(( Written using emotes from in-game))
It was by no means late yet but Bree-town and its streets were quiet, a more and more common occurance during the winter months. The yellow light of candles and lanterns burned in the windows as most of the town's inhabitants cloistered themselves in their warm homes or the inn. The only foot traffic to be seen was coming from the North Gate and moving along the road leading to the Prancing Pony as weary travelers and frost-bitten tradesmen hurried towards the promise of warm fires and warming drinks.
Beneath the eaves of one of the squat flats lining the road, Hawk was tossing pebbles up at the second story window and calling out in a hushed but persistant voice, berating Loaf the miller's son and demanding their bet be settled. Hadn't Hawk just come from the Pony, breathless and laughing, narrowly having escaped the old cook's ire? Alas, neither insults nor thrown rocks against the fogged windowpane brought forth the dull-witted and chubby miller's son. Better to stop now than risk waking the miller himself.
Having left the Pony soon after hearing the fracas in the inn's kitchen, Fillegedhiel walked down the main road, alone. She took in a sharp breath of the cold night air before turning back suddenly. A noise, a loud one...and was that? She walked up to the figure slowly, tripping a few times over her own feet despite only having one drink earlier.
Hawke was keeping a wary eye out, whatever else he appeared to be doing: he turned when he heard the scrape of boots on the cobbles behind him to see that a woman approached, staggering a little. His eyes narrowed as he watched her draw closer: she'd been in the Prancing Pony earlier. Hawk hadn't had much time to take stock of the common room -- he'd been much too busy rushing down the hall and leaping from the stairs during his hasty retreat. Still, this woman had been among the number of patrons disturbed by the commotion, he was fairly certain of it.
Seeing that she'd been noticed, Fillegedhiel came to a stop and leaned her back against one of the wooden posts supporting the miller's home and crossed her arms. "So, are you Bree's new trickster then?" She looked him up and down, rolling her eyes slightly.
Hawke kept close to the wall beneath the overhang to avoid the night patrols with their torches. They'd be around soon, though it was uncertain whether Barliman had raised a complaint and set them actively looking for the troublemaker. While Hawk was known to pull pranks and start a bit of trouble, the Prancing Pony's proprieter was generally forgiving, so it was doubtful Barliman would do anything of the sort.
Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he arched a brow at the woman's rather scathing look. "What's it to ye?"
Fillegedhiel grumbled under her breath. Honestly, she didn't know why his presence was bugging her - yet it did. "Annoyance mainly. Are you hungry and resorted to stealing?" Her last few words were sincere, depsite the distaste in her eyes. Perhaps his thieving from the kitchen had been the cause of all that noise earlier, and while she didn't condone lawlessness she could well understand desperation.
While Hawk managed to keep up his jaunty demeanor, his dark eyes were taking note of anything and everything about his inquisitor. "If yer annoyed then why bother trottin' over to chat?" He blatantly ignored her question, choosing instead to needle her. He hadn't stolen anything (this time) but he didn't see that was any of her business.
His remark made her huff in annoyance. "What does your mother call you, ungrateful?" She stepped a little closer to get a better look at him, but in the dark he seemed a mere boy. "There was a sliver of help I was willing to offer, but have it your way, boy," she gritted through her teeth.
It was not unexpected, this stranger's clear judgement of him, but Hawk took umbrage at being talked down to, and the mention of his mother lit a cold fire in his gaze. "Like I fecking need yer help. Go lecture someone else, ye shrew."
Fillegedhiel may have been about to retort when the lantern of a passing traveler lit up the supposed boy's face, and Fille's expression appeared unreadable for a moment as she studied Hawk. He was a man, she realized suddenly, a clearly un-Bree-like man at that judging by his height and appearance. There was something else - his voice. She slid a hand back in caution at his tone, perhaps seeking the comforting presence of her greatsword's hilt where it appeared over her shoulder.
"...you're not from here, are you?" She asked, and she leaned on her hip, metal shavings falling to the ground as if jostled by the movement. A childlike curiosity about her could be observed in place of the earlier suspicion.
Somewhat nonplussed by the sudden change in the woman's demeanor, Hawk kept a careful eye on the movement of her hand, and especially on that big knife of hers. He didn't like where the conversation was headed and his brows knit. "Sod off." She'd mistaken him for someone, no doubt. That was what he hoped, but it was more likely she'd recognized something about him that he would rather no one noticed.
Fillegedhiel smirked, she couldn't help it. Then again, this wasn't her usual demeanor - that wine might have gotten to her, she thought. Laughing, she pulled her scarred hands up in defeat. "I've seen it before you know, using obscenities to hide behind something..." She looked over her shoulder towards the forge further down the road, visible by its glow.
"...a word of advice a wise elf called Xanderian once told me," she began, and at the mention of that name Hawk stood straighter. "Keep your friends close and stay out of trouble."
Eyeing her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, Hawk tilted his head. "How d'ye know Xan?"
Fillegedhiel let out a small laugh, her accent more Gondorian then usual as she parroted his earlier words back at him. "Sod off."
Since he wasn't well-traveled Hawk didn't make too much of accents, other than to know when someone wasn't from Bree-land, but something about hers was vaguely familiar. Her use of his own rude words made him grin crookedly despite himself. "Clever." He glanced about for a moment but there was no one nearby. "If ye really are a friend of Xan's, then ye can't be all that bad," he offered, but friend of Xanderian or no he didn't much like this woman.
Still feeling somewhat dizzy, Fille rubbed a hand to her face, willing the wine to get out of her system. "You know her?" Her tone was clearly doubtful. She wouldn't believe it. "Xan is a very close friend of mine..." She suddenly felt as though she should have kept her personal business a secret and regretted mentioning the name at all.
Hawke frowned then and studied the woman more closely while she was busy bemoaning the amount of drink she'd taken. The soot and metal shavings and muscular arms meant she had 'blacksmith' written all over her. Add in the accent that he tentatively placed as Gondorian, her relationship to Xanderian...
He lowered his voice so that it wouldn't carry out into the street. "Are ye...Fille?"
Fillegedhiel stood up like a metal spike had suddenly been placed in her backside. "How do you know my name?" She demanded, her eyes appearing like hot coals as they bored into his skull.
That reaction was more or less what Hawk had expected -- he would be just as suspicious if their places were reversed. "Easy," he coaxed, glancing again at the big sword on Fille's back and really hoping she wouldn't start swinging it. "Xan's a friend of mine. She's been expecting ye, from the mountains, right?"
Fillegedhiel bit her lip as the cogs began churning in her brain and with a muster of energy she reluctantly asked, "You can't possibly be - the hamster?" She noted his concern for her sword but was satisfied with his reaction.
With a scoff, Hawk delivered a flummoxed look and threw his hands into the air. "Of all the fecking names! That damn Banshee," he cursed, meaningfully.
The blacksmith stood stunned. She had been wanting to meet the one her friends called Hawk, but not like this. She closed her eyes to calm herself. "Hawke," she ammended, her voice dry. "So, we finally meet. Can I be honest? I have my wards up, and for good measure, so my apologies if I don't look excited." Her posture, voice, and facial expressions had changed now, taking on an air of diplomancy.
Hawk hadn't exactly expected to meet the much-talked about Fille this way either. His expression was wry and maybe even a little disappointed. "I usually make better second impressions," he quipped sardonically.
Fillegedhiel seemed to doubt that and scoffed. "So, is it true...you're from...there?" She looked around warily before pulling from her belt a once bright silk pouch, now a pale grey. She pointed to the embroidered swan emblem to clarify what she meant.
The sight of the silk pouch made Hawk's shoulders tense, though Fille's continued ascerbity had also served to further unsettle him. He was finding it difficult to believe that they would recover from this ill-fated first meeting. He motioned for her to stow the bag quickly, out of sight. "...My mother was," he answered darkly.
While she was confused by his sudden rush for her to stow the pouch away she did as he suggested, though she continued to look at him dryly. He was, after all, a tricker, a trouble-maker, and she was not inclined to put much faith in him. "Hm," she whispered, mainly to herself. "Well, we have met. For Xan's sake I will remain civil, but I do not trust others easily...especially...ones from..." She peered at her pouch, or what was visible of it: just a bit of grey sticking out of her soot covered trousers.
Hawk regarded her coldly. "I ain't from there, though, and I don't give a damn that yer some runaway, either. I worried about ye because Xan worried...and now yer here."
Fillegedhiel frowned scornfully and found she despised his use of language. She shrugged. "Seems we have a common denominator - Xan. She talked highly of you, said she cares about you greatly. So, for her, I will give you the respect needed for us to coincide peacefully." She looked to the sky and huffed, morning already? "Well, Hawk...I suppose we'll meet again when the company is ready to travel."
He realised that his moody behaviour hadn't earned him any favour with Fille, and he figured Xan would want them to at least be civil, but he found he didn't care. At least not in this moment. "Respect me or don't, but don't play about it fer Xan's sake." He chafed his hands and glanced to check the state of the road. Mostly empty at this hour. "Guess we'll see each other then." If not before, though he wouldn't be looking forward to it now. Though normally a kind person, Hawk was easily riled, and the ridicule and scorn in Fille's eyes had touched on old wounds.
She gave him one solid nod in response. Her eyes were cold, but a glimmer of warmth could still be seen, somewhere. Fillegedhiel knew this wasn't right, that this had gone poorly, but she needed to protect herself - for now. "See you then." She turned and marched towards the forge down the road, the one she'd looked at more than once during the conversation. Now seemed as good a time as any to seek out her old master.
For his part, Hawk knew he shouldn't have snapped but he wouldn't apologise for it now. When Fille headed for the forge he turned and took the opposite direction, his long strides tense.
As first impressions go, that had been a disaster.
