driftfleet | 009 // i carry your bones in my heart

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009 // i carry your bones in my heart

Who: Dorian and YOU
Broadcast: Fleet-Wide
Action: On the Three Twins!
When: 8/11, Midnight.

[It's rare in Drift Fleet to see Dorian as The Necromancer. He plays with people, he flirts with them. Occasionally his humor is morbid. But that's just him.

But tonight is different.

The broadcast is from a darkened cargo bay of the SS Three Twins.

Dorian is wearing black robes with a pointed hood, and as the broadcast starts, he gestures with a skull-topped staff, seeming to almost do it for show. There's a whispering of something circling him, a spirit, perhaps, and candles illuminate around him as it vanishes.]

I do hope you're having a good night. I had nearly lost track of the date, what with the odd stars, but I'm quite certain that it is the beginning of the eighth month, Matrinalis. Which means, for those of you unaccustomed to Thedosian holidays, it is All Soul's Day. Or close enough. ...regardless...

[He conjures a small flicker of fire in his hand, the light casting shadows on his face, the glowing purple lines of necromantic sigils and runes seemingly etched into his hands and arms.]

It is the day we Thedosians remember our dead. As a necromancer, I daresay I am qualified to lead the celebrations, if you will.

You are welcome to come and extinguish a candle for those you've lost.

((OOC: A combination network post and mingle log! Start up an action thread if you'd like, thread with other folks, just leave a comment in the subject if your character is looking to chat with Dorian.))

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[Fenris is silent for a good long while. ]

No. You are not any of those things.

[Not that he has to LIKE any of this mess. He knows Dorian won't do anything reckless, but he doesn't exactly approve, either. ]

I will be here until the sun comes around on us, Fenris. If you wish to observe the long night with me, I would not turn you away.

[Which is as close as Dorian will get to saying in public that he wants Fenris around.]

Edited 2015-08-12 22:32 (UTC)

[He has no loved ones to light a candle for, but he won't deny Dorian the company. He has noticed how most people have reacted to his show. He doesn't respond to the communicator again, but he does go to the Three Twins. His eyes glow creepily in the darkness, as he moves over to where Dorian, taking a seat beside him.

He's a little tense, on the look out for the spirit, just in case it...pops out.]

You did not get the reception you were expecting.

I rarely do.

[He lowers his hood, sitting on a crate, candles around him, and he looks up at Fenris.]

I suppose I should have grown used to it. A pariah in Tevinter for my politics, for the rumors that I cared only for men, and here, a pariah simply because they fear what they don't understand. It seems that every time I attempt to being up something that isn't entirely meaningless drivel, someone takes offense to it.

[He makes a small face, half a frown.]

[Fenris exhales slowly, moving a little closer to Dorian, their shoulders just about resting against each other. It's not a hug, but it's the best Fenris can offer. He's quiet, carefully pondering his words. ]

Perhaps you should have started off with simple magic, before delving into necromancy, to be certain those you wished to share such a thing with you felt the same. It's barely understood in Thedas, but in some other worlds, it is considered something very dangerous. I am not surprised some felt threatened. They would not see it the way that you do.

[Dorian gives Fenris A Look, and then he scoffs.]

I think my great-uncle would be rolling in his tomb if he knew that I was resorting to parlor tricks.

[He shakes his head softly, and he looks out at the candles.]

No, I would rather save my magic for those few that would appreciate it than cheapen it for the benefit of more.

[He falls a bit quiet for a few moments, thinking of how to phrase it.]

My magic is a gift. It's the best thing my mother and father left to me, perhaps the only good thing sometimes, and I refuse to be ashamed of it simply because they don't understand. Because they look at me and see a monster.

[If it wasn't one thing, it was another.]

[This is not Fenris' favorite topic of conversation, and it's telling in his body language. He can never be truly supportive of magic the way Dorian needs, and it makes him feel a touch guilty. For Dorian's sake. He knows his feelings won't change any time soon, his feelings were hard taught, and nothing will make that go away for something more positive. ]

I can count the number of mages I trust and respect on one hand, and I number you one of them. I will never truly be comfortable with magic, but I know you are not a monster.

In time, perhaps they will understand that, too.

[Dorian reaches over and gently brushes his fingers against Fenris's hand, shaking his head softly.]

There are few men whose distrust is justified, and you are one of them. If not merely magic, then certainly, who I am- an Altus, bred to carry on another family line, expected to step into the Magisterium. You don't find me monstrous and abhorrent because you know well enough what lengths mages go to, in Tevinter.

And yet, they treat me as if I am another maleficar. I'm not certain if I'm upset, or simply weary of it. They only care for me when I'm putting on a show. Vain, flippant, playful Dorian, that's the man they enjoy.

[He rests his staff against his shoulder, the crystal skull catching the candlelight.]

There is so much more to me than painting nails and flirting with people. And yet, they've shown time and time again that I make a mistake by showing them I am anything more.

Then, perhaps, that is their loss, and not something you should concern yourself over. Those who truly appreciate you for who you are will make themselves known. They are the ones you should expend your energy on, rather than those who will look down on you for who you are.

[He gives a small shrug of his lanky shoulders. Popularity is not something that bothers him. The vast majority of people he's met see the living weapon before the man, and he is fine with that. It's safer that way. ]

You have had some positive responses, have you not? As Varric would say "you can't win them all."

[He smirks, and then nods, just once. It was odd, trusting someone, and doing things like this. Was this was a real relationship was like? Having someone to confide in, to ease a burden?

It was odd. Not entirely unwelcome, just different. He wasn't certain what to do here.]

Varric would be able to win them all. That man has something odd about him like that, I don't think I've ever seen anyone able to stay mad at him for too long. Did you know that I kissed him? A little peck on the forehead, nothing more. This was...months ago. He made me swear not to tell.

[And he laughs then, warm and honest.]

I do miss him.

You did not meet his brother.

[Bartrand can go fuck himself, as far as Fenris is concerned. Still he gives a soft huff of amusement. ]

Do I need to be jealous? Are you planning on eloping with the dwarf? It is hard to compete with that chest hair, I know.

[A pause, a sigh. ]

...But yes, I miss him too.

No, he's told me I'm not his type. Can you imagine? Me? Not someone's type. I informed him that was racist, and I was appalled.

[He chuckles softly, and then falls silent.]

We've lost a good many people. Solas, Varric, Arhen, Mahna, even Sera was here briefly. It grows wearying to say hello to someone only have them disappear as soon as you've said good day.

[He looks down at the floor about, a soft frown on his face.]

I'm thankful you're still here, Fenris.

I'm afraid none shall every take the place in his heart that's reserved for Bianca.

[Who may or may not be a real person and not just the crossbow. He asked only once and chose never to ask again. His small smile fades once more, and his shoulders hunch. He's so used to people just vanishing from his time in Exsilum, it's hard for him to remember that for some, like Dorian, still so fresh from home, it's a jarring experience.]

That is the nature of places such as this, I have found. Everything is best considered fleeting, to be cherished before it fades away again, like dust in the wind.

[He reaches out to put his hand over Dorian's, a simple gesture really, were it anyone but Fenris. ]

...I am glad you are still here, too.

[And it would have been simple, for anyone else. But Dorian knows, and knows well, that such small gestures are like a grand show of affection for Fenris. He's an odd, quiet man, who expresses himself in brooding and small gestures, but each gesture is all the more meaningful for it.

Dorian smiles softly, looking out at the candles, the small flames flickering and casting long shadows against the floor and walls. Glancing back to the elf, he laces his fingers in Fenris's, looking down at their hands.

Fenris has challenged everything he has known, just as much as Solas and Jove had, but in a way that was far more direct, far more personal. Dorian could have distanced himself from the reality of men like Fenris until he met him. And now, looking down at their hands, he has to wonder again at how many years they just barely avoided each other.

But he knows it's better this way. For surely, they were different men in Tevinter.

There's something that wells in his chest, and he lets out a small scoff.]

I don't think I could hate you more than I do at this very moment, amatus.

[Because Fenris has changed everything.]

[Fenris chuckles, low and gravelly. He knows what Dorian means by that, in his own way. It's a comfort, funnily enough. ]

I'm sure you could if you tried.

[He nods at the candles. ]

I presume you have one for Felix.

[Dorian waves a hand and the flames flicker and extinguish. For anyone else, it would have been a show, but with Fenris he keeps it as to the point as he can, flames vanishing and chasing toward three candles that remain lit, the only light in the cargo hold.]

I do.

[Felix, for many years, his only friend. More like a brother than a friend, really, the closest thing he had to one. Felix was dead and gone now, Dorian unable to say a proper goodbye both times.

And that was precisely why he did this on All Soul's Night, a way to gain closure and say goodbye.]

He was a far better man than many, better than I could hope to be. There was something odd about him that way, he was entirely selfless and I'm certain that, though we were never anything but close friends, we loved each other as siblings must.

[Three candles were still lit, and one flickered, the light extinguishing.]

I suppose he must be in a better place now, free from the pain of the blight in his veins. I should have been there...but I wasn't, and I suppose I will always live with that regret. But I know that Felix would simply tell me the same thing a Chantry mother would.

[He gestures, vaguely, to the two remaining candles.]

No matter what we've lost, some light remains.

He was a good man, and I am sorry to not have the chance to know him back in Thedas.

[Whenever he inevitably returns and everything that happened here, and in Exsilium, will just be another lost memory to add to his pile. He is quiet and still for a moment, before getting up and blowing out one of the candles. He stares at the smoke of the dying flame as it swirls upwards, before moving to sit beside Dorian again. ]

Leandra. Hawke's mother. She was a wonderful woman, who clucked around us all as if we were her own.

[The corner of one of his lips tugs upwards, briefly. ]

She kept telling me that I needed to eat more. She- [the smile vanishes, the frown is back] she did not deserve that death.

[That made sense. Hawke seemed entirely similar to Dorian in that they both smiled and laughed and put on enough bluster to pretend that everything was okay. That their hearts weren't bleeding.

Dorian is silent for a few minutes, watching Fenris, and then he takes his hand again.

So much goes unsaid between them. In some cases, it's because they don't need to speak on things. They have an odd sort of understanding. And yet, there are things that Dorian will never understand. He lets so much go unsaid between them for fear of driving Fenris away, out of desperation that one day Fenris will wake up and realize that this- that Dorian- is all a mistake. That Dorian doesn't deserve kindness, doesn't deserve love. If not because he's an aberration, then because he is an Altus.

He takes a heavy breath as that finality settles in, and he remembers, vaguely as much as he can, one drunken night in a casino, and it brings a bitter smile to his face. They wanted this, wanted each other, needed this as much as air in their own ways. Fenris needed someone to call his, and Dorian needed someone to call him his.

He remembers that drunken night, and it brings with it the sadness that certainly this too will end. They will leave this place, return to Thedas. Dorian will forget Fenris, will forget all of this...or Fenris will be stolen from him without so much as a goodbye.

Perhaps that's what's driven this from the start- a desperate yearning for something familiar and yet entirely alien, for the both of them. And what they have is love, in a way that only the Tevene can love- fierce and hot, like a heated blade. They love with nails and teeth breaking skin, with angry words as Fenris pushes him, again, to realize that there were so many things he was wrong about. They love like two animals licking their wounds to make them heal, ripping open old scars and letting them bleed.

Their love isn't the comfortable familiarity of a happy marriage. It's not the years of being friends and then lovers. It's a constant fight, a constant struggle to push the other to be better, to be more.

To be, in their own way, complete. To have something they needed, desperately, and now they swallow it down like a drowning man might air.

He gently squeezes his hand, and touches Fenris's face.]

We have each other for now, amatus.

[And then he kisses him, and it's not a kind one. It's a challenge, it's passion, and it's filled with that same wanting, to push Fenris to retaliate and leave a mark on him, a memento that Dorian can look at and remember that he's not alone. That would ache in a way that reminds him of how heavy and full his heart is.]

Edited 2015-08-16 19:33 (UTC)

[Fenris hadn't been expecting the kiss. He'd turned his thoughts inward, on how often he'd seen people vanish, without a trace. Worse, how often they arrived again with no memory of what happened. That, he decided, hurt the most. To remember when someone you cared about knew nothing. When you were nothing more than a stranger to them.

It's why he's avoided familiar faces from Exsilium. He is so used to being the one who remembers nothing, he never realised being the one who remembers everything is so, so much worse.

He absolutely dreads it happening to him and Dorian. Yet, he's seen it happen to so many others, the fatalistic part of him knows it is but an inevitability. A part of him will die that day, and he doubts he will be the same ever again.

He starts, at the kiss, shocked out of his thoughts, but soon moves to meet it. His hands grasp and claw at Dorian's robes (his stupid, black robes, like he's trying to make out his as dark as they are) pushing closer.

He returns the kiss with a dangerous, biting fierceness. Possessive and terrified of loss at the same time. As if letting him go would mean he'd vanish into the ether. ]

[Dorian was like a summer storm off the coast- tempestuous and hot, thundering and all flash. Fenris was much like the lyrium etched into his skin- like a clawing yearning, something that races white-hot through Dorian's veins.

This kiss is like the others. Every other kiss is a silent goodbye, a fatalistic realizing that one day they will forget each other, that this meant so much right now and yet will ultimately mean nothing. Dorian wishes, he hopes it isn't true, but at the same time, he cannot fight against what has been observed.

He can wish all he wants, but that will not replace the fact that life will go on. And perhaps that makes this feel all the more intense. Where love might normally be a small candle, theirs is a funeral pyre, a blaze against the night that marks an ending. It is fearful, and it is defiant, and it is everything that they need.

Because somehow, in this odd space between worlds, the necromancer finally feels alive.

Their love was doomed from the start to be a passing, fleeting thing, and that made them all the more passionate, because they knew with certainty that every touch, every kiss, was stolen from their borrowed time.

When he kisses him, it's with heat, with fierceness that matches Fenris's, pulling him close as if silently praying that somehow this will be more than fleeting.]

[Fenris makes a noise against Dorian's lips, part-growl, part-sigh. He allows himself to be pulled close, half sliding on the man's lap, one hand sliding up the back of his neck to tangle roughly in the hair there.

This was what he always needed. Life made so m=by touch and breath. With fierce, teeth-clashing kisses, where pausing for breath happened rarely, and the breathes brought up were gasping and shuddering. Not just from the lack of air, but from the sheer force of the raw passion being released, unfettered.

It makes this real. Make shim beleive it can be anchored when in reality it can drift away at any moment. ]

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009 // i carry your bones in my heart

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