Carver_icon.gif Carys_icon.gif

Scene Title Maker's Balls
Synopsis Carver asks Carys out for a walk.
Location Hightown
Date 23 Haring 9:31 Dragon
Watch For "Maker's balls!"
Logger Carver

It is bitter and dark outside. Only one moon in the sky tonight, and even she is hidden behind a thick layer of dark clouds. Kirkwall is all hard edges and shadow, save that the whole city is covered in a layer of snow that grows every day. It softens the city, hushing the stone, the ice under it all singing as it cracks under heavy boots. It's late, the hour where most sane people are asleep already, or at least preparing for bed. Carver, though, grew up in southern Ferelden. Snow didn't make him balk, and he'd always preferred nighttime anyway. So he's making his way through Hightown, usual soldier's uniform barely visible under the heavy cloak he has wrapped around himself. But eventually, he stops, a trail of well defined boot prints leading right up to the spot under a certain window. Bending, Carver digs through the snow for a small handful of pebbles, and when he straightens up, he tosses the first one up to bounce off with a small sound from the window. And then the second. And the third.

The room that the soon to be pelted window is well lit and well occupied this time of night. Papers are sprawled all over the place as Carys absently scrawls with graphite in an attempt to occupy herself. She'd go do something else, like bake, or sew… but she's curled up on a lounge and she has a fuzzy fuzzy fox on her feet to keep them warm. And naturally, all these papers don't have real artworks… they're more like five-year old doodles of stick figures doing various things, like making yum noises at food, or getting pelted with sharp objects (these obviously must be bad guys). Oh well, Carys never claimed to be good at drawing. "UGH, Princess… so /bored/. Remind me t'kick yer master in the head for every day he's been gone f'r doin' this t'me."

Princess perks up. Apparently, kicking Davan in the head interests her. But no, she hears that first pebble where Carys's moaning and groaning means the thief misses it. So she tries to grrr and be all protective… to the point of jumping down and attempting to go to the window… only to realize that her spot was /really/ warm and under the window is /really/ cold and she rushes back to the warmth. By this time, Carys's picked up that rocks are being tossed. "So much for my protection," she sides to the fox as she stands up and pushes open the window. Hopefully there wasn't a lot of snow getting tossed with that! "Oi, if that next one hits my head, I'm droppin' this vase…excuse me VAHSE…on yers."

Luckily for everyone involved here, Carver is paying pretty close attention to this window. So when Carys approaches, while Carver had another pebble prepared to throw at the window, he stills his hand. In fact, his entire handful of pebbles gets dropped back into the snow. And from under his cloak, is a small handful of pale blue flowers. Not many flowers would be left here in a week or two, but these hadn't wilted from the snow yet. "I wouldn't dream of it." Carver sends up to Carys with a small smile.

There's a squint when the hand's contents are switched and she can't help but the grin that spreads across her features, probably missed due to the moon being shy and her sister being absent. She disappears only long enough to tug a set of boots on her bare feet and she's soon clamoring out the window and down the wall, dropping the last bit to the ground. … because this makes sense. "Y'know, y'could come in through the back," she teases lightly as she moves to get a closer look at the flowers.

As Carys approaches, Carver offers the flowers to her, and opens up his other arm so she can slip under it, and thus under his cloak with him. Bell shaped and delicate, with violet stamens. Crystal Grace, has to be, nothing else quite looks like that. Carver laughs a little. "Yes, well, I could, but I was wondering if you would join me for walk, and I didn't really want to go inside." He says, reaching to brush a stray snowflake that decided to land upon Carys' nose away.

This particular bloom really has her attention, though the sheer expression of joy matches all the other times. There's just an added touch of 'wow' there as the bloom isn't something that she sees often. "I'd…" Oh hey snowflake. Eyes cross for a moment as if to try tos ee it before it's brushed away. The pink on her cheeks from the crisp chill darken…brighten…however one would look at it with a full on blush. "I-I'd love to. Um. Lemme jus'… uh… get somethin' proper on my feet. An' I can get these in some water." And before protests can be said, Carys is bolting like a shot again and this time she does things /normally/ and goes through the aforementioned 'backway' and it really only takes a couple of minutes before she's back out with properly booted feet and something on her shoulders. Not that this stops her from retaking that spot under the man's cloak because… well. We'll just use the excuse it's cold.

That color brightening makes Carver's eyes soften just a little. It's not expression he gets often, but Carys gets it more often than a lot of others. Affectionate and friendly, and just a little bit more relaxed than usual, like he's done something right for once. "Alright, you know where to find me." He says with a grin, and lets her run off to get sorted. Turning his face up to the sky, he watches the snow as it falls lazily. There was a peace to snow, and a familiarity. It was good to see something like home, even if the stone walls of Kirkwall were never going to be Lothering's quiet farmstead. For the moments that Carys is away, Carver is someplace else, remembering winters years past. So when she returns, Carver is just a little bit more subdued, though he doesn't seem any less glad to put his arm around her. And once Carys is settled under his arm, Carver begins to lead down the street, an easy pace that is meant for talking and watching the snow rather than trying to get anywhere in particular.

"Th' main paths should've had their evenin' clearin' by now," Carys mentions idly as she settles into a comfortable pace waht with trying to stay under his cloak and share his wamrth and walk at the same time. it means she has to rely on actually paying attention, but she manages. It at least shows she can be amazingly coordinated if the situationc alls for it. Or if she just outright cares to do so. "Though it's kind'a fun t'divebomb the drifts in the stairwells. Like bein' a five year old all over again. People who clear it ain't too happy though." She coughs here as if she's trying to give the impression she's got shame for making snow shoveling harder. … She really doesn't. "I'm… glad y'stopped by," she says after a moment or three.

"That's the only thing snow is good for." Carver says with a laugh. And while he's not the most graceful man in the world, he is at least coordinated enough to walk with a woman under his arm. Suppose he has that going for him. He turns, dropping a kiss to top of Carys' head. It's a simple moment of affection, but Carver… Look, he doesn't really know what he's doing. He knows he likes Carys' company, and he likes the way she blushes when he brings her flowers, but what this is, what they are, he's just doing his best. "Well, good." He says smiling a little, "But it sounds like there's a reason."

Carys shrugs. "It's good f'r throwin' at people. An' if y'really hate 'em, you put somethin' kind'a hard in the middle of the ball an' /then/ y'throw it. Nothin' really hard like rocks, 'cause that can cause serious damage, an' y'don't go round doing that unless it's necessary." While able to do such jobs, an /assassin/ Carys is /not/. And if Carver doesn't know what he's doing, and is just doing his best, Carys is completely clueless and just along for the ride. Even the peck to the top of her head seems to get a rather girlish reaction from her, that slight ducking of her head. It's really not so much the act, but the weird fuzzies that seem to follow it. /That/ is kind of new territory. "I was lonely," she says rather easily. "Turns out that… house staff kind'a get weird if y'try to talk to 'em like they're on the same level as you. Weird huh?"

That girlish duck makes Carver laugh gently, and pull her closer. There's even another kiss, this one pressed to her temple, which means Carver has to bend rather more than for the last, Carys being as small as she is, and while Carver is no giant like his brother, he's not short either. "Well, I'm glad I could help then." He says, "You were lonely and I was overcrowded. We're quite a pair."

Hey, know what they say about small packages… Not that Carys is particularly /petite/. She's just kind'a short. "Well, the master of the house's decided t'go on sabatical or somethin'. He's sulkin'. So I'm in a big, ritzy house by myself. I don't know what t'do. An' I'd feel bad if I made a mess outside'a my room 'cause those people work really hard, an' it's not fair t'them t'go and make more work just because I'm lonely an' bored." Okay, temple kisses get a sort of slow-boil sort of blush there. "Keep that up an' I'll be steerin' us somewhere where there's a fire, blankets an' toddies f'r us to drink," this is said with a grin and a wrinkle of her nose. "But, more t'the point… it's still nice t'come to, I guess… been here an' there recently." Cold weather may warm /some/ hearts, it does tend to invite others who need reminders that it's the season for /giving/. Ahem. "'bout you? Anythin' new?"

"That doesn't sound like a bad way to end this walk." Carver says with a smile, and places another kiss on Carys' temple just to make his point. "But yeah, that seems fair. A bunch of mess would be a headache for everyone. Though maybe they're just as bored with nothing to do." Not that he would know. He's never had house staff, not even close. Honestly, the hovel he's living in now isn't even suited as a living space, much less for five people and a dog, it certainly doesn't have a maid. "Not really, no. Things have been slow with the snow setting in."

"Just' remember, you are welcome there any time, y'know." She says of the manor she's keeping. It's a light, conversational tone to make sure the subject isn't presented as pushy. And it's not like he doesn't knbow how to get into the place, at lest in a way where there won't be many witnesses. "This prolly isn't really all that much t'you, huh?" While conversations are easier now that they've gotten over a few of those awkward bumps, Carys really still hasn't quite figured out what's safe and what isn't. "Ostwick's similar but has a tendency t'be kind'a screwy at th' same time. I swear, we'd be gettin' reports of nice weather in Kirkwall, an' we'd be up to our knees in snow."

"Well, maybe if… Uh… You landlord isn't around, I could probably manage stopping by a little more often." Carver says, only stumbling over this topic a little. It's definitely better than the last time. But talking to people is always a little bumpy for Carver, so he's not really surprised. "Yeah, this is…" Carver chuckles a little as he answers, "This is like a Spring snow. In Lothering we'd get… A lot, most years, through the whole Winter."

"I'd like that," she says tilting her head in that curious little way she does, though there's no mistaking that there's a twinkle in those violet eyes for a moment. "If just to have someone other'n Princess to talk to." She tilts her head back a bit to expose her face to the snowfall for a moment while Carver speaks of Lothering's usual snowfalls. "Yeah… I seem t'remember Ferelden bein' like that in the winter. Bitch t'bunder up for, I tell ya."

"Alright." Carver says with another smile, "I mean, it's probably a lot more comfortable than the six of us in that house." There's a cringe even, at the thought. He nods then. "It's nice, when you're used to it. Everybody at home, hot soup, less expectation to work in the Winter. It's just… Quiet and sleepy."

Predictably, Carys focuses on the food. "Mmmm….soup. Nice, hot, filling soup. Chicken Noodle. Let Liddy know." There goes the wagon train again, off on it's own little path and completely away from whatever the current topic was at hand. However, she catches it almost immediately with a blink and a cough, her cheeks flaring with color. "Sorry… the soup thing sounded like a good idea," she explains sheepishly. "It sounds nice," she does say of th quiet and sleepy part, "but I'd probably go stir crazy with so much quiet sleepy." She lifts a hand and lowers her voice as if she's to tell a very huge secret, "I dunno if you've noticed, but I kind'a got a lot of energy."

Carver laughs, and reaches to ruffle Carys' hair. "Soup is a good thing. And if you get stir crazy, that's when you go make mischief in the snow." And by the sounds of it, Carver has made plenty of that mischief himself over the course of his life. In fact, it may have been his favorite thing about Winter. Poor Bethany, waking up to ice in her bed, and snow in her hair. Such is the life of a twin sister.

Carys ducks her head at the hair ruffling, her hand immediately trying to return whatever semblance of order that Carver just destroyed in that ratsnest she calls hair. "Mischief, huh?" She pauses and scoops down, managing to find a nice untainted patch of snow. Scooping up a good hefty handful she begins packing and shaping it. And just for good measure, she tosses a smirk over her shoulder.

"Yeah, mischief." Carver answers. The minute she's bending for snow, though, Carver knows what that means. You don't grow up the youngest of three kids, you don't grow up with Kailen Hawke as an older brother, without having on point snowball fight reflexes. It is necessary for basic survival. So she scoops up snow, and Carver does the same, trotting around a corner as he balls the snow up in hands.

"Now, where'd he go?" Carys huffs when she turns around and he's gone! "Gee, you'd think I was gonna pelt him with ice." Sarcasm's very prevalent because she's also bolting for cover. She glances towards the ground, working to ascertain his location through wherever the tracks lead. Hopefully his line is the only 'man feet' set of tracks or else this plan won't work! And of course, Carys's spare hand is grabbing the wall and a foot's pressed against it….because of /course/ she'd add 'scale the freaking walls' to a snowball fight. Save… "Damn, this is easier with two hands…w hy can't I have an extra arm t'carry snowballs in!"

Well his aren't the only tracks from men, but it's been snowing through the night, and foot traffic has been low for hours and this is Hightown. So between the size of his boots, the cloak that leaves swishing marks behind him, and the fresh powder… Yeah, his tracks will give him away. Carver is not known for his stealth. But climbing with snowballs is difficult, and Carver is an opportunist. So when she curses her lack of a third hand, he leans out from around his corner, and tosses two snowballs in quick succession before she gets very high up at all.

Hey, she isn't even up a wall at all. And THWAP! goes that first ball. Carys's barely got one shoulder up, instinct being what it is, to buffer it, but she's got pretty much a full ball to the side of the head. And it's reflex that has her whirling and launching the ball in her own hand in wherever direction that came, before she sprints to slide behind another corner for cover. There was no aim, really, so it's likely luck if the damn thing hits at all. On the other hand… Carver's a big target, so who knows. And then… "Andraste's knickers this shit's cold! Yeugh, snow on back of neck."

Sweet victory. Carver smiles, he laughs. Honestly, he's more alive and bright right now than he has been since he's come to Kirkwall. This, this is a good moment. However, his stopping to laugh will cost him. Carys regains enough sense to fire back quicker than he accounted for, and while Carver tries to step out of the way… Yeah, he's not a small target. Snowball, meet shoulder. "Yes, that is the point." He sends back, still laughing, bending to make another snowball to throw Carys' direction.

"Oh yeah? Well…" Carys can't seem to find a good retort. So she just packs and packs another nice sized snowball and goes from one cover to another. She gets fancy here though, dropping down to slide into her next target and launch that next semi-slush missile as she does so. Look at her breaking out the moves… which means she ends up sliding right into a mini-snowbank. Complete with a nice thud. "Ah hah! Ammo stash!"

Carver is by no stretch of the imagination as graceful as Carys. But he's got a lot of experience with snow and snowball fights with siblings. There's dodging and weaving, finding cover where he can. Tossing snowballs when he has free moments. Getting hit with just as many. But when Carys slides into a snowdrift, he grins. Grins and jumps into the drift after her, arms wrapping around her waist. It seems he's escalating, fingers tickling at her sides.

She's already got two hand fulls of snow by the time she's snagged and tickling commences. Shock of all shocks, Carys is mighty ticklish. So what follows is a predictable litany of half-giggles, half-whimpers interspersed by pleas to cease. However, all the while, she's twisting and turning, even in that hold for she still has at least one hand full of snow. And she's using it close quarters. Only half-aware of what she's going for, she finds the nearest thing that feels like a hem sort… a collar, a waistband…whatever the type, and that snow is given the valiant attempt of being dropped in afterwards. But she's wriggly and giggly and 'please stop!'-y, so this might be a bit of a stretch.

Ah, sweet victory again. Yes, it's cold as you like down here in this snowdrift, but this laughter. And flailing. Yes, this exactly what Carver wanted. He's grinning… And then… Oh and then.

You see, there's this thing, when people are tickled. They tend to fold themselves in half, trying to be small, to hide delicate soft places. Which means when Carys reaches for hem or collar or… Waistband, that is what she finds. Snow, right down into Carver's crotch, is not what he was expecting.

"Maker's balls!" Carver exclaims, rolling and pulling himself to standing. It's not the Maker's balls he's concerned with though. Buckles undone quickly, the only thing on Carver's mind is getting snow out of his pants… Quickest way to do that is to get the pants off. So they come off, right over his boots… And he sighs relief as snow falls away… And then he's standing there, in Hightown, in cloak and boots and shirt and mantle, belt… And smalls, snow filled pants in hand.

Well,t here was this small chance Carys would've ended up shoving snow down her /own/ britches, but the sudden ceasation of tickles is music to her ears. …. Not so much the exclamation. She had no clue what she grabbed and flung snow down…hence the chance she snowed herself. But then there's the sound of cloth being yanked and Carys is confused and sprawled in snow, trying to figure out what's going on. While to her it seems like ages, fortunately in the real world it's a few heartbeats as she sits up to get her bearings. "Car…"

The second syllable of the man's name just kind of dangles…much line the pair of pants in his hand. Because, as was mentioned, Hightown and small clothes. If Carys had just an ounce of smoothness she swears her friends have, clever come-on would be said. You know, something about getting him out of his pants or the like. Or even take the opportunity to try to check out the goods (though, probably not the best time…y'know, cold crotch and all). But this being Carys, she just openly stares, the color to her face from rolling in the snow intensifying due to the situation. It's probably a good thing it's night because this could get /really/ awkward otherwise. AS it is, Carys finally moves and it's to half-assed grab the hem of his cloak and try to lift it to preserve the man's dignity… /Just/ in case there was, say, a Guard or a late-night strolling old lady about.

It all takes only a few moments. But Carver is barely aware. He's just breathing, catching his breath, really. Trying to regain some sense after VERY COLD SNOW had been applied to parts of his body he like WAY too much to ever intentionally allow them to be in that intimate contact with frozen anything. It's Carys pulling his cloak closed that brings his senses back around. And then he's painfully aware of the fact that he's just pulled his damn pants off in the middle of Hightown. And that's when his own blushing starts.

"Well, that's not how I thought that would happen the first time." He says, laughing a little, "But uh… We should… Probably head inside?" Because well, it's cold out here, and that's starting to set in too. Not as cold as snow against his skin, but chilly none the less.

"Strangely enough…neither did I," Carys murmurs once her voice is back in working order and the brain has started to function again. Note to self: Bottom half of well-cut guy works on Carys just as well as the upper half. At least small clothes can't be done with embarrassing patterns. There's that, at least. She then stands up and dusts the snow from her person, murmuring, "For what it's worth, I was, um… hopin' fer the neck." Don't mind if she doesn't snag another quick peek before things are fully hidden from view. "An' yeah… Inside. With Soup! Soup is good. I like soup, you like soup, I totally like soup, let's get soup," and she's going thataway before her brain shuts down again and she's back to staring stupidly with her mouth hanging open. Fortunately, thataway is back to where she calls home, so not getting randomly turned about in Hightown with your pants off isn't on the docket for this evenings activities.

"Soup is good." Carver says with a nod. They could both agree on soup. And as for her going for neck… Honestly, Carver doesn't care at this point. Inside is his main priority, and he's not cross. He was the one who escalated to tickling. That escalation normally meant bruises, or bloodied noses, though. Not… This. Anyway, he follows, still blushing furiously. Well… Looks like he was staying over.

And bruises and bloodied noses are what happens with siblings, as well. Carys keeps conversation to a minimum, finding getting Carver into a warm building to be a priority because, well… standing barelegged in snowy weather's got to be a top-five cause of catching a cold on someone's list, right? Once the back entrance is located and the pair are inside, Carys finally gives into the temptation to slowly giggle at the predicament. "I can see if there's somethin' you can wear ti'l stuff's dry, but I think yer a might bit larger'n Davan, so you might ahve t'resort t'blankets."

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