many others were there?
limier: ([ white - quiet ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-08 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
Geese have a habit of snapping up frogs.

[ She hefts a bottle. Nevarran, this one; name pronounced like the sound of severe laryngitis, and not enough gnats for a summer breeze. But it'll do. She waves it back in answer.

The concept's familiar. Everywhere, there are times when the gift of a child must be weighed against the cold arithmetic of survival. That doesn't make it pretty, or just. It doesn't make it right.

Wren knows her own part in such unkindnesses. But you do what you can, it's all that you can do. To carry on over someone else's pain is no courtesy to them.
]

I am glad you've thus far escaped their wings. It should be dreadfully boring here otherwise.
Edited 2017-04-08 03:10 (UTC)
limier: ([ grey: sarcastic ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-10 02:13 am (UTC)(link)
I am charmed that you accord me good standing. [ Who wouldn't want to fit neatly into the Order of late? They've done such a fine job of fucking it all. ] Do repeat that, if you ever speak with the Lady Seeker.

[ Or better yet, don't say her name at all. She's a favour over Reed now, and a story to shock Darton if she ever need divert him — she suspects the Right Hand would be harder to distract.

As Yngvi's doing now. But she'll let it lie a moment: silence folding into the shape of something almost an agreement. There's more than one means to pluck a bird.
]

Be certain to mention my generosity and love for fellow man.
limier: ([ grey: aww ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-11 09:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ An undignified snort. It wouldn't do to shittalk her scant comrades of Skyhold; she's going to need them on her side. But Maker, is it occasionally tempting. ]

Why not? We are in a dangerous line of work, Monsieur, [ They might drink themselves to death in this basement. There may be coattails. ] Let this fortress remember us for it.

[ No small bitterness to that thought, but it goes unvoiced in the easy smile of a moment.

Yngvi is not Arnault, is not Gervais, is no Brother — this wears neither the familiarity or formality of her few friendships. There's no advantage to this; neither of them (neither of their causes) will benefit from the association.

That makes it easier. The stakes are not so high. To let down one's guard, however slight,

It does not ask so much of her.

Wren fishes at her side, hands over a heavy knife, hilt-first. do u wanna vandalize skyhold y/y
]
limier: ([ mint: are you shitting me ])

[personal profile] limier 2017-04-13 07:53 am (UTC)(link)
I swear there were not so many bears but ten years back —

[ But then her brain catches up with her ears, and her brow furrows. It’s hardly an uncommon name, and yet — ]

Emeric?

[ — And yet she is quite done trusting to coincidence, where some bloodlines are concerned. Particularly those wealthy enough to own something so frivolous as multiple spoons. ]

(no subject)

[personal profile] limier - 2017-04-14 20:00 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] limier - 2017-04-16 18:42 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] limier - 2017-04-22 01:49 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] limier - 2017-05-03 00:09 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] limier - 2017-05-07 05:49 (UTC) - Expand