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Hungry Work

OPEN

The lab kitchen was out of ramen. The entire world was running dangerously low on the stuff, of course, but right now, the cupboard above the microwave labelled STRICTLY NO SCIENCE was barren. A tragedy at 2:47 AM if there ever was one.

Looking decidedly wired, she replaced her lab coat with a long cardigan and made her way upstairs towards the kitchen. Her reading glasses were slid up on top of her head, and she had stuck one pen up into her ponytail, which she had apparently forgotten about, because there was a second one in there.

The Dread Lab Spectre found herself reheating a soup that resembled but was not quite minestrone but made a convincing impression of it, it was left over from the dinner she had missed several hours ago. This was better than pouring flavoured noodles down her throat and going back to the lab, and she knew it. She had a feeling that someone was going to tell her off for missing dinner again, but she really had lost track of time. She looked at the list on the wall of meals for the week that May had drawn up while she waited for her late dinner to warm up. She wondered if there was bread left.

#marvelzombiesopen #hungry work #accepting multiple replies

yall

#go love my new muse pls she needs interactions #its an open start #er #accepting multiple replies

Reunions: Open

For those outside of the Inquisitor’s office who may or may not have been listening in, it was quite a surprise to hear the shouting. There was the occasion in which a visitor dissatisfied with their leader’s actions would get aggressive and perhaps loud, but Inquisitor Adaar herself was almost never known to get riled up over a petty dispute, or in fact most arguments. She typically maintained a fairly level head during negotiations. This time however was different.

The entire affair that morning had been odd for much of Skyhold’s inhabitants. From the strange visitor insisting that they see the Inquisitor, to Sorsha’s own strange behaviour. No one quite knew what was going on, especially not within her office currently.

Sorsha’s calm had completely shattered at this point, her hands trembling, her heart pounding against her ribs. She tried to maintain the mask of Inquisitor, neutral and reserved, but failed. This matter was much too personal for that as she stared down her visitor.

A knock on the door was hardly noticed by Sorsha given her distress, and it wasn’t until it finally opened and a figure entered that she did. “I-I’m right in the middle of something if you could j-just wait!”

#accepting multiple replies #reunions rp #inquisitor verse #I couldn't sleep and wrote this so I hope it's alright #may edit in the morning

Open || Caesa

Caesa would never admit to her tendency to hoard things– anything, really, as long as it was of some perceived value. Jewels, trinkets she would never wear, weapons she would never use, pieces of armor, books, scrolls… A major factor in her decision to open a shop in the first place was simply so she would have a place to unload the mountains of junk she had collected on her travels. Whether or not she was willing to admit to the habit, the fact of the matter was that her pack had been so over-stuffed with goods that the leather satchel had split right along one seam, dumping half the contents across the road to Markarth.

She’d been forced to stop, swearing profusely under her breath, to gather her belongings and repair the torn pack. Now she sat, cross-legged in the shade of a tree beside the road, with the most valuable of her items carefully tucked out of sight and wrapped in her scarf as she stitched the burst seam. Praying fervently that she wouldn’t be set upon by a pack of Forsworn raiders, or by a wandering highwayman, or any other sort of hostile passerby, Caesa kept her bow and dagger within easy reach as she worked.

The job was nearly finished when she heard the footsteps on the path. Wary brown eyes flicked up to regard the fellow traveler, and relaxed considerably when she saw they were alone. One person, she could handle, if they proved to be less than friendly.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” she asked, by way of greeting, preferring to keep things as civil as possible.