Inbox - Fade Rift

[bignasty]

Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.

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[thereneverwas]

Barrow responds to the Look with a helpless shrug, still smiling-- oh, are we still mad about that? Pity.

Rather than be especially shocked by Dumas' methods, Barrow gives a single laugh of surprise. "That'll do it," he muses, "I hope he didn't need a healer."

[bignasty]

“If he did, he waited until he was out of my sight to whinge about it.”

Dumas sets to unbuckling leaves of practice plate from his jacket, deft by way of muscle memory in spite of rough calluses and blunt nails. Something about Barrow’s laugh has him looking over again, the way he might look at an engine making an odd noise.

“How long did you say you’ve been here?”

[thereneverwas]

"Mm? Ah... dunno." Barrow scratches his hairline as he thinks back. "A year? Something like that. Why?"

[bignasty]

“Right, right. A year.”

Like they’ve already had this conversation once before, and Barrow is refreshing his memory. Sylvester files shed plate away under his far arm. He’s kept one eye on Barrow as they walk.

“And before that?”

[thereneverwas]

"Merc business, mostly 'round northern Ferelden and the southern Marches." He's walking at an easy pace, and doesn't seem to mind the quiz.

"And you, city watch, right?"

[bignasty]

It’s an answer that passes muster. Plenty of weirdo sellswords making a new purpose for themselves in Riftwatch. Sylvester sniffs, and nods, approval in the jut of his jaw a glance away across the field ahead. Heat off, easy as that.

“City guard, yeah.” Last sheet of armor peeled off and tucked away, he flexes his hand against stiffness setting in at the joints.

“Took a break and did time with a couple of bands ‘round the same area before the blight.”

[thereneverwas]

“Oh? Get out,” Barrow intones—- not that he’d have actually been in the same area during or before the Blight, but it’s easier to go with the notion that they might’ve met already.

“Glad we didn’t kill each other.”