therookery | crystal |

FORM: crystal
SENDER: Matthias
RECIPIENT: Riftwatch EVERYONE LISTEN UP
NOTES: friends don't let friends get extradited

So what is Riftwatch, right. Like, I know what it is. But I know what it ought not to be as well, and if someone comes along and says oi, I'm come of some king in Nevarra and we say we've a right to carry off and arrest one of your members--well, then, that's an easy one. We tell 'em no, and piss off.

'Cause we can't let that go on. Right? Not that we're opening up jail cells and inviting in every prisoner to come in and join up, but-- well, we're none of us perfect. Everyone's come from something. And it's not always so simple as they say it is. People get hanged for nothing, or maybe they did what they're accused of, but there's more to it that no one's saying. And we--Riftwatch, I mean--we're not held to the same diplomatic shit that the Inquisition proper is, not any longer. That's part of how come we split off, I thought. So we can be what we want, and say for ourselves what we'll put up with and what we won't. And who we'll put up with, and who we won't. Make our own policy so we can protect our own people, no matter what.

At least, that's what it ought to be, I think. I didn't come here and join up just so someone could hand me over some day the first time some messenger comes calling. Don't think anyone ought to be worried about that. Like--there's diplomacy, and then there's acting a white liver coward, you know?

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[He looks up like she's burnt him, only less pained. But he stops trying to disappear into his shirt, and he looks at her straight on, and he smiles. (Even though he knows some of the things she's done. He looks at her and sees a person, and one to smile at.)]

The wall.

[They will be alone, she hopes, as they are right now. But sitting, and quiet, and perhaps Laura will take his hand again.]

Brilliant. C'mon, then--stairs're this way.

[Though she might know that by now, already. She's been here awhile. Matthias had traveled every inch of the Gallows, when he had first arrived. Made a mental map for himself, working out which door led to which corridor, and all. Laura might have done the same. Probably did the same, if he had to guess.]

Tallest walls I ever saw were Andoral's Reach. Tantervale had this massive wall around it, but Andoral's walls were nearly five Tantervales tall. Dunno if I'd want to go up there. The Gallows walls're all right. Oh, hang on, I said--

[Shut up, Matthias. Exaggerated, he mimes turning a tiny key on his mouth. Shutting up.]

[Laura listens as they walk, and she does not mind it--but when he offers silence, she does not counter the offer. (She could. I do not mind if you talk--she doesn't, even now--but she thinks she would prefer the quiet.)

Instead, she watches him pretend to lock his mouth like a chest and gives a little nod. While she cannot be sure she will like this better than listening to Matthias talk, it is different. And not unpleasant thus far.

Something of an impulse, something of a thank you, she catches his fingers as they drop from his mouth, wrapping hers around them. And then she keeps walking.

(Someday, she might be able to hold his hand without grabbing it, changing her mind, and then grabbing it again. As it is, it still feels new and dangerous, something charged she cannot entirely trust.)]

[That little touch of her fingers on his is unexpected. Feels like a spark spitting off of a fire that lands on your clothes, but instead of going out, it lingers. All the way to the stairs, all the way up, the feeling stays, and Matthias keeps looking down at his hands like he'll be able to see some mark of her touch there, the little outline of fingerprints, or similar.

Of course there's nothing like that. But it feels like it, and he carries that with him, well after the moment has passed. It feels good. Encouraging. He's smiling--stupid, the moment is overall serious--but he can't help it.

On top of the wall, the wind catches at their hair and their clothes, pulling on it. It's not so windy a day that it feels like it might pull you over the side, so that's good. Being up high toward open water has a natural windiness to it, is all; Matthias' hair is immediately blown over into his face. He shovels it back out of his eyes in a great handful, keeping it back, and, still playing quiet, uses his elbow to gesture along the wall. Keep walking?]

[ They should, perhaps, walk further down the wall--there would be less possibility of others discovering them. But so long as the others in question aren't interested in returning Laura to Nevarra, does it matter if they are discovered?

She wants to be here, she decides, in the wind with Matthias, watching the water. She does not want to go searching for a better place to do that. So she shakes her head, trying to block a bit of the wind with her cowl, and hoists herself onto the ledge that keeps everyone from falling off the walkway in wetter weather. The ideal place to sit is always the slightly dangerous place, obviously. ]

[Readily, Matthias scrambles onto the ledge as well. He lacks some grace, too gangly in his limbs, but he knows how to account for it, how to balance without tipping over entirely. Just looks a little awkward, is all.

But then they're sitting beside one another, him and Laura, and the sheer fall of the wall is beneath them, and their legs dangle into that space. The craggy rocks far below, the water spread out before them. Kirkwall is sort of behind them, to the side; if you turn your head right, you don't have to see it. It could just be them, and the water, sifting and tossing. And that's all. No messengers or countries or anything.

Matthias' hands are both planed on the stone ledge, grounding him, keeping him there. If they were playing Truth or Dare, he would let go, if he was dared. Walk the narrow line of the ledge, pretend like he might fall if it seemed amusing. But he's keeping his mouth shut, he's not talking. And Laura's hand is nearby. Carefully, he shifts his little finger to touch the side of her hand, the flat line of the side of her palm where it presses against the stone.]

[ As soon as she feels his finger brush the side of her hand, she looks over - it's the same kind of startle a cat has when something unexpected comes into its peripheral vision, if without the jump away. (Y there is nowhere to jump, at the edge of a wall. And it would be a sort of indignity Laura instinctually trends to avoid anyway.)

But it is not an imposition, his hand next to hers. It is something else, suddenly the warmest part of her in the autumn sea wind--a sensation that creeps over her entire hand, and into the flesh of it. She looks at his hand, and then at his face, and at his hand again. And then she decides that they are here to look at the sea, so that is where her eyes land last.

And they stay there, fixed on the waves coming in toward Kirkwall, as she shifts her own hand over to cover his. ]

[He'd purposefully kept his gaze fixed forward, resisting the urge to look around at her. But of course there's the periphery, right--and that startle she does catches his eye, and he nearly breaks and looks around--but then doesn't, steels himself against that urge, keeps his eyes fixed on a point out over the water.

She doesn't pull away. So, that's good. And when she does, there's a moment of panic, shit, you idiot, and then, better: she'd moved her hand just so she could put her hand over his. That same warmth as before spreads up through his arm; he flexes his fingers a little, agreeable, pleased at this development. His grin, in profile, likely looks no less goonish. Can't be helped. It's a grin that's still well in place when he glances over at her, at last giving in to that impulse. And still (against all odds and the expectations of everyone, including even himself) he manages not to say anything. Not yet. Just, sit there, and keep shutting up. Surely he can manage that.]

[She can feel him looking at her, and that is something she should respond to--if only because she told him not to talk, and he may still wish to communicate. (His fingers moving beneath hers is the only language she wants to use at the moment. It's more comprehensible than words ever feel, all skin and bone and sinew, radiating something besides body heat.) Deliberately, she turns her head toward his and takes in his smile. Even his eyes crinkle, looking at her.

Her gut feels the way it would if she slipped off the ledge and fell to the ground, that weightless lift in anticipation of something very painful. Nothing has moved, besides strands of hair and hems of clothing, and only in the wind, but her instincts seem to have missed that fact.

Laura does not feel like smiling back. But she likes the look in Matthias' eyes, more so the way his knuckles rest against her palm. And perhaps that comes through somehow, a softened edge in her features. Her fingers work their way between his, clasping lightly as they curl under against his palm.]

crystal |

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