Anders (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apurrstate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-10-24 02:48 pm
apurrstate) wrote in driftfleet2016-10-24 02:48 pm
[Open]
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.
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.
no subject
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.]