freedom_is_grey | walk, walk fashion baby

Mutters Cullen, with something resembling good grace: "I didn't get offended when somebody sliced my face open. I think I can handle myself in a smithy."

Someone did indeed slice Cullen's face open! Well. His lip. In a bar fight. That Cullen was trying to stop. After buying the keep's soldiers a round to show his appreciation for their very hard work. And because there wasn't a healer close by, it scarred -- a couple of inches long, on the right side of his face.

It's not the worst injury he's ever had.

"Well, I did," she mutters in return. "Get offended, I mean. Because it's your face!"

And she couldn't do a damn thing to heal it, either.

If only he'd just wounded himself on one of the endless lists they've been making.

"And Wade is likely to insult it, too. And the turn of your leg and the cut of your coat, and -- "

"And you'll give him more ammunition, because you'll think it's funny." Cullen shakes his head. "How are you more offended than I am? It was just a fight."

"I still don't see why you wouldn't at least let me slap a healing poultice on it! I had one right there."

This is why she is more offended, Cullen. You got hurt on her watch and she couldn't help.

"And then you didn't even let me throw a punch!"

Or, you know. That.

On the word 'punch' she shoves the door to the smithy open, stepping through into a room full of metal, coal, and the bright burning heat of flame.

(Even if that last is much farther back than all the rest. Still.)

Cullen follows her in, rolling his eyes --

-- and holds up both his hands like practice mitts. "Fine. Throw a punch now. If you can knock me back, I'll -- do something that you'll find sufficient reparation for not letting you finish a fight neither one of us started."

She sniffs, loudly.

"Wade abhors violence."

From farther back in the workshop --

"What? What was that? Oh. Oh Herren, go see what the Commander wants again? I've only just got my toes to warm up."

Ysalwen is not about to give Cullen the satisfaction.

Edited 2016-02-06 01:40 (UTC)

"Convenient excuse," he hisses at Ysalwen.

(He's quite enjoyed his time in Amaranthine. As busy as it's been... he can't quite remember the last time he felt this relaxed.)

"It's the truth!" she returns, equally vehemently and just as quiet.

Then, a moment later --

"I'm looking to show off your works to a friend, Master Wade. Do you and Herren have some time just now? I thought maybe some of your less-utilitarian things? We've got some new shipments of metals coming in, so now may be a good time to clean out some of your stock."

What?

"More dragonbone? I'd love to work more dragon-bone, I had the loveliest idea for a sword . . . "

Herren, a man with fastidious clothing and a world-weary expression, makes his way toward them.

"Armor, did you say?"

Edited 2016-02-06 01:50 (UTC)

"Utilitarian is quite fine," Cullen interjects hastily.

He's imagining something... truly awful, in the pauldron area. Greaves that might catch in the underbrush. Some kind of wing or antler on the helmet.

All these things are completely impractical.

Ysalwen does not elbow Cullen to get him to stop, but briefly she wants to.

"Armor, yes, Herren. Thank you. None of the standard mail, though, please. Perhaps some of Wade's pet projects? I daresay Ser Stanton here could carry any of them off quite well."

Ah, a potential sale!

Herren perks up quite a bit.

"Master Wade! Master Wade, I believe it's time to open up the cellar and bring out some of your finest works. Finally, they shall see the light of day!"

And bring in some coin!

Ysalwen's lips twitch.

Cullen gives her a horrified look.

"What's wrong with the standard mail? Or standard plate?"

"Wade tends to pay particular attention to anything made out of difficult to work materials. It's -- a step up. The standard armor is very well made, but it's not -- quite the same level of artistry."

The corner of her mouth turns up.

"And I'm curious to see what you think of it."

Cullen rustles a little -- not quite bristling -- but subsides.

(He and a mabari have that ability in common.)

"Fine." A sidelong look. "But if you suggest getting something fitted, I'll ask him to pull out the most ornate and absurd thing he has for you."

She laughs, sudden and bright.

"Why, that's the robe with the griffons on it!"

But on second thought --

"Though I suppose he might append a terribly garish shoulder-guard. It seems to be coming into fashion."

Alas.

But her sudden introspective sadness is interrupted by Herren and Wade wheeling out several cabinets-worth of armor -- chain and plate and leather and banded, with boots and greaves and chest-plates and gorgets and --

A lot. So much armor.

And some cloaks, too. For color.

Edited 2016-02-06 02:23 (UTC)

"Plate," Cullen hisses. "Full plate, your size."

(He has just finished running a slightly horrified hand through his hair. You get a uniform, you wear the uniform, you take care of the uniform. That's what you do! Not -- choice.)

Ysalwen just grins, eyes bright.

"I'll pull it off beautifully."

Thanks, Arcane Warrior discipline!

"But really, why wouldn't you get something fitted if you liked it? Better the armor that doesn't chafe than the armor that does."

Meanwhile, Herren busies himself setting up several display pieces and buffing a few of the items that have been in storage longer.

Dust is so distressing, honestly.

Cullen wouldn't ever wear the closest display piece himself, but it's impressive enough -- beautiful enough -- to make him stop hissing and pay attention.

It looks a great deal like the Sunburst Throne at the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux -- layered, tapered points, one on top of another. Only when Cullen looks closer, he can't decide whether the cool red-gold metal is supposed to be flames... or scales, like a dragon's ruff.

He knows better than to reach out and touch, though he dearly wants to.

(He does peer closely enough to see how the edges of the breastplate are finished. They're impeccable, of course.)

"Would Ser -- Stanton, was it? -- care to try it on?"

Ysalwen quirks one eyebrow as Herren speaks, because she's curious herself.

And, of course, next to the flaming scale armor there's a cooler, darker piece, dark-washed chain linked together with heavy black dragon-scales, embossed with a fine knotwork pattern that, when seen from afar, looks like snowflakes.

"Maybe something less, um, immediately noticeable on a battlefield?"

She's just saying.

" -- yes." He looks up. "Something short of full plate. And -- "

Cullen brushes his hand in the direction of, but does not actually touch, the knotwork pattern. "No filigree. It's -- attractive, to be sure, but it might give a grappling chain additional purchase."

(It was the flame scales that did it: now Cullen is interested.)

"Hmm."

Herren rubs his chin.

Wade looks affronted, opens his mouth, looks at Ysalwen's face, and also says "Hmm."

Ysalwen just starts peering interestedly at all the armor on display because it's there and she can.

"What about -- "

"No, no, that's too -- "

"He could try -- "

"Yes, let me get those. It's just here -- "

Shortly they have arranged several pieces in a new display, one of half plate, one of banded armor with a surcoat, and some very clean-lined greaves and pauldrons matched to an equally well-made breastplate, along with a few other bits and pieces.

A set of the clean-lined pauldrons catches Cullen's eye -- a few layers, neat-bordered, likely silverite. Which means they'd be quite light to wear.

They're paired with a silverite breastplate -- multi-layered construction, fashioned well, with ingeniously-fashioned straps connecting the two pieces. And they'd go well over the black leather armor he already has.

Cullen allows as he quite likes that set, and inquires further about its construction. (The answers are... rather to his satisfaction.)

"It's still missing something," Wade snaps, though he doesn't look displeased by Cullen's interest.

"Here. You -- put it on, put it on and let me think. His coloring? No -- his stature? No -- Something about the eyes. And the stubble."

Hmm.

"Oh, yes! I have it! No moving until I return. Except you."

Here Wade points to Cullen.

"I won't be able to see unless you're wearing it. Warriors, I swear -- "

Ysalwen just stays where she is, with several display pieces functioning as a fortress of protection between herself and Wade.

And Herren.

And Cullen.

Cullen, meanwhile, looks as though he either wants to bolt or maybe encourage Ysalwen to try to hit him again.

More hissing, to Ysalwen:

"Be my squire. Quick."

"Don't snap at me," she hisses in return, but also picks up the breastplate and, standing on tiptoes --

"Hold on a moment."

There is the loud scraping sound of Ysalwen using magic to drag an anvil over so she can stand on it.

"Here."

And then, not standing on tiptoe but standing on a chunk of iron -- she starts helping him affix the breastplate and pauldrons.

From somewhere not as far away as anyone might prefer it to be --

"Hah! Yes, here it is. A fine, fine piece, it's a shame those Avar never came to pick it back up."

Andraste save him, if this involves horns -- or worse, antlers --

"Thank you," Cullen hisses, just in time.

...how is he scared of Master Wade? It probably has something to do with the flame scales.

"You're welcome."

Ysalwen stays up on the anvil, as if that will keep Wade from looking at her.

It -- actually appears to be working, at least until she sees what he's got draped between his hands.

"Is that -- "

Never mind, she regrets saying words already.

Wade, however, proudly shakes it out to reveal a luxurious fur-ruffed coat.

Or something like a coat.

"Huh."

It's -- red.

Cullen blinks at it, not sure whether to be horrified.

The coat is cut quite strangely, and but for the fur, it's clearly designed to be ornamental -- not quite a mandilion, as it's sleeveless, but not so flashy that anyone would think it Orlesian.

(This is Cullen's primary concern, if he's being honest.)

He...

...might not find it wholly objectionable...?

The fur, though -- it does rather seem like overkill. But he stands still as Wade fusses. It seems the most advisable course of action.

"Oh!"

Ysalwen does not fall off the anvil, thank you very much. She gracefully steps down and gets out of the way, however, as the fussing occurs.

"It -- I shall never doubt your genius again, Master Wade."

It looks nice. Regal, even.

Definitely commanding, but not so noticeable that it will draw all the enemy fire in combat.

Huh.

When Master Wade is finished, there's another layer between the breastplate and surcoat -- the same woven cloth, but with the gold border more visible, a little more ornate.

"It's -- a red lion's mane, isn't it?" Cullen's read of the giant cats of the Frostback Mountains, seen drawings, heard frightful tales by the hearth (embellished horribly by his older sister, less believably by his younger brother) -- he'd never thought he'd see any part of them himself, much less wear it. "I see why the Avvar were interested. Do you have a glass?"

(Honnleath is -- was -- in the foothills of the Frostbacks.)

He nearly doesn't recognize himself, as Wade herds him to the mirror. He looks -- older. Calmer. More... settled, within himself. Perhaps it's the new scar; perhaps it's spending the last several days knowing that his work is building something for his friend (not to mention his homeland), instead of desperately trying to prevent further death and destruction in a place he hates.

(Perhaps it's the red lion's mane.

Perhaps it's the very thin, tentative notion that maybe, just maybe, it might be possible to conceive of a life that doesn't involve the Templar Order. If he can look like this --

It's not who he is, not yet, but he could be -- )

Without taking his gaze from his own reflection, without any hemming and hawing, he says to Wade, "All right."

Ysalwen can feel warmth in her face, but she tries to suppress the beaming nature of her smile just because --

Just because.

"Excellent," she says instead, because it is. "Very well done."

"Thank you, Master Wade. Herren."

From outside the smithy comes a series of loud barks. Someone, it seems, has lost their patience.

They're very... high barks.

"That's Ci," Cullen sighs. "We're working on it."

He looks at Ysalwen. "Go on, say you told me so, I know you want to."

"Key? Well, it's a solid-sounding name, I'll give it that. Unexpected, too."

She grins at that, and maybe looks a little fond, somewhere around the eyes.

"And I did tell you so. I'm glad you can admit it."

"Yes, well." Cullen manages to refrain from rolling his eyes. He is a grown adult, after all. "I can admit when I'm wrong. Though it happens quite rarely.

"And it's not -- like a lock and key. It's -- an Alamarri word. Ci. C-i."

"Yes, well. There's a third time for everything."

And a first and second, yes, but everyone already knew that.

"Ci. It's pretty. Though it's -- not a word I'm familiar with, I'm afraid. I'm assuming it means something cheerful?"

Who could look at Ci's face and not feel cheerful? No one, obviously.

"Ah."

He wasn't counting on her -- or anyone, really -- asking what it means.

"Uh. It... yes. Something like that."

Might as well get it over with. "Dog. It means dog."

She grins at that, sudden and startled.

"Ah. Well, it does have the benefit of accuracy. And like I said, it sounds pretty."

And, moving toward the door to the smithy --

"Now, shall we all be properly introduced? It only seems polite for such a fine lady as Ci."

And one must always be polite to mabari.

walk, walk fashion baby

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