driftfleet | open.

Entry tags:

open.

Who: Merrill.
Broadcast: Fleet-wide.
Action: SS First Breath, whenever.
When: APR 12 - 18.

Oh. Oh dear.

[ Is it a Welsh pixie? It certainly sounds like one. Pointed ears, short black hair, intricate tattoos across the angular plains of her face. But no, despite the accent, Merrill is neither Welsh, nor pixie.

Currently she's balancing on one bare foot, trying to shake something brown and sloppy off the other. It would be easy to jump to the wrong conclusion at first, but everyone gets a dessert when they arrive, so closer examination will make it clear that she's only stepped in chocolate cream.

Though really, how she's managed that is anyone's guess. ]

I am... so sorry. It wasn't something important, was it? Eugh, it's all slimy.

[ Given she took a while to get used to Kirkwall, a couple of days prowling about the Marsiva and her brand new augment really aren't adequate preparation for the sleek metal and digital displays of a spaceship.

Though later, she might be found in Engineering, trying to work out how she knows anything at all about this strange contraption, but also delighting in the fact that she has all this new knowledge, and more right there to learn about. Merrill isn't very good with people, but she loves magic, and to her view all of this technology isn't too different.

Or you can always call her once she's washed off her feet. ]

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Ah, there is that charming face. I was wondering if you'd be reappearing.

[And he smiles a bit.]

[ Merrill smiles back! Because smiling is nice, and he called her face charming. But it's kind of a bemused smile, radiating awkwardness. ]

Um, I'm sorry. Do we— did I hit my head? Oh, maybe I hit my head. It doesn't feel like...

[ She's fingercombing through her hair, now, checking her little skull for lumps. ]

[A soft, amused chuckle.]

Ah, it's as I suspected. You haven't met me, but I met you. Or, rather, I met someone who was you, from a slightly different world...it's...complicated.

[He nods softly.]

Dorian, of House Pavus. From Tevinter, if the accent hasn't given me away just yet. A pleasure to meet you again...Merrill, was it?

Believe it or not, you're meant to eat that. Andaran atish’an, sister.

[Two guesses who is super happy to see another Dalish face in space.]

[Oh, thank the Maker. It's someone he actually wants to see.]

Daisy! You came back. And here I thought you'd run into the woods and we'd never hear from you again.

[Uhhhh. Yeah, at first, Clay's really unsure about what she's stepped in and really, really hopes it's not his first thought.]

The important question here is: What's it smell like?

[ That does sound complicated. And confusing — she understands what he's saying, but not how it's possible. Other hers, out there and running around... it's an odd thought. ]

It's a pleasure to meet you, too. [ And then, in a bit of a rush: ] I am so sorry that I'm not the Merrill you wanted to speak to. I hope I'm not very different. Were we friends? You seem very nice.

Eat it? But it's just goo. Shouldn't food be a little more solid?

[ Thinking about possibly eating the brown stuff distracts her through the Elvish for a moment, and then her eyes widen and she actually pays attention to the screen, squinting. ]

You're Dalish!

[ Both delighted and... well, kind of nervous. She doesn't get invited to the meetings of the clans anymore, after all. ]

There's no need to apologize. I'm afraid we only spoke in passing a few times, but I was quite charmed nonetheless.

[Just casually flirts at her nbd.]

Are there woods, here? Mostly I've just seen ships. If there are woods, I can't guarantee I won't run off. Or run off again, I suppose, though I don't actually remember the first time.

[ It's good to see you too, Varric. ]

[ Hmmm. Merrill is flexible enough to be able to lift her leg up as she bends down, a little balletic, as she sniffs dubiously. ]

Not really like anything.

[ She wiggles her toes. ]

It feels sort of cold.

It should also be a little less on your feet, if we're going to split hairs. It's a dessert, though. Did the entire thing spill?

[Because Jove has learned that pudding is pretty damned amazing and it'd be sad if Merrill couldn't at least taste a little of it. The more important topic is their shared background, though, so she smiles and nods.]

Last I checked, anyway. My name is Jove.

[Well. If it doesn't immediately smell like death, then it probably isn't his first thought after all.]

Cold, huh...

[Where has he seen that before? It was just recently, too - !!]

Hold it!

It's pudding! Try tasting it, it's pretty good stuff!

Oh! Well. That's good then, I suppose.

[ A little flustered. ]

I do hope I can be just as charming.

You certainly already are! I assure you, you're quite darling. I do hope I get to see your lovely face in person.

[A soft chuckle.

Really, he just likes to see her flustered. That's rude, Dorian. But she reminds him of a kitten, in a way. Innocent and darling.]

Aneth ara, Jove. I'm Merrill. It is so good to see another elf here.

[ She still has her foot held off the ground, and she lifts it behind her as she bends down and picks up the bowl she stepped in before carefully righting herself. ]

I think there might be some left.

[ She considers it dubiously; she'd put her foot in it, after all, and while she's perfectly clean she also doesn't wear shoes most of the time. ]

That's very— you can, if you'd like! I mean, I'm here, and you're... wherever you are, but it can't be that far, and I think I might know how to fly one of these things, which is strange because I've certainly never seen anything like it in my life. Which you probably already knew. Shut up, Merrill.

[ The tips of her little ears are going pink. You're a cruel man, Dorian Pavus. ]

Pudding...

[ She's not familiar with the idea of pudding, but tasting, that she can do. Merrill can't actually put her foot in her mouth, despite managing to do so in a figurative sense quite regularly, so instead she swipes a finger through the pudding on the top of her foot, and then sticks the finger in her mouth.

Whatever, she's an elf, she's eaten dirtier things.

Immediately her expression lights up. ]

Oh! That is good. It's all sweet, but creamy too.

Oh no, by all means, keep talking if you wish!

[He takes a drink of something does it look like wine? It's wine. He's having fruit salad for dinner.]

And you were the First of your clan, if I remember correctly?

[ Steffa is not laughing, STEFFA IS NOT LAUGHING.

But that was adorable. ]

Ah, it's a dessert, I think. Or it was, I suppose, before you stepped in it.

[ Oh nooooo don't laugh at herrrr. ]

I wish they hadn't put it on the ground. And then played that music! Out of nowhere! I mean, what did they think was going to happen?

[ Probably exactly what did happen. Slapstick is plenty entertaining. ]

[ Oh. If before she was all sweetness and light, on the verge of outright blushing, now there are stormclouds. She fidgets a little, unhappily. ]

I used to be. But I... left.

[Ah, that was an awkward misstep. He chuckles, nearly a scoff, at his own gracelessness.]

Ah, forgive me if I misspoke. I didn't mean to remind you of something unpleasant.

[And then, a small change of subject.]

I assume that you will be pleased that Hawke is here?

It's all right.

[ Yes, Hawke is a much better subject, a reminder that there's still family to be had. ]

Is he?

[ That's good news, honestly; she gets a bit lost without Hawke (well, sometimes she gets a bit lost with Hawke, but she can never tell until Hawke admits it afterwards, that they weren't just going for a pleasantly scenic route around the Wounded Coast. Merrill presses her palms together. ]

Do you know him?

[ That pleases her a lot too, though it makes sense, if he's from Tevinter; this place is far from Thedas, and strange, so they should all stick together. ]

[ ....................oh. Look who just lit up like a uh, something tree. A Satinalia Tree?? Whatever, look whose big dumb face is delighted. ]

What took you so long? No one's tried to put a sandwich or elfroot in my clothes in ages.

Edited 2015-04-15 13:11 (UTC)

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