driftfleet | Iskaulit Mingle - Problems with Psychics

[That sure is a shriek coming from across the hall over in the Space Bar. Fenris has had the markings nulled before- the United Earth did it once- but he's never, ever had them vanish completely on him before. That was shock enough- to have the pain from the lyrium suddenly and inexplicably vanished.

There was relief, of course, but the absence felt like a hole ripped out of him. He felt off balance- not right. His entire living memory involved the lyrium, to be without it so suddenly was a loss he couldn't put into words.

Fenris' life is always able to get worse, though. Always. While he's panicking over the sudden loss of his markings (and what that could mean, United Earth did *nothing good* with his abilities, after all) there's a crackle of lighting, which arcs out over his heads and gleefully takes out the lighting system in the bar (sorry Nami). Fenris stares up at it, confused and more than a little horrified. ]

Kaffas!

[Please no no, anything but this. No no no no no. There's another arc of lightning as Fenris makes a run for it right across into Malum- stopping dead when he sees Wolfe. Wolfe with his markings. And for once, he swears in the common tongue, rather than in Tevene. It's one of those days.]

...What the fuck?

That's what I want to know!

[He's stuck. He would go to Fenris and try to figure this out, but currently he can't figure out how to get his arm out of the damned counter. He can feel it from there, though, the tingle of magic. It makes his - Fenris' - markings react and almost vibrate. Hum, like his blood hums briefly after a potion. It must be the lyrium.]

Ok... ok. Hold on. I think-

[He tugs at his arm, grimacing.]

-there's got to be some kind of-

[He grunts, tugging harder.]

-thing with the-- Ow! Blast it! How do you even do this?!

[What is happening? What the actual fuck is happening? Fenris see the markings react, as he has seen them on his own skin countless times. But the feeling isn't there. He doesn't feel it digging into his core, flowing through him like his own blood.

What he does feel is a draw from it. Mages have used his markings before, of course- their companions in the heat of battle, Danarius. He's never felt it from this end, though. The realisation he's drawing from his own power as a mage would is enough to make him stumble back.

There's a crackle of ice which flares out from Fenris' fingertips, narrowly missing Wolfe, instead encasing a nearby barstool. Farewell, good barstool, we knew ye well. ]

I don't- how is this happening?

[Maybe it's just a really, really terrible dream? Yeah.

Sorry Wolfe, if you were expecting any cohesive help from the elf. He's just going to be trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge into a full blown panic. ]

I don't know, but be careful.

[His voice lowers instead of growing sharp, suddenly remembering Bethany first getting her magic with vivid clarity. She'd been terrified, scared out of her mind and every vehement gesture that came with that caused another gout of flame, another burst of lightning. The only thing that finally calmed her was Malcolm, always a steady force, so of course it would be him. There'd been a sense of failure there for Adalwolfe, though. He was there when it happened, when the boy from the village - he can't even remember what village now - had caught him making pretty lights and whirls in the air for his siblings in the woods. He'd screamed he'd call the Templars and started running, but before either brothers could react, Bethany had reached out her hands and...

The other boy had gone skidding down an incline, stunned more than anything. It had been raw force thrust from Bethy's shaking fingers; if it had been fire or lightning, the boy would have died. As it was, he didn't get up right away, and Adalwolfe had grabbed his sister's hand and run. Carver wasn't far behind, all three getting lost in the creeping dark of the woods, the edge of the Wilds maybe. He doesn't remember. He just remembers the tears on her face, the fear, the way every nervous movement caused sparks and sizzles and he couldn't calm her down. He couldn't do it until Carver had the sense to get Father.

Why me?! She'd screamed at him, like it was his fault. It's just supposed to be you!

It was the panicked reaction of a child, he knew that even at the time, but it lays heavy on him even now, along with every other failure in the eyes of his family. Everything he couldn't change, everything he couldn't prevent.

Why me?

He swallows hard, trying to remember what his father had done. When he speaks, it's with a lower timbre to his voice, something inherently calming somehow, though it's got an uneven edge as Wolfe isn't sure what exactly is going on either.]

Fenris. Fenris, listen to me, you've got to breathe deep, alright? In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to five in your head each time. I'll do it with you. C'mon, one... two... three...

[Fenris remembers well, the early days of the markings. Of getting used to the pain they brought, of learning to harness the power it gave. A power even Danarius only really partly understood. It had been awful, it had been hard. Combined with the fresh emptiness where his memories once were, there were times he wished it had killed him.

But even that was nothing on this. Nothing on the fear and the disgust swirling in his stomach. He wanted to rip the magic out of him, to throw it aside and get as far away from it as he possibly could.

But it's not possible, and somewhere in his panic, he hears Wolfe's voice- and he listens. He breaths slowly, a rare moment for him to follow actual instruction. After a few deep breaths, he finds something. not truly calm, but he's no longer teetering on the edge of a complete meltdown either. He finally looks at Wolfe properly.]

...Your arm is stuck.

[Paging Captain Obvious. ]

Yes. I, ah...

[He chews his lip a moment, then lets out an awkward bark of a laugh.]

Well, I panicked too. Just a bit. How do you... How does it work?

[Frankly, he's always sort of wanted to know but before, when it was a sore point for Fenris he'd never asked. Add it to the long list of things he'd never asked Fenris. But now he has a need to know, a reason to ask beyond mere curiosity, and he hopes Fenris takes no offense. He puts on his best - if sheepish - smile]

I can help you better with the magic if I was free, I think.

[This, at least, Fenris can focus on. Something other than his own swirling panic. Maybe this will help it. Keep it down to a minimum. Yes. This, he can work with. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep, steadying breath.]

You will feel the lyrium flow through your veins, you need to allow it to move. Like a stream. Let it flow, and you should be able to pull your arm free.

[Or fall through the floor into the vast emptiness of space. Either or. ]

Edited 2016-12-06 21:39 (UTC)

[Good thing you didn't say that out loud Fenris or Wolfe would be in that cabinet forever.

With a nod, Adalwolfe closes his eyes and tries to envision the flow of lyrium in his own body. It's not unlike envisioning the flow of magic, and soon enough he's able to phase his hand through the wood and metal. This time, however, with so much focus on the brands and how they function, he feels the ache that comes with it, an ache that rises into just this side of pain as he removes his hand and then fades again as he lays rest the will he used to control the markings.

The whole affair leaves him winded, panting not from exertion but from the spike of searing hurt that encompassed him for only a few moments but seemed like eternity. Even now the dull ache of the brands is more pronounced.]

Maker, does it always hurt like that?

[He looks at the graceful lyrium whirls on his hands, then up to Fenris again.]

Yes. It does.

[Fenris at least keeps his tone controlled, even. It is what it is, after all. No changing that no matter what. ]

There is a reason I do not enjoy being touched.

[Not all of it is due to Danarius' general skeevyness. ]

I can see why now, yeah.

[He shakes himself a bit, not unlike a dog shaking off water. Something he learned to do to shake off pain (if Drools can do it, so can he) and he comes out from behind the counter.]

You didn't really talk about it. I mean, the you I knew before.

[He breathes out through his nose.]

Anyway. Right. Magic. I feel like I should apologize, but at the very least you're old enough to be able to think capably about it, and it's probably not permanent.

[He hopes it's not permanent. It really can't be permanent!]

[Fenris rolls his shoulders in response. ]

The me you knew before didn't talk about a lot of things with you, it seems.

[There's no venom in his tone- no accusation. It was what it was, neither of them can do much about it than try to make things better here. ]

It had better not be permanent. [A pause. ] Is it always there, in the back of your head? Waiting?

[He talks about it the same way someone would being stalked by a predatory creature, which to Fenris, magic absolutely is.]

[It's the acknowledgement that Adalwolfe nods to, seeing the thoughts under it. He finds that encouraging, Fenris not using that fact as a reminder of the wrongs Adalwolfe undoubtedly committed, but as a juxtaposition to their relationship here in the fleet. He's grateful for that, especially in such a high-stress situation. It demonstrates a level of trust that Wolfe had no idea he had earned yet.]

It's always there, yes. From when I was twelve and froze the kitchen without meaning to. It came up with the anger but once that receded it was just there. It felt likely a lot like you're feeling now. Foreign and unwelcome, something under your skin both physically and emotionally. I thought the Templars would somehow just know and appear out of nowhere to haul me off or that demons would suddenly reach through the Veil and drag me into the Void.

[He smiles tightly, but there's no mirth there. It's an old, old fear instead. One that even more than twenty years as an apostate successfully avoiding capture, even flaunting his apostasy in some cases, can't truly put down.]

It's a part of me, though. I hated it then, but I loved it too. I didn't have to go to the well for water anymore, I could just conjure ice in a bucket and put it over a fire that I made not with flint but my own magic. Anything too heavy to lift I could pick up anyway with forces unseen. You can imagine how useful that is on a farm, with fences to fix and the like. I could even bring the flowers back from a sudden frost, though Bethany was always better at that sort of thing. I could learn to do the things my father could. I could protect our family.

[He looks down at his hands, magicless though he is now. It hadn't helped in the long run. It's like any other tool or weapon, he hears Malcolm's calm tone at the back of his mind. It's what you do with the magic that defines you, not that you have it in the first place.

Adalwolfe shakes his head.]

What I mean is that yes, it's always there, but it's not what's waiting. It's a tool, a valuable one that others want to use or control out of fear, but the only thing that makes it frightening is the potential for misuse. Between a sober mage and a drunk warrior, you've more to fear from the idiot waving the sword around.

[He chews his lip, crossing his arms as he looks at Fenris.]

You are lucky, though. If this lasts into the night, I doubt you'll walk the Fade in your sleep here in the Fleet. I don't.

[Fenris' lips curl a little as Wolfe speaks of using magic as a tool. That's what they say, ins't it? Magic is to serve man. But Fenris has seen magic used as the wrong tool for too long.

He's come so far since his early days of escape- where he'd snap and spew vitriol at any mage that came within five feet of him. He's become more tolerant than he ever thought he would be. But he still has his limits- he's not perfect. He's not ready to be all supportive yet. ]

You and I both know my feelings on such matters.

[His tone is even, quiet. The fact he doesn't pick a fight with it, but rather draws back speaks volumes for his progress. He doesn't use this as a jumping point to screech out how dangerous mages are, how that drunken warrior couldn't literally get possessed by a demon at any damn second- or set someone on fire. He keeps his thoughts to himself. He doesn't create an argument where one isn't needed. ]

Thank the Maker for small mercies.

I do. And I understand. I've faced more than my fair share of blood mages and power-hungry apostates. I don't believe in anyone ruling by the fist either, whether it throws daggers or fireballs, but you do understand what I'm trying to tell you, at least, even if you don't agree, don't you?

[He doesn't want to push, but the words come out of his mouth anyway. They're soft, gentle as he can make them, but they still take a life of their own. He needs... something, from Fenris. Approval, maybe. Acknowledgement that he doesn't think every mage in the entire world is going to turn around the try to become an Archon. Not everyone is a zealot, not everyone wants to rule the world. Even if Fenris doesn't trust most mages on principle - likewise, Adalwolfe is prone to mistrusting anyone in Templar armor - he should still at least agree they deserve fair treatment when they've done nothing wrong.]

We're just people. You just having magic isn't causing any real change in who you are, Fenris. You can see that, surely.

[There's a crackle of static, charging the air- as Fenris takes a few deep breath. Keep it down, keep it down. He can't let it get the better of him, however much he can feel it crawling in his skin- however much he wants it out. ]

Of course not. But it it something that needs to be taught how to control just as any fool swinging a sword around needs to learn how to wield it properly. It can't be left without any guidance at all.

[Because that's how people die. Or get possessed. ]

As I have said, mages who understand this- who try to keep their abilities from harming others, I have no quarrel with. Mages can be good people, even I can see that much. Your sister is a prime example- and I have no real issue with you...or Marian...to an extent.

[That blood magic thing still sticks in his craw like no one's business. ]

[He tenses at the upwelling of electricity. It aches in his skin, the lyrium tattoos reacting in some way that he can't quite fathom, he just knows that it hurts. For both their sakes, he shouldn't follow this line of conversation but... well. When has a Hawke ever done what's good for them?]

No, you're right in that mages need schooling, need to be helped with our abilities. But there has to be something better than being locked up, torn away from your entire family and not allowed contact for the rest of your lives. Guidance is different than imprisonment and learning should be different than punishment.

[He bites the inside of his mouth, as if the rest of him knows he probably shouldn't be saying all this, especially not right now, but his mouth just won't follow direction.]

You'd never have met Bethany, if the Circles got her when she'd first shown talent. She'd have been... who knows. Shipped off to the White Spire in Orlais. Marian, too, if the Chantry had their way, cut down because she so urgently needed to get back to our family she resorted to desperate measures. I could have been a Tranquil at Ostagar without the wherewithal to run when the Darkspawn broke over the army.

[He swallows hard at that, a nightmare he's never really shared with anyone, not even Anders. There are few things that Adalwolfe Hawke is truly afraid of, but Tranquility ranks highest.]

There has to be something better than what it is. At least tell me you agree with that, after Kirkwall. After seeing what Templars like Alrik can get away with. At least give me that and I'll stop.

[He laughs a bit, a self-deprecating thing that huffs out through his fingers as he runs his hand down his face.]

I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be pushing all this now, of all times.

No, you shouldn't, but here you are, doing it anyway.

[There's a terse humour behind the sharp words.He's not shouting, he's still trying to keep a hold on himself, on having this thing he's learned to fear and hate crawling in his skin. Varania comes to mind. Had she not been born in Tevinter...well, what would have happened to her? His issues with his sister run deep, but he would not have wished that on her. What tranquility does to them. ]

I don't disagree there has to be a better way- but as it is, the circle is all we have. I would not wish for magic to go unchecked. That is how the Imperium exists, and I could not watch the world to go the way of that place. Where magic is used to squash any who get in that particular mages way.

[Where blood magic is such an easy answer to anything- no matter how much it's publicly frowned upon. Begin able to control another person, to hold endless power- not because someone deserves it or have the actual ability to wield it , but because they took it...that terrifies him. ]

If there was a happy medium, that would be the best- but currently that does not exist.

That's why we have to create it. No one else will.

[He has to physically bite his own tongue. He'd told Fenris he'd stop, at least for now, and if he can't be taken at his word then what sort of man is he? Slowly, Adalwolfe breathes in deeply, and then out through his nose, trying to calm himself enough to tear his brain off the subject. Funnily enough, he doesn't realize until he opens his eyes again to a dimmer ambiance that the tattoos had been glowing as he pressed his point.]

Alright.

[He runs a hand back through his hair.]

Okay, I'm good. Another time, not now.

[Another breath and he offers a vague sort of smile.]

Um. Do you have... questions? I mean, speaking practically. I'm not sure how else to approach this.

[Fenris exhales, glad to be moving away from the subject. He's never in the mood for that discussion at the best of times, much less now. He doubts he'll ever really be able to sit down and talk it through properly. Not with any sense of calm anyway.

He noticed the glow of the brands- they do the same for him. He's vaguely aware that it wouldn't be pleasant for Wolfe- but then again, neither is the magic. At all.]

I- do not know. You can't stop it so I just... I don't know.

[He just wants it GONE. ]

I need to control it.

You're not doing an altogether terrible job of that right now, you know.

[He tries to smile encouragingly but has a feeling that it may fall flat.]

You're not just casting spells willy nilly anyway. But I could teach you, um... There's a fire magic exercise my father used to do with me for practice, if that might help?

[He gives a soft, shaky laugh in response. Yay him, he hasn't killed anyone with his magic yet. Weee. ]

I...do you think it will help?

[He very, very blatantly doesn't want to do it, to cast any kind of spell, to be actively allowing it to be a Thing. But he has to control it, that much is plain and simple. ]

You need to control it, as you said.

[He frowns.]

You either learn to do that, or it does whatever it wants, which can be very inconvenient at best or deadly at worst. And this is the first thing my father taught me, so it's very basic. Go ahead and sit wherever you'd be most comfortable, I'll go find a candle.

[With another calming exhale, Adalwolfe disappears into the back to rummage. He's glad for the moment of separation, honestly. Yes he wants to actually be friends this time, or at least reach a friendly camaraderie, but Fenris makes that so difficult. Wolfe can understand being afraid of magic, but the sheer amount of hatred that radiates from the elf is very hard not to take personally. He feels a little better with Fenris having admitted there should be a better way than the Circle, but he still wouldn't count on Fenris to help work towards what that change should be. Take Templars out of the equation and Adalwolfe imagines Fenris wouldn't find that to be a viable solution at all. In his eyes, and the eyes of so many others, mages will always need to have swords to their necks before they'll feel safe and it makes Adalwolfe feel just a bit sick and a lot frustrated.

He may take a little longer getting the damned candle than strictly necessary, just to cool off long enough that he can honor his word and not jump head first back into the argument.]

[Fenris does as is asked of him, sitting quietly on the floor, staring at some point in the distance. He feels his stomach twist horribly, sickeningly. He hates this, being inflicted with magic- but the worst is knowing that this could very well have been his life. Varania is a mage, after all, he can't deny it being in his blood. He could have just as easily have been born with magic, and what would have happened to him then?

Certainly, it wouldn't have changed his slave status. Mages were just as likely to be slaves in the Imperium as anyone else. If you're born in the wrong class, that's just that. You're either a slave or just holding off long enough until you or someone in your family is sold into it to get by. No. His life would not have changed there.

But perhaps he would not have been chosen by Danarius. The man wanted a warrior, after all. He may very well have avoided...all of this. Perhaps even his own skewed anger towards magic would not have been. Without Danarius there, looming over as a being of pure nightmares- colouring his views on magic forever.

He exhales slowly, calm, collected. Thinking about it will do nothing. What is, is what is. His scars are what they are. He can learn to manage them better, learn to open his mind a little, but he knows he'll never be truly okay with magic. He'll never be comfortable around it. He'll always be on tenterhooks- waiting for it to strike him down. ]

[Minutes stretch by and Adalwolfe finally reappears with a pair of candles, the short fat sort used for mood-lighting in romantic dinner spots. Not that he would call most of Malum romantic with Crowley's tendency towards ridiculous gimmicks, but he's glad the candles are present at any rate.

He has to look around for a moment to actually spot Fenris, seated in a clear space on the floor instead of at any number of the tables that dot the establishment. Sometimes Fenris does things and Adalwolfe has to wonder if it's a Tevinter thing, a slave thing, an elf thing, or just Fenris being weird.]

You know there's tables, right?

[Even so, he plops himself down across from Fenris, facing him, and stands one of the candles on the floor between them. The alright dim lights of the bar seem dimmer down lower, and when Adalwolfe moves his arms he catches the vague glow of the lyrium tattoos on his arms. He's still not certain how to feel about them. They're not a blessing, obviously, considering how they came about, but he can feel the power in them. It's... different than magic, but similar. Fade-touched. But honestly unless a life-or-death sort of fight suddenly breaks out there's no reason for him to know how to use them properly. Still, he may yet ask Fenris more after their magic exercise. If the elf's in any mood for that, anyway.]

Alright, so. This is sort of like a game, only it also teaches you control and finesse.

[Adalwolfe leans back on his hands to observe.]

Light the candle with magic.

[Probably a bit of all the options, but mostly because Fenris is weird. And sometimes takes things literally. ]

I am fine on the floor.

[He so didn't think about the tables. At all. But he'll save face all the same. He frowns at the candle between them. There's a desire to snap out, to say magic is never a game, it's not something to be used for fun. That when it is, it's a sign that it can slip into darker paths.

But he keeps his opinion to himself, for a change, breathing out. He tries to focus on the candle, brow furrowing. ]

...Do I touch it?

A

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