Violet_icon.gif Taril_icon.gif

Scene Title Not a Mage Violet
Synopsis Taril escorts Violet through Darktown.
Location Darktown
Date Thu Jun 09, 2016
Watch For Taril being something of an ass.
Logger Taril

Once a mine controlled by the Tevinter Imperium, the exhausted tunnels were widened to carry sewage from the city's considerable population of slaves. Unsurprisingly, the 'undercity' became a refuge for those fleeing from captivity and now is home to the disenfranchised, diseased, the insane, to criminals, and even the deadunwanted corpses are often discarded here by murderers and lazy undertakers. This place makes Lowtowns' slums look pleasant as a foul miasma known as chokedamp clogs and swells in every corner, creating a poisonous mist.

Sooner or later, EVERYONE makes the walk through Darktown. Whether on business or from curiosity, and sometimes both. This time there's an elf making his way down one of the corridors as if he's aiming to not be there very soon. He may or may not be grinning like mad. Because he's Taril.

Anyone who cares to live long is wary of those who smile too much. A short, slight young woman with a satchel slung over one shoulder gives the elf a sidelong glance and a wide berth.

Taril saw that. Anyone who goes that far out of their way to avoid him is just asking to be singled out. "Relax, I don't have fleas," he informs in that peculiar Dalish accent. "At least not yet. Stay down here long enough and I'm sure something'll latch on."

"Fleas don't like the dark so much," the young woman replies. "Leeches are more likely. Avoid the puddles." Her eyebrows arch slightly and her voice carries a grin, even if her face doesn't display it.

Taril looks around as if for said puddles. "You think they'd live down here? Huh… and I thought the poisonous gas, dead bodies, and idiots not watching where they're going would stamp them out. I wonder…" Well, whatever it is, he's not wondering aloud. "Anyway, you probably shouldn't have that down here. Even if it's got the Viscount's week old undies in it, they'll take it."

"It /is/ old undies. Laundry and mending for a few who would rather not do their own. Down here is the best place to buy cheap lye," she replies, shifting her satchel. "And I prefer not to linger," she says, the cracks in her bravado starting to show.

Taril laughs. "Well, think of how awkward that would be," he points out. "C'mon, I'll walk with you to Lowtown. It's not that bad down here after you've stabbed an attacker or three. Besides, you're from here. They'd have to be local or stupid to go after you. Refugees always get it worse than locals. …at least, from what I've seen."

The young woman eyes him suspiciously, sizing him up. "If you'd like," she replies in a measured tone. "Violet," she introduces herself, nodding.

"Taril," he replies and then continues down the tunnel/street as if he didn't really have a reason to worry. "So you run a laundry? Sounds exciting. In my clan we're all responsible for washing our own once we're old enough, unless we trade it off." Humans are strange.

"Not as such," Violet replies with a one-shouldered shrug, "But if it needs doing and it pays coin, more the fool I to pass it up." She quickens her pace to match his stride. "Do you often make friends in dank tunnels, then?" she asks, a glint in her eye.

Taril shrugs. "When the person in question looks like a fawn surrounded by wolves, sometimes. Humans don't tend to treat eachother well, on the whole. I don't like to see anyone get hurt or walk through dangerous places on their own when they have that uncomfortable look. Maybe it's the big brother instinct."

Violet bristles a bit. "I'm not uncomfortable," she lies. She turns her head slightly, considering him. "I wasn't aware the Dalish have taken to lurking in Darktown to protect the meek and mild," she says dryly, but not without genuine curiosity.

Taril laughs. "This particular Dalish is waiting to meet back up with his clan. It would be foolish for me go looking for them between camps. Most of the time we leave you shems to your own devices but my clan likes for us to leave a good impression. Makes it less likely we'll get wiped out in the name of Andraste."

"I certainly can't blame you there," Violet says darkly, pressing her lips together. "So you're a big brother, then?" she asks, making awkward conversation as they move past a pile of something she doesn't want to think too hard about.

Taril nods. "I have a little sister. …but don't worry, I'm not up to anything. It's just that you have that look that most of the mages have around here. Like a very tasty mouse living amidst cats." Clearly he disapproves of this situation. "And I'd probably feel bad if they found your body somewhere between here and Lowtown."

"I'm not a mage!" Violet replies in a sharp whisper, protesting a bit too much. She manages to resist the urge to glance around nervously to see if anyone overheard. That's ridiculous down here. Come on, Vi. "I appreciate your concern nevertheless," she adds, trying to smooth things over.

"Ok, Not-a-mage-Violet." Taril steps over a puddle and then turns a grin on the young woman. "But you might want to work on that knee-jerk before someone thinks you are. It wouldn't matter to me either way. We Dalish are usually led by them."

"That's wasn't a kneejerk…" Violet frowns. "I wonder if it's still raining up top. I should have brought a hood." She sucks at changing topics.

"Ok," Taril agrees easily enough as they reach better air. "So you may want to work on not having that not-a-knee-jerk." Apparently it's all the same to him. "Like I said, it doesn't matter to me. …and I don't think it's raining. I'd smell it. It would be nice if it rained."

"Are you you my unsolicited advice fairy godmother?" Violet teases, trying to turn the tables. "Do you grant wishes?" She stops, leaning against a stone archway.

"Elf, not something from one of your shem stories," Taril corrects. "Not that I haven't granted a few wishes, but none of those involved magic. I'm a hunter, not a mage." Because OF COURSE he would take that question literally. "You don't grant wishes, do you?"

Violet rolls her eyes. "I just do laundry," she says airily. "But it might depend on the wish," she grins.

"Not the kind of wishes I'd make," Taril answers before looking back the way they came. "So here we are, not-a-mage-Violet. It's not raining, you don't need a hood, and neither one of us are having wishes granted. Life's never perfect." Now he's going to step into the more open- if still smelly- air.

"Well, if your wishes ever involve patching a hole in your shirt, let me know," Violet replies, following his gaze for a second. "Did you drop something?"

Taril shakes his head. "It's always a good idea to make sure the footsteps you hear aren't following you." He notes the small group of men walking in their direction until said men divert. "Especially if they're bigger than you and have ideas."

Violet looks up at the daylight, squinting as her eyes adjust. "Almost everyone is bigger than me. Being fast helps." She starts to head on up.

Taril gives a wave in Violet's direction. "Being dangerous helps even more," he informs before heading in his own direction. "Good luck with your underwear." Because EVERYONE says that as a form of parting.

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