Guards and Order

[Aveline Vallen]

Vallen's eyes dip to Wylde's leg. "You might want to look into getting some worrystones or the like," she suggests. "Something charmed to be quiet you can fiddle with discreetly. It might help, and for more than just that class."

[Wylde]

"I might," she says, dubiously. Never saw much point. It's a rock. It's not the same as getting up and moving around.

[Solras, The Protector]

Solras, Daughter of Umdor, and Elder Private of the Watch raises a hand and asks a question that's been bothering her.

"We must be missing something here. You are talking as if we have done wrong and are only saved from expulsion by luck, but these classes and changes of patrol... They make us think you are promoting us and calling it punishment. Why?"

[Aveline Vallen]

"Thankfully the classes should also help with understanding implied communication and not speaking aloud things that cannot be acknowledged," Vallan says in a bone-dry voice.

[Solras, The Protector]

Huh..... so when do they get their pay increase? Course she's smart enough not to actually ask that question.

[Wylde]

Wylde blinks. "Right. Thanks,  I mean, uh, thanks for, punishing us properly, so we make sure we don't-- you know what I mean."

[Aveline Vallen]

Vallen fixes them both with a hard stare. "This is a punishment, Privates. There won't be a demerit added to your records, but this is going to be noted on them and anyone reading them will have to weight your... devotion against your inability to remember the bigger picture or handle a crowd. Hopefully the classes help compensate for some of that but..." I had to push hard to get them for  you both, please don't fuck it up...

[Wylde]

Wylde nods. "Yes, sir," she says, wincing a little.

[Solras, The Protector]

Solras, Daughter of Umdor, and Elder Private of the Watch salutes.

"Understood, Cap- Sargent."

[Aveline Vallen]

"...any questions?" Vallen asks after a moment, hoping that Solras won't ask anything else that might break the delicate fiction she's trying to create here. Neither of them is close to be promoting- Wylde has the instincts but not the discipline and Solras has the devotion but not the flexibility. Still, I'm sure as Vangal's Shield not going to lose their potential over some bullshit politics. 

[Wylde]

"No, sir, just point me at some healing and some food and I'll be good to go," says Wylde, cheerfully, pressing the cold pack back to her head. "Uh, except -- are we meant to be doing anything special about the cats?"

[Aveline Vallen]

"No magical healing I'm afraid," Vallen says, her tone making it very clear that she disapproves of this. "That's technically the reason for your days off- recovery. But you can stop by the messhall on your way out. As for Cattown... that's above your paygrade. Mine too. I'm sure the Captain will be making an announcement sometime in the next couple of days."

[Wylde]

Wylde lets out another of those whimper-groans. "Understood," she adds, sullenly. 

[Wylde]

Wylde is never one to let an injury slow her down. She hates pain, after all. So if the Guard isn't going to heal her, that just means she has to pay for healing. Of course, there's healing and there's healing. If she goes to the temple of Bastion, not being dirt poor, she'll be expected to donate several gold from her savings to pay for it -- and they'll know her as a guard, know she didn't get healing for a reason, and likely fleece her more. So instead, when she tells Solas, "I know a place," she heads not for Temple Street but for Coalside.

Two likely candidates. I don't trust that Anders guy, so let's try the other one first. She limps her way to the Temple on the edge of Cattown -- not the place they pray at, that's in the very heart and she'd be killed trying to get there, but a place they gather to learn about strange Skin religions.

She's stymied at first by the giant dog lounging on the front step, in a pocket of sun. Dogs don't tend to like me much, she thinks, hesitating.

[Dog]

With a soft groan, the massive dog- which Solras might note with some disbelief is roughly the size of a warhorse- lifts his head to regard the approaching pair. Tawny gold fur dappled with flecks for white and gold cover most of it, but the beast's paws, snout and the ruff of fur around his neck are a much deeper tan, almost black in places. His eyes are a rich black, warm and caring- and far more intelligent than any canine they've met prior. He'd been curled up, back facing away from the guards, so he's now looking over  his shoulder to study them, ears perked slightly. His movement does go unremarked, a protesting whine coming from his other side.