Taril_icon.gif Tamet_icon.gif Sebastian_icon.gif

Scene Title Differences Of Perspective
Synopsis Sebastian and Taril have differences of perspective.
Location Alienage
Date Justinian 27, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Stubborn PoVs
Logger Taril

Taril is heading back to the alienage, to the tree, to get away from all the humans that have bumped into, touched, or violated his hair since he came back from his hunt. It's mid-day, which is the perfect time to hide and have lunch. Maybe watch the flat-ears do their thing. Whatever that is. He still hasn't gotten a good grasp of why anyone would live here of their own free will if they didn't HAVE to.

Sorry Taril, if you thought to escape the humans, you haven't lived in Kirkwall for long, huh? There is a type of human that is down here, one that wears robes - not a dress - of the Chantry. He's not the preachy Chanter type that sings songs and talks verses all day, but rather a normal visitor of these parts, from time to time, as often as he's welcomed. He knows the elves have their own faith and beliefs, but some, are followers of the Chant of Light.

Like he did in the last, in Starkhaven, Sebastian is here to help in whatever ways he can. Today, that's rolling up his sleeves and helping re-enforce a roof of a shanty that was about to collapse. "A little more-" he advises, nail between his teeth, hammer in his hand. Okay, so working in robes kind of sucks, but he's managing. There's a string of elves with ropes to hold the position of a strut, while a few more ready to help secure it. There's more to being a brother of the Chantry than just preaching.

Taril was going to settle in his spot in the tree, except there's a human here. He watches the roof repair for a second and then shakes his head. "I suppose it'll be a comfort that it's a repaired roof that fell on them when the walls go," he comments before climbing to the roof of a nearby hovel and settling in to watch this particular show. He finds the whole thing strange, and that reflects in his expression.

The sound of hammers sing in the alienage above the usual buzz of those who live here, as the supports are rigged in and secured, a signal from the Chantry fellow leading the charge. The Brother starts to climb down the ladder he was on, inspecting the work being done, the new timber in stark contrast to the rotten beams that were removed and piled. Sweat beads down the princling's face as he puts his hands on his hips to take in their work and progress. He glances aside as someone makes a comment, turning to trail his eyes after Taril, "You could be more help by helping rather than complaining."

Taril shrugs. "I'm not complaining, but I've already given these flat-ears as much help as I think they want from me. …or as much as they'll take, anyway. I can't feed the entire alienage, and I can't repair their homes. I've taught those youngsters willing to learn how to shoot a bow. That will take them farther than me trying to fix leaky roofs." He pulls an apple from the bag that he's brought with him and shrugs. "Not that it's any better than what you're doing, but I don't know anything about repairing shem houses."

Sebastian cannot hold back the frown that betrays his mild confusion at the Dalish's use of 'flat ears.' He listens with a casual flick of his attention toward the elves who did help, wondering over their own reaction for being called flat-ears by their Dalish cousin. Dalish by the look of that vallaslin. His hand comes up to his brow to wipe the sweat off, since it was stifling hot and the tight cluster of the alienage makes it worse, that's not even talking about the weight of those robes. "I suppose it might, if they use the skill to take from the land only what they need, and not turn to banditry," a sentiment of what poverty could do to the desperate that knew how to handle a weapon. "I help where I can, Serah, be it to provide comfort from the rain or otherwise…" At least the roof would hold, for a while longer.

Taril shakes his head. "No, my name's Taril," he informs. Yes, he knows the pronoun, but he likes being a smartass. "Just because they have points to their ears and are poor, you think they're going to thieve? If they hunt, my clan will only care that they don't over-hunt. We have to share those hunting grounds with them, but I'm sure the rabbit population will recover." He catches the look given at the term for city elves. "I'm not using it to insult them. Calling them 'city elves' implies that elves don't belong in cities. …and why are you doing that in that thick dress? When we repair an aravel in the heat, we don't put on MORE clothes."

IT was at this point, Tamet finally emerged from his aunt's house. There's a bit of yelling and shouting between the two of them, soemthing along the lines of getting out and making himself useful. He shouted back in kind, though, what he said was incoherent, then he slammed the door. "Ptsh. I am bloody useful." the kid mutters to hiself, "But nope. I sleep in 'til noon an' suddenly I'm th'most useless ever…" he grumps, eyes scanning the crowds momentarily. Then he slips off, sidling along one or two other elves on his way towards the tree. With a little hop, he snags a low hanging branch, and uses it to pull himself into the tree proper. If he couldn't nap inside, he might as well do it out here. At least he knew one of the best places up there. As he climbed though, he spotted Sebastian, and Taril, the former more then the latter. "Oh shit…" he hissed, slowing his pace to ease along a branch to get a closer look. "…S'at preacher man again…" he muses, "…was he lookin' for me?"

Sebastian exhales a breath as he seeks to find a measure of patience in the light of the smartass Dalish. "No, it's not because they are elves, but the advantage of weaponry drives people of poverty to such lengths when one is hungry. And this goes for human, elves, or otherwise. Not all, but some. Others will find an honest line of work out of it." He tugs at his collar a bit, listening to Taril explain the use of the term, that it wasn't a direct insult. He lifts a shoulder, not willing to argue about what elves call eachother. They can call eachother shems for all he cares. "IT's a /robe/…" he explains with exasperation, not the first time he's had to defend the uniform, "It's what those of the Chantry wear, Serah." Refusing to use the name. Yep. Two can play at that game. For now, he doesn't note the tree climbers behind him.

"Then you should ask your chantry for something to work in. Creators forbid you should faint and fall. They'd be less one… of you." Look, Taril doesn't know all the terms, ok? "The difference is, when these people find honest work, they'll likely be ill-treated and badly paid." He raises a hand to fend off a sermon. "It's not my job to look after them, that's for their elder. I'm not the judge of their choices. Don't worry, when I teach them to draw a string I teach them to find rabbits and let them know that no one is going to show them mercy because they're poor." If he's spotted Tamet, he's not going to make a show of it.

He scoots closer, carefully. Then holds true in his little perch, merely watching the preacher and the other elf. There was something between confusion and recognition that would play across the face of the child as he inspected Taril.

"Oh, it's that Dalish…" the kid commented under his breath, noting the tattoos. He'd heard about him, seen him in passing, though never spoke to him directly. Tamet however, was mildly irritated that one of his favorite hiding spots in the Vhenadhal had been discovered, when the elf had first arrived. Though he had others. He wondered what the shem priest had said to him though to cause this discussion.

"I wasn't exactly intending to come here to work," he admits, "though the opportunity came about as it did." Meaning he came to the Alienage and pitched in when he saw the elves trying to manage the situation. Sebastian unhooks his canteen of water and gulps down a good portion of it, wiping the dribbles that leak out with the sleeve of his robe. Twisting the cap back on, he readjusts it on his belt, tucked underneath his sash, cleverly hidden. Robes were at least useful in that way. Sebastian, despite the gesture, retorts, "Now you're lumping those who would employ as the villains. Not everyone who can provide work is going to treat those who work for them ill or fail to make proper compensation. What difference is there in that than in you assuming I would call all poor elves with bows thieves?" He locks eyes with Taril, waiting patiently for a reply. There's a nod at the latter though, "The laws are what they are. There's only so much tolerance given to those who'd rather work at stealing what other people make, than doing the hard work themselves."

Taril smiles as if he's a step away from laughing. "Because what I say is more likely to be true. I've watched them working, being called lazy knife-ears, and seen the coin they're handed." He shrugs. "But I'm not here to right any injustices. I'm just here to wait for my clan, perhaps learn a little before they get here. Trust me, I'm not the human hating Dalish you're probably expecting. My clan trades with humans a great deal, we're expected to not break your rules or interfere with your dealings. There's no rule against teaching a child the basics of hunting, so I didn't see any harm in it. If they choose to become thieves or bandits later in life, that's their choice." Tamet is given brief attention, but he's here to have his lunch and maybe watch a sweaty human faint. So he's going to do that.

Tamet nearly jumps when he's noticed. And just about loses his grip on the branch he hangs onto, he doesn't quite fall but is dangling for a moment before he pulls himself back up.

"Shit." he hisses, clambering back into the tree. He was probably seen at this point, despite his attempts to remain quiet 'pon returning to his original perch.

"And what I say isn't true?" Sebastian cants his head, rolling his sleeves back because damnit, it was hot. "You're no more right than I am, Serah. Let us leave it at that." Because this arguement could be stretched to the ends of time, for all it was getting them anywhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the movement in the tree. The sharpness of those Starkhaven blue eyes spots the dangling elf, who clambers back up into the tree. "Ah, it's you little Serah," a quietness about him, contemplates something, but generally doesn't disturb the kid as his gaze swings back around to Taril. "So it is, as it is thus the choice of those who employ, to do as you said as well."

Taril tilts his head to consider Sebastian. "More likely," he corrects. "Have I offended you in some way, human? I can only tell you what I see. When I see something hop, notice it has fur, and then see long ears I say 'it's most likely a rabbit'. I could be wrong about it, but probably not most of the time. You rush to meanings too quickly without spending the time to observe what the words mean." It's clearly a source of confusion for him so he's going to grin at Tamet. "If you want to slip by a hunter unheard, you have to have lighter footfalls and quieter wings."

"UGH!" the boy grumbles, now hopping down from the tree. When he lands, there's nothing but irritation and pouting on the child's face, "Ain't gone three days yet without someone spottin' me like that. First it was that lady, then him." he points towards Sebastian, with dismissive gesture.

"…now you. Feels like I'm losin' my touch." he mutters, eyes trailing back towards Taril then towards the ground as he crosses his arms over the front of his tunic.

"The only offense is that you make your own words sound truer than they are. I would name you a hypocrite if I knew that would do any good," which he sort of just did, but that's beside the point. He glances behind him though at Tamet's response, offering, "You nearly fell out of the tree lad, hard to dismiss dangling legs." There's a soft smirk, before he shrugs, "I should return to the Chantry. Come by if you need anything little Serah."

Taril gives Sebastian a confused look, then shrugs. "Or you're worried yours are less true and speak them anyway." BUT! He's not responsible for that. Instead, he finishes the apple and pulls out the smoked meat that is to be the bulk of his meal. "If you weren't seen before, it's probably more luck than touch. You have to be quiet in here," he taps his head. "Before you can quiet the rest of you. If your mind is busy, your body will follow. Which probably sounds as much like nugshit to you as it did to me when I was six and learning to hunt."

"That does sound like nugshite." Tamet mutters defensively. "An' it ain't luck! I'm onna the best climbers in th'alienage!" he protests the claim after that, ticking his head upwards in a sort of skeptical manner towards Taril. "'Sides, I still snuck up enough on you lot." he adds, with a sort of boyish confidence. "What're you even doin'?"

Sebastian makes a dismissive gesture to Taril as he wanders out of the alienage.

Taril laughs. "You mean that whole bit where you sulked out of your house and climbed up the tree and across the branch? You're the best there is?" He schools his face into the picture of NOT LAUGHING, and pulls the smoked meat in half to hold one out. "Catch," he instructs as he tosses it. "I'm eating. Nug lasts a long time, but if you don't eat it it will eventually go bad." With that, he stands and walks across the roof to make the move from building to branch, to tree, and then to ground. "And nug is better than pig." With that information, he's going to head toward the street leading out. "But now I have to go give someone a lesson in cooking things that are actually edible. Practice being quiet. It may sound like nugshit, but it's true." Haha, Seb! Neener.

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