driftfleet | (no subject)

[ Total 'Damnit, Varric' total at present: ~~infinite~~ two. Let's see if we can't make it three, shall we? Running tallies seem appropriate, considering Hawke might, at home, have had literal diary entries dedicated to how often he could get Fenris to emit noises resembling laughter. ]

I've noticed.

[ Said Hawke, dehydrating everyone within a hundred yards. ]

Shall we look for a place where our feet stick to the floor? Or will we be pretending to class and taste.

[The damnit Varric's will always be infinite. Always. ]

There are taverns here, at least. Some are marginally more hygienic than the Hanged Man, but that is about as close to 'class and taste' as we will get.

[He'll just...start wandering off, yep. Follow the elf, he knows where the booze is. ]

That's more class and taste than we've ever had before, surely. Someone should give us prizes.

[ Oh, following Fenris? HUH. So this is what the back of people's heads look like--no, he's fine. Actually it's sort of restful, drifting easily along like the cheerful tail to Fenris's, uh ....really moody kite. ]

Failing that give us the usual scolding for rising above one's station, I suppose.

Edited 2015-03-23 13:08 (UTC)

There are no prizes.

[His ability to pick up humour is still hit and miss. That's what you have to chance, spending time with him, it's a constant, mildly amusing gamble.]

Ah yes, they do enjoy that.

[The moody kite (which would probably cross a power line just to spite whoever was holding onto the string) turns into one of the taverns. It doesn't smell of blood or vomit, which makes it already a hundred times more habitable than the Hanged Man. ]

Here. This should do.

No prizes?! What kind of terrible interstellar kidnapping has no prizes?

[ Yeah, he's picked up words like "interstellar" but, of course, not even begun to consider the idea that while he is in an interstellar kidnapping situation, should maybe dial down his tendency to ridiculous. Who would do that? Psh. Losers, that's who.

Meanwhile.

Hawke judges the tavern frighteningly sterile (no blood or vomit?? Maker, please), serviceable. Also uncrowded. For this time of day that's nice, means they're unlikely to be bothered. As such they can sit in the back, and Hawke will work his way through one or two of whatever is on draft - surprisingly drinkable, if mostly water - while Fenris, presumably, acquires something that makes everything within a hundred yards of it flammable. ]

Right then! Tell me everything.

[ Dramatic arm gesture. ]

You get money if you are 'entertaining' enough.

[Sorry, he doesn't get these jokes, Hawke. It's like going to do a comedy gig in a convention for funeral directors.

It's not a good drink if it doesn't burn off at least two layers of your insides on the way down. He watches that dramatic arm gesture, before heaving out a sigh.]

Before I came to the Fleet, you should know that I was in another place...similar to this, called Exsilium. Merrill, she was there, too. Most of what happened...isn't important. We were told to fight a war, to prevent a world, all worlds being destroyed.

[He says it so flippantly, so boredly. He had the spiel fed to him for nine months. He stopped caring, eventually. Exsilium had that numbing sort of effect.]

What's important is what I learned there, specifically about you, and you're not going to like it.

[And, because there is literally no way of saying this without sounding like a crazy person, especially when his sanity has always been so-so anyway: ]

There can be more than one version of you. It seems that there are multiple versions of Thedas, with multiple versions of you. [He gestures to Hawke, more specifically, the chest area, because that's the most obvious area of difference. ] I met a Hawke in Exsilium who was a woman.

[ Hawke is nothing if not stellar (you get it) at schooling visible reaction; in this case he draws one hand into a fist, forefinger pointing dramatically upward, mouth comically agape for a second before he snaps it shut. ]

That ...does explain what happened earlier.

[ In roughly the same tone he has previously used to recall individual bandits, difficult when he's killed so many things. It's okay, Fenris. You don't sound crazy. ]

I don't know if I dislike the idea, I just think I'm better off drinking myself silly rather than trying to make sense of it.

[ Without conscious application of the concept, Hawke has always defined himself by those closest to him. If the Hawke they know is a ...different...Hawke, whether they're a woman or warrior or even just considerably more sober in personality, then who does that make him? What does that make him? What scares him enough that he won't talk about it with anyone, or even really deliberately solidify the idea, is that it makes him extraneous. The last hours of his life were spent steeped in the idea that none of his actions had mattered. The only thing he did that stuck was starting a war. What does he do with that?

Drink, that's what. ]

[Never change, Hawke. He's missed you, whatever version of you, it hardly matters to him. He's learned to accept that a Hawke is a Hawke, no matter what form they take. The core is still very much the same. He smiles, faintly.]

If it Ames you feel any better, the Hawke I knew in Thedas is a man. ...An absolute asshole, but a man, all the same. Varric...less so. Best prepare for that, unless you wish to put a pair of fake breasts on to ease him into it a little better.

[No. Wait. Shit. ]

...Please don't do that. I was being sarcastic.

[Yes, drinking. He can do drinking. If Hawke needs someone to murder something horribly, or get absolutely hammered, Fenris is there. This other stuff? Not so much. ]

You'd think for as often as we seem to spend talking about breasts, we'd occasionally discuss them in a context less horrible.

[ There was literally one other occasion. One. But that was also horrible. ]

On the other hand it's worth it to hear you crack a joke. You all right? If you need to lie down I'd be glad to haul another chair over here.

[ He's nothing if not resilient. And Fenris is, in his own spiky way, making him feel better; at least it's a distraction. As breasts often are. ]

I'm sorry, I believe Isabela needs to be here for such things to happen.

[He makes a soft 'heh' noise. ]

I will resit the urge to faint. [He's glad he's not completely ruining everything. ]

Varric and I were beginning to wonder if anyone else from Kirkwall would show. The Inquisition has been arriving in droves.

[Which his own spiky way of saying he's glad Hawke is here. ]

You make a fair point. [ He sighs elaborately. ] If she were here she'd have mentioned breasts six times before saying so much as hello.

[ A fact: Hawke misses Isabela so much. ]

Well! That sounds like an arrangement that needs to change. Can't have Kirk lacking for proper representation, especially with Varric having the unmitigated temerity to be unconscious. I've met most of the Inquisition...well, some Hawke has, anyway. It's nice to know someone ends the war, I will say that much.

[ He will not say 'has a good shot at fixing Blondie's mess,' because that is just. Asking for trouble. That and it's vastly more complicated, although he won't begrudge Varric (or Fenris, probably) the need to place blame on one single point. ]

Edited 2015-03-26 07:00 (UTC)

And no doubt be asking us where she could hide all her stolen property.

[Fenris does too. He even misses her stupid underwear game.]

You mean the war that Anders started? [Oh look, he'll do it for you. He still says the word 'Anders' like most people would say 'dogshit'. Some things never change.] The last thing I remember of Kirkwall is before the chantry blew. Cullen and Varric filled me in on the rest between them.

I can't say I'm surprised by what he has done. Or will do. [He hates to say he told you so about Anders. BUT HE TOTALLY FUCKING TOLD YOU SO.]

I don't know if anyone's told you, but as many people think I started it as they do Anders.

[ He's not actually sure how wrong they are, considering the name on the lips of the mage rebellion. Either Anders, or him, or Fiona, if such a idea can be pinned on one person. Naturally there's no reason to mention this, instead he just spindles his glass, idly. ]

He's still my friend, Fenris.

[ And ...that's it, as mild as he can make it. What point is there in the rational argument that Anders hasn't done anything yet? It won't change the things about him that Fenris hates, and it won't change Hawke's contention that he's equally responsible for both of them. ]

They would be wrong.

[Anders can go fuck himself. But Fenris has had this argument with every Hawke he has ever come across, and it never goes his way. He's come to expect it. He heaves out an annoyed sigh. ]

Yes. I am aware.

[He doesn't like it, hell, it's even worse, back home, where his Hawke will forgive Anders everything. True love, or some ridiculousness. ]

He's younger here. He hasn't met any of us, yet.

[ Hawke huffs what sounds like a laugh composed mostly of razor blades into his glass, which conveniently hides his expression for a second. ]

Are they. Sometimes I wonder.

[ Because he would rather lose a finger than stay on that particular topic - vulnerability NOoOOoOooOOOo - he grabs swiftly for that next kernel of information, whatever came before it smoothed away like the surface of sea glass. ]

Well! I suppose it can't be any more bizarre and offputting than anything else that's happened to me in the last hour.

[ Fenris, true love is why Hawke forgives all of you, repeatedly and unreservedly. Not romantic love, but true all the same. ]

[Undeservedly, too. Fenris is well aware he's not an easy person to get along with. And yet he has had two Hawkes now who seem willing to tolerate him. It's rather confusing. It's nice, though. To know there are people who will always be there. The Kirkwall gang are his family (except Anders, fuck Anders) the only one he can ever truly lay claim to. He loves them all too (again, except Anders) in his own distant way.]

I'm...sorry. This must be a lot to take in at once. I forget that I have become accustomed to such...strangeness.

[Extended time travel will do that to you. One day he'll tell you about the time he saw dinosaurs, Hawke. It was the worst and the best.]

[ Can you even conceive of how much dinosaurs would delight Hawke. The most, that's how much. Like thousands of varieties of dragons! Some of which are cuddly and vegetarian!

Meanwhile he waves a hand as if he's shaking off water, dismissive, but appreciative all the same. He knows how difficult it is for Fenris to construct and express that kind of sympathy no matter how sincerely he might feel it. ]

I'll get used to it. You haven't forgotten the nonstop thrills of living in Kirkwall, I hope! That'll give anyone's perspective a kick in the teeth.

[Fenris can guess. He imagines if Hawke had been with them, a dinosaur would have been coming back with them. ]

I doubt I could forget those even if I wanted to. This place is...unusually quiet, compared to there. [He takes a drink and emits a huff of sort-of laughter. ] There are hardly any bandits or random thugs leaping out from the shadows at us.

[ He would have named it Splat, probably. ]

Maker, you must be dreadfully bored. If you like I could put on a silly hat and demand all your money.

[ Ah, the things you do for a friend. He is uh, incredibly glad to be winging wildly away from the serious part of the conversation. ]

Edited 2015-03-29 01:14 (UTC)

That...won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer all the same.

[He smiles, faintly. He's missed this. Hawke is always the centerpiece of their little gang's world, regardless of the shape they take. He provides something of a stabling feeling, that so long as he's around, everything won't just fall in on itself. ]

There are spiders, at least, on this planet. I have contented myself with slaughtering them. You know merchants. They always want spider parts.

[ Hawke shudders, with deliberately put-on theatrics. That hits a little too close to home, so of course he must cover with absurd whimsy. ]

Always the Makerdamned spiders. Kill another half dozen in my name, will you?

I can manage that.

[He idly examines his fingernails, slipping back into the familiar banter nice. It's like putting on a comfy pair of slippers. If elves worse slippers.

They don't.]

But if you want coin for yourself, you'll have to kill at least a few of your own spiders. I shan't do all the work.

[ Hawke's expression skews somewhere between amusement, bemusement, and for good measure cemusement. Two jokes in the same hour! What a nearly indecent display from Fenris. ]

Iiiii - [ yes, he drags out the syllable exactly that way ] think I can find something with fewer legs to kill for coin.

[ He is completely fine, don't ask. ]

I have no doubt that you could.

[He is clearly not fine, but who does the healthy thing and talk about their problems? Fenris eyes him for a moment, then exhales, allowing the silence to lull again. He's all out of jokes, he might have something else in a week or so. ]

Always appreciate a vote of confidence.

[ Said Hawke, dry as several deserts stacked on one another and stuck in a dehydrator. On rare, rare occasion silence doesn't feel like something he must rush to fill, and to be honest he's more grateful for that today than possibly ever before. ]