"Place near the ferry. I could use a bit of Antiva. The kitchens won't have that."
Their path requires them to climb stairs slippery with seawater and muck. The higher they climb, the clearer the steps become, though they never become truly clean. That's Kirkwall for you, a persistent muckiness that doesn't bother Darras. The lanterns are being lit along the way as darkness settles around the city like a worn cloak.
"I meant it," Darras says, eventually. "About going home. Not to the Gallows."
"You know I can't right now." She doesn't fully disguise the frustration this inspires. "Our networks in the Marches are lacking, and--" she bites herself back from listing off everything that needs doing. The specifics hardly matter. "You've seen how much work there is."
"Doesn't stop me from wanting it. Or you from wanting it."
Darras tips a look up at the sky, purpling like a bruise under the cover of the evening. The sound around them, the smell, the air, even--it's all Kirkwall. Nothing of their cottage. He's thinking of it all the same, as clearly as if the steps were, impossibly, leading up the side of the cliff, taking them home.
"If the Marches weren't lacking in their networks, and if your desk weren't full of correspondence, and if the war weren't nipping at everyone's heels. We'd be there."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-11-19 11:50 pm (UTC)"Place near the ferry. I could use a bit of Antiva. The kitchens won't have that."
Their path requires them to climb stairs slippery with seawater and muck. The higher they climb, the clearer the steps become, though they never become truly clean. That's Kirkwall for you, a persistent muckiness that doesn't bother Darras. The lanterns are being lit along the way as darkness settles around the city like a worn cloak.
"I meant it," Darras says, eventually. "About going home. Not to the Gallows."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-20 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-11-28 02:30 am (UTC)Darras tips a look up at the sky, purpling like a bruise under the cover of the evening. The sound around them, the smell, the air, even--it's all Kirkwall. Nothing of their cottage. He's thinking of it all the same, as clearly as if the steps were, impossibly, leading up the side of the cliff, taking them home.
"If the Marches weren't lacking in their networks, and if your desk weren't full of correspondence, and if the war weren't nipping at everyone's heels. We'd be there."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-29 02:31 am (UTC)She plods up a half-dozen or so more steps before she adds, "I wish we could be." It sounds like wishing for the moon.