driftfleet | Iskaulit Mingle

Malum
Malum was where Anders usually went for a drink, it was true. It had been his 'haunt' of sorts back when Wolfe worked there and habit had dictated he continued showing up even once his love wasn't.
In the last month or so, however, his visits have been near religious in their number. Whereas he might have only gone once a week or so before, he was dropping in at least once a day fr at least one drink before going about his day.

Sometimes his 'day' would stop there and one drink would turn into five. Usually, if that was the case, he ended up sitting at the bar or at one of the tables. He'd absently play with the tiny umbrellas he'd began collecting again and generally look like the sad drunk patron he was. Although, he did pride himself on the fact he never got near as sloshed as that one time he found Rowan up on that damn stripper pole. Though, perhaps the thought had crossed his mind more than once.

Greenhouse
Anders' tried and true method of avoiding dealing with problems was working non-stop.
He'd made more potions and poultices than they strictly needed and had even restocked the Twin Roses with the overflow. Just in case.

But he'd at least worked enough at the potions that the plants he used for the components needed attention. He could be found working in silence, watering, pruning and even re-planting in some cases as certain cuttings outgrew their current homes. There was peace to be found dealing with plants, at least, and the greenhouse didn't see near as much traffic as the gardens, so the quiet suited him just fine.

Interfaith Center
After over a month of self-hatred and pity and anger and doing everything in his power to simply not think about what had happened in the greenhouse between him, Riona and Justice, Anders finally just...got tired of it. There was no more appeal in working until exhaustion, in drinking until everything stopped mattering, in sleeping until he couldn't possibly sleep any more.

He was just numb.

Wolfe tried, Maker he tried and Anders adored him for it, but there wasn't a cure or a spell or an answer to heartbreak. There never was. In the end, he didn't even know where he was going until his feet took him away from the bar and the plants and down a different hall of the Iskaulit, a hall Anders hadn't gone down since waking back up in the fleet and finding out Leliana had gone away in that time.

The space didn't feel empty or neglected, so someone must have taken up care of it and he was intensely grateful to whoever it was in that moment; finding the Interfaith center as inviting as it had been before was a balm in it's own right.

Anders moved carefully, quietly, to find what had happened to the Andrastian emblems Leliana had set up. Gently, he reached out to them, still in their place, and traced along the carved edges, sweeping along some of the dust in the crevices. He hadn't known her as well as Riona did and he wasn't sure that they could have been called 'friends' but in that instant, all he wanted was to hear the lilt of Sister Nightingale's voice. The future Divine, the symbol of hope he'd longed for for years. He could use her advice right about now. Or even just a simple prayer.

Anders knelt before the symbol of Andraste, folded his hands before him and lowered his head. He would never know if the Maker heard him as He heard all His children of if He'd truly now turned from Anders for his actions, but the healer prayed all the same. He recited Canticles in his mind and prayers whispered past his lips that were as ingrained in him as deeply as breathing and blinking and he prayed for those lost by his hand and those currently hurting from his words and anyone else his mind could come up with that deserved the Maker's and Andraste's blessings. Anyone over himself.

Oh, if only she could find him on the pole. Alas, when Kitty dips into Malum, more for company than drinks, she sees Anders with a collection of tiny umbrellas. She leans in before announcing her presence or more precisely to announce her presence. "Worried it might rain?"

Perhaps she will be lucky in the future. For now, Anders jolts a bit in surprise at her voice, but he turns to give her as good a smile as he can muster. It's not the greeting she deserves, but then, she deserves better than anything he can offer anyway.

"Yes. Right in here. The place is run by a demon, you know, he might suddenly decide it's what the bar does now." He holds up one of the little pink umbrellas to her as though it might help her in case of a sudden Mood from Crowley.

"Crowley's a demon?" She's never met him, but she's aware of who he is more or less from Tyrion working here. "A rain-making demon?" She takes it despite finding this line of logic pretty unconvincing. But hey, tiny umbrellas are fun.

"He is. A rain demon. It's awful." His sarcasm was flat and wilted; potentially a side-effect of the drinking, potentially of his everything else.

"Have you come for a drink?"

He wanted to invite her to join him, her presence was a comfort he wasn't expecting and, selfishly, he didn't want her to go off and leave him alone again. But he was miserable and awful to be around and he wasn't quite selfish enough to ask that of her when he had nothing of substance to offer in return. He was a drain on those around him.

"The worst. Clearly." She's not even sure he's really a demon at this point.

"Mm...no. I think I drank all the drinks I needed for a few months back on Winn's birthday. I just came in to see what I could see and I saw you. Is this chair taken?" Meaning the one by him of course.

Considering demons back home, Anders isn't even convinced Crowley's a demon.

"I suppose that's fair. I'm sorry."

He hadn't responded to her then, it seemed as though enough people had been there to help and Maker knew he was hardly an expert on handling emotions or the response to them well. Anders currently drowning himself due to emotions was evidence enough.

"Even if it was, how could I deny you anyway?" He said it with a small smile, but it was earnest. "I always appreciate your company."

She slides into the chair, waiving off his apology. "Please, I'm ridiculous enough on my own. I can't have people still apologizing to me nine months after he left." It still hurts of course, but it is what it is.

"I just appreciate being appreciated." She smiles back at him. "So, what are you celebrating?" She's pretty certain this is not celebratory drinking, but maybe a way to get the ball rolling.

"It's not ridiculous to miss someone you loved very much, nor for others to not forget that you did." He might have Opinions on that front. Of course, when did he not have opinions? But he shrugs. If she wanted to leave it, he would.

"Celebrating...celebrating the freedom of choice and how much we fuck up when we're allowed it. Or something like that. Maybe just trying to forget choices exist instead."

Maker he already made no sense. His tolerance had gotten better than it was when he'd first separated from Justice, but it was still nowhere near where it had been befoe they'd joined.

She nods, appreciating the sentiment. She even agrees, but she doesn't want to wear on people. She needs them.

"You know, it's subtle, but I'm getting this vibe that maybe you made a choice you're not having the warmest, greatest feelings about." She look at him curiously, wondering if he'll unwind some of those thoughts for her. It seems like he might want to talk about it.

He gave a wry laugh and put his face in his hands a moment before dragging them back down.

"Clever Kitty." He threw back the last of his drink. IT wouldn't last, this swirling buzz. IT might not take much to get his mind swimming, but the Gray Warden stamina meant his body processed the alcohol too quickly for it to have any really lasting affect. Not without pounding back an amount not suitable for polite company.

"I'm a chatty drunk. Like it takes me back to the way I was when...well, back when I first showed up here." Less somber or constantly tired or obviously rundown and runover. That boy had had a bright smile and a champagne-bubble laugh that sat bright in his chest as he used jokes and flirtations to pretend he wasn't as angry as he was. That boy was long dead, but alcohol seemed to revive him at times. Alcohol and, occasionally, Hawke.

"But it's not a happy thing. In fact, it's a terrible thing that I can't do anything about, so I'll offer you a choice: I can get another drink and tell you about it, or I'll start sobering up and we can talk about less heavy things...like flowers or I don't know what."

If it was anyone else, he'd likely brush them off or speak in cryptic half-truths...but Kitty had been nothing but a good friend to him, she meant a lot, which meant he respected her choice to either step further into this mess of himself or stay safely on the sidelines.

Her tolerance has always been pretty low with alcohol. It doesn't take much at all for her to go from buzzed to sloppy which is one of the reasons she usually avoids it unless she just decides to embrace bad choices. It's just too easy to say yes to a second drink after she's had a first.

"I don't know much about flowers, but I'm well versed in terrible things." It's sad how true this statement is. "So I should probably play to my strengths." She's also hoping he only made the offer for her comfort level and that if he didn't want to go into it he wouldn't have.

He gives a sad sort of smile. "I wish that wasn't so easy to believe, but with as many people here who seem to have amazingly idyllic homes, there's still those of us who don't." And he and Kitty had always clicked in a certain understanding. It wouldn't surprise him to learn where she came from was just as awful as Thedas.

"I told you about Justice. How he's a friend of mine, how things were maybe a little complicated." He'd talked around the subject to so many people, he could hardly remember who he had and hadn't told whatever scraps had seemed safe enough at the time.

"I'm celebrating finally coming clean to him and telling him something he should have known about from the day he arrived here." He took another drink. "I told him about his future. Our future, really." He offered her his cup to have a sip if she wanted. "How much do you know about Thedas? If anything.

She nods. She heard about Justice from him and also met the man a couple of times.

"Wolfe told me a few things and so has Fenris. It didn't sound good, but it is always a lot trying to parse out a whole other civilization. I mean, it's hard enough working with just a different Earth that took a different path."

Even imagining Winn's version of Earth in his National City feels starkly different. But she remembers what things were like before civilization fell and the TV shows and movies she saw as a child about things she hadn't experienced for herself yet and the books they still had. Anytime they'd find a library she'd scavenge more. Most of the terms and concepts overlap to some extent though. There's still a basis of understanding. Which is not to say there is no overlap between her broken world and the kind of broken that Thedas is, but there are a lot of basics she isn't primed for.

"I guess slavery and magic come to mind." Maybe not the most flattering interpretation?

"That's understandable. So long as you never have to go there, there'd be no reason for you to know or remember it all. I have a similar issue with Earth things, don't even ask me about all the different kinds. In my mind, I'm fairly certain I always imagine you all just existing together." Which was silly, there were different Thedas, Marian definitely didn't exist in his Thedas and there were enough differences in others that they couldn't all exist at once, but still.

Her assesment gets a dry laugh from him. "More accurate to my point than you realize. Yes, there's magic and slavery. There's other things too, plenty else, but for my purposes, that is enough. Slavery of others, elves, humans, anyone, is frowned upon in the South; it's more a trade of the northern country of Tevinter who think anyone not them can be made into a slave. They're notoriously cruel to their slaves and if you've ever had a conversation of substance with Fenris, I'm sure he's told you some of it.

"But The South has it's own brand of slavery that may act different but isn't in the end. Of course, they don't call it that, so it's easy to pretend it doesn't exist. The mages of the South are taken at a very young age, sometimes as young as six, from their families and thrown into what's called 'Circles.' They're never allowed to see or talk to their family again and if their family asks after them, they're threatened with jail. Of course, that assumes the mage's family cares enough to try in the first place; mages are so feared, sometimes it's the mage's own family who sells them out and turns them over. Or simply kills them."

He ran his hand over his face, but then it clenched tight into a fist as it rested on the surface again. Things were better now, or were going to be, when would this be easier to talk about? Would it ever be easier?

"Once they're in this circle, they're never allowed to stand in the sun, know the feeling of snow in their hands or rain on their faces, some go their whole lives never knowing what it's like to be a normal person and they're not given the chance. Mages are 'cared for' absolutely everything is done for them in the Circles, meals prepared, clothing fixed, baths drawn, even if a mage were to escape, most wouldn't be able to live for an inability to do the most basic of activities in life. Some don't even think to escape, they think this is the only place they're allowed to exist and the only place that could possibly want them. It might not seem all that bad on the surface, mages get an education and many common people begrudge them the 'opulent' lifestyle. But they don't get to know all of it.

"Mages are tortured, raped, branded, scared, threatened, beaten, forced to face down a demon without any protection or preparation and they call this a 'test' to see if they're strong enough to be allowed to live. Those they don't think are strong enough or who simply piss off the wrong templar can be forced into the Rite of Tranquility, a brand to the forehead made from a heated magic metal that severs a mage's mind from where we get our powers. It prevents mages from accessing their magic ever again but, worse than that, it severs their wants, emotions and desires. They're a husk of nothing, simply there to follow orders, even if those orders are strip and get on my bed like a good little pet."

He could feel it, that age old rage that had wrecked him all his life. Justice wasn't bursting at Anders' seams, but he could feel the phantom tendrils that would have been cracking his skin if he still shared a body with the spirit. Nothing angered him as much as the fucking Circles.

"There's no one to tell, either, these offenses are carried out by the people meant to watch us all day every day for our entire lives and those people are put in place by the Chantry who is supposed to protect all the Maker's children. They simply look away and pretend it doesn't happen because no one else would care about what a mage went through, we're all just monsters who have it too easy. There's some laws in place, certainly, meant to protect mages, those who pass that test I mentioned aren't supposed to be forced into the Rite, they're 'safe' as it were. And yet the city we were in, Kirkwall, was doing exactly that. An old friend and ex-lover of mine had long passed his Harrowing and he was made tranquil for simply sending a letter. It was against Chantry law and the Chantry did nothing. They didn't care."

He knocked back the rest of his drink and thought about going into more detail but who cared anymore what the specifics were? "So I blew up Kirkwall's Chantry so something would be done. So someone, would finally fucking listen. Justice shared my body then. I was about to be killed by Templars who pursued me despite having legally gained freedom and Justice saved my life by merging with me. Unfortunately, all the injustices of the Circle I knew about or experienced wrapped up in him and he became so angry...there were times I nearly couldn't control him and his power. We worked together to destroy the Chantry, but the Justice here now doesn't know that anger or corruption. I knew he'd be horrified to learn of what we did and the fact he'd possessed me on top of that. But I had to tell him. And now he's understandably upset and might not ever talk to me again but at least I don't have to keep lying to him."

That was it, the long of it, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough to have told her all that without feeling that age-old disgust and self-hate and every other mix of emotion that told him everyone else should hate him as much as he hated himself. And yet couldn't shake the thought he'd still be right to do it. "So now you know more about Thedas than you ever did, all just to tell you I'm drinking because I made one of my closest friends wonder if he ought to kill himself and I still wouldn't take any of it back if someone offered."

Edited (important to note just in case) 2018-04-15 19:37 (UTC)

There are times she almost interjects to soothe or ask a question, but in the end chooses to let him tell his story in full as it came. It seemed like something he needed to get out and she can see why. It's a lot.

But more than just being a lot it was life. Atrocities were common, every day, regular life for mages. And that was something she both understood and abhorred. After all, the last years of her life back home were in a hellscape and it went from being unprecedented to "must be Tuesday" faster than she ever could have imagined and by years in sometimes everything that came before felt like a dream. But something had come before. She had those more or less stable years of childhood in a world where civilization hadn't collapsed and life wasn't just about survival. It was something that made it all seem worse, but also grounded her. It gave her the courage to fight back because she knew things could be better. They had to be better.

Some of those mages, if they were taken young enough, wouldn't even have that. She wasn't sure how much of outside life they were privy to, but it didn't sound like much if they couldn't experience the elements directly.

When he finishes she's not sure where to start or what to say or do exactly, but her first move is to reach out and place her hand over his, giving it a tight squeeze. It feels too small. It's not enough, but a hug might be too much for him after getting all of that out and it also wouldn't be enough. What would?

"Was this confession new to Wolfe too? He wasn't entirely sober when we last talked, but he said some things." And while she wouldn't divulge exactly what they discussed "someone" destroying the Chantry and Justice being involved was part of it. He'd probably know the drunk posting part since it hadn't been a private matter.

There's more to get to—so much more as his story swirls around in her mind—but she's not going anywhere unless he wants her to.

Maker he's relieved for the fact she doesn't simply get up and leave. Part of him would have been surprised for sure, if she had, she didn't seem the type. And yet a larger part always expected it, he had to when proclaiming he was his own society's terrorist and worst criminal in several ages and he wasn't even repentant. The relief likely shows in his face when she squeezes his hand and he turns his to catch and squeeze hers back.

But her question get's a slightly unhinged chatter of laughter from him. "No. Maker, no not at all. If he was cautious in mentioning details to you in your conversation, it was out of a painfully kind consideration for my privacy and relationships I've built here outside of the context of Thedas. It's...it's complicated." He rubbed his other hand back through his hair, loosening it from it's tie.

"He was there the whole time. We met in Kirkwall, he needed my help with an expedition he was funding and, in return, I asked him to help me free my former lover I mentioned. Karl. Hawke was there when we discovered Karl, a harrowed mage, had been made Tranquil and couldn't even remember the feeling of caring for me, only the fact and the fact didn't stop him from trying to turn me over to the Templars. I was so...enraged and grief-stricken that Justice came out and took control of my actions. I slaughtered those Templars. In the process of Justice coming out, his attachment to the realm our magic is from briefly brought Karl back to himself. He begged me to kill him before he forgot again. I obliged him. Hawke was there for that as well.

"Hawke tried to help me with my cause through the years, but he was moving up in the world, he became a noble and then a Champion to the entire city. His life was under scrutiny and the fact he 'carried on' with an illegal mage wasn't looked upon kindly. Slowly, I stopped asking for his help. Until I found the concoction needed to make the bomb. I tricked Adalwolfe, I told him they were aspects to a potion that could separate me and Justice -something I knew he wanted. He helped me gather them and distract the Grand Cleric as I placed them and then told him the potion didn't work. He was there, standing only a few feet from me in front of the Chantry when I activated the explosion." Self-disgust and anger and hate clung to the edges of his words even as he simply tried to cling to factual. "He's no idiot, he knew what had happened when it did. I asked him to kill me for the justice of those I'd hurt in the process. For his own justice. So, yes, he knew."

It's possibly telling that nothing in his rebellion or in the killing of those who were oppressing his people seemed to bother her or drive her away. She was a terrorist back home herself depending on who you talked to. Also a gene traitor and assorted other titles from those in power who were using it to hurt others. And when he speaks of killing Karl she looks at him with only empathy. Losing someone who meant so much to you resonates loudly with her. There have been so many losses but she never had to take any of their lives in an act of mercy. She's glad of it. She wonders if she would have been strong enough to do so in the moment.

In fact, it's not until he mentions tricking Adalwolfe that her expression betrays any judgment for his actions. It soften's soon after with the tone of his words. Sensing this is something he doesn't feel great about either. She's never been a particularly good liar. There was a reason she was the assassin and Kurt was the spy of the team. She has lied of course. Every time she said she was fine when she wasn't. Those sorts of transparent lies her friends and teammates always saw through. She can't say she wouldn't have lied if a situation had been dire enough to require it. She probably has and isn't bringing it to mind in the moment. But it would have hurt her to do it to someone she loved. She wonders if they were in love back then.

"...Did he?" A strange question maybe, but as a girl who knows she died back home it feels fair to her. She knows death isn't the sort of thing that stops you from being in these places.

He shakes his head, slow and a look of sadness in his expression. "No. He didn't. He had every right, had the dagger on him, I asked him to do it...and he told me he wouldn't. He said I would make it right instead of dying for it. He asked me to atone for my actions instead of martyring for them." He paused and made a derisive scoff. "You know, once he felt up to talking to me again, so a couple weeks later." Until then, he'd just followed Hawke like a useless extra shadow.

He put his face in his hands and dug the heels of his palms against his eyes. This was three years old news, but it felt new telling it to her now and with all of it rehashed so recently. "I was trying to protect him, the less he knew, the easier it would be for him to wash his hands of me when it was all said and done and he could move on with his life. He never should have fallen for me. His life would have been easier." He only ruined everything he cared about.

"You still feel that way now?" She could understand it back then in the moment, feeling that he was bad for Wolfe. What happened couldn't have been easy for him, but he must have respected it too on some level, right? People were oppressed, tortured, dehumanized. It wasn't right and it didn't sound like there was a civil method of rectifying it.

But she wonders if he's just caught up in the story or if his present tense is an accurate representation of how he feels now. That Wolfe would be better off. It's hard for her to picture when she knows them both to be good men. Ander's story did nothing to make her think less of him really and if anything she thinks better of Wolfe for his choice to spare him. But she also struggles with that feeling. Not that there is anyone with her now, but she always worries about bringing danger and struggle and angst and baggage into their lives. She carries a lot for someone still so young.

"Easier isn't always better." She reaches out to gently rest her hand on his shoulder.

He smiles at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't think I'm quite drunk enough to answer that truthfully." Yes. Always and forever, yes. He wasn't good for anyone, much less someone honest and good and kind.

He roped them in with a desire to help the poor sad apostate who heals others, often in spite of himself, and they stay for Maker-knows what reason and he only poisons them in the end. Riona. Hawke. Justice. Even his friends here, Kitty, Vash, Hermione...anyone who came near enough. There was blood and taint on his hands and if he touched anyone, it got on them too. He feels it when she puts her hand on his shoulder, but he's horrid enough, he doesn't want her to pull away at the same time.

"I know. And I can't control him or anyone else, even if I wanted to. His choices were his own, as were mine. But the moral of the story is that all of that I just told you, I had to tell to Justice too and since he was complicit and, arguably, part of the reasoning and causation that led to our actions, he feels responsible and is contemplating if it's worth killing himself over." Blunt. Harsh, to the point. Just like all of this has been. "He especially feels responsible because, before we joined together....back when you first met me here, that boy would never have done anything like any of that. He was selfish and scared and only wanted to live the life he'd never been allowed. He never would have done something so life-changing."

Okay, all that calls for way more than a hand on the shoulder. She leans in to hug him as best she can in their seated positions. "Anders, I'm so sorry. That's a lot." How could he not feel responsible if Justice decided to kill himself for this? She's sure it's weighing heavily on both of them. All of them. No wonder she keeps finding them drinking.

He hugs her back as tightly as he could. As much as he hated how he just smeared blood and vileness on every person he cared about, he was a weak and cowardly man; if Kitty was willing to still sit here with him, hug him, he couldn't turn her away.

"It is. I'm sorry to put it on you as well...but I also appreciate it. It's harder with most everyone else I know because they all have their own emotions and opinions to everything that happened and is still happening. Talking about it seems selfish."

"You didn't put anything on me. We're friends. Thanks for telling me. I know that kind of thing isn't easy. Living the thing is hard enough. Having to bring it up and get questioned about it time and time again is painful." She knows it can be helpful too. Sometimes it helps to face and deal with things. But sometimes it just feels like you're reliving it and suffering.

"Thank you." There's more emotion in those two words than he thinks he can actually convey. He knows they're friends, how could they not be after everything they've shared with each other, but hearing it is still a punch in the gut. He always lost his friends, either because they left him or because he was torn from them, none of them stayed. Kitty would stay. As long as she had a say in it, he knew, she'd stay. Maker knew he didn't deserve it, but he'd try.

He sighed and hugged her again before pulling away just enough to grant some space, though not enough to pull completely away. "Right. So. Now that you know what I'm drinking to, care to join me in getting lightly plastered? Maybe we can find something else to drink to while we're at it."

After all, there was nothing else he could do on the subject, having talked about it helped, but there was no solution to be had tonight. Tonight, there was just drink and company.

"Sure. I can do that." She's not one to give into peer pressure, but this feels different. Conciliatory. Friendly. "Just stop me if I start getting handsy." She's kidding. ~~No, she's not.~~

She waves at the bartender, gesturing for them to have two more and for hers to be what he's drinking. It's a pretty amazing gesture honestly. Very communicative.

"Here's hoping those memories can't swim."

He wouldn't have been offended if she'd said no, but he is appreciative when she says yes. Drinking alone sometimes just made the whole thing seem lonelier. "I swear on whatever honor I can muster that we won't be drinking that much. I'm not interested in the accompanying hangover."

But the bartender brings their drinks and he gently knocks the edge of his glass to hers in toast. At least what they're drinking tastes good? And better with a friend.

"You're giving me way too much credit if you think it takes that many drinks." She's always been one to show affection more through touch than words. So when she feels warm and fuzzy and extra affectionate with a less reserved attitude? She gets touchy. Physically and sometimes emotionally depending on what's already going on in her head. She takes a drink.

"You know, next time, if there is a next time, you're feeling any kind of way about a thing and you'd rather have someone to talk to about it than not...you can call me. It's more reliable than hoping I pop by." She doubts he was sitting here just hoping she would, but she did and she thinks it put him in a better place? Maybe? Hopefully.

Somehow, Adalwolfe thought he might find Anders here.

He's never been one for faith of his own, instead only ever feeling anger towards the Maker that had abandoned them all, that left mages to suffer at the hands of those who called themselves His faithful. But he knew Anders believed, he knew Anders prayed to Andraste and the Maker, offered his askance for mercy, for solace for all those he helped and all those he couldn't. The healer really did try everything for those around him. Everything for everyone but himself.

He stands in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt Anders at prayer and instead opting to just watch for now. To keep silent and let Anders do as he will, anything that will help. He's out of ideas himself on how to help his love. He's told him to try and talk to Justice, told Justice to talk to Anders. He's exhausted all of his ability, all of his words, trying to just get them in the same room but to no avail. He's tried every thing but one.

Soundlessly, Adalwolfe mouths words he hasn't recited since the days before his magic came to him, when the Chant was just something pretty they recited in services and not the mark of an uncaring god. But he changes the words, just a little. He watches Anders and he prays for him, not asking forgiveness because as Adalwolfe sees it there is nothing left to forgive. There is only praise to give for the most difficult choice.

Blessed is he who stands before the corrupt and the wicked and does not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

He knows it's something meant for Templars, or at least the Chantry uses it as such, but in Adalwolfe's mind Anders never falters. He stood against the corrupt and the wicked and he did what he thought he had to do to save those who could not save themselves.

Champion of the Just.

Anders prayed until his knee hurt, until all his words had run out, until his aging muscles ached in protest from the lack of movement for so long. Until the prickle along the back of his neck alerted him to the other presence nearby. There was an emptiness that should have noticed sooner, should be able to tell him if this presence might be a threat or not, but there was simply nothing. There would always be nothing and it should be that way, but at the same time, he missed it terribly.

Instead, instinct and years of knowing the feeling of his lover nearby told him all he needed to know to release a long breath and slowly climb back to his feet. Though he didn't turn away from the holy symbol before him. "My heart. You don't need to be here, I know you aren't a fan."

"Not of His, but I am a fan of yours." He steps forward to slip his arms around Anders' waist from behind, more of a protective gesture than anything.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Love. I just wanted to find you and make sure you'd eaten today. I brought back fish from the ice planet." Mundane though it is, Adalwolfe enjoys the times when he can just hold Anders like this, care for him in a tactile and measurable way. "The girls might have already gotten into one, though..."

Anders didn't resist the hold at all, he leaned a bit back into it, enjoying the feeling of his partner at his back and those arms safely around him. There was a peace in this his soul longed for.

"You're never a disturbance. Or, at least, you're always a welcome one."

The mundane. The comfort and love here. That sort of clear feeling he had after praying, even the mention of 'the girls.' It all came together in a way that, with his eyes closed, he could almost imagine a different life where this was their everyday. Hawke coming home with fish from a market instead of a whole separate planet and their 'girls,' maybe some magelings they adopted as their own. A happy family life most mages can only ever dream of and will never see. But even now, he is dreaming. Though, perhaps, not so desperately as another might.

This was their life, here at least, where they could be safe and settled enough and still see wonders and travel and at least have pets and friends who cared about them. Anders brought his hand up to stroke along the side of Hawke's cheek and down to his jaw. "I'm sure it can be spared. I don't think I've had anything since breakfast." Which was likely something small and quick to eat, he earnestly couldn't even remember what it had been.

This is when he'd make an excuse, try to find a way to push back and avoid Hawke's affection nearly as much as he also craved it as a man in a desert craved water. But he didn't, he stayed where he was and even turned his face in to press his forehead to the side of Hawke's face. "You're right, I should eat something."

"Malum? I can maybe even find a proper plate for the food." He snorts, still making light as Anders is being so agreeable. It's comforting that he's being so agreeable, a breath of fresh air from a window too long kept closed, now opened to the spring breeze.

"Maybe some fruit? Fresh bread? I'm sure we can drum up some good wine too." It really sounds like the best way to spend an afternoon.

Shepard is nothing if not active. He could generally be found just about anywhere
on the Iskaulit, visiting various loctiaons and even poking his head in places he maybe shouldn't. Not that it would stop him. With the planets below, he certainly had plenty more to explore and, generally, he did. But he also had habits to maintain and even a job he wouldn't neglect, even if it had originally just been something to keep him busy while drifting.

Gym
When he'd been on house arrest with the Alliance those six-some months before the Reapers invaded, he'd spent a lot more time than was strictly healthy in the Alliances' gym running courses and training as much as he could. Until the discharged him, honorably or not, he wasn't ready to slack off and commit to a civilian life. Being in the Fleet was no different.

He used everything at his disposal, the weight machines, the track, mats for stretches and hand-to-hand combat routines where all part of his usual few-hour commitment to remaining in top form.

But his favorite was the obstacle course.

He'd always loved obstacle courses anyway, but they gave him a chance to practice with his biotics and make sure those stayed in top form as well. The blue glow of energy would well up around him, raw and ready for direction and he'd take off at the start. hurtles and jumps and speed-runs were nothing as he arched, rushed and flew through the course, trailing that blue energy behind him.

Malum
His job at Malum, he was finding, was actually somewhat enjoyable. It wasn't his usual speed, but Crowley was easy to work for and he got to expand his ability to cook (even though he still thought the dumb garnishes and 'plates' the demon had him doing were ridiculous) it was low stress and he got to meet up with plenty of people in the fleet. He generally stayed in the back, making whatever order came his way and socializing with the other staff, but when it got slow, he'd make his way to the seating area to people-watch...and eavesdrop as he was prone to doing.

Space Bar
As for where he went for his own drinks, however, the Space Bar was far more attractive. First of all, it probably wasn't great form to drink where you worked, but mostly it was the atmosphere. It didn't have the sleekness of Malum that he might find in a place like Purgatory, but it was brighter, simpler. Something there spoke to him more and it was where he decided to unwind. He sat at the bar as he fiddled with an orange interface hovering over his left arm.

[It's a relief that it's still where she left it, and still in its state of constantly being in progress. Wrath starts out by just working on cleaning it up, freshening a few colors, sharpening a few things to fit her vision better. Then there's a new portion to add--the one that came from the nightmares, and the difficult system they had to deal with. It's good, to get out that pain and sadness and try to make it into something that's almost beautiful.]

Iskaulit Mingle

Anders

Malum

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CW: mention of rape

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Interfaith Center

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Shepard

Mural