Waystation Mingle Log!

[twocomplex]

Who: GAME-WIDE MINGLE aka everyone
Broadcast: If you want
Action: The Stations!
When: From 04/05 through the month of April.

[Well, that all sure happened. But at least you have the waystations! Whether you want to stock up on supplies, work, trade, or visit the very fancy Virtual Reality Dome, it's bound to be a nice break from the attacks of the 5th.

Make your own prompts, set up your own Virtual Realities, etc! For reference, the OOC post with info is over here!]

Comments

[forcemageure]

Corypheus happened, more or less.

[ He leans in on his arms and gives as abbreviated a version he can from where laying low had been left off. That eventually the Inquisition had needed his help, how they'd found Corypheus connected to an increasingly desperate Warden-Commander Clarel. The blood magic. The laughably terrible plan to bind an army of demons. The journey to Adamant, and finally, the fall into the Fade.

Don't worry, it didn't make any sense to me either, and I've been there.

[ His laugh feels like something scraping bone.

It could have gone better. Turns out the Fade's not a very nice place even when you're there in person. It was a damn near thing for the Inquisitor and her people to get out, and that was--that was only because someone could stay behind to buy them time.

I'm telling you the same as I told Fenris. I let Corypheus out into the world, my father--he made those seals. I broke them, and humdreds of people died for it
I had the chance to make up for that. So I--stayed. After that I don't remember much until coming here.

[merchantprince]

Oh... shit.

[That's really the best thing he can say as the story's recounted. Corypheus. There's something he thought would bite them in the ass sooner or later, but... he was dead, wasn't he? Bad. This is bad. His frown deepens, but he's a rapt listener and Hawke keeps going.

But there's something that darkens in Hawke's tone whether he means it to or not, something hollow in that laugh, and Varric feels what's coming before it's said. He wants to be wrong, wants so desperately to be wrong but there it is. He's got the eyes of a storyteller and the heart of a little brother, and all he hears is I stayed.]

You—

[Varric's been in the Fade before. Not physically, but there was at least one time with Hawke. And then the whole thing with Alistair and Isabela and Mae... But he can't think of dragon cults right now. He can't even think about the table in front of him. He feels disconnected, his hands barely touching the table, even though the barest of glances would tell him that his fingers are digging into it so hard his gloves squeak.]

—stayed.

[To make up for it. To make up for a thing that he'd been goaded into releasing because he was a Hawke. Not even his fault, really-- just machinations by the Carta, by Corypheus himself, by that Grey Warden. Hawke stayed. Hawke... stayed, because of his guilt complex, because he carries the world on his shoulders (his, his, not hers), because of some deranged obligation to his blood, because... because...

There's no good reason for it. None of these are good reasons. None of these excuse the loss of Hawke, who despite being dead is cheerfully sitting in front of him delivering the news of his own death. It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. The Hanged Man, so familiar, feels like a cold place he's never been before. Varric wouldn't recognize his own face if he saw it right now. Grief-stricken, betrayed, furious-- all of these things cross his expression, war with each other. He's usually so good at keeping his heart up his sleeve but there it is, there's the inevitable fall of his heart and his expression, like a tired man exhausted just steps before his destination.]

Should've never brought you to those damn mountains, Hawke. [His voice cracks in a telling way, and he pulls back from the table. He needs a moment. In the end all he really can do is shake his head and try to will the hot fat tears back into his fucking eyeballs.]

Shit. I can't. I can't do this.

[Regardless of whether or not he can, he sure is. He wants to go back to the dead sleep where he was haunted by his dead mom, it was better. He wants to crawl back in a hole and pretend he's in Kirkwall and not-- not stranded in space losing everything he's ever had.

This is a betrayal on a whole other level from Anders, from Bartrand. This is... he can't even be mad at Hawke. He's mad at himself, he realizes. Mad at Cassandra for dragging Hawke into this. Mad at Corypheus for existing. Mad at the Wardens, mad at these stupid circumstances, mad that he can't do a damn thing to help. Mad that he can't stop crying like Hawke's not even there.]

[forcemageure]

[ Telling Fenris had been bad enough, had felt like spitting up bone splinters. But he could handle Fenris's anger, that was how their friendship worked. A storm he'd waited out so many times he knew exactly what to shore up, the places safe from shrapnel. This...there's no clean metaphor for this; it feels like--nothing. Like Varric's residual grief burned hot enough to cauterize. He knows there's nothing to add, nothing he can say to make it better - and the times in his adult life he's both known that and acted on it could be counted on a hand - because nothing will change it.

He's read that absurd off-biography, knows the little lies here and the big ones there, knows that when he can Varric smooths over the small hurts, rounds sharp edges, gives his friends little glimmers of happiness where there were none and keeps them in a heart wider than the Waking Sea. And now Hawke's broken it, which he knew would happen from the second they sat down. Before that. Days ago. Weeks. When he looked up at the tear in the Fade, at the monstrous thing in their way and knew he wasn't coming back.

He isn't crying. He can't remember the last time he did, or even when he thought about it. It was before Leandra. Before Bethany. Varric's tears are almost enough to unseal the part of him that keeps all those things locked up. He is so tired of hemorrhaging loss he almost--almost. But doesn't, because that's not what he does. He gets up (because he always gets back up; that, it seems, won't change) and comes around to Varric's side of the table, shoves a chair unceremoniously next to his and flops down to enfold his friend with both arms, a sloppy, uncoordinated hug from the side. It's not tentative or restrained; he's not worried about anything so ephemeral or unimportant is looking foolish, it's just--he doesn't do this. He hardly ever touches people, even the ones he loves.

A sigh. Not to Varric, not even really to himself. Maybe the universe, even though he's surer than ever that if anyone's listening their sense of humor makes his look mild and lovely and suitable for children. ]

Why does no one ever listen to me when I say it wasn't their fault?

[ This is a rhetorical question. ]

[merchantprince]

[For the first time in his life, Varric doesn't run away. He doesn't crack a joke, he doesn't try to leave the VRD. He's made a whole career out of escaping feelings but this time... this time, he can't. Running away from the truth won't make it better. Leaving Kirkwall didn't erase the fact that Anders had messed everything up.

He's never been hugged by Hawke before but that's okay. He just-- accepts it. He leans in, wraps his strong arms around his (worryingly skinny) best friend and clings like hell. This isn't something he does a lot, either. Varric isn't great with hugs, though he's not opposed to them. It's just...

... shit. That's all he can think right now. Shit. Some great wordsmith he is.

He sniffles loudly and he hates it, hates sounding like some kind of child. He's not wailing, at least, but he's nearly forty and he feels like his life is already over. His fingers tighten in Hawke's coat until his knuckles turn white beneath his gloves.]

It isn't your fault, either, [he says thickly, quietly.] You shouldn't have been alone.

[He mutters another swear and wipes at his cheeks, pulls back a little.]

Everyone always looks to you to fix their problems. No one stops to think that, hey, maybe you're actually human. Maybe you deserve to keep something for yourself and be happy for a little while.

You don't owe anyone a damn thing, Hawke.

[He sucks in a breath through his teeth.] So while you're here, you'd better not try to be a martyr again. You know I hate that shit.