Were she younger, were she anyone else, Merrill would be running helter-skelter through Hightown, bare feet barely touching the ground -- that's her, an elf, fleet-footed and graceful, according to anyone who's never met her.
But Merrill is not so young, and she has never been the kind of person who can throw a fit in public for whatever reason, so instead she walks down streets with her head high and an air of purpose. It's held together with spit and twine, but it's there all the same. The past hour is still thrumming in her veins, temples pounding. Who would even think -- what is Varric doing -- but not now, not now.
Hightown has changed a fair bit, since she first saw it, what with everything that's happened, but she still beats out the path to Fenris' door with nary a thought. She knocks hard, her knuckles stinging and red from the force of it, but then Hightown doors are not made to be knocked on. You're meant to have servants to watch and open and shut them, which is a real joke when it comes to Fenris.
She dusts the bottom of her foot off against her leg and frets. Maybe he's not home. Oh, that would be typical. What if he's out on a job? Should she have tried the Hanged Man straight away? (But then, Varric might retire to the Hanged Man soon, and she doesn't want to see him until she's sorted her head out.)
Merrill decides to call out.
But Merrill is not so young, and she has never been the kind of person who can throw a fit in public for whatever reason, so instead she walks down streets with her head high and an air of purpose. It's held together with spit and twine, but it's there all the same. The past hour is still thrumming in her veins, temples pounding. Who would even think -- what is Varric doing -- but not now, not now.
Hightown has changed a fair bit, since she first saw it, what with everything that's happened, but she still beats out the path to Fenris' door with nary a thought. She knocks hard, her knuckles stinging and red from the force of it, but then Hightown doors are not made to be knocked on. You're meant to have servants to watch and open and shut them, which is a real joke when it comes to Fenris.
She dusts the bottom of her foot off against her leg and frets. Maybe he's not home. Oh, that would be typical. What if he's out on a job? Should she have tried the Hanged Man straight away? (But then, Varric might retire to the Hanged Man soon, and she doesn't want to see him until she's sorted her head out.)
Merrill decides to call out.
Fenris? Yoohoo, it's me. Merrill, in case you couldn't tell. Are you home? It's rather urgent. Dire, actually.
04-17-2023, 02:59 PM
