astrid hawke (
wittyskepticism) wrote in
sixthiterationlogs2017-04-26 09:36 am
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Entry tags:
the champion's rogue heart
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: April 26th and 27th
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: TBD
STATUS: OPEN
April 26th - Fountain, Midday
April 27th - Inn
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: April 26th and 27th
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: TBD
STATUS: OPEN
April 26th - Fountain, Midday
Hawke is fairly certain that the Nightmare Demon she was fighting didn't have the ability to make her drown. Then again, she was in the Fade last she checked and the Fade is malleable enough to manage that. Still, the demon knows she hates spiders most of all. Why it would try to drown her is beyond her comprehension at the moment.
Not that she minds not staring at giant arachnids at the moment, but it is confusing.
Those thoughts flit across her mind as she struggles to push herself to the surface of the water. She can see it glinting above her like Isabela's ship, like a priceless personal goal that's just out of reach. Just a little further. She reaches, her hand breaks through, and then she's sucking in deep lungfuls of air as she pushes herself up and out, nearly falling over the edge and onto the ground below. For a few seconds, she just lies there, catching her breath and looking around for any sign of the Nightmare Demon.
Nothing. Groaning to herself about the way her life has gone, she finally rolls over and pushes herself to her feet. "That's two apologies the Chantry owes me," she complains with her usual dry humor. "This doesn't look like the Maker's bosom, either."
April 27th - Inn
Hawke takes up a room at the Inn at the first opportunity and her first day is spent just trying to cope. Of course, Hawke's version of coping is hardly the same as everyone else's, so mostly she stays away and tries to figure out what she can. She gets the main idea of the place and that's enough. No one has heard of Thedas. It's enough to make a girl crazy.
So the next day, she hangs out in the Inn proper and not in her room. It almost reminds her of the Hanged Man and that realization brings with it a squeeze of pain. She misses her companions, even if it was her choice to leave Kirkwall. She wonders vaguely how Bethany is doing, if Isabela has managed to find herself a new ship, if Fenris ever cleaned his estate, what Merrill is doing now, and if Aveline and Donnic have decided to try for children. They would make good parents, she thinks. Her mind wanders to Varric and she finds herself smiling into her cup of tea as she sits by the fire. She misses him most of all and she knows he probably misses her, too. He and Aveline were her best friends and she really misses their counsel. And Varric's very broad sense of humor and storytelling.
She keeps her mind pointedly away from Anders. That is a subject she would rather avoid.
Once she has drained her cup, with or without company, she sets about asking for work, trying to see if anyone needs any kind of help. Anyone nearby may find her walking up to start a conversation with a quick, "Mind if I ask you something?" If they say no, she'll start asking and hopefully not badgering, but if they say no, she'll politely leave them alone. Or as politely as possible.
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"Aye, you can ask me anything you'd like. I can't guarantee a good answer, though. This place has a lot of things I can't explain."
It was a continual source of frustration for him, yes, but that was something he didn't want to express to someone he didn't know just yet.
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"I was wondering what people do around here," she says finally, turning more to face him. "What sorts of jobs do people need help with? There's no Chantry board and hardly anything written. I figured word of mouth might be the next best thing."
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Jon was no farmer, unfortunately, so he was one of the hunters. "I am Jon Snow. I'm afraid I don't know of Thedas, though. I hail from Westeros."
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"I've been shooting a bow since before I could walk," she replies jokingly. "Does anyone else go hunting with you?" If not, maybe he would be a good person to help show her around. She could use a friendly face anyway.
"Never heard of Westeros, either. I guess we're mutually lacking in knowledge." She does pause as she realizes she might actually have to tell him her name. That would never happen in Thedas. Or very rarely anyway. Most people know her, if not on sight then definitely by name. "Call me Hawke. Everyone else does."
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"Jon Snow. Well met, Hawke. How did you come by such a name? Are you that keen an eye? I might be replaced on the bow if that's the case."
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She pauses, realizing that her joke has probably fallen flat, and then chooses to ignore it and push on.
"It's my family name, on my father's side," she explains. "For some reason everyone started calling me that when we moved to Kirkwall and it just stuck." She doesn't mind, though if Carver had lived that might have been another wedge between them. "We'll have to find out who has the bird's eye view, won't we?"
If she knew the turn of phrase involving eagles, she might have made a play on that instead. Oh well.
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"Well, I meant where they tend to populate, is all, which I imagine you could extract from that. If you're as good a sight as your family name indicates, we'll be glad to have you here. We can always use more good shots."
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She misses Bodahn and Sandal. They were constants at the estate, constants in her life. She misses a lot of the way things were.
"I can imagine so," she says rather than get into any of that. Best to push that aside. "It doesn't look like food is overflowing here." It hadn't really been in Kirkwall, either, but the situation there was much better than what she can see here so far. "If you have time to show me tomorrow morning, I'd like to learn."
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He smiled just a bit, trying to be welcoming. "Tell me more about this Thedas, if you would?"
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"I'm always happy to help," she says honestly. Although his question about Thedas has one of her eyebrows rising. That's a difficult question to answer. "Anything in particular you want to know or shall I start with prejudice, darkspawn, demons, and how everyone wants to kill each other?"
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INN
A nervous smile tugged at her lips. "Oh, yeah." She hadn’t realized she’d lost focus on the things around her.
She pushed her work to the side, letting it sit untouched. "What is it? Are you knew?" She really should have been paying more attention. Moana was a little excited about the fabric that she was making, hoping to remake her dress before the warmer weather.
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"Very new. So new you might still be able to see the water from sailing over," she jokes. Although given that they apparently rise out of the fountain in the middle of town, her words work both for her journey to Kirkwall and her arrival here. "I was going to ask what people do around here, but I think I can see the answer you would give. What is that?"
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It reminded her of traditions from home.
Moana looked up at her and considered her original inquiry. "People do all sorts of things around here. Most try and help out so we have food and firewood." There have been some experimental escapes but none have gone particularly well.
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"That's noble," she admits instead. Food and firewood. Well, she can hunt if she can get her hands on a bow, or she could chop wood. "I've been trying to decide what to do with myself. Can't sit in a chair by the fire and drink tea all day."
Well, she could, but her life has never really let her do that and she doesn't expect it to change now.
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"I understand wanting something to do. That's why I spend the evenings making things." Mostly when it was too dark to go out and someone else was already cooking.
"What do you like to do? We can think of something." It wasn't that she was comfortable in the world, far from it, but Moana already had a failed escape attempt as well as the shock of suddenly arriving back here. She was trying to think, instead of acting foolishly to escape.
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She's a rogue, though. She should be able to pick out traps. Just apparently not the farm variety.
It takes remembering the last time she made the terrible joke not to say, "Helping people and killing people are what I do best," but it's a close thing. That would probably go about as well as it had the last time and she would really rather not deal with accidentally insulting one of the first people to talk to her this soon. Instead, she actually gives that question thought.
"I can disarm traps like a professional, shoot a bow. Explore." Maker's breath, what else did she do? "Gather herbs for the herbalists. Fight dragons. Kill demons. Get my heart broken."
Okay so that last one might not be something she likes doing, but dammit, Anders.
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"Killing?" She didn't mean to sound worried but Moana grew up on a peaceful island. She hadn't been able to conceptualize someone killing a person on purpose.
"Um... there are a lot of people who need help." Moana really had no idea what to make of this woman. She felt bad for her but also a little wary of her.
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"Demons are difficult to explain," she begins carefully. "They're not like actual people. They're... spirits that were twisted to become something bad. Rage, greed, pride, vengeance. That sort of thing. If given the chance, they'll use you and then kill you."
Feeling bad and wary of Hawke is about right on first meeting these days. Hawke wouldn't blame her at all. Once upon a time she was a much nicer person. Diplomatic more than anything. But then Kirkwall had happened, Anders had happened, and she had changed. A part of that person still exists, but she's buried it underneath layers of not coping.
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This wasn't something she wanted to talk about. It felt like they were speaking two different languages. This woman wasn't very clear in what she said.
"You should ask Kate or Mark. Kate oversees the inn." At least as far as Moana knew. "Mark is organizing the planting and farming. They'll know what the inn needs. There are rooms upstairs. If it's empty then it's free I think." Even if she was unsure of this woman's character Moana was helpful and as pleasant as she could be. This was all too confusing.
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April 27
So he's at one of the tables eating when she walks up and starts speaking. He takes a moment to swallow and then nods with a little shrug. "Sure, if you want. Just get here?" He doesn't know everyone in the village yet, but he's been around long enough to have a visual familiarity with pretty much everyone, and he's never seen her before.
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"I've been trying to figure out what there is to do around here," she continues, her voice taking on the tone of a child who's bored with her life. "It's not like people need someone to solve all of their problems here."
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Still, her declaration takes Clint by surprise a little. Not a lot, and it doesn't show except for a blink and a quick 'huh' sort of expression on his face, but then he shrugs. "Survive, mostly." It's true; there's just not a lot of other things they can do before seeing to food, shelter, and safety for everyone here. "If you're any good with farming, Mark can definitely use your help. Or if you can fix stuff, there's a lot of buildings around here that need some work, and other projects we've been wanting to get started but haven't been able to 'cause we don't have the people who know how to do it or the materials. Miss Kate's in charge of most of the cooking here in the inn and she can always use another pair of hands, and if you don't mind hunting the game's starting to come back after the winter and we could use some more meat."
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Farming and cooking she could probably do, but they wouldn't be her first choices. Neither would fixing things, but really Hawke has done worse in the name of earning coin before. Not that there seems to be coin exactly here.
"Tell me they have bows here? I'm not picking up a sword and charging a bear. That's something Aveline would do."
No, really. Aveline is part of the guard. That's what they do. And her motto was always, "Protect what matters with everything you have or you'll have nothing and deserve it." Hawke misses her, too. Deeply.
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"There's a few, but they're not all that great. You shoot?" Clint's analysis of the weapons is partially biased, but also not all that off. Some of them are old and worn, but a couple are sturdy enough. None of them have the draw weight he's used to, though, and for that reason alone he'll never consider them 'good enough.' They always feel like a child's bow to him, the arrows almost like feathers.
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"I do. It's the only thing I like to use." She knows the basics of knife-fighting, but she's never been good at it the way Isabela is. Give her a sword of any kind and she's likely to chop someone's ear off. "What's wrong with the ones here? Do they not perform well?"