Richard Dickerson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nonvenomous) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2022-05-16 10:08 pm
nonvenomous) wrote in faderift2022-05-16 10:08 pm
Entry tags:
catchall
WHO: Richard Dickerson, friends, enemies, and neutral parties
WHAT: Closed starters, hmu if you want some Dick. Wildcards ok.
WHEN: Before Antiva, during Antiva, after Antiva.
WHERE: Thedas
NOTES: Long overdue for some CR building, ping me if you want to scheme out a reason for them to hang or hit me with a wildcard.
WHAT: Closed starters, hmu if you want some Dick. Wildcards ok.
WHEN: Before Antiva, during Antiva, after Antiva.
WHERE: Thedas
NOTES: Long overdue for some CR building, ping me if you want to scheme out a reason for them to hang or hit me with a wildcard.
no subject
Thot climbs onto one of the various heavily cushioned seats in the main room and Adrasteia leads Silas in that direction, where there is a fire merrily going along, a book open in one of the chairs, and tea on a small side table.
"Privacy." She makes her way toward the tea, reheating the teapot with a hand pressed flat against its side. "I'm... seeing someone, and I felt that the shared walls of the Gallows were not the best for that endeavor."
no subject
Thot has claimed a seat and he hooks her up into his arms to take it for himself as a matter of course, man and cat folded in together, her long legs draped slack across the crook of his elbow, eyes narrowed to contented slashes of green before the fire.
“Congratulations.”
The crook to his mouth returns once Silas has settled in, a shade more salacious this time. Something about the slant of it, sidelong. Congratulations on your too-noisy-for-the-Gallows-sex-life.
no subject
It dies there, and she blushes instead.
She could ask him a personal question, like 'do you have anyone here?' but she knows the man well enough now that she recognizes it would not necessarily be a comfortable conversation for him.
Instead she just pours him tea and hands him a cup.
"Thank you." A breath, as if she were to say something else, and then a little shake of her head.
no subject
It’s all a lot of sentiment for one snake and he’s still deep enough in his cups to be caught up in an aimless muddle between them.
“Good tea,” he says. And, in lieu of elaborating on his permeating relief for what must qualify fully as a rescue at this hour and in his condition: “Were you going to say something?”
no subject
She gives a little shrug and pours herself more tea.
"I am curious, though: why do you still stay in the Gallows? For housing, I mean."
no subject
It’s easy to agree in this case that it should wait; he doesn’t press the issue. It’s late. He’s beat. Every part of him feels heavy against the seat he’s sunken into. The inkblot flop of his cat is palming biscuits wherever her cold beans can reach.
He breathes out, a great puff of air pressed out flat under his mustache and over the rim of his cup. This is what letting go looks like -- a physical dropping down to the question she’s asked in return.
“If there is another incursion I’d rather be in the Gallows in a position to assist than stranded across the bay.” Provided he isn’t locked up in the infirmary healing from whatever other drama. “It’s also safer there. For a Rifter.”
He sips by way of punctuation.