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[Tav glances up from something he’s writing— in Faerun Elvish, just to be safe— to see someone moving through the dining hall to sit across from him. He folds up his work and tucks it away in his vest before nodding and offering a smile.]
Well met, I’m Tav. What might I help you with?
Well met, I’m Tav. What might I help you with?
[ Bastien shrugs. ]
I like to meet people, [ in general, but especially new colleagues, ] so you are helping me with that as we speak.
[ His spoon goes into the stew, but he's taking his time eating any of it. First he's breaking chunks of potato and carrots into smaller pieces, then searching about for a piece of meat. ]
How are you finding the Gallows so far?
I like to meet people, [ in general, but especially new colleagues, ] so you are helping me with that as we speak.
[ His spoon goes into the stew, but he's taking his time eating any of it. First he's breaking chunks of potato and carrots into smaller pieces, then searching about for a piece of meat. ]
How are you finding the Gallows so far?
[Tav’s smile widens; he loves conversations like these.] You’ve come to the right place; I also enjoy meeting new people.
[He allows Bastien to dig in, comfortable with the relative silence. The question catches him off guard but Tav sees no harm in answering honestly.]
A welcome respite. I haven’t slept this well in a very long time.
[He allows Bastien to dig in, comfortable with the relative silence. The question catches him off guard but Tav sees no harm in answering honestly.]
A welcome respite. I haven’t slept this well in a very long time.
[ Many people—Bastien often included, accustomed as he was to bright colors and large windows before he came to the Free Marches—might start with complaints about the oppressively grey and brutal architecture, the lingering remnants of the place the prison used to be. So he looks faintly surprised, eyebrows going up, and then a little pleased.
Tav is a fellow bright-sider, maybe. Delightful to find one in the wild. ]
No kidding. On these beds?
Tav is a fellow bright-sider, maybe. Delightful to find one in the wild. ]
No kidding. On these beds?
Stone and tables.
[ If Bastien had not put a great deal of work into making himself look like a man who's never in his life slept rough, he might commiserate. But he has put that work in. A project of years. So instead he is only thoughtful and interested about this clearly foreign concept.
Having assembled a perfect spoonful of meat, broth, and each kind of root vegetable, he raises it to eat, but pauses along the way—just before his mouth will be full—to ask, ]
Choice or bad luck?
[ If Bastien had not put a great deal of work into making himself look like a man who's never in his life slept rough, he might commiserate. But he has put that work in. A project of years. So instead he is only thoughtful and interested about this clearly foreign concept.
Having assembled a perfect spoonful of meat, broth, and each kind of root vegetable, he raises it to eat, but pauses along the way—just before his mouth will be full—to ask, ]
Choice or bad luck?
It’s what we had available to us, else sleeping in a stream or the like.
[Tav is really enjoying this conversation and it shows in the warmth of his tone. This is what he loved about his travels, as well as his companions. Not the bullshitting and the diplomacy and fighting. But a comfortable bed under the stars.]
It was nice most nights.
[Tav is really enjoying this conversation and it shows in the warmth of his tone. This is what he loved about his travels, as well as his companions. Not the bullshitting and the diplomacy and fighting. But a comfortable bed under the stars.]
It was nice most nights.
I suppose that is something.
[ The only thing worse than sleeping on the ground would be doing it in the rain, surely. But if he sounds a little bit like he's trying to be polite about someone's bizarre hobby, it's in a friendly way. ]
Who is us? Your family?
[ The only thing worse than sleeping on the ground would be doing it in the rain, surely. But if he sounds a little bit like he's trying to be polite about someone's bizarre hobby, it's in a friendly way. ]
Who is us? Your family?
[ Bastien nods approvingly while swallowing a mouthful of stew. ]
That's the way to do it. [ He points at himself with his thumb before he explains, ] Orphan, [ to make it clear he isn't lobbing the accusation at Tav. ]
I'm sorry, though. You must miss them.
That's the way to do it. [ He points at himself with his thumb before he explains, ] Orphan, [ to make it clear he isn't lobbing the accusation at Tav. ]
I'm sorry, though. You must miss them.
[ Not much better than getting a laugh. Bastien grins at him and turns his attention back to his meal, halfway. ]
What was it like? Where you are from—similar enough to this? Blue sky, green plans, brown dirt?
[ You never know. But those seem to be commonalities, at least. ]
What was it like? Where you are from—similar enough to this? Blue sky, green plans, brown dirt?
[ You never know. But those seem to be commonalities, at least. ]
That is odd. But not as odd, I think, as the—
[ He unhands his spoon and uses both hands to try to illustrate with gestures in the air as he talks. ]
Where some of our rifters are from they have ships made of metal, enclosed all around, because there is no air to breathe and people might float away. And they have—I don't understand how it works. But they have machines attached that push them forward, so they can sail through the sky, beyond the sky, until the whole world is a little speck behind them and eventually vanishes like an island left behind at sea.
[ His hands come back down to the table, his head back down to the earth. ]
We don't have them. We don't even have, uh, [ he snaps to himself to help recall the word, ] engines. And maybe our space is nothing like their space. Maybe it is like yours and we would walk on rocks. That sounds a little like the Crossroads.
[ He unhands his spoon and uses both hands to try to illustrate with gestures in the air as he talks. ]
Where some of our rifters are from they have ships made of metal, enclosed all around, because there is no air to breathe and people might float away. And they have—I don't understand how it works. But they have machines attached that push them forward, so they can sail through the sky, beyond the sky, until the whole world is a little speck behind them and eventually vanishes like an island left behind at sea.
[ His hands come back down to the table, his head back down to the earth. ]
We don't have them. We don't even have, uh, [ he snaps to himself to help recall the word, ] engines. And maybe our space is nothing like their space. Maybe it is like yours and we would walk on rocks. That sounds a little like the Crossroads.
Oh, and that is the best part, [ regains some of the same energy as his gesture-filled explanation, like a post script. ] In these worlds they did it all without magic.
[ Post script over. He tightens up again, reins the enthusiasm back in to standard happy-to-be-getting-to-know-someone levels. ]
Mais de toute façon. Have you always slept outside, or was it some kind of adventure?
[ Post script over. He tightens up again, reins the enthusiasm back in to standard happy-to-be-getting-to-know-someone levels. ]
Mais de toute façon. Have you always slept outside, or was it some kind of adventure?
[ Bastien inclines his head to one side, considering that while he chews through the gristle in some of his stew meat. His gaze is searching and curious. Of course he'd like to pry. But after he swallows, he doesn't ask. ]
One or two or three months–so in a way, you are kind of a baby.
One or two or three months–so in a way, you are kind of a baby.
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