[What a nightmare, River thought as he regarded the movements of the Vint army gathered in the valley below him. Finally a chance to map out their movements from the past few days. What was it about the Venatori and company that gave them seemingly endless energy. River had been exhausted by the end of the second day, but he’d been given explicit instructions to track the approaching army and send a signal, if possible, before they reached the river.
He ducks back into the minimal cover, behind some bushes and began his task proper. His graphite stick traced out the each step on map given to him. A three-day march had taken them nearly to Kirkwall and River estimated that they were only a two or three more days away from the sturdy walls surrounding the city.
As soon as he finishes his work, he turns back to his scouting partner.]
Got it. Have the raven?
II. OBSERVING (in Orlais)
[Learning of the Game, hearing of its unforgiving stresses had always intrigued River, especially when his grandfather embellished upon his tales of working among what he claimed were royalty. River doubted there was ever a Comte de Arbes, but as he watched two diplomats curtsey and bow, complete with the flourishes of buckled shoes and jeweled masks. Lucky for him, River had also learned the tongue and that ‘saying nothing can mean more than you think, my boy.’
What, then, did that make of his father, who River had only recently met? Frank Harkness knew the game and yet continued to subvert its expectations. Rather than leave River with the existential knowledge of the existence of his father, he’d dumped River into a literal river.
Not very demure.
And definitely something River could tuck away until he would be forced to think about.
Like now, as he wrote down the flowing Orlesian script, translating during conversation breaks. To anyone watching, it would look as if he were balancing his ledger for the produce stand he’d been set up in. So, River works largely unbothered until someone approaches the stand. His blue eyes flick up and he slides his writing board under a gourd.]
What can I get for you this day? [River asks in ever so slightly accented Orlesian.]
III. KICKING IT (in Kirkwall)
[To say it’s been a long week is an understatement. River has been trudging through mud and streams to gather information that may possibly prevent another attack on Riftwatch. With the details safely in Yseult’s hands, River decides to take up residence in one of the taverns in Lowtown, two beers already down and muddying his senses.
He needs a break, that much is for certain.
Constantly living on alert while worrying about his grandfather has him strung out, ready to march off into the Waking Sea. He knows he should be resting in his place in Lowtown, or visiting his grandfather, but he needs something more than a good night’ s rest. What he needs is a night of lonely drinking, a night to indulge in relaxing the mind and body the old fashioned way.
River's finished his third mug when he realizes someone has sat down next to him. River frowns but turns back to the barkeep, tapping his mug.] One more?
Wildcard!
[Do what you like with an average spy doing average spy shit!]
River Cartwright | Slow Horses/Slough House Books | Native AU
[What a nightmare, River thought as he regarded the movements of the Vint army gathered in the valley below him. Finally a chance to map out their movements from the past few days. What was it about the Venatori and company that gave them seemingly endless energy. River had been exhausted by the end of the second day, but he’d been given explicit instructions to track the approaching army and send a signal, if possible, before they reached the river.
He ducks back into the minimal cover, behind some bushes and began his task proper. His graphite stick traced out the each step on map given to him. A three-day march had taken them nearly to Kirkwall and River estimated that they were only a two or three more days away from the sturdy walls surrounding the city.
As soon as he finishes his work, he turns back to his scouting partner.]
Got it. Have the raven?
II. OBSERVING (in Orlais)
[Learning of the Game, hearing of its unforgiving stresses had always intrigued River, especially when his grandfather embellished upon his tales of working among what he claimed were royalty. River doubted there was ever a Comte de Arbes, but as he watched two diplomats curtsey and bow, complete with the flourishes of buckled shoes and jeweled masks. Lucky for him, River had also learned the tongue and that ‘saying nothing can mean more than you think, my boy.’
What, then, did that make of his father, who River had only recently met? Frank Harkness knew the game and yet continued to subvert its expectations. Rather than leave River with the existential knowledge of the existence of his father, he’d dumped River into a literal river.
Not very demure.
And definitely something River could tuck away until he would be forced to think about.
Like now, as he wrote down the flowing Orlesian script, translating during conversation breaks. To anyone watching, it would look as if he were balancing his ledger for the produce stand he’d been set up in. So, River works largely unbothered until someone approaches the stand. His blue eyes flick up and he slides his writing board under a gourd.]
What can I get for you this day? [River asks in ever so slightly accented Orlesian.]
III. KICKING IT (in Kirkwall)
[To say it’s been a long week is an understatement. River has been trudging through mud and streams to gather information that may possibly prevent another attack on Riftwatch. With the details safely in Yseult’s hands, River decides to take up residence in one of the taverns in Lowtown, two beers already down and muddying his senses.
He needs a break, that much is for certain.
Constantly living on alert while worrying about his grandfather has him strung out, ready to march off into the Waking Sea. He knows he should be resting in his place in Lowtown, or visiting his grandfather, but he needs something more than a good night’ s rest. What he needs is a night of lonely drinking, a night to indulge in relaxing the mind and body the old fashioned way.
River's finished his third mug when he realizes someone has sat down next to him. River frowns but turns back to the barkeep, tapping his mug.] One more?
Wildcard!
[Do what you like with an average spy doing average spy shit!]