There's technically some backstory to account for here. But despite the involvement of smuggling secret documents in the guise of his latest manuscript and a handful of scheming, traitorous Ferelden Bann's children, the most exciting part of the whole trip is the storm that threatens the little trade ship as it finally makes its approach into the Kirkwall harbor.
So let's start there, shall we?
It's a dark and stormy night as the Seadog's (look, he didn't pick the name; sometimes Fereldens really do live up to their ridiculous reputations) jolly boat finally makes landfall in Kirkwall. It's passengers, esteemed author Varric Tethras included, make their way directly to the nearest public house to get out of the rain. Even without discriminating for taste, Varric is so soaked through by the time they duck out of the rain that he's considering the possibility of those important secret papers being turned to much where they're wrapped in an oilcloth packet and living in his coat pocket. And wouldn't that be the rotten cherry on this disappointingly vanilla sundae?
While the sailors head straight to the bar, Varric makes a beeline to big hearth on the back wall. There's a bench there with an open seat close to the fire and he means to occupy it. The papers might be a lost cause, but his toes might still have a chance to live on.
"Tell me this seat isn't taken."
Not that he actually waits for confirmation before sitting down beside the young woman occupying this end of the bench.
Fereldan hadn't necessarily been Derrica's destination, but it's where she's landed. Like so many other times, she finds herself beside the fire in a pub wearing someone else's cloak and considering her options for the morning. She's back in that liminal stage between severing ties with one crew and ingratiating herself with another. She's never managed to find a way to make it easier for herself; each time she parts ways for some new, far-sailing band of sailors her heart aches for what she's left behind.
Transience doesn't suit her as well as she wanted it to. Thinking of future opportunities and trying to pretend she isn't lonely, that she doesn't miss Dairsmuid, has made her poor company; most of the sailors she'd arrived with have dispersed through the tavern. If anyone was taking the seat beside, she'd expected one of them, rather than a sodden dwarf.
"I—" Derrica begins, then shakes her head. "No, actually, you'd be doing me a favor if you take it."
And who knows, maybe this was her next ticket out on the morning tide.
"As long as you're planning on getting comfortable there, you could tell me your name. And where you've come from."
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So let's start there, shall we?
It's a dark and stormy night as the Seadog's (look, he didn't pick the name; sometimes Fereldens really do live up to their ridiculous reputations) jolly boat finally makes landfall in Kirkwall. It's passengers, esteemed author Varric Tethras included, make their way directly to the nearest public house to get out of the rain. Even without discriminating for taste, Varric is so soaked through by the time they duck out of the rain that he's considering the possibility of those important secret papers being turned to much where they're wrapped in an oilcloth packet and living in his coat pocket. And wouldn't that be the rotten cherry on this disappointingly vanilla sundae?
While the sailors head straight to the bar, Varric makes a beeline to big hearth on the back wall. There's a bench there with an open seat close to the fire and he means to occupy it. The papers might be a lost cause, but his toes might still have a chance to live on.
"Tell me this seat isn't taken."
Not that he actually waits for confirmation before sitting down beside the young woman occupying this end of the bench.
no subject
Transience doesn't suit her as well as she wanted it to. Thinking of future opportunities and trying to pretend she isn't lonely, that she doesn't miss Dairsmuid, has made her poor company; most of the sailors she'd arrived with have dispersed through the tavern. If anyone was taking the seat beside, she'd expected one of them, rather than a sodden dwarf.
"I—" Derrica begins, then shakes her head. "No, actually, you'd be doing me a favor if you take it."
And who knows, maybe this was her next ticket out on the morning tide.
"As long as you're planning on getting comfortable there, you could tell me your name. And where you've come from."