When Asha pops by the safehouse only Varric is there. Which is nice-- but for once not the one they were coming to see. So they chat with Varric for a bit, cutting up and sneaking him something that is not made with kale, and scitters off before they can be caught. A gift is left in their wake though, left in the kitchen cabinet next to the spices that Sidri favors and just out of sight of Varric. Not that it would be a bad thing if Varric saw it-- but he'd ruin the surprise. For all the lying he does he's terrible at gift related secrets.
The present is wrapped in softly dyed fabrics, likely from Rivain considering the colors. Inside is an assortment of sewing supplies. Some very fine bronze scissors, sharpened to a terrifying edge, a small pouch of hand made glass beads, and some lovely thread. The quilt they had seen Sidri working on was pretty-- but maybe these gifts would help her make it even prettier. If nothing else she needed the scissors. You could trade the world for a good pair of fabric shears. They would know.
If there's any doubt on who the gift might be from there is also a small silver coin at the bottom of the package, obviously of Orlesian origin, pressed with a comedy mask on one side. [ Happy Mother's day Sid ]
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 surrounding the safehouse a few days in what's become a habit and, once certain no one has followed her, quickly walks to the door flanked by planters glowing with zinnias. the door is shut as quietly behind her as she can manage given the late hour. setting down her bag with a small huff, sidri immediately works to work the straps of her prosthesis loose from her shoulder. it's necessary to avoid recognition in a city where she's been overwhelmingly loathed for the past decade, though it makes her shoulder and neck ache with the unfamiliar weight.
no footsteps greet her from down the hallway, now marked with that slow, uneven cadence and tap of cane to dark wood, and suspects that varric's resting after another afternoon of driving charter mad. it's become a favorite hobby of his these past few weeks along with complaining about the rain he's not allowed to go out and see for himself.
in lieu of the paid trip she's determined to offer charter in thanks once this mess is over and done with, she retrieves the small bag of cioccolata calda fresh from the markets from her bag. charter had mentioned enjoying it once, weeks ago when they'd sat out in the small living room as the healers had tended to varric, and she'd tucked the fact away for later. next two orlesian spice tea blends are plucked from the depths of the bag to at least offer choices the next time asha is here, followed by a slice of absurdly thick apple cake wrapped neatly for varric.
moving to the kitchen cabinet she'd organized and reorganized countless times from restless, frenetic energy during those sixteen days, her brow furrows as her gaze immediately falls upon something unfamiliar.
it's tucked away carefully, placed thoughtfully even, next to the neat rows of spices. sidri takes it gently, immediately intrigued by the bright colors that seem so vibrant against the grey that seems to have dyed all of minrathous. turning it over her hand, she pauses when she feels weight and tugs the fabric aside to see an unexpected gleam.
it's placed immediately on the small table in the corner of the kitchen and she pushes a potted plant aside to allow for more space. a gasp of delight falls from her lips as she turns the scissors over carefully, followed by a quiet laugh humming with joy to as she pours the beads slowly into the center of her palm.
sidri knows immediately, fully, who this is from before she spies the mask pressed into shining silver beneath fine, delicate thread. tears follow thereafter but they are good tears and she makes no attempt to wipe them away as they gather and fall.
as she weighs the beads in her hand, a thought occurs to her and she quickly reaches once more in the confines of that always brimming bag. two other beads are pulled from the bottom where they've rested these past few weeks - one a rich, deep emerald and the other a soft, cloudy pink. she strings them both with the new thread and retrieves a violet bead from the pouch to add a third. it forms a simple bracelet, the sort even her youngest has long since outgrown making, but she has long since lost interest in anything with gilding or grandeur.
three beads to rest against her wrist, three beads to remind her of three children.
the bracelet is set gently against the table for varric to tie for her when he wakes (one of the many benefits of a husband who still has both hands) and she eagerly, delightedly takes both new scissors and new thread to finishing weaving those tiny, fine bells into the corners of a quilt nearly finished.
