makinglies | Bastila

Entry tags:

faerun

Bastila

At the Northern part of The Ride, a day and a half's ride from its patron city of Ilnivur, Bastila sat as a hub of common civilization in the otherwise fairly wild strip of land inhabited by frontiersmen and migrating communities of barbarians. Where barely half an hour from the city, one might starve or dehydrate to death, Bastila had a healthy, if small, community centered on entertainment, luxury, and some trade. Patrolled only by the city's militia, Bastila's crime was healthy so long as one was smart enough about it, and nowhere was that more true than the outskirts markets that largely traded with the barbarians, travelers, and those making the journey from the only other towns in The Ride: Whitbell and Springmeadow. It was roughly 1000 feet from the edges of these markets that Chris's Gate spell dropped the displaced group of humans and animals into the chilly meadows of the land. To the North were more grasslands, to the East: the Galena mountains could be seen in the far distance, and the West held a similar, if smaller sight. The South, meanwhile, bore the haze of Thar's swamps. They could easily and truly call themselves in the middle of nowhere, were it not for the nearly out of place jut of Bastila's buildings.

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Bastila truly is as out of the way and easily marked as a city of convenience for travelers as Amelia expected based on Chris' description of it. Her eyes scan the surrounding area briefly but mostly focus on the edges of the city itself that can be seen from their vantage point stepping out of the Gate. She takes a few steps toward it for a better view, Patience at her heel to get an advanced scout of the area they'll soon be traversing. The rogue absently scratches between her ears in recognition and appreciation of the dog's presence.

Despite all her talk of clothes the day before, Amelia's dressed in what she'd brought with her from Duplicity save a shirt she didn't bother to tailor for herself. Wolfe's clothes needed more delicate work, her armor needed more attention, and Jon needed clothes as well. Even with Wolfe's help, there's no way she could've gotten to the shirt before passing out, so she'd focused on what she felt was more important. It feels odd to be wearing a shirt that wasn't made for her when she knows she's going to be stepping into fights today, but so be it. It's better to fit the area and take the occasional loss in the ring than to stick out because she was so insistent on wearing only what felt truly like her things.

"How did you want to proceed today?" she asks, turning back to look at the others. "All together for a time or split up right away? I'll go ahead to get us the date before we all hit the city either way." She raises a hand to halt any protest. "I'll take one of the girls or Little Thunder with me just in case." Somehow she doubts anyone will try anything - or trying something and win - with the knives she's openly wearing, but a little backup never hurt.

Jon's also wearing the clothes he'd worn on their escape from Duplicity. They're the most Faerunian thing he has, so they'll have to do for now. His eyes sweep the landscape and the city, itself, as the brisk winds whip around them. He certainly feels epic, but that sense cuts short as he's reminded of their purpose here and his role in it.

"I imagine we'll want to stick together until we reach the arena. Better to know where we'll all be meeting up and find some sort of schedule or sign-up before we go wandering off." There's also a part of him that's nervous to scurry off by himself. The Archivist is fully aware of what he wants to do once he's free of watchful eyes that he cares about. He can hold off on feeding... probably. But he wants to do something to earn a little coin while the others work, as well.

Chris pulls his cloak closer around himself and adjusts the clasp to keep it there to fend off the fickle winds of the Ride. In the city would be a little more gentle for the building's protections, but out here, a strong gust might come in at any moment. It also allows him a moment to concentrate on the Disguise self spell he'd prepared that morning. In a matter of seconds, Chris's features shift and transform. His hair keeps its curl, but grows out to his shoulders and turns to a dark brown that overcomes the scruff on his face as well. His eyes darken into the same rich brown, and his scar flees his lip to move to his cheek. Not a perfect replica of his inspiration, but there's no mistaking the similarities to the man Chris is imagining as he melds aspects of his features with that of Jacob Frye.

When the spell ends, he pulls his hood up as he'd seen his lost love do so many times and nods to Jon, his voice no different than usual. "I agree with Jon. First thing ought be the arena, so you all know where it is, and we can see if there's any fights for us to join. Then we can go our own way for a bit, so long as we have time and take care of what business we can. The date, yes, so we don't sound idiotic or insane...then, other ways we can get some gold? I can take care of finding lodging for the night if we don't want to stay in the temple for any reason." The temple would probably be nicer than what they could afford, but he wasn't going to hold them to staying in it every night just because it was free.

Wolfe shields his eyes against the wind sending his fringe into them more than the morning sun. It ripples the sturdy fabric of his shirt and trousers, the muslin and thick woad-dyed linen comfortable for their now being fitted to him but also the familiarity of home-spun clothing. The only piece of clothing on him that remains from Duplicity are his boots, growing a bit thin in the soles but otherwise fine. He turns back to the group to answer Amelia, pausing only briefly to do a double take at the countenance Chris has adopted. He doesn't say anything about it, only further solidifying his need to talk to Chris about what he'd thought of the night before as they lay trying to sleep - a need to have some kind of memorial or vigil for their lost loves before they can join to each other as they wish.

"Unless we might get random visitors in the night with a conspicuous temple, or raise unwanted suspicion leaving town every night and coming back in the morning for as long as we're staying, I don't think we should waste the money staying in an inn. Though I could do with some freshly baked bread and some vegetables," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Once we find the arena, a tavern is probably a good next stop for information. Do you know a good one here? One that allows dogs?"

He pats his leg and Cookie comes to sit obediently at his side where she'd been snuffling around in the grass excitedly before. Unlike Patience, Cookie is much more naturally doggish and she's pleased to be in a new environment with new smells, but she's obedient to her master's commands, even the silent ones. He pats her head to praise her and her tail wags a flattened arch of grass behind her.

"I'd prefer the temple as well. Inns are well and good, but nothing will beat the temple for the comforts it offers." Saving their money is for the best as well, but for once Amelia's mind is on the need for familiarity and being able to get clean and sleep the ways she prefers. There's no way they can get anything like that from an inn, no matter how well they know the place by day's end.

She motions for the group to follow her as she takes the lead, setting a comfortable pace that shouldn't be too quick for any of them. "I can get us anything we need for dinner once we return to the temple. We can hunt for game while Chris casts the temple." Does she intend to purchase or steal these items? She'll never tell and the entire group is right to assume either or both will be the answer. "Lunch in town and a few friendly drinks is a good idea, though. I can pick up easy targets as we find out what else is going on in the region. I'd wager they'll have news from many places filtering through here."

Patience trots ahead a few steps, nose to the ground at times as she picks up various scents and makes a decision about them. Amelia can't help but smile at the dog's way of keeping them all safe, and the smile lingers as she looks over her shoulder at the others. "Do you know how many fights you'd like to take on? I want to be in the audience for at least a few of them around my various other activities."

Jon also makes note of the altered mien and the uncanny similarity to a certain thuggish assassin. "I'd prefer your temple and its showers and toilets." The longer he can go without having to use a chamber pot, the better. While Jon doesn't consider himself a high-maintenance man, he supposes he'll have to reevaluate his understanding of that term in this world. He might well be considered a needy thing here. Things to mentally berate himself for later.

"Let's see what the schedule of activities is at the arena... and how injured all of you get in the first bout. That might inform how many you can actually do." His eyes flick briefly to Chris again. "Not that I'm discounting the ability to heal between bouts, but you were practically falling asleep on your feet yesterday after the Shadowfell."

So saying, he follows after Amelia, keen to get out of the wind. While he's a native of chilly shores, he's been living in Duplicity's relatively temperate climes for more than half a decade. It does get to a body.

Chris nods. "Temple it is, then. Don't think anyone will come bother us. If anyone sees it, they'll likely take it as a bad omen and steer clear. People are superstitious about the worship of death gods, like acknowledging them beyond a prayer to pass them by will invite them in." Like they won't all die someday anyway. Ridiculous. It worked in their favor for now, though.

The mention of fresh bread, though, has Chris' face lighting up, and he smiles wide as they start towards the city proper. "Oh! Yes, gods, we have to get some bagels. And butter buns! Fuck...I've missed both of those. Proper bread without a bucket of sugar in it. There'll be coffee here too, but it'll likely cost a couple silver. The breads, at least, will cost coppers."

It's not boyish excitement, it was perfectly reasonable and understandable excitement for returning to proper, real food.

"Bagels? The round buns?" They'd been present in Duplicity but Wolfe had never bothered to try one. He'd been more interested in exotic foods rather than simple breads in a different shape. Chris' excitement is enough to get him interested though and he grins to match. "Once we earn some coin I think we should have a small feast. Take our money to the market and get whatever we fancy that looks new and interesting for us or familiar and sorely missed to you, Chris."

That's going to be one of the great joys of being in Faerun, Wolfe thinks. Watching his loves rediscover their familiar favorites they haven't had in some time. He's looking forward to the same for himself, honestly. Thankfully, with the cooking adaptations they'd had to make in Duplicity, Jon shouldn't go hungry for the unfamiliar either. At least, when he starts needing real food to subsist on and not random people's terror.

"Ah... For the arena, though... Are you sure you want to watch? I would think it would be easier to sneak through the crowd and pickpocket when they're all distracted with the spectacle." Please don't watch him fight when he's not in the best shape. It's going to be embarrassing. Bad enough Chris is going to have to make up for his deficiencies in the ring.

The absolute joy over various breads makes Amelia laugh brightly. It's been a while since she's seen such happiness on anyone's face, much less the people in their little family. If this is what they need to find that spark again, she'll gladly help them obtain it.

"We can spare a few silvers for coffee. I'd like to hold onto what little tea I have a bit longer, and I think all of us enjoy coffee to varying degrees." Yes, she noticed the way you looked so dismayed over the lack of coffee, Jon. Amelia always does everything in her power to make life easier and better for those she cares for, and coffee will do that. "Though we should try a cup or two while we're here, find out if what they have is what we like. Perhaps try a bagel or a few buns before we sit down for lunch as well."

They're going to be walking, and sometimes fighting, a lot today, so why not fuel up properly for the journey?

Her head tilts curiously to one side at Wolfe's sudden ask, one brow arched in curiosity. "I can manage both at the same time. You and Chris are likely to put on a very good showing and allow me opportunities for lightening some purses, but if it's a particularly good fight, why would I not stop to appreciate you both?" She can size up possible future opponents as well, but watching her men in a fight? Dreams, yes please.

Turning her gaze skyward, she hums thoughtfully. "Though if you'd prefer I not enjoy the kind of spectacle that might have us tucked away from everyone else for an hour or so, I can be persuaded of that." Now is probably not the right time to tease Wolfe like this, but it's hard not to both after yesterday's moment in the shower and knowing they'll all be fighting soon.

Jon's lips quirk in amusement at the excitement from the others. A little less sugar in their diet won't be unwelcome, given Duplicity seemed to be run by the equivalent of Americans, but he knows he's not looking forward to it the way they are. Freshly baked bread from a proper bakery had been a luxury he didn't often let himself enjoy. "We don't have to get coffee until we're a bit more flush. Or maybe you can talk someone into paying for us."

It's not Wolfe his eyes land on for that, but Amelia. He knows she can be charismatic when she chooses to be, and he suspects she has more wiles than the mage. Maybe even more than their cleric.

"In any case, I believe I'm still planning to put in the bets, whenever we eat. You'll just have to show me how to do it." That's said to Chris. "I've never bet on anything, in particular." Gambling had never been his addiction of choice, and casinos were loud and irritating. Why go to somewhere like that with people pushing you to spend or make decisions or the like. It's far too high-pressure.

Chris' gaze follows Jon's, and he straightens up a touch more. "Hey...I can turn a head too...maybe he who doesn't think his boyfriend can earn a coffee with a pretty smile ought not get any." He's not entirely serious when he says it. "But, yeah, I can show you how. It's simple enough. The bettors get their earnings, and the fighters get some part of the house's cut for participating, so if we're good and careful, should be easy to earn a bit at least."

Their path takes them into the first edges of Bastila, where fur traders, gatherers, small-time makers and tinkerers, and simple potions and goods could be found out here in the morning sunshine. Natives to the city and travelers from the South and those passing through mingled as they looked over what was on offer.

"This isn't a bad place to look for some of our more basic needs like spices. The markets will be open until mid-afternoon, so we'll have some time." A person half a foot taller than Wolfe and nearly half again broad cuts in front of them without noticing, and Chris stops short to let them pass. Based on colors worn and the cut of some of their furs, he'd guess a representative of the Varm.

"Any of us could talk ourselves into a coffee, I'm sure," Wolfe says placatingly, though he does think privately Jon is the only one who would need to do it via compulsion. He doesn't want to start a fight, though, and his attention is mostly elsewhere anyway.

For Amelia's wicked words, he darts forward and pulls her up against him from behind, hugging her tightly and planting a sloppy kiss to her neck just to make her laugh. How can he fret over his future in the arena when she's going to be delighted with him no matter how he performs? He tries to let that thought soothe him, even as he's acutely aware of how heavy his body still feels. A few push ups and a good round of sex are not enough to get him back into shape. "Do as you like, you wretched tease."

He keeps his arms around her as they walk, though changes his grip to be across her shoulders so he's not tripping over her. Each new stall turns his gaze, a hundred wares from local artisans and traveling traders that are both achingly familiar and excitingly new at the same time. Beyond even the goods he spies people. Humans and dwarves calling for customers to see their wares, a man even shorter still than a dwarf stopping to talk to a brightly-skinned woman with delicately curving horns, a mixed group of unusually (to Wolfe) tall elves and dragon-faced people talk to a broad man who appears to have flowering vines for hair about his display of finelt crafted wooden bowls and cutlery. It's vibrant and jovial and Wolfe is so taken in by looking at everyone and everything that he absolutely walks smack into the back of the giant that steps in front of them.

"Flames, I am so sorry," he says in his own tongue, shifting quickly so Amelia doesn't run into their sudden new acquaintance as well. "Wait, fuck, Common, right... uh... Me apologies."

It's halting and crude, but Wolfe hopes he's gotten his regrets across in Faerûnian Common. Pretty okay for only having studied a day or so, he thinks. (He hopes.)

Wolfe gets his laugh and a bonus delighted smile as he settles at her side. She will absolutely do exactly as she pleases when she pleases, and he knows he can't really stop her when he's the object of her attention and won't have his hands and eyes on her. Even if that means flustering him in the ring with her intense gaze, so be it. There's something intoxicating about fights that end with a partner just slightly bloodied that make her blood sing as well.

The market, at least, offers a distraction from such thoughts. She 'remembers' so many days in front of stalls like this in Ragneux, artisans and traders from across the country stopping to sell wares they'd collected in their travels or made in their downtime from rare materials. Anything she could want was there: clothes, foods, trinkets, weapons, magical items, books, jewelry... All this and even more from merchants who had permanent shops they lived and worked out of along the largest marketplaces. Bastila isn't built to support such a thing, but she can see it in her mind, can almost smell the muddied and straw-covered streets.

Or she can until Wolfe walks them into someone and stumbles through a poorly worded apology. The giant looks confused at first - a sign that the translation effect from Duplicity only works between the four of them - and then somewhat affronted by the mage's words. Not overly so, but enough that the rumbled reply is incredulous and a touch upset. "You want an apology for walking into me?"

Immediately sensing this could become something more if not soothed, Amelia steps out from under Wolfe's arm and holds up her hands, palms forward to show they're empty, and smiles apologetically up at the giant. "He meant no offense. Please, accept our apologies. His dialect of Common has some oddities when used here in the Ride." Her smile warms as she bows her head respectfully then looks up again. "It's been weeks since we saw a market this large and fine. We're all in awe and thinking about how we'd like to spend our coin. Perhaps you could point us to where we can find fresh bread for sale? And some coffee, if someone in the market has it."

One of the fastest and smoothest ways to win over someone is to put the spending of coin into play. They can spare a full gold on treats to start their day, and she has a feeling her own accent, muted as it is to the best of her ability, will sell the half-truth about Wolfe's use of Common and the general sense of awe they're all displaying as a group.

Jon tuts at Chris and rolls his eyes. He fully expects to be given coffee if it's on offer, rude or not, thank you! But he lets that slide by as they enter the market and his attention is drawn... everywhere. They'd had this sort of thing in Duplicity and back home, but there are wares here that he knows are magic and aren't laced with aphrodisiacs. Food, trinkets, spell books. And then, of course, it's like going to an artisan's craft fair with leather workers and smithies barking for attention.

His hand comes up to rest on Poppet's head where she's been perched on his shoulder when a few other people stare back at them for the odd creature he's keeping company with. They probably think she's fae... which isn't terribly far off given the nature of a dream creation.

The encounter with the gargantuan man is interesting, though. Wolfe's apology registers and Jon wants to tell him he's not the one who ought to be apologizing, but then there's an odd moment where he apologizes again... badly? In Common, and Jon understands it, like he's a fluent speaker. Before he can say something, Amelia's swooping in with a rescue.

Their new acquaintance huffs and mutters something about 'little ones' before pointing deeper into the market. "'Round the bend there. Auntie Belle's got the good stuff. Coffee and bread. Mind where you're walking now."

Jon can't help himself at that. "Where we're walking? You were the one who barged across the path."

The man just... blinks at him, then at Amelia. "What tongue is he speaking?"

"I can understand you," the Archivist snaps.

Chris watches the interaction unfold...into a quickly unraveling situation. Usually, his Guardians would be able to handle most conversations without him just fine...but his loves were different and stepping in before Jon gets himself punched is old hat by now.

He steps forward and offers the greeting preferred by the more peaceful of the barbarian clans, a hand curled into a fist brought diagonally across his chest and down over his heart with a small nod of his head. "Pardon my companion, krigga, he is from far from here and his understanding of the common language stilted. He comes from far south of the Fallen Stars and is still learning much." He nods again and puts a hand on Jon's shoulder while gesturing out to the market with the other.

"Please don't let us keep you any longer. Again, with my apologies."

The giant-kin man looks between Amelia and Chris and then glances over Wolfe and Jon before nodding, seemingly placated. His eyes fall to Chris' holly symbol and he waves as he turns. "It is no trouble, mazin."

As the man puts his broad back to them, Chris turns a thin, amused, smile on his group. "This is where I remind everyone that there are sentient beings here far bigger than any of us and, as the smaller beings, we are to step out of their way more oft than not."

Pride wounded, Wolfe makes a sour face and folds his arms. "I was trying to apologize to him, for the record, not the other way around. The last thing I want to do right now is stir up trouble. I still need more study if that's not what I said."

And it proves both he and Jon will need to keep one of the other two with them until they're fluent. Jon may be a bit better off in clearly still understanding the language, but if neither of them can be fully understood its going to pose a major problem. "Funny though, I did understand all of you still. Whatever effects from Duplicity we still have must only extend to the four of us. And... Topher, I guess?"

And their Matron, but being a God that sort of goes without saying.

"What's 'krigga'?" He asks belatedly, not having understood that word out of all the Common Chris had used.

Amelia rolls her eyes at Jon and only manages not to sigh only because Chris steps in so smoothly. She's grateful for the cleric's assistance, and that it came after they got directions to coffee. Perhaps she's reading into it, but it sounds like Jon could use a cup.

"We'll keep our eyes on the crowd around us so we don't walk in anyone else's path," she assures Chris. Smiling up at her mage, she takes Wolfe's hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "You had the right words, love. We'll keep working on it so your meaning isn't lost going forward." It may mean today is a little more rough than they expected, but they'll manage between the four of them. Chris knows the area, he and Amelia both know Common, Jon can understand everything and now knows to keep his mouth shut, and Wolfe is more than genial enough to offer apologies without words if he needs to. They'll be fine, even if this wasn't the most auspicious start to their day.

Guiding them all on a slightly meandering path toward 'Auntie Belle's', Amelia leaves the asked question she doesn't know the answer to so she can better listen to the crowd around them. Mostly she wants to hear if someone speaks the date, but it's useful for picking up tidbits about the city itself, about what's available in the market, and about a few people they may face in the arena today. The Giant Crusher and Hells' Bells come up a few times, seemingly favorites among the merchants and traders. Curious names, but Amelia's more interested in how they fight. More information to listen for as they walk.

Jon just huffs and crosses his arms. As the bigger race, he thinks they should be the ones watching where they step, but given that man was something like twice his height and somewhere north of ten times his weight, he knows he doesn't have much of a place to argue. What's more frustrating is that his plans for surprising everyone with a little bit of coin are completely shot through. How is he supposed to earn anything reciting Shakespeare in broken Common? At least he has understanding for now. Perhaps he can just play as if he's mute. That still stymies his performance-based plans, but it might let him get by here with the betting without sounding childish.

"We can only watch for so much," Jon grumbles, but leaves it at that. "And it would seem my own... situation lets me understand them, if not talk to them. At least not in English." Which makes sense, really, even if he's annoyed. His ears are also tuned to the streets of Bastila as he falls quiet again.

"She's really as good as they say? Really? A gnome taking out giants with a hammer as big as she is? Maybe their kneecaps. I'll believe it when I see it, ser."

"My money's on Slips the Dagger, personal like. I know he's an underdog--undercat? Hah! Well, you always have to watch out for the rogues, don't you?"

"I know the Skydancers aren't winning, but what a show they'll put on. Love the feathers."

They arrive at Auntie Belle's to find a queue spanning a few stalls back. Jon spies a portly woman with pointed ears hurrying about with a small group of younger folks calling orders, taking coin, and passing food and drink around. There's smoke billowing up from an oven somewhere deeper in the stall. A set of tables and benches are filled to brimming nearby with a rope cordoning the area off from the general market bustle.

"It- you have cafes?" For some reason, that's almost shocking. Jon hadn't been expecting to see anything like that in the first town they walked into.

“Topher’s my shadow, who knows how ‘the rules’ work for him. And ‘krigga’ means ‘warrior’ in Giant. I’m not fluent, but I know a couple words and I’ve dealt with the Varm before.”

Chris runs a hand over Wolfe’s arm, but keeps his focus on the goods and voices they pass.

Mild gossip about the zombie attack in Ilnivur, about the satellite towns related to their patron city, and about noble scandal and trade routes being overturned in the Anorouch. Some stuff about the fighters competing locally, but nothing Chris bothers to listen in about.

Even while they’re in line, all he hears is little things…though, one name kept coming up in the noble circles: Tarshak. Some minor representative stepping up to make waves in a way the gentry never liked. The dirty way, too, from what Chris gleans. Maybe that would make for a good lead on Jon’s needs.

“Of course we’ve got cafes. Restaurants, food carts, catering, bars, you think it’s one of your ‘modern things?’”

Chris’ brow raises high at his archivist, but he still leans in to whisper by his ear.

“Keep ear out: Tarshak. Sounds like a con man. Might be useful for other eventual needs.”

"They were one of the tribes that helped you on your journey, weren't they?" They'd struck him as similar to the Chaisind or the Avaar, just trying to live their lives how they traditionally have when the rest of society tries to make the land suit them instead of changing themselves to suit the land. Wolfe feels he has a changed perspective on that score after seeing where "modernity" can lead. Coffee makers, showers, and convenient food stores are incredible, but there's certainly something lost in the names of progress and convenience. Quality, mostly, and community. He can see why tribes like the Avaar or the Varm live as they do, even if it wouldn't suit him.

"How did I say it wrong? I can use a setback to learn," he tries not to continue pouting, instead turning around to the that much more real issue of his being able to communicate and asking Amelia for her help. Chris is busy teaching Jon that not everything he thinks of as 'modern' is going to be absent here, probably in a far less needling way than Wolfe is tempted to use.

It doesn't stop him from taking Chris' hands for a squeeze, though. He'll let go when Chris inevitably pulls his fingers away, but he's going to hold onto him and Amelia's hands both as long as they'll let him.

"My apologies or I apologize will both work. They're a little formal, but they use vocabulary you already have. If you want something more casual, use I'm sorry when the need arises." She expects they'll run into this issue a few more times in the days and weeks to come, and she won't mind repeating any lessons or phrases that come up more than once. It takes time to learn a language - she has memories of the years it took her to truly master Elven and Ragneux's Thieves' Cant - and even though it'll be easier with the Raven Queen's blessing, it'll take more than a few hours to get it all. Still, she's glad Wolfe isn't berating himself or continuing to sulk. It gives her all the more reason to squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his cheek as they come to a stop in line.

And while Chris turns to Jon after listening to the crowd, Amelia begins to look for an easy mark that will help them buy their breakfast. Many people are digging around in their coin purses, carefully counting what they have as they plan what to get for themselves. Doable, but likely to draw attention after the fact even if she can manage to help herself to a few coins. A pity, but that doesn't take away all of her options.

People are still leaving the café, after all.

She's subtle in her movements, putting herself close to the continuous stream of people meandering back out into the market. Some of these people are wearing their coin pouches or handling their money in a way that says Go ahead and try, thieves. These she avoids, instead aiming for those fumbling with more money than is necessary for any amount of food they or their party would need. If they notice they're missing any coin, she'll be honestly surprised.

When she finally acts, it's so smooth that one might not catch it if they aren't paying close enough attention: she pulls out a few silver to count, turning her back to the crowd and jutting out a hip at just the right moment to catch someone - and their two companions - completely off guard and send the coins in everyone's hands to the ground. Amelia offers profuse apologies as she collects most of her silver and three gold coins from the mess beneath her feet. The three half-elves all but laugh off her clumsiness when she flashes them a shy smile and a little blush, even offering her an extra silver for the trouble of having bumped into her. She thanks them and promises to better watch herself as they move on, then turns back to her family with a playful smirk.

"So... coffee for everyone?"

Tarshak. The name is noted and filed away as he feels hunger claw suddenly, intensely at his stomach. For a moment, the other's might see the Archivist's expression go blank, cold, distant, and inhuman with a flash of sickly green that lights his eyes. He masters himself, though, pushes those urges down enough to function as a human. For now. A part of him does worry that if this man has a Statement, he won't be able to properly compel him for it without the right words, but the Ceaseless Watcher hungers as much as he does, and Jon suspects his communication difficulties might resolve long enough for that to sort itself, especially when he has a rudimentary knowledge of speaking thanks to the Raven Queen.

In any case, Chris teases him and Wolfe is saying something that triggers Jon's own memory of the tales Chris has told him. The one about being petrified, in particular. He's not sure if the cleric has shared all of that with Wolfe and Amelia, so keeps that to himself for now.

They step into line only for Amelia to step out again and run into someone. His brows furrow slightly as the money goes rolling across the ground, and he gives her a noticeable side-eye as she turns back to them, stowing her gold- gold? "Wait, did you just..." His brows jump up. He'd thought the money was going back to the right hands. When did she do that? He's seen she's good with her hands from their foray to the Veracity market and in the Shadowfell, but actually seeing her in action as a thief is eye-opening. "Impressive."

He can offer compliments where they're due! Occasionally.

Chris nods to Wolfe's question and keeps hold of his hand when it's offered. He keeps hold as he watches Jon's expression shift to something else, something as much him as it wasn't...and then he's back to just Jon, and Chris kisses his head.

In time for Amelia to show off exactly what sort of rogue master she could be, even when it didn't involve death. He smiles at her with pride and affection.

"Well, mistress, if you're paying, I'd be a fool to turn it down. I think you'll find plenty of satisfying targets like that around here. Especially by the specialty shops and the arena."

He trusted Amelia's eye enough to assume she wouldn't go robbing the wrong sort of person. That was more than enough to trust she'd do what she did best without any help.

"A little bit of that today and we'll be set for a couple weeks afore we'll need to find work or skim again."

"Masterful," Wolfe proclaims, leaning to kiss the side of Amelia's head without letting go of Chris' hand and recaptures the one of hers that doesn't contain coins. "We'll feast this morning and have plenty to grow with betting."

--

The coffee is good, Wolfe inhaling the wafting steam with pleasure as they sit down in the little cordoned off seating area with their prizes not long after Amelia's successful heist, but the buns are better. Wolfe had gotten a piece of smoked fish on his along with a slice of tomato, onion, capers, and a whipped cheese spread. Its completely delightful and after the first bite he all but devours the rest as if he'd never eaten in his life.

"Matron's mask, that is brilliant. I could eat that every day," he announces, taking a couple of stale ones he'd been gifted and handing them down to the dogs for gnawing. There'd been a jar of 'dog bagels' on the counter when they'd walked up and Wolfe couldn't help but treat his girls as well.

Amelia's grateful for the chance to thieve a little, but it's her family's enjoyment of the breakfast they get with it that really makes her feel good about the first of many such thefts for the day. If they'd balked or chastised her, she would have told them off and hidden her pain and disappointment. Instead she gets to sip a soft green tea - made with local flora so she can try out regional varieties and choose a new favorite for herself - and slowly eat through a soft bun she pulls through a spread of tart jam and soft cheese. She should eat more, but this will do for now. They'll have more than enough money later to get anything else they desire.

"Time to learn how to make buns and plan visits to towns every few days so we can get the produce and meats we need," she jokes, happily leaning back in her chair to watch the others over sips of tea. It's hard not to feel at ease while they're all in a lightened mood. "After we clean out the arena for all its worth today. Then we'll more than deserve to work out the details of your future meals.

"Speaking of, how is the coffee? It smells different than it ever did in Duplicity. Better, somehow." A difference in how it's made, most likely, but whether that's in making the beans or the drink itself, she has no idea. She never did investigate anything about coffee origins or making when she could ruin future pots of coffee by looking at the coffee making machine the wrong way when it wasn't in use.

"Interesting," is Jon's reply as he pulls bits off a small loaf and eats them plain. There is something pleasing about the simplicity of a loaf without all the trappings (and preservatives) of modern society. "It's like... It reminds me of Turkish coffee. Not as thick, but certainly getting there. Not unpleasant, I'm just not used to chewing my drinks."

It's said lightly, rather than with derision. At least there is coffee. The caffeine should do him good, if nothing else, and he's been keeping his ears open, per suggestion. A pair of women at one of the nearby tables are gossiping about Tarshak, seemingly excited about something he might be able to do for them. What's harder to do is push away the thoughts that bombard him. It makes honing in just a little more difficult.

"It sounds like people are getting excited for the arena, in any case. Thank you for breakfast, Amelia. Hopefully, we'll all be able to pay you back, each in our own ways, before too much longer. Wolfe," Jon says, eyes switching to the mage. "How would you say 'Where is the arena?' in Common?" There's a professorial tone to his voice as he lifts his brows expectantly. He can, at least, tell if the man is saying it wrong at the moment.

It’s one thing to know he missed food from home, it’s an entirely different thing to take that first bite of his bun (with a bagel still waiting for him) and feel it practically melt against his tongue with real butter in the batter and have a rush of memories come along.

It’s all he can do not to burst into childish tears there at their table. As it is, he tries to cover his reaction with offering bits of fish to Thunder and Poppet both and a totally and completely subtle clearing of his throat.

“I’ll admit Duplicity had better filters for the grounds. Bedine coffee is thick like you’re talking about, the rest of us just try to filter and don’t manage overly well.”

He takes another bite and continues to pretend it’s nothing more special than a good breakfast as he looks to Amelia. “The buns we can mange, though butter can get pricey. I don’t suppose you know how to turn any?”

"I've made butter before, it's just been decades now," Wolfe replies despite the question having been for Amelia. Mostly he's side-eyeing Jon after the use of that tone. It's just Jon, being professorial and helping him study, as Wolfe had asked. Only after several years of having Jon as his Dominant on paper, it takes on an undertone that he's sure Jon doesn't mean but that Wolfe definitely doesn't like.

Quickly, Wolfe decides to dismiss that, instead gently knocking his knee against Chris' under the table while he tries to think of how he would ask the question in Common. "Where is the... Ah, I don't know the word for arena, so... Place of... fight?"

He muddles through it, pronunciation more accurate than his exchange with the barbarian for having kept an ear out for the general sounds of the language while they've been in the market. He knows he just needs to learn vocabulary; he can't just conjur the right words out of thin air. Still, it makes him shift a bit, taking another bite of his bagel to stall a moment under the pressure of Amelia expecting them to 'clean up' in the arena and Jon demanding he stretch his rudimentary language skills on the spot. They mean well. It's not their fault he's feeling a little out of place even with everything being so much more like he was used to in Thedas.

Its just that everything feels as if its been moved just a little to the left. He's glad Chris is enjoying himself at least, even if its expressing itself in a bit of emotional overload. He should probably draw the attention to him so Chris has a moment to collect himself.

"I'm not sure about making a sweep of it," he pushes back gently, his tone much lighter than he feels but allowing a note of uncertainty to thread in. "I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life and I won't be able to use magic."

Wolfe starts to squirm a little, for multiple reasons if her guess is right, and Amelia casually takes her mage's hand in her own to press a kiss to the back of it. "Perhaps not a sweep, but cleaning up still means winning most fights. You've not lost your technique and that'll count for plenty." She turns a small smile to him. "And the word you're looking for is arena. You formed the question well aside from that."

She can grant both him and Chris some peace from what's getting to each of them, though she can only hope at this point Jon won't snipe Wolfe over not knowing a single word. She's not allowed to kick his shin under the table no matter how much he deserves it. Sigh.

"You can rightly assume I know nothing about making anything that would be used in a kitchen," she finally offers to the cleric. "Tea and boiling water aside, the best I can do is chop vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and already baked breads. Knowing I couldn't cook, it seemed best for me to focus on getting better at everything but kitchen-based skills." She hums thoughtfully. "I should try and learn how to make coffee now that I can't break the damn machine that spits it out. It can't be that hard if you're boiling water, adding grounds, and filtering it into a mug."

Only it will be more difficult and she will not make anyone else drink her first (several) terrible pot(s) of coffee, for safety's sake.

Chris practically crying over bread has the same tenor as what Jon imagines it might be like were he to return back to his own world and be reunited with the Admiral. And Georgie... Maybe. Mostly, the Admiral. Leaving the Captain and other cats back in Duplicity had been hard enough, even if that had absolutely been in their best interest. If they'd gone through those other portals, the dogs, Little Thunder, and Poppet would almost certainly be dead absorbed by the entity ruling the place. Horrifying. Jon tries not to shudder at the thought and focus on Chris tearing up and trying to hide it in a very charming way. Jon chooses not to draw attention to it for now. He can needle Chris about it later when the cleric's being annoying.

He give an approving tilt of his head to Wolfe, instead, listening closely as Amelia offers them another piece of vocabulary that Jon knows he would have stumbled over, as well.

"Remember that no one's using magic. It levels the playing field, and you were doing just fine with the zombies coming after us. You only actually needed to use any when you weren't close enough to stab them. Thank you again for that.

"Making decent coffee's as easy as Chris conjuring filters like we had at the house into the temple, honestly. Or if we really want to go native, I imagine you have cheesecloth, yes? It's the same principle, really. You're just going to want to collect the liquid instead of the solids. Churning butter shouldn't be hard for anyone, either. I expect certain persons might even have experience with the motions." That last part is said utterly deadpan as he looks between Wolfe and Chris.

He finishes his bun without actually shedding any ridiculous tears and no one says anything aside from Wolfe’s bump against his knee…so he tactfully ignores the lump in his throat until he successfully swallows it down.

And nearly choked on it for his surprised laugh at Jon’s comment.

“It’s…it’s not the same. I mean…I’ve got experience with such wide poles, of course, but there is a subtlety in the process I’m sure I don’t have knowledge of…just as I wouldn’t expect they who churn to know all ways of using their hands.”

Onto his bagel, then!

“But, yes, we can make an attempt and I’ll conjure filters for the coffee when we get it…and you’ll do fine in the arena, Wolfe, I’ll be there with you.”

Chris makes puns while Wolfe simply raises a cocky eyebrow and gestures to his still rather formidable biceps. "That may be true, but certain muscles are good for whatever sort of churning is necessary."

He takes another drink of his coffee, flexing subtly. He may not be in top shape but he hasn't lost any mass, at least. He already knows he can keep a body up for a good churn, he thinks as he glances at Amelia.

"You're right, its not that difficult. I think you might even be better at it this way than the electric one," Wolfe smiles encouragingly, still believing that Amelia's ability to cook isn't absent, its simply locked away in her being convinced she can't.

"As for the arena," he continues, saying the word in local Common now that he knows it. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities. I will point out, though, that zombies are far less difficult than thinking opponents in that they don't use any tactics or exploit weaknesses. That says, you're right I'm not so far gone that Chris will have to carry the entire match so... I guess we'll just have to see."

Its not that he lacks confidence, he's just trying to temper expectations. Yes he has nerves about it given he's still recovering from several weeks of his only heavy activity being marathon sex, but that's not nothing in terms of getting his heartrate up. And with a look at everyone at the table, he can say with certainty that he's not going to let anyone down even if he isn't perfect. Its not a matter of life and death here, its just coin. It will make their lives much easier, certainly, but its not necessary to survive, and...

And he's not going to lose them if he's not the most perfect version of himself.

The thought is a weird one, something he never would have thought before in the shadow of his parents and his companions and all their expectations, either real or presumed. Each person here at the table has proved over and over that they value him just because he is himself. Not the best of men, the best of mages. Not the best of anything. Not because he's the Champion, or even Hawke. Just Wolfe.

And in that thought, he feels more himself than he has in a very long time.

"We could also be more powerful than any other duo the arena has ever seen so we'll just have to chance it," he finishes with a note of entirely unearned bravado, nudging Chris' elbow and grinning wide.

Amelia rolls her eyes at all the churning talk, not pointing out that she also has very strong and practiced hands for certain activities that lend themselves to keeping her arms and wrists strong. If Jon hasn't realized that or is avoiding thinking about it, she has no intention of putting the idea into his mind.

"You'll make a pleasant spectacle for me either way," she notes, a playful little smirk on her lips. "I'll do my best to offer the same in return." As if she would manage any less when she finally has a chance to let loose and show off. Dreams, it's going to be wonderful to take on opponents who won't hold back and who will thank her for shoving their face into the dirt before she's done with them. Hopefully the proprietors will allow her some amount of gloating between bouts for it.

"It sounds like we'll have everything we could want for a while before we take our rest tonight. This was a wonderful suggestion before we make our way to our next destination." She turns a warm smile to Chris in thanks. "Is there anything that isn't books or clothes we should look for? I'd like more needles and thread for future alterations, but anything else I can think of can wait." A new ring for Wolfe will wait until closer to their actual wedding day, for example.

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Bastila

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cw: mild sexism

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Persuasion 31

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History 26

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21 Perception

Perception 29

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Sleight of Hand 25

Perception 22

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Deception 5…

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