02 | OPEN

[shri]

FORM: Sending Crystal.
SENDER: Lakshmibai
RECIPIENT: Any one and everyone.
WHAT: Head of Community Outreach & Are you a rifter? Do you know how to weave? Want to turn a profit and help out the inquisition? Please inquire.
WHEN: Time is a flat circle.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: nothing too serious

Greetings... It is Rani Lakshmibai.

[ Right, that out of the way. ]

I have two matters which I need a moment - [ Here we go. ] - I have recently been made Head of Community Outreach, for which I'm honoured. I wish to a little more to understand where I might be applied in helping others, but as yet many things still escape me as where help might be best applied to those that need it. If you have a moment to speak with me, in person, I would be much obliged. My Quarters are in the Gallows.

[ Onwards then, because who works and doesn't overwork? Not her. ] Secondly, and for rifters amongst us... I have spoken with Master Barnabas, a merchant here in Kirkwall, and I realised that whilst what many of us bring in terms of items here can be desirable and turn a good profit for it's... foreign nature. Such things are short-term investments. [ And that as far as she's concerned, is a waste. ] As such, I am looking for women or men, of moderate skill in weaving textiles and who can take direction easily, to join me in such work. You will be paid, though primarily, all extra earnings are to be funded back into the Inquisition. I intend to work things that no part of Thedas has seen before, and feel we are uniquely qualified for such an endeavour.

If such a thing is in your ability, please enquire.

[ Somewhere, her husband is following her about, tugging at her hair and laughing. ]

That is all. My regards.

Comments

[shri]

[ She doesn't shout - or yell or use her height or weight or all that impossible strength. Another day, perhaps even, she might. That he had insulted her faith. The lives that her people had given. That he insulted her father, a servant, and the streets she grew up hungry and half wild in with nothing.

No, none of it comes, for in her mouth sits independence, sits a homeland that is free, but she is trapped here, and she has not wept in years. She cannot. If she begins where is she to stop? Another day she could have swallowed of this all and spat back all he, in turn, did not understand. She had put of something into his hands as surely as she might anyone else, a want to speak honestly to how she felt. How much she loathed the games of nobles, lords, priests, to assure him that she would always know what would come first.

But she had been wrong and -

She snatches for the veil, that ugly sting she can feel all the way down. That feels like frustration, humiliation and so surely grief. Her head snaps away. Proud because that is all she has, stiff because she doesn't know how to give herself in.

After all, she had been told, and Gwen had warned her, and she had no one else to blame but herself. ]

Forgive me. [ Because what else was there to say? Her fingers grip so hard into the cotton, they turn white. ] The door was never locked. Thank you for speaking with me.

[inagutterson]

[An interesting stalemate this is.

(He knows where he's going to run after his rooms. When he's calmed down. Changed his clothes that cling to him now, sticking to him when he gets up on numb legs.)

One nod with a jerk of his head, and he moves fast for a dwarf but when did he ever have the luxury to amble about, to stroll unless it was for a reason? His hands don't fumble with the handle. He doesn't look back.

He's still polite enough not to slam it behind him. Wouldn't want to make more of a scene than he already has.]