[Open]

[apurrstate]

Who: Anders and Open
Broadcast: Yes (Day after action)
Action: Malum
When: The action takes place a day or so after this happens and the broadcast takes place the next morning

Action
[It hadn't been his first thought to go to the bar. Not even fourth or fifth, but it had popped up eventually. When everything became too much all at once. His clinic was too quiet despite not changing, he was too vulnerable despite not being in any danger. Everything had changed and he hadn't even considered how much until Justice was gone.

Anders went to the only place he could think to go. True, the Space Bar might be a better environment for noise, but Fenris was exactly the last person he wanted to accidentally run into tonight, so Crowley's bar it was. The sound of other people was helpful, at least. And the first drink he basically inhaled helped more. It made it easier to ignore how that persistent hum at the back of his mind was gone, how there wasn't a flux and flow of emotions not quite his own always licking at the edges of his thoughts, how there was only one set of feelings and opinions about everything now left in his head. He'd foolishly tested, half hoping to feel the burst of righteous anger and power as his thoughts drifted to blood magic and the plight of mages and every damn other thing he'd spent the last ten years fighting for.

Suddenly...it was like it had been someone else's problem. Someone else's fight. Like before.

He didn't like it.

He ordered another drink.]

Something strong this time. If it burns my taste-buds into ash, even better.

Voice
[There's a side-effect to drinking. One he hadn't had to deal with in roughly a decade. But, oh, was he dealing with it now. And every time he tried to send a pulse of healing magic into his own head, the hangover he was nursing would just pulse brighter and pang harder and make him think maybe a broodmother would be a blessing right now. It could kill him viciously and in some disgusting way and it would be far kinder than what his head was doing to him.

Perhaps Justice had been doing him a kindness all those years after all. Maker have mercy.

He turned on the broadcast, clumsily hitting video and then voice so a flicker of his disheveled and pathetic appearance can be seen to those who happen to be looking at the time, but then it's gone again and replaced with his voice. Which wasn't really in any better shape.]

Does anyone have any...faster ways with dealing with hangovers? I'd normally take care of it myself but...well, I can't. And thinking isn't too easy right now, so any help would be appreciated. Smartass comments are not, however. Thanks.

Comments

[apurrstate]

Oh?

[He hadn't considered a braid. But he did as told and turned a bit so Wolfe would have access to the back of his head.]

Alright. I don't think anyone's braided my hair since I was very little. My mother would do it when it got too long, but then my father would come the next day and cut it shorter again.

[He says it impassively, a statement of fact. He'd been a bit disappointed once or twice, but it had never really bothered him. In all honesty, it was time his father spent with him and that made it worth something, no matter how Anders himself liked his hair.]

[wolfehawke]

I used to do it for Bethany.

[He threads his fingers through Anders' hair gently, working out any tangles before he splits it into three sections and begins a loose plait.]

Mother would cut Carver's though, if it got long. She did that right until he went off to join the Templars. Don't tell him I told you, though.

[As if they could run into Carver the next day. He knows that's not true, but sometimes it feels as if it should be.]

What were your parents like? You never talk about them.

[He asks without realizing that in Anders' inebriated state, he could reveal things he regrets in the morning.]

[apurrstate]

Like he'd let me talk to him long enough to say anything about it.

[It was meant as a joke, but there was a touch of bitterness to it that slipped out. It wasn't like he longed to be close to Carver or anything, but constantly being 'magey' and hearing nothing but low-grade insults grew tiresome very quickly.

But then Wolfe asks about Anders' family and there's a very brief pause, like his drunken mind realizes there's a reason this question seemed strange. But how things were right now, quiet, kind of fuzzy, just the two of them on their way back to the Twins, there didn't seem to be a reason not to answer.]

My father was Anders, you didn't make it to Weisshupt before we came here, right? I don't know if you've had occasion to ever meet someone from the Anderfels, but they're a very strict and disaplined bunch. Highly religious, too. My father was an exemplary Anders, about the only way he could have fit his nationality more would have been if he'd been a Warden, but he preferred a simple farming life.

The Anderfels aren't particularly good for farming except in very specific places, most of it's a desert, so he took what money his parents left him and moved south to Ferelden. He met my mother...somewhere in Highever, I don't remember where, and fell in love with her.

My mother...she was very sweet and kind, but quiet. She the same kind of quiet strength my father had, I think that's what drew him to her; Anders women are really no different from the men.

[He shrugged, his words dying out as his brain finally caught up with his gut-feeling he'd dismissed before. He'd just told Hawke more about his family than he'd ever told anyone, not his friends in the Wardens, no one in the Circle, not even Karl. He'd probably just spoken more about them than he had in over twenty years.

In the great scheme of things, he didn't actually regret it. They'd known each other for ten years and Hawke probably couldn't name a single fact about Anders' family aside from 'he'd had one' whereas Anders knew a fair amount about the Hawke family, even the members he'd never met.]

[wolfehawke]

I can't imagine you like that, all stoic. I mean, I know you can be, but there's always been this fire to you as long as I've known you.

[Even before, when he'd first arrived and Anders was his younger self. It may have been more directionless then, but there was a fire nonetheless.]

Explains why you're always cold, though. Must be the Anders blood. Anywhere but a desert or near the Darktown foundry and your hands are like ice.

[He teases as he finishes braiding, not fussing about little flyaways that happen because of Anders' hair growing a bit unevenly. He likes them, actually. Gives character to the look. He ties off the braid with a bit of cord from his pocket.]

There we go, now it won't get in your face.

[apurrstate]

Thank you.

[Distantly, he finally recognizes the potential ulterior motive to his love's actions, the swimming in his head might eventually meet his stomach and then his longer hair would only be in the way. He didn't think he was that bad off, however.]

Must be...good thing you're an ice-mage, you can handle it.

[He turned in his seat again, leaning his head back against the headrest as his eyes lightly closed.]

But, no, I've never been a very good Anders. My last name, my hair and the fact I became a warden are the most Andersy things about me.

Then again, you're often quick to remind me how terrible a Ferelden I am as well.

[wolfehawke]

[Anders' compliment to his innate magic pulls a soft chuckle from Wolfe, but the comment about his last name earns the quirk of an eyebrow.]

Well you don't like dogs, which all true Ferelden do. What's this about your last name?

[apurrstate]

It's...difficult. To pronounce. Very...Andersy. But no you don't get to hear it.

[He might be drunk, but he's not stupid.]

Think I'll just stick with Hawke.

[Or maybe he is stupid. He turns red as his brain catches up with his words. That wasn't territory he should stumble into, especially not drunk.]

O-or, rather, nothing. Hawke is an easier last name to say, just don't worry about it.

[wolfehawke]

[Adalwolfe recognizes that Anders is still drunk off his ass, but the direction that thought is headed makes Wolfe's heart skip a beat. Anders Hawke rolls around in his head and not for the first time, but this is the first he's heard of Anders thinking it too. Or maybe not. He is drunk, so perhaps he'd really just stumbled through his words and Wolfe shouldn't be reading too much into it.

But what if he isn't?

There's always the background static of the many times in Kirkwall Wolfe had asked Anders to marry him. Announcing it loudly and drunkenly in the Hanged Man to where no one took him seriously, least of all the object of his affections, or murmuring softly in their shared bed about plans to run off from Kirkwall and forget about all of the noble daughters trying to worm their way into his good graces when his heart is already possessed by one man and only ever will be again. All the times Anders had turned him down, sometimes for good reason but never good enough in Hawke's eyes, and finally the last time he'd asked, up on that hill overlooking Kirkwall before the city was lit ablaze for the second time. That last time Wolfe had asked and been turned down and finally just... didn't give up so much as pronounce he wasn't going anywhere anyway and that if Anders ever did want to get married he should just let Wolfe know and they'd do it. That it wouldn't change anything but his name.

In hindsight, Anders was probably too deeply frustrated with how things were with the mages that Wolfe was never sure he even internalized what had been said. True to his word he'd stopped asking, but never strayed from Anders' side, always living in the hope that one day the other mage would simply say yes. But it's alright if he doesn't. It's true, nothing would change but a name.

So he's surprised to find himself holding his breath now and forces himself to exhale, turning to look at the slowly growing form of the Three Twins hanging in space. He keeps his tone light, jovial, no hint of the invisible arrow Anders has shot through him.]

Few names are easier to say than Hawke. Anyway, we're almost home, then we can get you to bed.

[apurrstate]

[He only nods, painfully aware of the thin ice he'd led them onto. Now his thoughts were full of those impossible shards. Impossible shards that were no longer impossible, there was nothing stopping them now, no good reason Anders could think of that could postpone the idea.

Maker, he didn't want to postpone it. That first night Hawke had drunkenly announced he and Anders should marry had struck so deep in the healer he'd had no choice but to laugh it off and playfully insist Hawke go home and sleep himself into sense again. Adalwolfe Hawke, the gorgeous and charismatic apostate who'd swept into Kirkwall and turned everyone's lives around while only trying to find a home for his remaining family...and the darktown healer, little better than any other denizen of the undercity except his magic. It was a fairy-tale, but one that had surprisingly come true.

But there was no struggle here as there'd been in Kirkwall. He wasn't planning his own funeral under his lover and planned executioner's nose. They weren't liberating circles. They weren't running. He could ask right now with only the guilt of waiting so long. Perhaps Hawke thought Anders had forgotten, but he knew the impetuous was still on him, they would move on Anders' word; Anders just had to give it.

He's still silent and stays that way all the way in as they dock. They'll need to walk past the lab and he'll need to keep himself from pausing or mentioning what was still hidden away in a drawer in the desk, stashed well away so prying eyes couldn't stumble across it. Bed was probably a better idea.]