driftfleet | mingle on the pathstone

[She knows what he's doing, of course. It's impossible to miss after spending nearly every day for, at this point, nearly a year with him and if she's entirely honest with herself she's too lonely in this moment to hold a grudge.

When she turns back around, it's with two cups of tea in her hands. She brings them to the table and sits, placing one in front of the chair beside hers. A clear invitation for him to join her.]

Try again in the morning, I might be more open to it then.

[he is hit, very suddenly, with a pang of realization that he's glad that she placed the mug at the seat beside hers, and not across from it. he realizes that he's relieved he doesn't have to face her and put up all the extra energy it takes to appear perfectly normal under scrutiny. because, he is here to investigate her wounds, and not the other way around.

he also doesn't show his gratitude--other than in the way he remains politely silent and obliging to her invitation, until he's at the table and drawing out the chair to sit down.]

Why? ...Do you think you'll actually get some sleep tonight?

[it's clear by his tone that he's sure she won't.]

[That works both ways, though. With him beside her she gets the comfort of someone she likes close to her, but she doesn't have to worry as much about keeping her own walls up when he can only see one side of her face.

There's something amusing about the question, though, and she's thankful for the bit of levity he's made possible.]

Do you intend to keep me up all night?

[that's what he's here for-- when he's not being a jerk instead. and, ha... he hadn't actually expected her to take the bait towards humor, so he pauses in getting settled in his seat to smirk wide in her direction.]

...Well, I am feeling particularly restless tonight.

[It's easier to shift to using humor to strengthen the appearance that she's fine, that that clumsy slip was nothing more than a momentary lapse. It shouldn't be that way, it should be easier to let herself feel her sadness than to bottle it up and keep it locked away, but she's the Inquisitor. Pretending she's fine when she's not had always been a daily occurrence.

With Cullen gone, there's no one left to be entirely honest with.

Catching sight of that grin, though, makes the game even more easy to slip into. It's too familiar, makes it too easy to reach out and slip her hand into his hair and rub at the base of skull lightly, the same kind of massage she gave him when he'd been plagued with those headaches.]

You've been having trouble sleeping again, then?

[She almost says, too? Almost.]

[--oh, well, that is no fair.

while he usually works to ply that sort of attention from her, he isn't actually expecting it this time. it's a little more disarming than usual when he's not looking for it.

after taking a moment to get over the initial surprise, he can't help but sink into it even more gratefully than he normally would. because he is carrying around a lot of quiet tension, and this cuts right to it.

he grumbles under his breath and shuts his eyes, leaning against her hand like a needy cat.]

...I wouldn't call it trouble. My patterns are just a little... off.

[She knows it's probably low, cheating, to go immediately for what she knows will set him at ease, make him pliable and as close as he gets to sweet immediately, but it's better for them both this way. He'll be less likely to think about her problems, if he even did, if she's got him distracted this way. Her fingers rub just behind his ear, thumb stroking along his neck absently.]

Did something happen?

[Until she pries, of course. That stands a good chance of ruining her plan entirely.]

[--until she pries.

he's not quite so disarmed as to fall right into that trap. she definitely has him at an unfairly pacified point, but he still manages to open one eye and pin a look on her.

it's not a very sharp glance, with how docile he is at the moment, but there is enough directness to it to convey his wariness. it's almost a warning.]

[That's fair. She goes on petting him, nods to show she understands that's a line not to cross, and changes the subject.

They've both stepped on toes now, so she figures they're probably even.]

Maybe we just need a few good books to read to help us sleep better.

[Us, too. She's tossing him that admission as an apology.]

[he seems to be taking it as a balance as well, at least. the change of topic, the careful little apology, all smooth over jagged edges that nearly form. after a moment, he's placated and his eye shuts again.]

Oh, yes. Because that is something I've never thought to try.

[Once she's soothed him, her hand slips away in favor of wrapping around her cup of tea so she can take a sip. Solas hated tea. Cullen had liked it, but it might have been because she took the time to make it for him to ease his Lyrium withdrawal.

This was probably the wrong drink to make to ease her heartsickness.]

Maybe you never found the right book.

[the pang of sorrow, more than her hand pulling away, is what centers him again. the emotion is as tangible to him as water, lapping morosely against his nerves.]

...It's possible. Though, as much as I enjoy stories, it is the living and breathing sort that have always interested me more. I'd much rather spend my time investigating a person than a series of pages.

[and he likes the tea--one of only a few drinks he ever bothers with for more than appearance-sake. the leaves are dead; he can smell a million familiar things in the scent of earth and loam.

it's one treat that he doesn't take sweetened. instead, he casually wraps his fingers over the top of the mug and bleeds a little bit of energy into it. it further decays the brew, just a bit, until it's more like water found in a puddle than the carefully steeped essence of dried leaves.]

[There are things that Jove has purposefully not told anyone while she's been here, secrets that only a handful of people from Thedas will understand, and she's done it for a very particular reason. In Thedas, she's greeted with Your Worship and Herald and elven servants flee from her because they're terrified of what she is. There's so much that so many people don't know and for once, she's ready to let some of it slip.

Tek likes secrets, she knows, as much as he likes stories. She's tired and her walls are down, and for once she feels like sharing. The only question is, what's the right story for tonight?]

What genre interests you most?

The ones that want most to be told.

[which is slightly different than the ones that the storyteller feels like sharing. there are some things that people want to share, and some things that beg to be shared themselves, regardless of whether the person behind it feels comfortable with it or not. the topic of them hardly matters.]

[With history still being written, it's hard to say which part of what she's done fits that description best. She could start with the Well of Sorrows, the voices that flooded her head and shouted loudest while Solas was here for that brief time, but that's still something she's holding close to her chest, a secret for the Dalish and not something she really wants people having access too just yet. She's still not sure what to do with the information the Well has passed on to her, so Tek won't get that story yet.

Another floods her mind after that, and her lips purse. If she tells this one, it's yet another weakness she's let him see that she shouldn't, but what does it really change? Very little, in the long run, but it's still something else she's kept locked away from as many people as she can.

She lays her left hand on the table between them, palm up. If he thinks back he'll remember her thrusting that hand up to the sky and tearing open a portal to somewhere else, the shocks of green that had flooded from it and pulled his life force straight out of him. The mark is mostly dormant now, but there's a line of green across her palm that flickers to life before sputtering out with a soft crackle.]

I'm fairly certain this is killing me.

[ah, yes... that one.

that maligned hand has been bookmarked in his head for more reason than one. and this is partly because the news itself doesn't reveal itself as much of a secret to him as the fact that she knows does.

he has a particular affinity with terminal afflictions. he has been fairly certain about this one for a while.

he reaches to drag a finger along the line in her hand, like a lazy palmreader, just to double-check what he's sensed from it before.]

...It's certainly trying to.

[She doesn't pull her hand away, but she does glance up when he touches her hand, the mark, in that way. It's something she's allowed few people to do since she'd been saddled with it and that Tek would do it with no hesitation...

Well, it's not a surprise once the shock of it has passed. She'll let him go on tracing the line if he really wants to.]

You can tell that, can you?

[he doesn't linger for too long; he has tea to drink. so, she can have her hand back after a short moment.]

I wouldn't be able to give you a specific timeframe... but, yes.

[said as if it was some small, insignificant bit of trivia.]

[It's not something she's particularly worried about anymore. She's had more than a year to adjust to the idea, after all. Knowing for certain changes very little.]

When I left, I think the final battle was close. I don't expect I'll live much longer than that.

[A few months, at most, and yet as sad as she's been over all her friends leaving her, over her lover leaving, there's no spike in it at the admission.]

[and that, certainly, is what he finds most interesting of all. he even glances her way with curiosity.]

...And that's that?

I'm living on borrowed time at least three times over already. [That's right Tek you live with someone that's cheated death like, a shitton of times. Congrats.] Eventually luck runs out.

Of course it does. [and he's not all that surprised. those tend to be the sorts of people he gravitates toward.] But you don't seem all that bothered by the idea.

It's not new information. I've been the Inquisitor for nearly a year at home and a year here, and I was the Herald of Andraste before that. I've had a long time to be used to the idea of being a dead woman walking.

[And then she smiles, wry and not particularly happy, and looks towards him.]

Did you think recklessly sleeping with just anyone was only something I refused to do because I'm an elf?

[he matches the wry smile of course, but his eyebrows raise at the end of that. because the question does surprise him. he apparently hadn't considered that fact at all before now.]

...There's more to it than that, hmm?

[The immediate thing she'd like to say is "of course there is" but the most he gets is an unimpressed look. Because he should know better by now.]

It might surprise you to learn this, but I try to treat people with compassion. It seems cruel to me to let anyone get attached to someone they'll never have a future with.

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