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[As threatened, deposited in Abby's mail cubby in the dining hall is a packet of papers with a handwritten (distinctly lovely handwriting at that) questionnaire. The following instructions are pinned to its cover: 'Welcome to Riftwatch! Please fill out the following survey to the best of your ability and return it the Project Felandaris offices, to the attention of Wysteria de Foncé. Should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to reach out for clarification. Best Wishes, W.A. de Foncé, Research Division.'

The following survey is...expansive.]

Questionnaire Section A
Of and Relating Specifically to the Rifter Population in the Gallows (Kirkwall, The Free Marches, 9:47)

Question 1A. Conceptually, how familiar are the Fade and the Veil to you? Are there similar phenomena (however minor the resemblance) in the place from which you came?

Question 2A. If yes, is energy drawn and/or emitted from or through it? Do cognizant beings (spirits, full bodied manifestations similar to a Rifter, and so on) pass through it?

Question 3A. Does "magic" exist in your world?
Question 3A.(i). If "magic" exists in your world, is it somehow tied to or sustained by this other space?
Question 3A.(ii). If "magic" exists in your world and there is no such alternative dimension as referenced in Question 1A., from where does it originate?

Question 4A. Given the opportunity to objectively estimate your own physical conformation and comeliness against the general populace of the world from which you came, where on a scale of one through ten might you be ranked (for the purposes of this survey, please consider the numerical score of five (5) as average for your home world)? Disregard. This question has been deemed inessential.

Questionnaire Section B
Rift Anchors, with Respect to All Who Presently Possess Them

~~Question 5B. How long have you had your rift shard?~~ Irrelevant; it is assumed you received it upon arrival through the Rift. However, you are welcome to detail any notes you may have on it here.

~~Question 6B. Are you able to perform any supernatural acts with the power of your rift shard beyond closing Rifts? If yes, please detail these abilities~~. Irrelevant; recorded with your personnel file. Please update W.A. Poppell should your rift anchor develop any additional effects.

Question 7B. Do you have any other abilities, such as mage talent? If so, has the presence of the rift shard or your time in Thedas affected your ability whatsoever (please note whether this is a negative or a positive effect)?

Question 8B. At what point would you take surgical measures to rid yourself of your anchor shard?
Question 8B.(i). Would you permit scientific observation of the process?
Question 8B.(ii). Would you permit samples to be taken from the limb?

(PLEASE NOTE that the authors of this survey do not advocate for preemptive amputation unless strictly recommended by a trusted medical professional.)

Edited 2021-08-02 07:53 (UTC)

(oh, wow. okay. is this homework? abby reads the survey over while she's eating dinner, chewing her way through all of the questions in her head. the handwriting is very lovely, that's certainly true. even the paper has a bit of weight to it, like she didn't rip it out of a book, or a folder first.

abby fully intends to dedicate only two minutes to this, but it's clear that she gets into the spirit of it once she's started, evidenced by the answers slowly lengthening down the page. she writes on both sides, cramping her handwriting up so she doesn't have to waste any of the paper. old habits, etc. wysteria will receive one (1) page in reply, folded neatly into quarters and handed into the project felandaris offices bearing her full name.)

𝘈𝘣𝘣𝘺 𝘈

1𝘈) 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦
2𝘈) 𝘕𝘈
3𝘈) 𝘕𝘰

5𝘉) 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
6𝘉) 𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵?
7𝘉) 𝘕𝘰𝘱𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮.

8𝘉) 𝘐𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦. 𝘖𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
8𝘉 𝘪) 𝘜𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩. 𝘕𝘰? 𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦.
8𝘉 𝘪𝘪) 𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵. 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦?? 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬; 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵

𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳-𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺.

[A few busy days later and a cream colored envelope appears in the dining hall cubby assigned to Abby. It reads—]

Dear Miss A,

Thank you for taking the time to thoroughly fill out the survey and return it. I thoroughly appreciate the attentiveness with which you treated the contents; would that everyone was half so responsible and reasonable as yourself.

Due to the completeness of your responses, I have no follow up questions. However, I am happy to address the ones which you yourself raised. I have reproduced them here for reference, should you have forgotten their exact wording.

5𝘉) 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺. I have assumed that this was meant as a question. In which case, yes. This is quite typical and nothing at all to be concerned with. You should be aware that should you spent long periods away from other anchor bearers that you may begin to develop some discomfort. This is also perfectly usual, albeit a sign one should arrange to return to the Gallows (or find company with other anchors) sooner rather than later. The onset of this discomfort is typically slow and should not prohibit you from travelling from the Gallows in the course of Riftwatch's work.

6𝘉) 𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵? Copies of this survey were written prior to their distribution. Future copies will not reproduce the struck questions. It would be a waste of perfectly good paper to do away with these copies as is.

8𝘉 𝘪𝘪) [...]𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 [the anchor] 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦?? 𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵[...] Yes, it is believed that the only way to remove the anchor is to sever the limb (or body part) to which it is attached. I have never seen such drastic measures taken myself, but over time the anchor will eventually entrench itself more deeply into the body and thus cause negative effects. There are reports of an eleven woman whose anchor was in her chest, which ultimately caused sickness and death. But that is happily a very rare case, and there are many rifters and non-rifters (myself included) who have had their anchor shards for many years without any incident.

No. Madness is not a side effect typical to the possession of an anchor. While it is true that a great percentage of Riftwatch's population seems to suffer from some measure of instability of character, I do not believe this has anything to do with their proximity to anchors.

With respect to your comments—

There are non-rifters with anchors. See: Madame Baudin (who is unlikely to recieve direct inquiries politely), Miss Smythe (the alchemist, not her battlemage sister), Miss Bearhold (I cannot recommend her brother, however the young lady herself is perfectly decent companionship), and Enchanter Black (the acting Seneschal; I will not comment on his demeanor). To my knowledge, the "catching" of an anchor by a Thedosian native involves being in close proximity to a Rift, but is not guaranteed. There have been a great many members of Riftwatch or others abroad who have been close to a rift without receiving an anchor; however, I have never met a Rifter without one. I believe the anchor is therefore a remnant of our passage through the fade, and that indeed it may be part of what ties us to this place. The woman whom I referenced above who died from the side effects of her anchor was, I believe, native to this world.

I hope that I have covered all your questions in their totality, however should I have missed anything (or if more have arisen in their shadow), you are naturally most welcome to contact me at your leisure. Otherwise, welcome once more to Riftwatch. I look forward to working with you further in the future.

Warm Regards,
Wysteria de Foncé
Research Division
Project Felandaris

Edited 2021-08-14 00:17 (UTC)

(although there is an... odd appeal to passing letters back and forth (and not because it feels like being in pride and prejudice, how dare you think that), abby recognises that she'll probably get a quicker answer if she simply messages so:)

If we use the anchors to close rifts, does that mean we can use them to open them too?

(because who better to ask, than somebody in the research team? are they dedicating time to this? not once in her introductory lectures did anybody ever mention how to leave thedas, and go home.)

[Some time after the question has been posed, suggesting that Wysteria is quite consumed with some other activity, the connection (if such a word can be used when referencing the magical link between two enchanted rocks) crackles back to life with—]

I believe a study was conducted regarding that very idea not long ago. Yes, there have been instances with anchors have been used to open rifts. But it is all very clandestine, and typically reserved for opening seams where the Veil is already weak and likely to fail so that it might be stitched closed stronger and not surprise anyone by bursting unexpectedly.

(it doesn't bother abby. after five minutes of waiting patiently she packs up on it and goes about her day, assuming her message will be answered in due course. and, sure enough–)

... Okay. (so she can cross that budding idea... out. fair enough. she rubs her nose, thinking, before she asks again:) And the anchors all have the same level of power? You haven't found any instances of– some people having weaker anchors, than others?

They are begin at similar strengths, yes. Although there are some anchors which have developed certain additional abilities which, while not strictly tied to the longevity of its...ownership, I suppose, does seem to be one of the factors which may affect its mutation. Take Madame Baudin, for example. Her anchor is strong enough to close a rift on her own. Other talents on record are creating shields or a sort of concussive force with it.

I'm guessing that you've got that information on record, (abby hedges, placing her bets now,) and that it's... private.

Oh, hardly private. Unless I suppose someone had developed such abilities and chosen not to use them or to share the knowledge with anyone. But they are difficult skills to hide in the field. Let me see, [has the thoughtful air of a person flicking through their mental files.]

There is Madame Baudin, as mentioned. My own anchor is similar. Mister Stark's has displayed some unique properties which you might consult him on— There must be others. None of the new Rifters that I can recall...

Oh, okay. (well in that case.

disappointingly, it doesn't sound like it's very common, which is a shame, because abby would love to have a little extra oomph on her side considering she's lacking entirely in the magic department.)

I– might talk to them, yeah. What does yours do?

Mine? Oh, I suppose it is nearly equivalent to Madame Baudin's. I have closed a rift on my own and have fended off a few demons using a sort of...concussive pulse, I suppose. But I'll confess that I've yet to rigorously test the thing.

[She's busy. Or whatever.]

... I closed a rift on my own, (she offers, after a moment's consideration.) The first one that I came through.

[Here, a first spark of what seems like real interest. It throws the rest of her recent recitations into a somewhat new light; evidently Wysteria has discussed these particular points more than once. But this? This is evidently of interest.]

Oh! Did you really? That's surprising. Have you done so a second time? I wonder whether it had to do with the increased levels of Fadiation which are prescient to the arrival of a rifter....

... Yes? (okay, now she's... not so sure. honestly, it was a frantic blur of confusion. abby remembers the demon more than the rift itself; closing it was unpleasant, but it wasn't the worst part of the whole situation.)

Laura and I were the only two people there, (she explains,) And she–

Did you just say Fadiation?

[She makes a small, disgusted noise in reply: eughk.]

Regrettably, yes. You must never tell Mister Stark.

I don't know who that is, so you're safe.

[There's no mirth in his voice. No feathering sweetness or lilting patterns. Only darkness, deep and warning— the antithesis of everything he normally projects.]

I found her, by the way. Your assailant.

(... with the air of somebody who knows that they're fucked either way,)

Thought you would have figured it out faster than this. Somebody else already beat you to the punch.

Oh I'm heartbroken. How will I ever recover. [Flatter than the ground beneath his feet.]

Or, for that matter, how will you, I wonder.

It must be difficult, having your enemy so close by. Possibly even terrifying.

(abby has to take a moment to swallow and ensure her voice will level out before she answers,)

It's none of your business. Never was, never will be.

You don't want to talk, that's fine. I'm more than happy to do it for you.

I'm generous like that.

[He clears his throat, and it's almost like a flipped switch, how quickly he reverts to that otherwise cheerful act. Ever so congenial.]

You see, I don't care much for secrets. Mmph, well, that's not entirely true. I do love a good, scandalous tale just as much as anyone else— but when it comes to the people fighting at my side, surprises are the last thing I want welling up behind my back.

So let's make a deal, you and I.

Play nice. Don't get any ideas whatsoever about even making eye contact with her, let alone trouble, and I'll happily keep all this to myself. And by this, I mean the fact that I witnessed the entire altercation with my own two eyes. That you started it, and exacerbated it, and clearly had every murderous intention of utterly ruining the life of one of our own.

And— oh, I don't know. I have a feeling a report like that might upset our dear leaders. Especially if the only other party involved isn't willing to talk about it.

(she'd guessed that ellie had astarion in her pocket but she didn't know how deep in there he truly was. having it confirmed like this is– nasty. it's unfair, and made even worse because abby knows that if she opened her mouth and let every single ugly detail spill out of it, he would let her say her piece. maybe he would understand it. all that joel took from her, and ellie, finishing off the job in his stead. abby holds all of it for a long, deliberating moment, right on the flat of her tongue, and–

swallows. she isn't going to use her dead as some kind of sick gotcha.

that's the difference between her, and ellie.)

Fine. (her voice breaks over the word. it's absolutely infuriating to be blackmailed into something she was already planning on doing– and she can't even call his bluff, ask him if he really thinks they'd believe him over her. of course they would. she's newer, younger, and she has barely any footing in riftwatch. he's the only person who saw her injured.

after a soft hiss of breath she adds,) If you stay the fuck away from me.

Why my dear, I’m hurt.

[It’s soft, the way his tongue hits the back of his teeth. In someone else’s hands, this might even sound sincere.]

I thought we were friends.

Does she know you're doing this?

(because it doesn't fit what abby knows of her, even though only a handful of time was spent with ellie at her throat. what was it that she had rasped out at abby in the dark red of that basement? you're mine.)

Of course not. Why, are you going to tattle on me?

I’d advise against it. [The words are smooth and cool, punctuated by an easy chuckle that rolls between sharp teeth. He isn’t afraid. Not of her, not of being caught, not even of all the potential consequences that might come tumbling down from tightly pulled strings.

Consequences, after all, are someone else’s misery to endure.

Not his.]

After all, I might get the itch to go running to our division heads all the more quickly if I start to feel a little pressured.

But— it isn’t all bad, really. Your life won’t change, will it? And you’ll have a new purpose here.

Her happiness.

Because as long as she’s content, and safe, you’re going to live the best of lives, both of you. If you think about it, I’m practically doing you a favor.

(it's really one thing to be told stay away and another for it all to lead into this. abby holds her indignance as best she can but it's a close thing. she wants to spit and swear at him just as much as he doubtlessly wants her to.)

Don't push it. (she has to grit the words out from between her teeth.

another message like this and she might just throw her crystal out the fucking window in response,) I said I'd do it.

You can go now.

As you wish.

And— in the meanwhile, do let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. I’m here for you just as much.

[...and just like that, he’s gone.]

[After this.]

The fuck are you doing?

Could ask you the same question.

Wh-

[The fuck did SHE do.]

You're the one going around asking about how to fight someone with magic. How the hell am I supposed to take that?

Oh for fuck's– it wasn't about you.

Did you forget that we have a common enemy who knows magic??

[That is... a good point, unfortunately. Ellie lets out a soft, frustrated huff, catching herself.]

Yeah, well... our enemy is gonna be made of Thedosian mages, not Rifters with magic.

[So stay away from Glimmer.]

(no.)

I know, I'm just– trying to get a leg up, okay. I want to know what I'm up against.

(a beat, and the next bit is more of a bitter mutter than anything,) I get what it looks like, but I'm telling the truth. (since that seems so hard for anybody to believe these days!!)

[Ellie's breath hisses out, because she already knows she's telling the truth. It's why she came into this hot. She had believed things were settled between them, at least in terms of violence. Even if she can't say she knows Abby, she feels that she understands her.

It sucks so much more that she does.]

... okay.

I haven't found anybody who fights like a Tevinter mage. But the asshole has a dragon, too. Don't be surprised if you see me on a dragon hunt if it comes up.

[Fair warning. Almost for politeness' sake.]

(... that's good to know. abby files it away for later, and- well, it certainly explains a couple of reactions she's had to that message. why nobody could tell her directly instead of beating about the bush is something she doesn't have an answer for; how the fuck was she supposed to have known that? this is still so new for her.

sucks enough that ellie's already got a head start.)

Got it.

(and then, for rudeness' sake:) And you can go ahead and let your guard dog know that you were the one to message me first, thanks.

... my what?

[It's sharp and annoyed, and then... Ellie pushes out a breath, sharper and more annoyed. Because Abby wouldn't lie about this, but she knows who would.

And he told her that he wouldn't save her. She'd really thought he'd fucking stay out of it.]

Astarion?

(who else.)

Just to stop him from telling whoever'll listen that I made you cry in some- goddamn public square for no reason.

I'm sorry, he fucking what?

[WHY IS EVERYONE SO INSULTING.]

Go ask him yourself, I'm not going to rob him of the chance to run his mouth about it.

(why is this conversation so disarmingly normal, topic aside.) And while you're at it, tell him to leave me the fuck alone.

Jesus fucking christ.

[Ellie mutters under her breath, and just- fuck. All of this is a special sort of insane, but especially the fact that she's talking to Abby, having a conversation with Abby, and the second she thinks it she can feel a horrible tightness in her chest, and she clenches her teeth.]

Anybody else sticking their nose in?

(it isn't great for her either, though admittedly, dobbing in astarion does come with its own set of grim pleasures.)

Nope. (because derrica was never dickish about it,) We good?

No, but we're done.

[At least Derrica hasn't meddled, apparently. Or if she has, she hasn't stirred the pot. Ellie gives a sigh, and ends the communication.]

Will you help me test a shield? When you've the time for it.

Edited (oh my god html) 2021-09-23 00:39 (UTC)

Yeah. Is it new?

Aye. It's one of the experiments the Provost asked to be used in the field. But I'd rather take a turn around the training yard before relying on it elsewhere.

Count me in.

It do anything extra on the side?

As the Provost explained it to me, it absorbs the force of the blow and uses it to knock my attacker back. Or off their feet, depending on how hard they hit.

[ so you know. fun times. ]

(her reply is closer to a laugh than anything.)

Is is bad that I kinda want to hit it as hard as I can?

I think the Provost would be delighted if you did.

[ just saying. ]

I'll do it. (she doesn't take much persuading,) But you should tell me what 'Provost' means first.

It's Tony Stark's title, as head of the Research Division.

Fancy.

Where do you wanna do this.

Training yard, but I'd rather attempt it at night. No need to give anyone a scare.

I'll be up.

Tomorrow or day after?

Tomorrow. The Provost is very eager for the results, I assume.

I'm kinda eager for them too.

See you tomorrow.

A familiar kite-shaped package is waiting for Abby outside her door when she returns to her room after mid-day. There is an accompanying note tucked into the twine securing the burlap covering in place.

I've business to complete outside the city, and I'm limited in what I can strap to my horse. I would consider it a favor if you would put this to good use in my absence, rather than letting it sit idle in my room.

I'll return to collect it after my business outside Kirkwall is complete.

— Ellis

[ Several items are at Abby's mail cubby when she next checks it, boxed and wrapped in a dark blue wrapping paper with birds on it.

One is a peacoat with a hood, made to Abby's specifications (someone memorized her measurements after the party shopping spree) with room for her arms/shoulders to get larger, just in case.

There's also set of opal collar pins with a chain in one of the pockets.

Other people got her things he was considering, such as gloves and a new mace, but there's also the card to a local armorer in one of the pockets, who informs Abby, should she ask about this card, that he's received payment to cover the deposit needed for any armor of her choice. ]

Finding Abby in the training yard is, actually, an accident.

At least, he didn't come out looking for her, evidenced by the throwing axe at his belt. It gleams in the way of new, unused weapons; he'd had the thought of learning how to use it right, practicing, even as he'd received it, and the recent attack of the undead has only further convinced him of the necessity.

That, and the sense that spending some time throwing sharp objects at dummies can only help his mood. Sometimes you just need a metaphorical punching bag.

Regardless: he pauses when he sees her, approaches with a wave.

Abby is there for very similar reasons that he is.

New weapon; Satinalia; recent attack of the undead; this isn't the first outing that the mace has been on, but Abby is still keen to practice with it. Hitting skeletons had been very rewarding, assured her of how much more suitable a weapon it is, but she still has a few creases to iron out before it feels completely at home in her hands.

There's a dummy limp at her feet. The face has caved in.

She pauses with the mace held high over her head in both hands, and brings it down into the chest of her target with a great slam. That's the cool thing about using a weapon covered in spikes: it stays right where you put it. She returns Holden's wave.

"Hey." She recognises him from around the towers; they've spoken once, or twice.

"Hey."

Watching her fairly murder that dummy, it's hard not to remember Ellie's assessment of good at fighting. On a purely tactical level, they're lucky to have her here. On another level, there's the question of whatever bad blood she may have with Ellie; but since they're, apparently, able to handle it, he doesn't dwell on it now. On the level he's currently approaching her about, it feels shitty to look at her and think well at least we have another fighter for this war. He crosses his arms loosely, says,

"There's something I want to talk to you about, if you've got the time."

The yard's private enough for this purpose. There's no one else around, either to eavesdrop or interrupt.

Abby eyes him, trying to judge exactly where this conversation is about to go. He doesn't have any righteous, offended air about him to indicate whether he's another friend of Ellie's who is suddenly in the know, but that doesn't ease her for a moment. She's had several of those unpleasant conversations, and all have started this exact same way.

"Sure," she replies, and straightens to her full height. He might be taller than her, but only just. "What's up."

Not exactly a warm welcome, but he hasn't done anything to merit one either. He doesn't back down, exactly, but there's something a little gentler in his tone, just this side of apologetic. Whatever she thinks this is going to be, what he has to offer may not actually be better.

"I want to be sure you know about the danger Tevinter poses to anchor-bearers." His hands are in gloves, the weather brisk enough to merit it, but he still briefly lifts his own shard hand. "I've found out recently it wasn't exactly a part of the new rifter orientation."

Oh. She really had been expecting that he'd ask her about Ellie.

Abby blinks and loosens up, vaguely embarrassed by her surly reaction. He's only trying to warn her about something, and she's caught up in a feud. What's going on in Thedas is so much bigger than her and Ellie.

"... Right. Thanks."

Awkward pause, in which she loosely folds her arms across her chest, shrugging a shoulder. "What's the danger?"

If he notices the change in attitude — and, admittedly, it's hard not to — he doesn't draw attention to it. There's no need for him to dig into whatever fight she thought he was going to pick. Besides which, he's done this enough times by now to not be surprised at her answer, but still be, you know, disappointed about it. If only John Silver hadn't picked a legitimate gap in knowledge to set in his hands, and then give him the choice to do something about it or not.

"Kidnapping, for one thing," he says, and frowns. "It's likely they've been keeping an eye on rifts to find people with shards. They seem to be interested in finding out what makes us tick, what we're able to do, and what happens when they do shit to us."

Kidnapping, for one thing; human experimentation, for another.

"If you're going to be part of the fight, you should know the risks."

Kinda buried the lede on that one didn't you, Riftwatch.

Abby hasn't got a poker face. Her expression shifts openly from surprise to an exhausted version of resignation.

"I'm already part of the fighting," she points out, and wrests her mace out of the dummy with an efficient yank, "Bit of a moot point by now, right."

It's not as if she can defect, is what she's saying. She's already got the shard, and, as she understands the current feelings toward Rifters, nobody else will have her. It's Riftwatch or trying to make it on her own, and the shard won't even let her do that without wounding her for it.

"Are they targeting new Rifters?" That would work much better than trying to snare people out of the Gallows. When she first arrived she was disorientated and weaponless and it would have been easy to kidnap her if Laura hadn't been there. "What can we do about it?"

She's quick on the uptake, following through the implications. He doesn't know her well enough to have expected that on experience; he did, but from Ellie. He has an idea of the kind of Earth they both came from. He has an idea of how it's shaped its young people.

He considers, briefly, saying no one's going to make you fight. But he knows she has to have heard that by now. He knows how little difference it made for him. There's no real point to the repetition.

He nods, and says, "We're working on it. My division has worked out some of the commonalities between where rifters are likely to show up, and we've been setting up a network to tell us when that happens. If you're interested, you should ask the Provost about it."

Abby mulls this over for a moment, glancing down at her weapon, where her hands fit side by side on the grip. She thinks of how Laura received her, answered the questions that she had one by one, and gave her something else to grip tight to keep from falling in over her head. It was helpful. She's grateful to have had that.

She could provide that to somebody else.

"Okay," she says. Shrugs a shoulder. "I'll get in touch."

And then, because she needs to know the answer to this, "Why am I only finding out about this now? Somebody higher up have a guilty conscience?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

— is said with a wry eyebrow raise and a shrug. Maybe not an entirely fair assessment of the way John had reached out to him and asked him to rectify this gap in knowledge, but he nevertheless doesn't feel much like he was given the reason, himself.

"Someone realized that you all hadn't been told, if nothing else. I was asked to fix that."

"Someone," Abby repeats, tone flat as the ground. Is he being vague on purpose? Or does he think that she doesn't care, because she'd very much like to know who suddenly, helpfully, 'realised' nobody had been told.

It isn't kind to shoot the messenger, but he won't tell her who to aim at.

"Is somebody making sure this changes in future, and new Rifters are going to know about this the moment they arrive in the Gallows?"

It's more that she's the first to really ask. Most have been more interested in the news than the source of his quest. Or, in the cases of Ellie and Gabranth, more concerned for him.

"You'd have to ask John Silver." After a beat, he also adds, "Madame de Cedoux has been working on putting something together since Kostos's announcement."

Petrana had mentioned working together with Kostos on this, but he's not about to send someone to Kostos for information.

"There's a proposal that'll be going to the division heads."

"I will." Honestly, he needn't worry, it's a fairly empty threat. Abby knows the irritation will burn off and leave behind the plain fact of the matter: if John didn't know they didn't know, he didn't fucking know. Not a whole lot she can do about that. She's on the back foot and she doesn't like feeling like that. That's all.

A sigh is heaved.

"Right. And I'm sure that will pass through the system by tomorrow, instead of in a couple month's time."

She should be angry, is the thing. She's right to be angry. He would be, in her shoes; so the reaction isn't unexpected, and doesn't go unsympathized. Besides, like, if someone goes to kick John's ass about this, he won't exactly be mad about it.

He shrugs, tone dry as he says, "Yeah, I'm talking to you because I'm a real believer in the system taking care of things."

Which isn't an indictment of Riftwatch, specifically, so much as any bureaucracy. Point is: he doesn't disagree. He wouldn't have felt so compelled to take up this job if he trusted that it'd get done, when it hasn't already.

This time, she snorts, and gives him a rueful look.

At least he understands. Can't be nice, having to have this chat with everybody. She can think of more than one Rifter that will give him shit in return.

... Does Ellie know?

Who fucking cares.

"You got a list to get through, or something?" How many people has he already spoken to, and how many more does he have to go? Mark her down as curious and nothing else.

He does, actually. One he'd made himself from memory, then cross-checked against Isaac's old rifter notes.

"I do." Then, "There someone you're worried about me missing?"

Is there anyone else from their home here? He hadn't even thought to ask Ellie about it.

"Loki," Abby pivots smoothly, because that isn't not true, and if he isn't next in the queue to find out Abby is probably going to inform him herself.

It seems weird that this is happening on a case-by-case basis anyway. Why not gather everybody into one place and let them know at once?

Have you seen what happens when announcements are made to groups in Riftwatch, Abby.

If the answer comes a little unexpected, it's only because he's still trying to reconcile the evil alien army-leading Loki that Tony's told him about with the well-mannered man he's met here. It makes sense that Loki would know people, would've made friends, but the thought's still weird.

Though maybe it shouldn't be. He's found Loki pretty likable, despite himself.

"I've talked to him." He'd taken it pretty well, all things considered, though it's not like Jim has an image in his mind for what not well would look like. He hasn't talked to Astarion yet. "I don't intend to let anyone else be left in the dark for much longer."

Edited (changes my mind several hours later don't look at me) 2021-12-12 14:33 (UTC)

Fair.

Also: bad people deserve to have friends too, don't be rude.

"Good." This is in response to both statements. It eases her a lot to hear that Loki already knows about this, especially because now Abby wants to gossip with him, "If I think of anything else I want to ask, can I contact you?"

Or would he rather fob her off. Left unsaid, only implied.

Without hesitation —

"Of course, any time."

Answering questions, now or later, is just an extension of this responsibility he's taken upon himself. At least, as far as he's concerned. Any time may sound like a pleasantry, but Astarion (for instance) would be able to verify that he picks up his crystal at all hours no matter how late it is. When does he sleep? Don't worry about it.

"And if you ever want to ask me something in person, my room's on the fourth floor of the old mage tower. My door's usually open."

She's standoffish so it won't be readily apparent, but this answer does endear him to her.

"Okay," she says, adding, "Appreciate it," like it's an afterthought. She probably will come to chat with him in person, though it won't be on Astarion's recommendation thanks.

"I'd better let you go." Except that it's a clear dismissal, because she has a lot to process, and she'd like to do that off the training grounds where she'll only distract herself with her mace and some unlucky target.

I take it you've survived encounters with the locally animated dead?

I died, actually. Leave a message.

If you've died then I invoke the right to hold a proper funeral for you; these people burn their dead, which is sensible, but they do it on a pyre on the ground, which is ridiculous. A boat, on the harbor, is how it should be done.

Let me know where the body is so I can come claim it, oh spirit.

(clearly impressed enough to drop the act,) You'd give me a viking funeral?

I'd give you an Asgardian funeral. A little more refined. Same main points, though.

Wow. (nicest thing anybody has ever said to her.

uh, what was the original point of this message again? right–) I'm fine. Got stabbed, but only a little.

You've talked to the healers about it? Take a potion?

Done both. (no fretting,) I'm fine, really.

You were safe? I didn't see you.

[ He's allowed to fret. ]

I was in Hightown. I decided to opt-out of the second party.

Edited 2021-11-23 05:51 (UTC)

Ooh. Had something better to go to?

(it's funny because anything would have been better than fighting in the skeleton war.) I didn't go to the second party either. Wasn't in the mood.

Most definitely. We saw a show, it was lovely.

[ A humming sound. ] Understandable. How have you been otherwise?

Gwenaëlle said she'd take me to a show sometime. I've never seen one before.

(she's excited about that.) Good.

Got a dog.

Frankly, that woman terrifies me.

A dog? How old?

How come?

Nine months. Big for a puppy though.

I'm quite certain she's just waiting for a reason to bury me alive beneath the Gallows.

...how big?

I think she's like that with a lot of people, so don't worry too much.

Almost at my knee. And he's just a baby.

(imagine.) D'you wanna meet him?

I'll worry as much as I like, thank you. [ A snort. ] She and Alexandrie are close, and there's a common concept of threatening a new significant other with bodily harm if they hurt someone you're close to.

Our dear Lady Baudin didn't even need to voice her threat. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it were the same for just about anyone else, honestly.

Almost to your knee. Goodness. When do I get to meet him? How are you training him?

Oh my god. (she sounds absolutely gleeful, sorry loki,) Do you think she'll tell you 'you break her heart, I break your face'? (because when it comes to gwen, that tracks...)

Whenever you like. Been sticking to the training yard. I thought it'd take some coaxing for him to feel comfortable around people swinging swords and making noise but he doesn't seem to care.

(he's steady. she likes him so much,) Come out on a walk with us some time.

I think she'd call me an idiot, again, if I needed to be told. Glad this is entertaining for you, though.

[ In her place he'd be a bit tickled too, so he understands. The tone gives this away. ]

Yes, definitely. What times do you walk him? I'll come by today.

Gonna go in a couple hours.

You can tell me more about Alexandrie while we walk. (she wants the hot goss ☕)

Then I'll meet you at the towers in a couple of hours.

It's a plan.

Loki will find the two of them waiting very patiently at the entrance to the tower, Abby trying to keep the puppy seated dutifully. He does it when asked but won't stay– there's too much going on around him, and he's clearly excited by the presence of other people. He has a bad habit of lunging toward those in passing. She'll train him out of it eventually; for now, it's difficult to tell him off for anything for too long. He's so adorable.

It's... more tempting than it really should be to let him loose at Loki just to see what will happen. Abby strongly suspects he'd knock him down like skittles and the mental image is fantastic.

She refrains.

"Be nice," she tells Wags, very sternly; he looks back at her with big, puppy dog eyes. His stumpy little tail is going absolutely wild as Loki approaches them, and there's no way he isn't going to jump up in greeting.

Edited 2021-11-29 02:33 (UTC)

Goodness, but that is a large dog considering its age; Loki blinks in their direction, pausing his approach briefly before he returns to it. He stops, a little in front of them, before squatting down and putting his hand out for the dog to sniff. He...somewhat remembers how dogs are.

It hasn't occurred to him that this puts his face in a prime licking position in relation to the mabari.

"What's his name?" He asks from his position (nearly) on the ground.

Oh, Loki. Rookie mistake.

Wags is all over him in a flash. Really, the hand out is the invitation, the explicit permission to get right up in his face and give him slobbery kisses. Abby drags him back, reigning him in firmly so he sits at her feet, but- well, she definitely let him get a bit of love in first.

"Sorry," she says, but there's too much laughter in it for it to sound sincere, "He's excited, he's just a baby-" To the dog, "Wags. Behave."

Abby ducks down to get his attention, and gets him focused on her, his eyes wide and understanding. Tail going all the while.

"This is Loki." She explains. "We like him. Okay?"

Wags' ears perk at the name. He looks like he's taking everything that Abby says deeply seriously. "Okay," Abby confirms, and ruffles him up happily. "Good boy."

Loki makes a hgrk sort of noise when the puppy starts licking his face, because augh that doesn't feel...any sort of clean, really, as much as Loki is inclined to like the animal otherwise. Abby's barely contained laughter doesn't do much to smooth his inherent ruffled-ness afterward either, but he does manage to reach out and pat the dog on the head as he's pulled away.

Gonna stand up now, thanks. And make a small face at how his skin feels.

"His name is Wags?" Please tell him that's short for something. Loki puts his hands in his pockets. "He seems very intelligent."

"His name's Wagner," Abby explains, and even though she's already paying him attention, he perks up immediately at the sound of his own name, and barks once. "He's very smart, aren't you? Aren't you..."

Her voice trails off into low murmurs of affection as she gives Wags a very good rub down. Feels so good to have a dog back in her life. She had no idea that she'd been missing Alice until she got him, really.

"Apparently he's going to be huge." And as she sounds satisfied by this, that doesn't appear to be a problem.

"I've seen a full-grown Mabari once or twice; their size is nothing to laugh at." Not exactly like some wolves he knows (of), but not everyone needs something large enough to take a bite out of the Bifrost, really.

At the thought, Loki gives a little shudder. Anyway. "Wagner is a good name. Should we start walking?" He gestures towards the rest of the island. "Have you had dogs before?"

"I know." She is very smug. She's going to train him how to fight with her, and the pair of them are going to be unstoppable.

But until then? Walkies.

She stashes her hands into her pockets of her coat as she straightens up, and Wags falls into step beside her. He is learning to heel, but the world around him is very interesting; he veers away from her as a horse passes, and Abby has to call him back sharply.

At least he recognises the sound of his own name?

"Sort of. My old faction owned a lot. They came out into the field with us all the time, everybody looked after them." She grins, almost sheepishly. "Haven't ever done it by myself before, so. Kinda winging it."

Loki tracks the movement of the dog with his eyes, raising eyebrows as Wagner immediately comes back at the sound of his own name. This dog is going to be terrifyingly smart to go along with what is bound to be a very imposing size.

Good. Abby has enemies, or at least one of them; she'll need someone to watch her back.

"So far I'd say you're doing pretty well, but I've never raised a dog."

A shrug.

"Don't jinx it."

A mabari feels a little like easy mode, but that's fine with her. Gives her enough room to consider where exactly she's going to house Wags as he starts to grow up...

"Good to see you," she adds, nudging him affectionately with her elbow. She would have worn the peacoat that he got her for Satinalia just to show him how handsome it looks, but when training a puppy it's best to keep the things you'd rather remained slobber-free hidden deep in your wardrobe... please understand. "Thanks for the presents. Felt kinda spoiled."

He doesn't feel at all bad about her not wearing the coat; at least she has another. "If it helps at all I've had...relatively few people upon which to bequeath gifts throughout my life." A shrug, but he feels some kind of way about it, clearly. "So I may have gone overboard when I drew your name."

Besides, friends of his? Deserve to feel spoiled. "Did you get anything else good?" Is he semi-avoiding the supposed topic of conversation? Yes.

"You got me for the gift exchange?" Oh, that makes it even better: she's ridiculously pleased. And, silently, touched that he would consider her somebody worthy of spoiling. That knowledge is better than everything that he got her, truly.

"Jone gave me a mace." Something she's very taken with, considering it's the first to be mentioned, "I got some great books, too." Tacked on, as if an after-thought: "Margaery got me a comb, for my hair." The way her gaze darts away from him and out into the middle distance is just as unsubtle.

"You?" She knows exactly what he's doing, but she'll let him play his little game for a minute longer.

"I did." Loki grins at Abby; he'd been more than pleased when he'd gotten the name off someone he knew and likes.

He taps a finger against his lip. "Jone is the redheaded woman who does weapons training?" Fitting, that she'd get Abby a weapon. He also catches that glance Abby, and chuckles about it.

"How are things with the lady?" Last they talked about Margaery, Abby was questioning how to know if she was liked.

"That's Jone."

Abby admires her, an emotion that has taken some time for her to formally name. Jone is a very capable person, an incredible fighter; she got Abby out of more than one tight spot back during the skeleton ambush. She needs to think of a way to repay her for watching her back. Saving her ass.

"Good," she answers, automatically. She isn't going to tack on an I think? or give Loki an inch, because she's decided that she's impatient, actually.

"And yours?"

There's a humming noise of consideration and raised eyebrows before Loki ducks his head for a moment, takes a breath, and looks toward the sky.

"It's good, I think. Complicated. But good." He rubs at his jaw a little. "I care about her a lot and I'm half certain that is going to bite me in the ass rather directly any moment now, but...good."

Bashful is a great look on him. Abby grins in response, glances down, and finds the puppy trailing them at a lazy distance: he's called back, for a second time, to her heel. He got into something back there while she was distracted... his paws and legs are all muddy. His face is too, from where he obviously shoved his nose into the smell. Damnit.

"Wags," she protests, but he only grins at his own name. Dogs.

To Loki, "What makes you think that? You're a catch."

"Goodness, Wagner," is said to the puppy. "Please keep your rather filthy but still impressive paws well away from me and my clothes, will you?"

Ever so politely.

"I'm not a catch; I'm a person with a monstrous past, didn't you know?" He shakes his head a little. "Something will go sideways. I don't know what I'm doing, really; she's married to the native variant of me, which, I don't know. I tell myself it's the same as what I would do, but is it? Would it be? We aren't the same; he left her here, to investigate something or another and cause trouble."

Huffing out a laugh that has no mirth to it. "I don't think I could do that. And that should terrify me." A beat. "It doesn't. That does terrify me. Inevitably something will go wrong. Things go wrong all the time, especially here."

Abby swallows a laugh when Wags tilts his head from side to side at the sound of Loki's voice, staring intently at him- he immediately darts off, as they start to hit more open and empty space, longing for a good run. She lets him go this time, he'll come back if she shouts.

Besides, this deserves her full attention.

And he's told her off for being self-deprecating. Abby's smile slips. "I do know," she says, after a beat. "S'why I like you." People with monstrous pasts should stick together. Remind each other not to make the same mistakes.

She isn't sure if he wants her advice, or her ear, but he's getting the former. He'll always have the latter anyway. "Kinda sounds like you're trying to talk yourself out of it. Why do you think you're going to fuck it up?"

Honest question. Gonna... circle back to this 'native variant' thing.

You ever wonder if people like us deserve good things is on the tip of his tongue before Loki manages to bite it back. If she said that, he would argue with her. And he doesn't exactly want to argue.

He's not sure what he wants. Someone to listen. Someone to tell him he's catastrophizing. Someone he can trust to be real and honest with him.

Abby suits that need.

Having thus reassured himself that he's not gone off and started a conversation he can't possibly see through, he turns her question over in his head for a moment. "Because I fuck up...everything." A shrug. "I get people killed, or plots unravel and people stop trusting me, so I've tried not...plotting anything, and I suppose that's going fine, but I don't really know how to tell?" He watches Wagner tear across the earth, chasing birds that hang out near the docks. "It's only been six months, more or less. I'm mortal now, so, a year matters, half a year matters." Another shrug, and he blinks, shaking his head. "Why wouldn't I think I was going to fuck it up?"

Ouch.

What he says hurts in more ways than one: he's a friend, most importantly. She cares about him, and it's sad that feels this way about himself, but those exact things could have come from her mouth and rung just as true. I fuck everything up. I get people killed. People stop trusting me.

She looks at the dog running down seagulls, his ears flapping madly in the wind.

Why wouldn't I think I was going to fuck it up?

You're a piece of shit, Abby. You always have been.

"I get it."

She really does, is the thing. More than he knows. "But other people pick up on stuff like that. Sometimes it can get really obvious. If you think it's going to happen that much, you could end up... engineering it." If that makes sense. Abby's pushed enough people away with her bullshit, she should know. "You owe yourself a better shot at it than that. This is important to you. Don't sabotage it now."

Loki puffs out his cheeks and sighs loudly, turning his gaze to the horizon. "We've talked about it, Alexandrie and I. About my propensity to sabotage the important things and my fears about it." He flares his nose, hands in his pockets. "And it's not terrible, when we talk about it. Not entirely, anyway. But the fears remain, and the feeling that if I don't sabotage it myself something worse will come along and take it from me anyway also remains."

It's that central fear he doesn't know what to do with. He knows that fear can undermine even the best laid plans and his plans aren't often the best laid, by experience.

"I'm trying very hard not to sabotage it, I think." It's hard to tell. It feels like work, anyway; difficult and uncomfortable. "But what happens if that doesn't matter, if it all falls apart anyway?"

Abby's lip curls a little. It isn't humourous, but rueful. The scenario he's describing has already happened to her, and she can attest to it hurting. Thedas took Lev away from her when she was trying so very hard to keep him. She wanted to learn how to be somebody he could count on and that opportunity is gone, forever. The injustice of it sits on her chest, like a weight pressing the air out of her lungs. It's so terrible, and unfair.

"If it does fall apart, it won't be because of you." She's twisting her hands together, her gaze momentarily flickering to him. His expression is unfathomable to her, but she can guess at the tangle inside of him. "So all you can really do about that is stay with her." Present, and there, not lost to what ifs. Easier said than done, but Abby believes in him. He's stronger than he thinks he is.

"She knows that you care, you know that she cares. If something does happen, you'll fight like hell to keep it."

Her arm nudges up against him, a tiny bit of affection, "I'm not gonna say it'll be fine and nothing will ever go wrong, cuz I don't wanna jinx it." A slight huff, before she adds, "But if it does, I'm here for you, you know. You won't have to deal with it by yourself."

His nostrils flare a little as she glances at him, but Loki holds his tongue in order to keep listening to Abby's advice. Which is what he's here for, isn't it? Someone to listen, and someone to be honest with him. Even though it terrifies him from all directions: having friends. Listening to advice. Someone being honest with him.

The possibility that he could do everything 'right' and still lose Alexandrie.

Terrifying, truly. It settles in his chest like an ice cube in his veins, settled in his heart.

"I will fight for it, no matter what happens." Unless Alexandrie asks him not to, which seems unlikely? Somehow? Even though in the back of his mind he expects it will happen, eventually. Her husband will come back and she'll realize it's too difficult to juggle two of them. She'll come to her senses, somehow. Abby brushes against his arm breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts, and so he takes his hand out of his pocket, wrapping his arm around both of her broad shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

It helps to be tall.

"Thanks, Abby; you're a good friend."

"Then you'll be okay."

He's very loud over there. Abby can hear him buzzing with thought as he spins himself through every terrible possibility, all the bitter what ifs. It reminds her of something that Owen used to tell her whenever he lost patience with her single-minded approach to training: That's your problem, Abs. You don't know how to switch off.

Is this what it looks like from the outside?

This conversation has made her realise how similar they really are, and there's both an awful kind of comfort in it, and an uncertainty that furrows her brow, but it isn't bad, that he takes a moment to pull her close. She leans into him, a quick press of weight against his side before she straightens up like she never did it.

"It's nothing." She's looking at Wags again, wondering if she should call him back already, "You'd do the same for me."

The problem with always scheming, always thinking, is that turning it off is near impossible; the problem with that always thinking, always scheming, turning inward on the mind of the person who does the plotting is that there's a long list of reasons why things may go awry. One knows the dangers because one is often the catalyst for danger towards others.

It warms him a little that she leans back into him. The contact is too brief for him, honestly, but he'll take it without complaint.

"I would," he admits, putting his hand back in his pocket, but that's such a weird thing. Would he have, before the TVA? Before Sylvie? Before arriving here? Hard to say. "Or I'd at least try my best."

It's too brief for Abby, but she isn't sure how to ask for more. She's never been shy and still isn't, but there is a hesitance that goes hand in hand with this comradery when the wounds from losing her friends back home haven't healed. She's never felt so aware of a relationship before, or been this beholden to not fucking something up; like stepping out onto an icy lake, and hoping it has frozen all the way through.

He's trying too. Loki is right out on the lake with her.

Abby clears her throat, stepping briefly ahead of him to bellow for the dog. He comes running, tearing across the grass to get back, and leaps up the moment he reaches her, painting her pants with his muddy paws. "Wags– no, bad–"

Might want to step back for a moment while she gets him settled.

Loki does step back because filthy, wet, and muddy pawprints all over his clothes are definitely not the look he's going for today. His hands stay in his pockets as he watches the two of them, expression distant and eyes slightly unfocused.

His mind is definitely elsewhere.

He's thinking of Asgard and its people. How there's an entire timeline of people he's never going to see again, like his brother. His mother. If he does ever see them again, they won't be exactly the same as the ones he left behind.

It makes him wonder what Abby's family is like. If she misses them.

But once Abby has Wagner settled down again Loki approaches once more, taking steps carefully measured as to get the least amount of mud on his boots as possible. "I'll admit, the 'you won't fuck this up' part was not what I expected you to open with."

She's pretty muddy once she gets him seated, but she can't stay exasperated with him, it's just so hard to be mad at a face like that... she gives a frown, and a huff, but her heart isn't in it. Moments later, she's allowing Wags to lick her chin.

"Yeah?"

Loki is back by her side, and the puppy is wriggly when she pushes him gently down to sit. He looks attentively between the two of them when she stands.

"What did you expect me to open with? I wasn't gonna agree with you." No pity parties allowed, not in this case. He hasn't lost anything, and so they shouldn't indulge in worrying.

If being this muddy and dirty is what it takes to properly raise a dog, Loki will be opting out, thanks.

He is a very sweet and intelligent creature though; Loki can see the appeal.

"Hm. Well. Something something husband something something disapproval something something what are you doing is what I expected the opening salvo to be, honestly." But, you know. There's something refreshing about being surprised in a pleasant direction.

Abby snorts humourlessly, and bears through an uncomfortable recollection of Owen and the boat with a strange look on her face before she answers him. She's staring at the puppy; eventually her expression softens again.

"It would be hypocritical if I judged you for your relationship choices." Mutter, shrug... "So."

Nice, honest advice instead. You're welcome! "But what does her husband think of you? And what does–" What term did he use? Oh, yeah, "'Native variant' mean, anyway."

"Doesn't stop most," he points out, albeit gently, because he doesn't exactly want Abby to change her practice towards him and his...unconventional relationship choices. Like, at all. But he still feels it requires note. "Not that I want you to be like most people."

Most people would not be his friend.

"I don't know what he thinks of me; he's currently missing." Loki weighs his hands. "It means...it means that I know there are versions of me in different worlds. People like me, with different lives but similar arcs, if that makes sense? Some of them may even have my name. This one does.

It's part of the multiverse. Well. It would be the theory, except we are living examples that it is more than that."

"I'm not most," she agrees, giving him a funny look, "Do you want me to tell you I'm disappointed in you, or something?"

Lest he forget she comes from a place where people you love can be ripped away from you at any moment; if he has happiness with Alexandrie, he should grab it in both hands and take it.

And his explanation makes more sense to her than it really should.

Abby worries her lower lip for half a second, thinking hard. "Yeah. It– I think there are other versions of me, too."

The one that Ellie talked about. The one she fought with in Santa Barbara. "Is it normal?"

"While the familiar can be very comforting... no, not really."

He would internalize that, if she said it, and part of him would really rather not go through that process. To be haunted by the specter of disappointment of others has driven him near to madness before.

Fairly, he'd prefer to avoid that this time around.

She makes a face, while she's biting at her lip, which makes Loki wonder what she's thinking of exactly. Has she encountered some timeline divergence, between herself and her enemy here? "It's... common; I don't think it's abnormal. You don't tend to know about it until you do."

"Good," she says, watching him, expression suddenly softer, "I wasn't gonna." It's hard for people like them to ask for affection, she knows that. Just as much as she knows they desperately need it anyway.

It would be nicer to stay in that moment than stew over the variant thing, but Abby has far too many questions to be able to let it lie. "Don't tend to know about it until the person who does bothers to actually tell you about it, you mean."

Which may answer his question perfectly.

Loki raises his eyebrows. Yes, that does answer his question, though he follows it up with: "I take that to mean your enemy, here, has some temporal variance that you don't? Memories that go beyond your own, or end before yours do?"

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I know things that the Provost didn't, when I arrived. I don't know if that's still true. I doubt he'd let me know."

She nods, clearly troubled.

"She told me some of it." The worst part: Abby's certain she wasn't being fucked with. The story cast Ellie in a bad light; worse still, she can't think of why Ellie would want to fuck with her at this point. They did terrible things to each other, but they've never lied about it.

Another glance at Loki, and this time she lingers, seeking reassurance. "... Do you find it hard? To be here with him?"

"It feels like it shouldn't; he made it clear where we stood." But that isn't exactly an answer to her question, is it? "It's hard to leave a past behind when you know people are telling true stories about your bad behavior. It's hard to have the only familiar face be one that you don't get along with, that doesn't trust you."

His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he shrugs. "But if I wanted to be remembered better I suppose I should have acted differently."

Abby snorts in understanding, mulling over this answer. She doesn't particularly care if Ellie ever trusts her. Abby doesn't much trust her either, and yet they exist together in the same space without any disruption. Maybe that is a form of trust, even though thinking about it that way feels cloying and heavy, like the cling of mud.

She wrinkles her nose.

"You told me you tried to take over an entire planet," she says eventually, looking up. "Why?"

Loki would say that it is a form of trust, albeit a very uneasy sort.

But he sighs, at that question, and gives a little shrug. "I was angry. At my family. And I wanted power, legitimized power, and that seemed a way to do it." Not an easy one, mind, but a way nonetheless. "Not the best plan I've ever had, by far."

But none of his plans have been excellent, really.

Uneasy; pathetic? Trust that you try too hard to explain away.

"I'm guessing it didn't work out so well." And the Provost here is an enemy because of it. Abby is guessing that isn't the only enemy Loki received as a result of this plan. "Sorry," she adds, hoping she didn't make him uncomfortable, "We don't have to talk about it."

Necessary. Pathetic, not so much, not by his measure.

"Definitely not." It could have been much worse, honestly. He could have been usurped by a revolutionary underground after the fact instead. That would have been an embarrassment.

Loki shakes his head. "It's fine." It doesn't make him uncomfortable, just annoyed at how everything went down. "You should know."

She makes a noise of understanding, hands pressing into her pockets. She can't exactly ask him why he thinks she should know, not when she did the exact same to him: you should know before you decide to get close to me.

Is it weird that she likes that they have this odd thing in common: bad decisions on a cataclysmic scale. Makes her feel a little more grounded.

The dog has shot off at a mad sprint again while they've been talking. He's gonna be so tired later. Abby chuckles, and scuffs at the ground with her shoe. She holds her breath for a moment. "... D'you regret it?"

Loki also watches the dog run as he turns her question over in his head.

"Yes," comes after a beat, because he needed to figure out if they were really regrets, what he felt, or just annoyance at the aftermath; a chain reaction he didn't properly predict. "Oh, certainly, it would have been grand if it had been ever capable of working, but it wasn't. At any point. Besides which, I don't really want to run an entire planet when one gets down to the brass tacks of the matter."

She snorts, kicking at the ground. It might be the same scale, but destroying a planet, and hunting down one, specific person? They're at opposite ends: two completely different extremes, and regret, for Abby, is a messy process. She doesn't know how to make jokes about it yet.

"Yeah," she says, just to say something. Maybe she'd expected something a little more sincere in response.

"I regret deciding I needed to be the monster of the fairy tale."

That comes after a few beats of both of them standing, silently. The mabari is still running from one end to the other, but Loki has long ceased tracking his movements. "I regret that it became my legacy. That I caused so much damage, so much heartbreak." For some people he will forever be the villain. He regrets that too.

She looks at him then, watching him work through the next few words like she's gauging something in what he says. Her brow furrows. There's a sympathetic ache in her chest.

"Yeah." This time, her voice is a little hoarse. She directs a grim squint out toward the horizon. "I– feel like that, too."

Her feelings about what she did to Joel are so snarled around the core of her grief that it's difficult to parse them out, but she can call that sentiment true. The fallout from her actions ruined everything.

He hears that note in her voice and swallows, nodding. It's difficult, the matter of growing a conscience after the deeds have been done. Knowing you've done terrible things, that your future actions may never properly outweigh.

Loki draws his hand through his hair, pushing loose strands away from his face that the wind will simply whip up once more as soon as he's done.

"I wonder, sometimes, if it isn't easier to just remain the villain." Shaking his head. "But that doesn't feel like a real option, and I don't want to remain the same."

Abby snorts, the sound humourless.

"Trust me, it's– not." It's funny to think of herself as a villain (kinda over the top, right...) but to some people she was. To Ellie, she probably was. To the Seraphites, she definitely was. "You have to find a way to break out of it. And keep going."

There is all the difference between inching forward and turning around in endless circles.

"Being forced into a world and a humanity that I neither chose nor asked for seems like a clean enough break from the past," he points out, huffing out a sigh. "I suppose once one grows a conscience it is very difficult to turn back to one's old ways."

"You didn't have a conscience before you suddenly grew one?" The temptation to make a joke is too strong, the subject matter is slightly uncomfortable. "You should probably get that checked out."

"Where? Here?" He raises his eyebrows. "What would they even tell me? Too much hubris? I know that."

She laughs breathily, grinning, "God, probably. The guy I met when I first arrived didn't know what anesthetic was."

Like, it makes sense but... whewf.

Loki shakes his head. "You really don't want to think about how long people have been, historically, conducting surgeries without anesthetics."

"We had to do that," Abby reminds him, grimly, "Back home. We didn't always have it to hand."

Or to spare. You had to reserve it for the worst of the worst.

"Eugh." A shudder. Remind him not to travel to your timeline, Abby. He'd hate it there. "At least the healers here are nice."

Yeah, don't do that. Not even out of morbid curiousity.

"They are."

A friendly nudge, at his side with her elbow. "You good?" Might be time to be getting in. She's going to have to find a place to rinse Wags' paws off before she marches him up the tower.

Loki nods a bit, shifting his gaze back to his friend. "Yeah, I'm good. Are you good?"

"Mm hmm."

She is, the brief conversation about regret notwithstanding. Though, it's the most she's ever spoken about it before. To anybody. Surely that counts for something.

"I'm– gonna see if I can find something to give the dog," she says, hands in pockets. A bone, or a bit of good food. "Wanna come?"

"Sure," Loki answers since he'd rather spend more time with Abby than spend more time spinning in his own brain about his own failures, real or believed, past or future.

"Let's find this good boy some good treats, hm?" He grins at Abby, at Wagner.

[He meets her in Lowtown, the alley where they’d first met. Neutral territory, and unlike his home, won’t put her back on her heels only a few steps into conversation (and not the Gallows, either, where Astarion frequently sours over the miserable history that clings miasmic to its high walls).

The moment he sees her, he doesn’t wait.]

You said you wanted to talk. [It isn’t barbed or sharp, it isn’t cruel or pushing— only a little wary.

Which is, for the record, what he is by default in everything.]

So talk.

(... Uh yeah she was going to, but he just had to get the first word in didn't he. She regards him with both arms folded across her chest, containing herself. It's for his safety; her feelings toward him are volatile at best. She's still testing them, prodding gently at bruising skin.

In short: Abby has been thinking about this a lot, specifically what she wants. She's decided what would make this feel right instead of fragile, imbalanced.)

I want you to tell me something about yourself.

(There could be room for a sly comment here which is why she keeps going, determined to stomp out any opportunity for him to make one of his shit, crass jokes. It would ruin the entire conversation before its really started,) Something like what that place took from me.

(Something of equal value.)

It's only fair.

Life isn’t fair, as you well know. Why you expect me to be is baffling.

But fine. In the interest of our necessary ongoing camaraderie— and maybe, just a little bit, because you put in a decent effort in Val Chevin on my behalf— all right. [This isn't a concession made out of contempt, despite his fuss. He's simply guarded, and maybe it shows, just a touch, in his tightened posture. Rigid and sharp, stiff through his own shoulders.]

One fact, equally damning, and if you so much as breathe a snide little joke about it in my direction, know that I'll either happily air the nasty little details of what I witnessed in that castle to the network at large, or simply rip your throat out with my teeth.

And even I can't say which one will be more appealing in the moment.

So.

[He holds out his hand, gloved palm turned upwards.]

Deal?

(She stares at him, one eyebrow raised as if to ask 'are you finished?', and the pause before she reaches out to take his hand is deliberate. She has no idea why he thinks she might say anything. She never has, this entire time, has she. Wasn't that the entire fucking point behind why she's so embarrassed that he now knows.)

Deal.

(Angling her own hand, she turns it the gesture into more of a curt shake. In her mind's eye, she can see how he might have pulled the back of her hand toward his mouth and she's not in the mood for his version of charming.

But is she ever?

With his hand released, all she has to do now is wait.)

[If ever voiced aloud, he might press the one time she'd gone straight to Ellie to crack the figurative hammer down right overtop his very finely sculpted skull— but that was, after all, blackmail, and even Astarion knows the difference.]

Then without further adieu, I offer you what few memories I still have of my own prior existence: and the knowledge that even amongst vampires, not every monster is created equal. [If nothing else, he has a storyteller's voice: it works now to twist the pain of recounting something far deeper into a tapestry of well-distanced recitation, as though the life he's talking about isn't his own, despite the obvious truth. As though discussing whether or not rats have been in the Gallows kitchen again, or when the snowfall might come to a sudden stop at last, making room for warmer stretches.]

All that I can remember of my former life was that I was attacked in the street the night I died. [One memory. One left, etched into his mind like stone.] A lone elf cornered by a pack of Gur— humans, to oversimplify for the uninformed— and subsequently unmade by their contempt.

I was bleeding to death when he found me, the vampire that sired me, Cazador Szarr. A vision cloaked in power itself.

He cut down my assailants with indescribable ease, scattered them all like rats. And, as I lay dying, he offered me salvation. Rescue from the inevitability of my own fate.

I took it.

[Of course he took it.]

Or so I thought.

You see, vampirism is a shockingly tricky thing: get bitten, and you turn, yes, but to secure the bargain, you need to bite your sire in return. [The little caveat no one ever talks about. The one not mentioned in superstition.

Astarion wonders now just how deliberate a factor that is.]

The second part, Cazador had no interest in. He never did.

Instead, without his blood on my lips, I became a vampire spawn. [He says it with all due ugliness: tongue curling, eyes narrowed. Bile pooling across his tongue:] A thrall, bound body and soul to its master, unable to resist his every command, right down to the very last uttered detail.

He could demand I throw myself from the highest tower in the city, and, no matter how much my mind might rail against it, on my body would walk, all too happy to damn me for his amusement.

For two hundred years, he and his sadistic ilk asked infinitely more of me than that.

[So. As he clasps his hands and smiles.]

Let’s just say I would’ve preferred the tower.

(He does have a storyteller's voice. He uses it to glorify two centuries worth of suffering for her and while Abby listens, the lick of righteous anger in her chest fizzles out completely. Something sharp takes its place, something she can hardly bear to examine. He's the victim of a single person who carelessly turned his life upside down, and how could she possibly not empathise with that. It sits so uncomfortably. It brings no relief. It seems childish to her that she ever thought this might balance something out between them.

It's not the first time she's forgotten she doesn't have a monopoly on pain, and loss.)

... I won't tell, (is the only thing she can think of to say, short and aching. She won't tell anybody about this or make snide jokes, and not only out of self-preservation.

It occurs to her that this is exactly how her and Ellie have been operating around each other. They carefully hold onto each other's key bits of information, and relax under the assurance of mutual self-destruction. It's no way to live, but people like them don't know many other ways.)

[She's almost unreadable for how clipped she is, even to Astarion's perceptive eyes— and he's a cynical thing at heart. A wary thing, too many times burned; erring on the side of muted interpretation comes all too naturally.

So he doesn’t thank her for her promised discretion. Why would he? This is a transactional exchange for both of them; she didn’t ask after him because she cared, and she certainly didn’t call him here for anything other than to make sure they were even: a pair of daggers held figuratively to one another’s throats, as far as he can surmise from all present promise.

He can live with that. Happily.]

Obliged.

Particularly when it comes to the others in Riftwatch, there’s no such thing as too careful.

[Ever the gentle optimist, Astarion.]

(She didn't think that he would thank her, and it aches a little when he doesn't acknowledge their shared pain anyway. But she wonders why she thinks she deserves that from him. Surely any hope of extending an olive branch has long since passed, and how fucked up would it be to want that now? Only now, that she knows they harbor secrets like that. That pain made them different.

The complication sits in her gut like a stone. Abby isn't sure what she wants.)

Yeah.

(She wonders if asking questions is okay. Only one way to find out.)

... How did you save yourself?

I didn’t.

[There’s no hesitation on his part. No embellishment this time: his voice so uncharacteristically level and low-set that it barely registers as Astarion at all, given his usual adorning flair.

Without it, he’s someone else entirely.

Maybe who he was before his sire's corruptive bite.]

Thedas did.

[And isn’t that a wonderful and wretched lot all at once, knowing the one thing that rescued you from the jaws of madness is the one thing that— at any moment— could so easily be rescinded.

Rifters are demons. Rifters are spirits. Rifters are dreams. They’re nothing. They don't last. It’s so easily said, here. So easily dismissed, the weight and worth of the souls stumbling desperately out of the Fade without a single choice in the matter.

They don’t know what it’s like. And Astarion resents every last Thedosian that dares to say it in front of him.]

How did you save yourself.

I didn't.

(Her voice is low like his, and a little rueful.) Somebody else did.

(Half of their story is the same. The first part, the part where Abby couldn't save herself; she wasn't trying hard enough, she thinks, or maybe she didn't really want to. Maybe she didn't see anything worth salvaging. Lev saw something different.

And Thedas took him away. Thedas put a whole world between them.

She looks at him carefully, her arms drawn across herself.)

I'm glad that you're free here.

(Abby can mean that and still mourn what she lost. It's not like Thedas hasn't tried its best to placate her. She isn't lonely here, and she's met people she thinks she could, one day, try to love.)

I...

[It takes him by surprise, that confession; everything that he’d expected from her, everything that they’ve wrought from one another’s company: tense and sharp and brittle besides, difficult in all the wrong ways (how he’d tried to comfort her, and even that failed— though still he remembers her locking grip against his chest, shivering sharp and fierce, laced with indescribable anguish).

Incompatible might be the word for it.

And yet.

And yet here she is, open and far from snapping when she says she’s glad he’s found his freedom.

Sincere.

He—

He doesn’t know what to do with that, if he’s honest. His stare a little too hangdog, his eyes low and lifted all at once in clear disbelief: eyebrows pinched, chin set nearer to his shoulders.

No preening. No sneers.]

Mm. [A hum that sticks to the back of his fangs.

Somewhere beyond the alley where they’ve met, cargo clatters as it’s hauled roughly into place, chased by the sounds of barking. Distant.]

...thank you.

[He doesn’t know if he means it. He doesn’t know if he can, but...it is trying, isn’t it.

He is trying.]

What happened to them. The person that saved you.

(Abby's head turns in the direction of the faint ruckus. Her body turns too, almost imperceptibly, to face the unknown threat. She's used to reacting to the slightest sound, having to take every rustle seriously, but maybe she looks to give them both a moment to recover, too. Astarion from the surprise of hearing her say that to him and Abby from the surprise of having said it at all because she's unsure where it came from. It was a strange need to empathise.

His gratitude receives a grunt in reply in lieu of knowing what to say.

Then, lightly,) I don't know. (As if it doesn't ache like a slow-healing wound. Every single day.) It was him, and me. We didn't have anybody else.

(He isn't alone. He's still with whatever part of Abby that was left behind when she came here, but it's difficult to wrap her head around the notion. Here, she's without him. She's been having dreams of him struggling, without her.

Her breath catches. A quick in-in-out.)

I hope he's okay.

(God, she misses him.)

[Softness feels uncomfortable; they aren’t there just yet, the two of them. Not him with her, not her with him— not even with the painful memories they’ve shared like a buffer, or the weight of the words thank you and I’m glad that you're free here still lingering.

But standing there in the negative space their lives have cut, empty air and immediate silence pervading, only one thing comes to mind. So there's no pretense when he asks, bluntly:]

Tell me about him.

(She doesn't look at him to assess whether or not he's being serious, simply leans into the ease of being told to do something, and following instruction. Abby is good at doing that. And she's barely spoken about Lev the entire time she's been living here, even though guarding him isn't her job any more.

It helps that Astarion doesn't act as if this is a soft moment between them, but more like a blood-letting.)

Just a– stupid kid, (she says, but her voice breaks over the sentence, cuz he was hers.) Saved my life back home. Cut me down after his people strung me up. (A sharp inhale, in memory.) They were going to cut my stomach open and pull my guts out with their bare fucking hands, and he– stopped them.

(Yara did too, but Yara is far too sore a subject; she omits the detail, and hopes she'll be forgiven for it.)

Where he came from wasn't safe. (Nothing unusual for either of them but,) I wanted to be that for him.

(Lev wasn't asking for much. Only to be himself.)

What's wrong with the Four Humours?

[ Quick and to the point, sadly. ]

(Snort,) What do you mean what's wrong with it? It's a personality test, not medicine.

It is written in every single medical text that I have ever read, both here and Nevarra. How does it relate to personality?

"If you have too much black bile, you're sad." How could it not?

If you have black bile, you've got an infection. What do your books say about germs?

Obviously, that's what an infection is. They don't say anything about germs. What are they?

(Muttered,) Christ.

You get diseases from germs. If you have an infection, it's probably because you got one from bacteria off your hands or something. Bacteria is a type of germ.

[ She is literally making notes. ]

How do you get rid of them? Germs?

You can't get rid of them, they're everywhere.

[ Genuine, and emphatically: ]

What the fuck, Abby.

(Would it be a bad time to mention that they're so small you can't see them orrrr)

You can stop spreading them by practicing good hygiene.

Are you suggesting I don't practice good hygiene?

No, I was thinking of other people.

(Edgard.)

You realise you have just told me my entire life has been for practically nothing, yes?

I–

(Oh shit,) Uh, but– something had to exist before germ theory in order to get there eventually. What you're doing right now is really important.

Important, but factually incorrect.

Where I came here from, yeah. For all I know it's completely different here.

Would it be much trouble if you were to write down what you know?

No, but it won't be very extensive.

It'll be better than nothing.

Okay.

(Awkward pause, and:) Sorry.

Your apology has been accepted.

[ But she's still pissed. ]

(More than fair,) I'll bring you what I know as soon as possible.

(and probably a nice bottle of wine to go with it)

Thank you, Abby.

It's late. Well into the wee hours of the morning, when everyone respectable is well asleep, and Ellie doesn't have a mind to wake anyone.

The slice had been a stupid mistake, one of those things one didn't really notice until the blood stopped pumping and one was well away from the danger, then glanced down and wondered why there was a giant stain.

All told, Ellie's more pissed about the ruined breeches than she is about the slice running across her hipbone. It's deep enough to need stitches, but only just. Definitely not anything to wake anybody up over. Something she can take care of, herself.

So Ellie posts herself up in one of the kitchens, where the fire's banked with coals. She turns up an oil lamp, sets it on the counter, and squints in the shitty light at the shitty angle.

The fourth time she can't thread the fucking needle, Ellie swears under her breath, soft and frustrated with herself and her stupid fingers. Or lack of them, really.

Abby's one of the less respectable then, up way past her bedtime but irritatingly restless. It's difficult to get comfortable in the aftermath of having almost been kidnapped... and even harder to stay in a room that feels so far away from where Loki has been dozing off his poisoning. The current idea is that walking herself around the perimeter of the mansion they're occupying might soothe her anxiety, and moving her legs does help.

Stumbling across Ellie in one of the kitchens doesn't, but you can't have everything.

She's not in the mood for talking to her and almost turns to leave when she suddenly notices the wicked gash across Ellie's bare hip, tilted up into the circle of light cast by her dingy oil lamp.

"Shit," she hisses, angry with how hard her pulse is beating. That scared her. "Are you okay?"

She makes herself go closer to confirm that she is. The cut is nothing too serious: deep in a few places, and wanting only stitches. Nasty place to get an injury. She'll feel it tugging while she walks.

Seriously, is there some cosmic thread binding them together?

Ellie gets so much more caustic in her thoughts when she's in pain, and the look she gives Abby just for asking is scathing. She'd love to tell her to just fucking get out, but this is an actually public-to-Riftwatch place, and she can't just unilaterally order her out of the kitchen.

She also can't leave, if she wants to get this stitched right, and there's no light anywhere else.

"I'm fine," she mutters, more annoyed than anything, and bites back a why do you care because it's fucking redundant.

"No poison or anything. Just a lucky swing."

She can't fault the filthy look Ellie gives her in return. She knows she'd feel exactly the same way if the roles were reversed, but they aren't, and Ellie is the one with her breeches peeled down from her waist, trying to– fucking hell, stitch herself up by lamp-light.

Abby is too bothered by the stupidity of it to hate herself for saying, "Seriously? Give me that."

She holds her hand out expectantly for the needle. She hasn't even got it threaded yet. Abby could do that and finish the stitches in five minutes.

Ellie's half-tempted to stab her with it for daring to suggest it, but she's all too aware of the fact that she needs the help to get it done, and she doesn't want to wake anyone with such a comparatively minor injury.

That said, she's not entirely sure of how many of them don't know how to properly do sutures, given what passes for medicine here. The hack job she'd done of Joel's gut had been pretty in comparison.

With a sigh, she hands over the needle, as well as the elfroot salve she's using to disinfect it and promote healing.

"It's in a shitty place for it," she grumbles, but does shift her pants farther down on that side -- still decent if anyone walks in, but enough to show a multitude of other scars. More, once she pulls up her tunic on that side, showing the rather gnarly one she'd gotten in Santa Barbara.

It nearly did her in, and the edges of the scars there show it. She ripped the stitches out by fighting before it was healed enough to bear it, and far more than once.

"No kidding," Abby mutters, looking at it critically, deciding where to start: down up will be best. The thought of having to fold herself in half to work on it properly isn't appealing. Kneeling before her isn't either.

She compromises by tapping the kitchen counter. "Sit." They can wipe it down later.

"Another one to add to your collection?" she adds blithely as Ellie reveals more inches of fucked up hip and waist. Abby looks much the same underneath of her own clothing but her gaze is still drawn to the most recent and the ugliest of the lot. A hooked claw shape. The skin is puckered from stitches that lay badly or were ripped out early.

She almost touches it without thinking, only just curbing the impulse. She busies herself with threading the needle instead.

Possibly to her credit, Ellie doesn't bitch about it. It'll put Abby more eye-level with the cut, though moving as she must to get up on the counter does mean she bleeds all the fuck over it.

(Astarion's gonna give her hell later. He can probably smell her blood a mile away. They'll just have to clean up well.)

"Right," Ellie huffs, and awkwardly catches sight of how Abby stops herself from touching one of her worst scars, that puckered monstrosity. She keeps talking, like that'll stave off how fucking weird this is, keep her from thinking about it.

"I'll just keep my assassination attempt in Rialto right next to my Rattler trap gut wound."

"Sure."

She's not really listening. She doesn't care about Ellie or where she got her disgusting looking scar from. She threads the needle, and looks at the gash on her hip critically before taking one of the kitchen's clean cloths so she can blot at the blood.

"You stitched it yourself?" The puckered thing on her waist. What a hack job... she's lucky Abby accidentally walked in on her, and Abby doesn't say as much out loud but it's definitely implied in her judgy little silence.

She has to put Ellie's thigh between her legs so she can keep the hip centered, and her free hand flat on the bone to keep her taut. Makes the first few stitches a little easier.

It's not weird if neither of them acknowledge it, so don't.

"Yeah," Ellie grumbles, sensing that judgment, sensitive to it. Given how she got it-

She falls into silence as Abby leans in close, trapping one of her legs between hers, close enough to get a whiff of the pine soap Abby's favored even in Thedas. It makes her stomach turn over.

"I got caught in a snare around my ankle. Swung back and hit the tree. There was a broken-off branch. The part that was left was sharp. It went in a few inches."

She'd like to see Abby find a way to fucking survive that, let alone make it look pretty. But really, she's talking just to talk. Like that'll somehow stave off the intense weirdness of having Abby this close to her. Helping.

Ellie breathes out, and manages not to jump at the sting from the needle going in, tugging at her. She takes deep, slow breaths. It's familiar, but still very gross sensation.

Edited 2022-05-10 21:07 (UTC)

Predictably, the wound protests immediately to being stabbed. Abby has to keep the cloth handy, wadded up on Ellie's thigh. It's easy to detach while she does this and focus on the task at hand, but she still winces in response to the story, grimacing as she pauses to wipe away fresh blood.

"Fuck," seems like the most appropriate response to that. "Did it pierce anything?" That Ellie got caught in a snare that was obviously built to hold the weight of a human is passed over without comment. The stark reality of it makes Abby feel sick, and she doesn't want to think about it any more than she has to.

Slavers. Unfortunately, she can put two and two together. And the hip gash is, mercifully, far more straight forward. And less dire.

"Nothing vital," Ellie answers, her voice tight as Abby wipes away the blood. It's good to have something else to focus on, so she doesn't have to fucking think about the fact that it's Abby sewing her up.

She mostly manages to get past it. To see Abby as a person, an ally, a fellow member of Riftwatch, rather than an entity that still rocks in and fucks up her nightmares.

It's so much easier not to think about it, but it still clamors to be heard.

Ellie drowns it out. She's coming to realize that all of these feelings can exist and all be true at the same time, but it's still difficult to reconcile.

"I didn't bleed out, but it still fucked me up pretty good. I don't..."

She trails off, realizing, and not for the first time, how truly insane those days in Santa Barbara were. How un-fucking-hinged she had to be to do everything she'd done. To keep on going while she was that hurt.

She wonders if letting Abby this close makes her more bonkers or less.

"I probably shouldn't have survived it."

But it went deep into her trunk, where she undoubtedly helped it along by still moving, and fighting, ignoring it as it tore open further. Abby is guessing here, but she thinks she's right. She understands not being able to stop and take care of yourself in the moment. Understands even more being impatient with wound care. Her and Ellie... she has to admit that they have a lot in common, even though it makes her wildly uncomfortable.

She hums as an answer. She's not about to say that she's glad Ellie didn't die of it, but can't say she wishes she had either. It's complicated.

Making good progress on the stitches now. She's keeping the thing smeared with the elfroot salve as she goes, and it's really helping with the inflammation.

Offhandedly, as if she's just thought about it, "You didn't want to see a healer?"

Isn't she all... buddy-buddy with Derrica?

Probably best not to think on it anyway. It probably won't wind up yielding anything like answers. So Ellie just shuts her eyes and breathes through the pain. She's had practice, so thankfully it's not as hard as it might've been. For all Abby's bulk, she's not heavy-handed with the needle, so there's that.

That, and the elfroot. It's good stuff. Even if it can't stop the hurting, it does take the edge off.

"Would you?" she asks a little dryly, knowing the answer. Maybe the answer's different for the Riftwatch folks, or the natives of Thedas, but Ellie and Abby operate on a different level. One that means doing their own stitches, or sewing up allies on countertops by lantern-light.

It feels weird, knowing that Abby really is her only link to home.

Abby grumbles wordlessly because she doesn't need to answer that. They both know that she wouldn't. In fact, if it had been her with the gash their roles could have been easily and perfectly reversed, except that she wouldn't be trying to stitch herself up in the fucking kitchen to begin with. It's unsanitary.

Another pause, to dab the blood away.

Every single time they interact, Abby is reminded of how they're more similar than she cares to acknowledge. It both comforts, and pisses her off. "Nearly there," she adds. She's come to the trench of the cut anyway.

Also, "Fuck the Crows." Fucking... scary bastards. Abby thinks she doesn't rattle easy, but there was something very bloodless about the one that tried to abduct her in the marketplace. "What happened?"

Ellie shuts her eyes as the thread of the sutures pulls at her, breathing deeply. This is always the worst part, where she can feel the skin drawing together. It's the bit that turns her stomach, makes her want to dip her head. Instead she concentrates on her breathing, on Abby's low voice, and numbs it out again.

"Ah..." it was sharp. A deep breath in, and she answers.

"Wasn't professional. If he was he would've poisoned the knife," she mutters, then considers that she's already dosed on antivenoms, so it could be that it was poisoned, and it just wasn't able to take hold.

"Caught some dude skulking around the griffons. I got him from behind but I wasn't expecting his neck to be armored. Knocked me around some."

Ellie sounds bitter about it, like it's the equivalent of falling off her horse. Normal, expected to happen at times, but she's experienced enough to recognize the lapse in judgment for what it was.

"Didn't notice I was bleeding until I got back."

Abby almost mutters an apology and catches it just in time. Ellie knows she's only doing a job, and she knows the sickly, bodiless feeling of a needle gliding in and out of skin all too well. There's nothing to be sorry about, it is what it is. Best thing she can do is keep Ellie talking, and distracted from what's going on at her hip. She's doing well, holding very still for Abby while she makes her row of strong, neat stitches. It will barely scar.

"Shit." She's not playing any of it off, just– she had that same, bitter feeling about the guy in the marketplace, like she should have known better. Opting to share what's on her mind for once, she adds, "One of them tried to kidnap me yesterday. Almost got me in the fucking spleen when it went south."

She was lucky Barrow was there and acted when he did. Really lucky.

She has to pause for just a second to breath in again, and steady up her hands. "They know what they're doing."

Compared to the Scars, they're abjectly terrifying.

Ellie can tell from the feel that it's going to be one of the better stitch jobs she's had over the years, especially given that they're in a safe place with the proper tools. She leans her head back against the tiled wall, breathes out, and stays still for her.

"Yikes," she mutters, and nearly follows it with good thing you got away. An uneasy feeling settles over her, and she opens her eyes, finding Abby's face in the lantern light, frowning.

"I thought they wanted to kill us. Why would they kidnap us instead?"

"Dunno," Abby answers, and her tone is casual enough, but her shoulders have gone rigid. This lends itself to even more pedantic stitches, but hey. Ellie's not gonna be able to rip these ones out unless she does something truly fucking stupid, so there's that.

She can feel her looking at her. She glances up, catching her eyes for a moment before she returns to her work. Wonders if she imagined seeing a glimpse of what Ellie left unspoken there.

"For my shard, I guess? I was with Vanya, and they chose me over him."

It feels unnecessary to add: and look at me. Who the fuck would choose me?

Edited (if i use the same big word twice in a tag i'll explode) 2022-05-17 01:21 (UTC)

It's uncomfortable to think of Jim, given that his loss is still so fresh, but she can't help but think of him. Of what he'd said. How she'd taken it in stride, because being kidnapped and experimented on is... well. Not a new thought.

But she hesitates to introduce it to Abby for a moment before deciding that she should know.

"Yeah. It's probably because of your shard," she says quietly, indicating her hand. "You had it covered though, right? That means some of 'em probably know you're a Rifter."

"Haven't taken off my gloves since I got here." Well. 'Cept for now, here in the kitchen with Ellie, the shard providing a tiny bit of extra light for the stitches. And when she's bathing, obviously. And in the mansion from time to time, but they're always in her pocket, ready to be slipped back on again.

It just feels like she fucked up, that's all. Made some kind of stupid mistake which resulted in Derrica, having to tend to her wounds. Again.

Abby sighs. She wipes a last smear of blood away with her thumb and asks, "Can I borrow your knife."

Just to cut the thread, that's all.

Ellie glances down between them, fighting the tiniest bit of a glint in her eye before she decides to say nothing. They both know what Abby means, she isn't going to be a shit about it. Sadly, if she and Abby had been friends, she would've.

Instead she shrugs the shoulder opposite of the wound, makes a low noise.

"Wouldn't be that hard to build up a list of people they know are a part of Riftwatch. From what Yseult says, these guys are professionals. Makes sense to do their homework."

She pauses at the question, more on principle than lack of trust. Does she believe that Abby would do anything? No. But the several times Abby had contact with this knife, it was because Ellie was stabbing her with it.

She rocks to one asscheek, eases it slowly out of her back pocket, and hits the catch to flip the switchblade open. She flicks her hand to hold it by the blade, then hands it over.

It feels like more of a statement than anything else they've said tonight.

She wipes her hand off of her pants before she takes the switchblade, getting Ellie's blood on her without noticing. She's busy thinking about what she just said, because it almost felt like reassurance. These guys are professionals; it wasn't your fault. Hrm.

She cuts the excess thread and presses gently over the edge of the last stitch. It's a good job, she's happy with it; moreso it feels more than a little surreal to have Ellie at the pointy end of a knife for once. It's like a role reversal and a sick joke is right on the tip of her tongue before she realises, bites it back.

God. The fuck is wrong with her?

"Thanks," she says shortly, and shuts it with a click to hand it back. Recognises it the moment it's out of her hand, her gaze lingering unsubtly. She clears her throat, brow furrowing. "... Did it come through the Rift with you?"

Edited 2022-05-19 05:48 (UTC)

Ellie watches her do it, doesn't wonder at the way she lingers. She'd do the same if their situations were reversed.

Abby came when her friends' deaths were fresh. She's had even less time to process than Ellie has.

Or maybe it's that she's been processing since they were fourteen, and she found what Joel did in that hospital.

She holds out her hand to accept the knife back, holds it in her palm a moment as Abby asks, weighing what to say, because there's... so much. Abby recognizes it, Ellie knows.

"It used to be my mom's," she says, rubbing her thumb over the inlay along the side. "Never met her. She and Marlene were friends, though. A long time ago."

For the first time, she wonders, threads things together. Abby's father was a doctor. Her mom had been a nurse. Had they known each other, all those years ago? Before Abby or Ellie came along?

She banishes the thought, relegating it to the back of her mind. One more thing to chew over when she can't sleep.

"I lost it, in Santa Barbara," she adds. "But in the Fade, I dreamed I had it. So it came through the Rift, too."

She watches Ellie's thumb rub over the lip of inlay and realises what she's feeling is envy. She's envious of her getting to have something that came from her mom, when she has nothing from her dad. She kept all his stuff in her room back at the stadium and when whatever's left of the WLF goes through that room, her and Manny's, they'll box everything in there up and redistribute it, clear it out. Survivors don't throw anything away. Somebody else will get all of Manny's photography equipment, lovingly collected and restored over the years; her cassette tapes, her favourite books, her dad's alma mater mug.

It takes real effort to put that thought aside, try to banish it.

"I came here out of a nightmare." Her usual: the long hospital corridor bathed in red light, alarms wailing, "My bag wasn't even full."

But she doesn't want to talk about it. Knowing about the knife is enough, really, and that Ellie wanted to tell her about it. Abby clears her throat and takes a good step back to clear her head. "Try stretching your leg."

It's a much safer topic of conversation.

Edited 2022-05-19 06:42 (UTC)

Ellie is quiet, reading but not reading the thoughts Abby's having underneath the surface. She can sense the tangle of emotions, mostly because she knows them well. She just can't do anything to understand details.

That's what doesn't fit about Abby. The details.

She wonders if she's ever known anyone so well, and yet not at all.

Ellie wrestles with it, the idea of asking about it. Her nightmare. Whatever would keep her with a half-full bag.

What was the worst day of your life?

Was it because of me?

She resolves to do it. To ask. To say it out loud, to ask about Abby as a person and damn the consequences, but then Abby brings it back to her hurts, and the moment shatters. Ellie shakes herself out of the strangeness and back to the present, and stretches out her leg in front of her, flexing the muscles before she slides off the edge and onto her feet. Puts weight on it.

It pulls a touch, but it's sturdy.

"Stitches aren't going anywhere."

"Good." Both in response and reaction to Ellie testing her weight until Abby's critical eye. Easy. They're done here.

But it feels too abrupt to pack herself up and leave.

It always feels like this lately with Ellie, like they aren't finished talking even though they've run out of things to say. Even now there's a strange tension, not necessarily unbearable, just- undeniably there. Abby pinches the inside of her cheek gently between her teeth, worrying the skin.

She says, lamely, "Do you... need help cleaning up?" They kinda got the blood all over the place. Abby wasn't exactly careful with where she was leaving the cloth either.

Running out of things to say around Abby is starting to become the norm. But something always hangs in the air between them after they stop, because they're not going to bother will the bullshit of small talk, and they're both too aware of the pain they'd be prodding into if they asked questions.

It's a weird sort of mutual respect, something unique to her, and Ellie doesn't know what to do with it. She glances up, at Abby's face, following the way she fidgets. She doesn't pick her fingers like Ellie does, but there's always a muscle working in her jaw.

At her question, Ellie glances back at the counter, blinking, frowning with she realizes what a mess they've made.

"Yeah," she says gratefully, heading for the water and the cloths, all the better to scrub up. "Or they're gonna think we got into it."

It's a stupid joke, but.

But.

She chuckles. "Probably."

It loosens her up. She takes the wadded up cloth, and uses the last clean edges of it to blot at what they've left behind. Obviously it'll come out of the cloth in cold water, but... well, it probably shouldn't go back into the rotation of cloths used in the kitchen, huh. She can stuff it in her pack and keep it for first aid.

She comes to wash it out at the sink where Ellie's scrubbing at herself, getting under fingernails. Idly, "Guess they'll think I won. With all the blood being yours."

Abby's laugh is nice, soft and rumbly, uplifting itself at the end. Ellie talks down a shiver that tries to work its way up her back. Holds herself steady as Abby takes a place next to her, the two of them side by side like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Slow, it's becoming more normal than the shadows of themselves they left behind.

She snorts under her breath, lets herself have this, tentatively.

"Like anyone's gonna know it's my blood. Astarion, maybe, or Mado. Maybe. But we both bleed the same."

She snorts over the mention of Astarion, slipping a mutter of, "You the Mina Harker to his Dracula, or something?" underneath the bustling of hand-washing and cloth-wringing, which is maybe an unfair comment. But it's also true. "You're the one with all the blood on your clothes."

Which is not true, because there is some on her pants where she wiped her hand. Obviously she hasn't noticed that yet.

Too busy settling into this strange dynamic they seem to be trying. It's not good, but- it's not bad, either. It's just new.

"The who?" Ellie asks, tilting her head at Abby, but quickly letting it go. There were times when old-world references flew over her head, and she'd never understood the whole vampire thing.

Instead she rolls her eyes, then indicates her outfit, which after being pulled back in place shows a very clear and obvious blood seepage and cut from where the knife slashed her open.

"This could have been from stabbing you," she insists.

"The- Mina Harper." Not letting it go. "Dracula?" Ellie's obviously ignorant to what she's talking about, no matter how hard Abby squints at her for it. She sighs, "Why has nobody here read that book?"

And what's the point in making really funny references if nobody gets them...

Whatever. Ellie's suggestion gets a raised eyebrow, half a laugh. "It could have been from missing me, and falling on your own knife."

"No one back home has read that book," Ellie shoots back, waving a dismissive hand. Your jokes aren't going to land here, Abigail.

But she laughs again, and this time it doesn't twist Ellie up in knots.

"Then how're we gonna explain where you sat in it?"

She gestures.

"Heaps of them have!"

Later, she'll think about how good it felt for Ellie to say no one back home like that, off the cuff, like they're that familiar with each other. She's grinning as she wrings out the cloth, but it twists into exasperation as she follows the gesture down to-

"Oh goddamnit-" not her pants. She swats at the stain uselessly, huffing, and gives Ellie a rueful look. Her gaze lingers for a moment too long. Or, it feels like that anyway.

Fuck.

No matter how she spins this inside of her own head it's weird. Right? She opens her mouth, realises she doesn't know what to say, and stuffs the damp cloth into her pocket.

"I'm- gonna go change." There. An escape for the both of them.

Ellie snickers under her breath, lets the edge of a smile sneak out at the look on Abby's face. She'll hate herself later for it, but in the moment, it feels good to just be human for a second. The let this linger in the air until they both have to come down, and remember who they are.

It's uncomfortable to realize that they would've liked each other.

Maybe they even would've been friends.

The smile fades from both of their faces at about the same time, and Ellie feels another twinge, confines her response to a nod.

"Yeah, me too. After you."

An awkward pause. Ellie's shit is still in the room.

Oh god she said bye and now they're walking in the same direction

Abby holds in place for a moment but she can't figure out what exactly she's waiting for... something else to happen? A lot has happened this evening already. She wants a bath, she thinks, she might- go back to the room and get her shit, leave it empty for Ellie to come back to. Go stew in some hot water.

She turns to go, and hopes very hard that Ellie will take the hint and give her a good head start. Even though it wasn't the worst interaction they've ever had, far from it.

Probably one of the best, actually. Up there with the conversation by the fire anyway.

She'll figure it out later.

So. [Delicately? Maybe?] You and Ellie.

You can tell me to piss off if you want, but you two don't seem to get along. [Said in that tone that fully knows that seems to be an understatement.]

(Oh goddamnit–

She sits on that urge to tell him just that, to piss off, that it's none of his fucking business, that the show's over and it's time for him to go away and leave her alone; It's not his fault. She isn't angry with him.)

Yeah, (is her clipped response. Still working on lowering those hackles.) I thought–

(After what happened in Antiva... she mutters,) Thought we were getting somewhere. But obviously not.

[Okay. It's fine. It isn't piss off, so she's trying, making an effort not to push away immediately even if that's an instinct.]

One step forward, two steps back, huh? Are you good?

Something like that. (Because even having said it, she has no idea what 'getting somewhere' even means, let alone why she'd want it.)

I'm fine. (It's hard to get into it.) Thanks for asking.

If you're sure.

[It's been obvious from the start that of the two young women, Ellie is the more likely to be open. More open, anyway. That's not a knock on Abby. It just means he isn't going to expect the same kind of reception or outcome when he comes with an offer.]

If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears.

(Simply,) I dunno what there is to say.

(She'd be plenty open with him if he were Loki, or Gwen. They haven't spoken enough for her to feel entirely comfortable with divulging her and Ellie's entire, sordid history. But:) I helped her out in Antiva. She let me help her.

(... Was she expecting that to count for something? She chews the inside of her cheek, thinking. Finally:) It's complicated.

Sounds like it.

[And it's fair. It's not his place to say something like 'so I heard in so many words you were at least somewhat responsible for killing her not-dad'. Their history is their history, and he won't force the issue.]

Do you want things to be okay? I mean, no one wants to be mad all the time, but sounds like you hoped getting somewhere would stick around.

(You heard correct but don't say it)

I don't know. (Everything is so tangled and knotted up, but she isn't ready to sit down and pick it apart yet either. He's right, in that she doesn't want to be mad all the time. Even with Ellie. It's exhausting, but what else is there?

Perhaps, simply:) We have to work together whether we like it or not. It'd be easier if we... (got along... bleugh)

Would be, yeah. Maybe you two just need to not be on the same missions or on the same duties until something gets worked out?

This has been going on a while, hasn't it.

... We probably won't be put together after that. (Riftwatch is so gossipy. Also it was at full volume in public, so-) But that's not the problem. I don't mind being on jobs with her anyway, I know how she works.

(And Ellie knows her, for better and worse. Her tone curls sarcastically.) Let me guess. She already told you about us.

[If he was in the room with her, he'd put his hands up placatingly.] Even if I was told nothing, it's pretty clear this is an ongoing thing.

I checked in with her, too. I like you both. There weren't details shared. [Well. She didn't go into detail or specifics about what happened. But now he knows how Ellie lost her fingers.] I know just enough to know that there are good reasons you two don't see eye to eye.

Pretty sure she gets that she's in the wrong, when these conversations turn the way they do. Maybe it's not a lost cause yet.

(A year ago this would have had her hissing and spitting but now... she's learning that it isn't an attack. That Ellie doesn't say these things about the both of them just to fuck her over, or make things difficult and uncomfortable for her. She says them because she's trying to come to terms with this mess; when people reach out to her, she's started reaching back.

And she wouldn't have left the story half-told either, she would have been honest. Perhaps brutally so.

Abby runs her tongue over her teeth. Maybe, after all they've done to each other, it's better as a lost cause, but– god, it's so tough to find the words to explain how she feels.)

I can't forget what she did. (Is the easiest way to get her point across, she thinks. She sounds slightly strained.) Even if we find some way to get past that... (It's insulting. Her crew would hate her for it.

Even though they already kinda did, at the end. Most of them, anyway.)

It's not a matter of forgiving, on either side of this, or forgetting. But moving forward from the anger and the grief. Which is an uphill climb. Some days it really is one step forward, two steps back. Sounds like it's especially that for her.

You don't have to work past it, but it'll make your lives here a little easier if you both keep up the effort. That's up to you, though.

(There's a long pause while she mulls this over; Mobius won't know it, but it truly is a testament to the time that she's spent here than she doesn't try to derail the conversation with bristling anger. She's good at doing that but he's given her lots to chew on, and she's been avoiding all of her emotions around this for long enough. Can't keep running forever. Maybe it's time to try facing them head on for once.)

Mmhmm. (A grunt, in acknowledge. That's about all she has to say to it. There's a hint of begrudging appreciation in there if he strains his ears really hard.)

[The acknowledgement that he's heard is good enough. Some might consider what he's doing meddling, being nosy, or all sorts of negative connotations, but if he can't help where he sees help is needed, then what good is he?]

Okay. I'll tell you the same thing I told her: I'm a pretty good listener if nothing else. That's an offer that never expires.

Meantime, giving each other a bit of space is probably called for.

(He's pushing it with this last remark, and a little of Abby's typical ire breaks loose with a sarcastic huff of breath and muttered response of,) Obviously. (Because old habits die hard.

But hey: she's actually glad that she didn't tell him to fuck off right at the start because his advice was good and she needed to hear it, despite the way it makes her feel.

Another breath.) Thanks. I'll– (take you up on that, no, be realistic about it,) see how I go.

Edited 2022-05-15 10:43 (UTC)

What do you call the half-enemy of a good friend?

Spoke with her, whatever the diction is.

... The half-enemy–

(A steadying breath,) you spoke to Ellie?

Edited 2022-06-02 05:37 (UTC)

Yes.

Wanted to know why it happened.

Uh huh.

I'm sure that went well for you.

It didn't go poorly.

(Begrudgingly,) What did she say?

That there is history. That it was stupid. That she forgot she was supposed to hate you.

(There's a long silence, and the sound of Abby picking at something. Maybe the frown in her voice is audible when she finally answers,) It wasn't stupid.

(Not... not all of it. No comment on the rest)

Calling you names.

The reason may be sound.

She said someone close to her died. By your hand. [ River sucks her teeth. ] Don't have to tell me more.

Oh. (Right. Well- then, yeah, that was stupid. Abby still feels sore for having swore at her. She's working on a hangnail, and then she sighs, deeply, without really meaning to.)

Did she. (Right. Well,) I'll– tell you, I don't mind.

(River deserves it out of her by this point, she thinks,) but can we talk? In person?

Yes. Can come find you but need clues as to where.

(hmmm) ... There are a lot of words here, but you're not supposed to say any of them.

(Hold on.) Loudly, anyway. (Get it?) I'll meet you outside of it.

Got it.

[ Hopefully Abby meant the library because that's where River is headed. ]

(She did, though Abby doesn't look nearly as pleased with herself as she usually would be when she notices River approaches from across the hall. Few things on her mind. Even so, she gets a slow clap.) You solved my riddle.

[ Slow claps get a curtsey. ]

It was a good riddle. [ Took her a second to figure out. Either way, River loops her arm through one of Abby's and smiles up at her friend. ] Do we want to walk?

(Sheepishly,) Thanks. (And,) Sure.

(Makes the whole thing feel a little more casual, some how? She notes, as they get going,) You... seem fine. About this. (With the sudden knowledge that Abby is, in fact, a murderer. Of loved ones, no less.)

Told Ellie the same: everyone has a past. [ She holds her head high, and swallows. ] Her hands aren't bloodless. Someone's child grew up to die. Someone's parent, maybe.

It doesn't... change? For her. It doesn't change anything.

(Abby nods, absorbing this. In case River was thinking it, worrying, she's quick to assure her.) It doesn't change anything for me either. (She'd be a fucking hypocrite if she dared judge anybody for their past actions, huh.

She sighs. It comes out a little easier than it did with Loki.) I killed somebody that she loved, because he killed somebody that I loved.

(It's not an excuse, just the truth.) ... And because I did that, she retaliated. I think we could have kept going on like that until we destroyed everything around us. But we didn't.

[ River nods, solemn and quiet. This? This she understands. ]

Pain wound round and round, too tight, cuts off the blood, the whole thing needing to be amputated.

What stopped you? [ Whichever of them it was that stopped things. ]

(That's a good way of putting it. Abby thought she was finishing things, but all she was really doing was wounding herself, deeper, irreversibly.

She sighs again. She's noticed that talking about this makes her sigh a lot.)

... Lev stopped me. (He gave her a moment to breathe and make a different choice, and she's glad that she did.) Friend of mine, from back home.

You must miss him.

[ A breath. She owes Abby a story in return, the problem is that she doesn't know where to start. ]

Have a brother. It's a possibility that it is all past tense now.

I do.

(Abby doesn't think she's owed anything at all, but she won't stop River as she starts to speak. There's something about a careful exchange of words and backstories that makes the whole thing a little more bearable.)

What's your brother's name? What's he like?

His name is Simon.

[ River pinches her lips together and sighs. How does she explain her brother? ]

Very smart. Interested in helping people. Always kind, soft, blushes when a girl looks at him for too long. Older.

He's like you. (Smart, wanting to help.

... Blushing at girls? Abby hasn't noticed either way, but she'll keep an eye out.) Where is he?

No. Simon is better than she is.

[ She sighs, a little. ]

Parents disowned him. For trying to help her. He bought mercenaries to do it. But they died, too. So now she doesn't know where he is. If he's anywhere.

(Shrug.) I don't know Simon, so you're the best to me. (She wants her stance on the matter known, thanks! As well as,) I hope he's okay. Wherever he is.

Why- wasn't he allowed to help you?

They thought she was lying. They thought it would be... dishonorable.

... Lying about what?

[ River wrinkles her nose a little bit, uncertain of how... or where... to start answering that question. ]

Pain? Suffering. Beyond the rigors of a finishing education.

D'you want to talk about it?

(She might not. It sounds like it might be hurtful.) I don't mind if you don't. You don't owe me anything.

It was bad.

[ There is more she could say. More specifics. There are words for the thing that happened, atrocities, shaping children into murderers, but she... she can't. Instead River takes a shaky breath and shudders. ]

How old were you the first time your hands were red with blood?

She was... sixteen? Probably old. Considering everything.

(Abby doesn't bother to ask whether she wants to know about Abby's first infected, or the first human kill.) Thirteen, (she completes, looking steadily at River. It doesn't shock her to hear any of it. Maybe she's not really the right person to tell something like that to.) That's not old, River. We were kids.

(At the time she didn't get that. She didn't understand why her dad cried in the wake of the unmoving body, but she does now.)

What happened?

Abby? Can we speak?

(She leaves this on 'heard' for a few minutes before she sends back,) What about?

(Which feels like a fair question to her.)

It's not about Ellie.

[ not really. ]

It's about me.

... Okay.

D'you want me to meet you somewhere?

We could do that. Unless you would rather speak over the crystal. Which are you more comfortable with?

Crystal's good. (Means she can make faces all she likes...) What's up?

Do you think I don't care about you, because of my friendship with Ellie?

Well, I haven't exactly given you any reason to want to care about me.

What sort of reason do you think I would need?

I don't know, okay. I don't understand why you would want one.

Because I like you.

[ obviously. ]

I like working with you.

But you know what I did to her.

(Astarion, Glimmer, Loki; they all know what Abby did to Ellie, and they like her anyway. Abby lets them. But they've all told her, in turn, things that they have done, and that's what been bothering her when it comes to Derrica.

This realisation gives her a bit of much-needed clarity, sends her into a moody little silence for half a moment. She mutters,) And I've been a dick to you.

I do. [ and then— ] And it's not a problem for me, that you've been rude.

[ And the rudeness is incidental, isn't it? Compared to Abby's first objection. ]

I know it's complicated. You don't have to talk to me about it. And if you would rather I left you alone, I can do that too.

(Abby pinches the bridge of her nose, thinking.)

I don't want you to leave me alone. (She's taking her time with what she wants to say.) I like working with you too. I– (A steady breath in and out,) dunno why this is so hard.

(Just is.

And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe if it ever starts being easy, that'll be an alarm bell in itself.)

... How much do you know about Joel?

[ Surprising, that Abby takes her up on it. Derrica had almost expected Abby to decline. ]

That he was someone Ellie cared about, and that he was important to her.

[ Pared down, because it feels unfair to pass along all the raw-scraped things Ellie had said that night. ]

And that you killed him.

Yup.

(Nah, it's the perfect response, completely removed from anything too sentimental. There's the sound of her running her hand over her face.)

He killed my dad. (There you go. Breathe.) My dad was the surgeon in charge of Ellie's operation. Joel stormed our base to get her back.

(And it wasn't just her dad who died at his hands. They were never a very large group, that Salt Lake outpost, and Abby knew everybody's names, they knew her- he killed Marlene, he shot her right through the fucking eye. Every other kill felt incidental but he took his time there, he made that one personal.) I found his body. He knifed him with his own fucking scalpel. (God, she feels numb. Every single time she says it, it doesn't go away.) So I killed him. I tracked him down, and I took my time. He deserved it.

(And she doesn't want Derrica's opinion on that, so she keeps going, swallowing. Staring at her crystal,) She was there when it happened. She saw me end it, and she came after me and my friends.

She got even. I'm the only one left.

[ Operation?

This isn't the moment to ask, but something feels just out of alignment. The root of whatever this conflict is, the place it began.

But knowing doesn't change anything now. It wouldn't have erased the ache in Ellie's voice, or the flat, dull quality of Abby's recitation. All the answers in the world aren't going to change those things. ]

I'm sorry, [ continues to be inadequate, but is offered so sincerely. ] I'm sorry that happened to you, Abby.

Yeah, (she agrees, her voice catching.) Me too.

(And she gets it. She understands why Ellie did what she did but that doesn't make any of the hurt go away, maybe even makes it worse. It tucks up underneath of her ribs, aching away. Sometimes it's really unbearable, but not always. She's learning how to live with it.)

Edited (cant repeat a word or i perish) 2022-06-28 04:04 (UTC)

You don't have to tell me any more than that, if you don't want. I know how difficult it is to talk about loss like that.

[ And it does feel like prying, to try and dig more out of Abby. It had been months before Ellie had offered up anything more than the barest explanation. How can she drag anything else from Abby today? ]

I don't know what else you want to know.

(Details? The names of everybody she lost, and how they died, how much it hurt her? She can't. Even Loki doesn't know any of that, because Abby's too scared to loose her own feelings. The last time she did, she got lost in them for years.

It's bold of her to ask,) Who did you lose? (And she'd understand, if Derrica chose not to answer.)

[ So many things. The operation, and why it had prompted the action it did. Who were the people she'd lost. What were they like.

Whether it was worth it. If it had brought her peace. Derrica doesn't think it had, but—

There is a moment of quiet. A weighing of things, trying to consider what she is about to say. ]

Everyone, [ must sound like an exaggeration. It is not. ] But it was different than what happened between you and Ellie.

[ If she hesitates after, it's only because the truth of the thing looms so large. It had been so impersonal, and so devastating. It feels unfair to set it against what Abby has experienced. ]

(It doesn't sound like an exaggeration. Abby lost everyone too. She says,) I'm sorry. (And now they've both said that to each other, and both mentioned real, tangible loss in their lives. It makes Abby feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing. She plucks at a bit of fuzz on her sleeve, and adds,) That's–

(Not... Not good, but,) I'm glad that's not a regular thing.

(Bad joke. Abby's feeling a little vulnerable right now, that's all. )

[ A very soft breath of laughter. Yes, well. ]

I have people here now. It helps.

[ It doesn't supplant, but what can? ]

Are you okay?

[ griefwise. ]

(Griefwise?) No. (That's the first time she's ever acknowledged that out loud.

Quietly,) But I think that I will be. Having people helps.

It does.

[ words of experience. ]

It will get easier, in time. I know how impossible it feels, but it's true.

I'll take your word for it, 'cuz it's... kinda coming up on a year since it happened.

(Feels like it's looming, really.)

I can't tell you how long it will take. I wish I could.

[ is a year enough? yes, and no. ]

But one day, it happens. You won't realize it, or know how it happened. It just...eases.

Yeah.

(Derrica's right, she realises. Even this time in Thedas is some of the first she's spent not worrying the death of her dad over and over and over again in her mind. She hasn't been dreaming about the night she found his body. She's been talking about him. Things have been easing.

But it has taken time.

She breathes in, and out. Mumbles,) Thank you.

Thank you for trusting me.

[ With all of it. Her truth. This admission. ]

It's nothing. (She already had most of the story anyways.)

We good?

Yes. Of course.

Okay.

(A beat of thoughtful silence.)

... I'll see you around.

Good-bye, Abby.

[It isn't often Fenris comes to the Gallows. Less often still he chooses to take his meals there, but sometimes needs must, and there are worse things to eat than a communal stew. Besides: it's better than his own meager efforts; Fenris has lived on his own for a long time, but that hasn't really translated to much in the way of cooking skills.

He's settled next to Abby, pleased to have spotted her, content to pass a meal with her. They've talked of idle things up until now: struggles in training Ataashi, various fighting techniques. Maybe an upcoming mission with Forces, who knows? But what it circles around to, sooner or later, is:]

Ellie has made it habit to break in.

[He doesn't sound displeased.]

Not often, but sometimes. And to visit Astarion, not me. But I suppose it is nice to have refuge away from the Gallows.

[And . . . he isn't quite sure of how to say what he wants to say next, fearing it coming out too soppily. It leaves him with a mild grimace, his expression unsure, before he adds:]

You are welcome to do the same, if the need takes you, though I ask you use the front door, not a window. We have a great many rooms, and use very few of them.

(Fenris has also been fed a funny story about a rambunctious puppy meeting Ataashi for the first time earlier in the week, so even stray mentions of Ellie can't sour Abby's evening. She's comfortable as she is, sandwiched into a corner across from Fenris as they chat over their empty bowls. What he says even gets a rare smile out of her.)

Don't worry, (she jokes,) crawling through the Chantry window got it out of my system. (She will be a normal person, Ellie. She will knock on the door and go through that door.

... But be honest, Fenris,) Are you inviting me to a sleepover?

[No is what he means to say. Not indignantly, he's not that kind of man, but bluntly, dryly, oh, yes. No, I'm not a teenager, but if you wish to come by, oh, something about company, for that is what he's after, but still, with dignity. He's never been good at making friends (Hawke just sort of recruited him and they all became friends via proximity), so you know, he's doing his best.

But what he actually says, honestly and truly, is:]

Sort of.

Er. Not . . . it isn't about you sleeping over, but if you wish to visit—

[Mmm. His mouth twists. Are the tips of his ears red? Maybe!]

It is an offer, nothing more.

(Abby's eyebrows fly up to her hairline and she looks in abrupt danger of laughing at him. The only thing that stops her is thinking that he may get up and leave the table when she's enjoying his company, but. Whewf, it's a close thing.

Even so, she's grinning almost from ear to ear.)

Yeah? Okay.

(She won't tease, she won't say something dumb like woooww don't you have a boyfriend, she'll just... take this moment for what it is and bask in it, because it actually makes her really happy. And poor Fenris has red ear tips already.

She adds,) I'd invite you to visit me too, but it's kinda small. (Just a room in the Gallows that she shares with one other person and a dog, so.)

[Friendship was a mistake— no, but also, stop looking at him like that, please, this is stupid and embarrassing and he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to be honest. Perhaps it's hanging around Mobius too much; Chantry teachings rubbing off on him.

Ugh. At least she doesn't tease. She gives him a look, but even then it's a happy look, not necessarily mocking.]

Hush.

[She didn't say anything. He grumbles it anyway, busying himself with eating. And mercy, for she continues on, and his glance raises curiously.]

In the Gallows or Lowtown?

[Surely not Darktown, not for the likes of her. She can more than handle herself, but still. It's an awful place.]

Gallows, (she supplies, wiping the smirk off of her face by putting bread into it,) In one of the shared rooms. You'd like my roommate. (She's very weird (affectionate).

She soaks up soup with her last bit of roll idly, and adds,) I've actually been looking at the houseboats out by the pier.

(Might be nice to live in something like that... she'd take River with her, obviously, and the dog. Feels a little familiar. She adds, impulsively,) I dunno why. Almost lived on a boat back home but I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, or anything.

(hrm)

[The question of her roommate will have to wait a moment (though rest assured, he'll get back there soon enough). But—]

Almost? What happened?

It does not seem the sort of thing that happens by chance. [Like, you don't just stumble into that . . . although who knows in her world?]

(A scoff,) Oh, it's-

(Not important. But that isn't true, and so she can't finish the sentence. God, she never knows how to interpret Owen out loud these days, does she say he was her friend or her ex or what... Eventually, after a conflicted pause, she pops that bit of soup-logged bread into her mouth.

Said through it, because she has no manners,) Some guy I knew back home wanted to take a sailboat down the coast. He wanted to get out of the city we were living in 'cuz it was dangerous. More dangerous than usual, I mean. There was a big war going on, over land. He said I could come.

(Easy. And then for some reason, she adds,) But his girlfriend uninvited me at the last minute, so. (Uhh. What? Abby processes the involuntary slip with very obvious surprise, and says,) ... I didn't mean to say that. (The drama of the situation really doesn't matter to the story. Yikes.

She clears her throat, and forces her way past it, tone casual, like she couldn't care less.) It didn't work out in the end anyway. He- had this vision of the five of us living on a fucking sailboat together, it was never going to happen. We probably would have starved to death.

Edited (bowl of soap??? soap????????????) 2022-07-20 03:06 (UTC)

[It doesn't take a genius to see that there's more to the story than that. What it might be is another thing entirely; his mind darts towards several explanations, but ah, what's the use in mere speculation?]

Perhaps.

[It's a gentle sort of placeholder, not dismissing that so much as setting it aside. Maybe they would have starved, but almost assuredly that's not why things didn't work out.]

What caused her to uninvite you? That seems . . . callous, especially given your world.

[Actually, two questions:]

Your friend, his girlfriend, and you. Who were the other two?

(Abby promptly gets a look on her face. Ughgh, Mel. She really doesn't want to think about Mel if she doesn't have to. Mel is complicated for several reasons, more so than what happened right at the end of their relationship. The notion of her still sits in Abby's throat from time to time as a weird knot of guilt that's too hard to swallow around.

In the interest of clearing that question quick so she can move onto the next (she would like to talk about Lev to Fenris, actually,) she explains offhandedly:) I guess she figured out I fucked her boyfriend behind her back.

(And pauses, eyes wide. Mouth open.

She clears her throat. Her face is burning.)

... I didn't mean to say that either. (Feels like the weakest defense.

Hey, uh. What the fuck is going on??)

[He blinks just once, stark surprise on his face— honestly, half for the revelation and half for the sheer bluntness with which it was said. For a long moment they stare at each other, and oh, look at how red she's gotten . . .

Honestly? He doesn't judge. He cannot say he approves, but he doesn't know Owen and Mel and he never will, and he won't be so pretentious as to be morally outraged on their behalf. Besides: they all of them have done things they aren't necessarily proud of. It happens.

But oh, that sentence, and he frowns.]

And yet you did.

[Like, duh, but his point being:]

Perhaps you wish to speak of it . . .?

I will not say there is no shame in sleeping with someone's partner, but there are worse crimes, too.

(Short of getting up from the table and abruptly leaving the room there isn't much else to do but sit here and squirm for a moment. Abby looks away while she gathers her composure, one hand curled protectively around the nape of her neck; eventually it drops, to tug idly at her braid. She mumbles,) You're the first person I've said that to, (just to underscore that she really, truly, did not mean to fucking say it at all. The hell has come over her?

A pause. She has no idea whether she's saying this to save face or not but-) I didn't plan on it. He... (ururughghh no she really doesn't wanna start thinking about that night, not right now! If it isn't clear, she's mortified.

Even so, she'll try again.) We used to be together. Me and him. We were arguing about leaving Seattle and it just... happened.

Edited 2022-07-28 04:25 (UTC)

[It isn't the time nor place, but still, some part of Fenris is quietly pleased that she'd say something like that to him. You're the first person I've said that to, and he'll realize later it wasn't so much a marker of intimacy as it was forced honesty, but still.]

I have had—

[Well.]

It is not quite the same. She was not attached to anyone at the time. But I have had evenings with a woman where such things just happened. Attraction is a powerful force. So is anger. And the two combined are . . . formidable.

[And maybe Astarion is rubbing off on him a little, for he cannot help but ask (sympathetically, but still):]

Was it worth it?

(Abby exhales in a rush and returns to fucking with her braid, fiddling idly while he talks. What he says is true, it was... definitely a combination of lingering tension and being angry and– she supposes, deep down, what she really wanted was something, anything to be normal, like it used to be, before everything around her went to pieces.

But–) Nope. (Shaking her head, now.) It really wasn't, it just... made everything weird.

(She supposes she gave him more of the exact same false hope Santa Barbara did. Owen didn't deserve that. Her cheeks are still pink when she goes to scrub at her face, giving Fenris a little look over her empty bowl.) Can you keep that between us? Please?

Edited (a single word) 2022-08-01 03:14 (UTC)

It's shockingly late in the evening when Abby's crystal crackles to life. 'If you're in the Gallows,' says the Forces Commander, his brusque timbre clearly cut over it. 'Report to my office at once.'

When she arrives, the room is warm and the air dense. The thick stone walls may rebuff the heat of a Kirkwall summer for much of the day, but eventually the weather can be trusted to penetrate and then linger despite whatever windows (all of them) may be cranked partly open or the door left open to the ancillary quarters in a desperate bid for a bit of airflow. There is, mercifully, no fire in the hearth, though it makes for a somewhat gloomily lit after hours meeting.

"Bolt the door behind you if you would," Flint instructs from where he's standing near one of the cracked windows behind the desk on the far side of the long room.

He's lucky to catch her on the way out of the Tower, the blunt order receiving an instantaneous heel turn away from the promise of late night run and bath (a tried and true method of wearing herself out well enough to sleep, deeply). Abby, plucking at her shirt and sniffing it, decides that she doesn't have time to change. Flint gets what he gets.

She bolts the door without a word, casting a glance around the dimly lit room and Flint, brooding by the window, staring at her. There is no new map unfurled on the desk between the both of them for Abby to point at, and mark with paper scraps. It makes sense. She hasn't done any notable work as of late, only duties, rounds. Errands.

... Oh, shit.

Is she in trouble or something?

"Reporting for duty," she says, and fires off a little mock salute his way; getting a joke in quick, before he tears her to shreds for the unknown offense.

The briefest flicker of something bordering on distaste shows in his face, but is there and gone again before it becomes fully identifiable as confusion.

(That motion of her hand better be some eccentric Rifter shit.)

"You're going to Cumberland with the mages," he says, stepping away from the window. It's not a question. Either she already was, or he's telling her to.

Without sitting, Flint retrieves an envelope from one of the desk's drawers.

"I need you to deliver this for me when you get there."

Abby blinks.

"Already planning on it." There's no reality in which she'd stay behind while other people go off to fight for her freedom, fuck that. Of course she's going to Cumberland. She watches Flint carefully, eyes on his every movement, and the letter he produces is- well. A surprise, honestly.

This meeting is not taking place inside the realm of truth or soup and yet, Abby still says, "You want me to deliver your mail?"

She isn't offended, or complaining about it, don't get it wrong! Just confused.

"I want you to deliver a message to Grand Enchanter Fiona. If she doesn't make a personal appearance—which I very much doubt—, you're to identify whoever is speaking for the Libertarians and the rest of the rebels in her place and deliver it to them."

The envelope is set on the desk; unlike a great deal of official Riftwatch documentation, it bears no seal or plainly identifiable stamp. It might very well be a personal letter, save for the elaborate 'lock' folded and cut into a corner of the parchment to identify any tampering.

"How much do you know about the Mage-Templar War?"

"Okay."

She can do that. She can do that and then join the rest of Riftwatch protesting the proposal, which is where she wanted to be in the first place. How hard could it be. How disappointed would Flint be if she took the letter out, read through it, and then put it back into another envelope to make it look like she didn't do that.

Kidding...

Unless?

"I've been reading about it." In books from their collection here in the Gallows, which may only count for a certain perspective; she's been thinking about that ever since the disastrous first conversation with Sabine. "There isn't gonna be a quiz, is there?"

Is there going to be a quiz when she reaches Cumberland, or is one happening right now? With a soft rasp, the drawer from which the letter was produced is slid shut.

"Tell me your assessment of it."

... Okay. After a moment's pause to gather her thoughts she begins, "It started after the mage rebellion voted to leave the Chantry. Mages fled Circles, and Templars tried to force them back into the towers. I know they've tried a conclave before and it didn't go so well."

Understatement, but; he knows all of this.

Abby's arms fold succinctly across her chest; she adds, "I don't blame the mages for wanting to get out, but I'm a Rifter and I know exactly where I'm headed if the proposal goes through. I don't want to go into a Circle. Wanna be under the Chantry's thumb even less." Shrug, "That's why I was already going to Cumberland."

From behind that ugly old formidable desk, Flint's scrutiny of her isn't so removed from the same way—weeks earlier—he'd considered that chart book laid out across big central table of this very office. There's something measuring in it, pieces in the process of being oriented on a board. Her answer, bare bones that it is, seems to satisfy some requirement.

"Good," he says with nod, some of the sharp edge in the line of his shoulder falling away. "Should the Grand Enchanter happen to request your opinion on the matter while you're briefly in her company, I would encourage you to speak freely."

Simple enough. Though, here is the part where one might ordinarily ask, 'Any questions?'—

"That's all I have for you."

"Okay," she replies awkwardly, transparently relieved at having said something seemingly correct. First time she's ever talked about her own opinion on this. She hasn't asked anybody about theirs, either; Flint won't be where she starts, but she still has a question for him.

Ignoring that he's obviously dismissed her, "Do you want me to contact you when it's done?"

"That won't be necessary. Just see it safely and securely delivered. I'm trusting you to see that no one meddles with it, and that if Fiona asks you to carry anything back that you do the same in reverse."

No, best to be as unobstrusive about this whole affair as is possible lest someone catch wind of the thing. Had it not taken so long to arrange the various parts of the envelope's contents, he might have handed this to her in the middle of the day so as to solicit even fewer questions. But better this than to be seen by the whole company chasing her (or any other likely messenger) down on the way to the eyrie, or stuffing it in some griffon's saddlebag.

He will have to survive with this modicum of suspicion and hope for the best.

Ah, so he's eliminating any possibility of this information slipping into other hands... duly noted. Abby looks at him, searching, but she doesn't ask any of her questions out loud. It's none of her business (is what he'll probably tell her, which is the truth, so).

She takes the letter off the table.

Wait, one more question. "Why aren't you coming with us?"

"Because we're not storming Cumberland at sword point, and my presence there could easily serve to suggest otherwise. Provost Stark will be traveling with you instead. We considered him the obvious choice of representation from the Division Heads."

—Is certainly one way to describe the terse disapproval Tony had met from his peers when he'd made his intention to go along to Cumberland known. But if there is a lack of consensus in the Central Tower, then it does no good whatsoever to volunteer that information.

"Riftwatch is permitted to function as it does so long as we remember who gave us the authority to do so. I suspect a number of us have one reason or another for wishing to avoid the Divine thinking that we might be put to better use if we were drawn closer to her side."

Abby, looking at him, grunts with no clear feeling behind it. Makes sense.

She wants to ask if a significant rifter presence at the Conclave will tug upon the Divine's curiousity– but what's the point in knowing the answer. Flint probably doesn't (realistically, how could he), and Abby is going to go no matter what that answer actually is– so she pockets the letter.

"Okay. Talk to you later," will be her parting remark instead.

They pass each other in the hallway, and Ellie has to do a double take. It can't have been all that long since Abby got back from whatever mission she was on, but she looks... out of it. Not hurt, maybe a little pale, but healthy, just.

Just-

Out of it.

It bothers her. Ellie can't say why it does, but she's seen Abby go through some of the worst things a person can go through, and still keep on trucking.

Whatever is fucking with her now can't be something small.

Ellie puts it off until she sees her again, doubting her own unsettled mood; she's got a plate for herself from the dining hall, had planned to eat in her room and go over some more of this map shit she was working on with Flint and Mobius. Abby's either heading there or heading back, and this time, Ellie watches her.

Worse, she doesn't think Abby's even realized she's there. Which is... not ego, not really; but Ellie was once the most dangerous force of nature in Abby's life, and they always have some awareness of each other. Always.

Something is deeply wrong.

Ellie stops in the hallway, dead center, where Abby will be forced to run into her or stop, if she doesn't change course.

Ellie is half-right: something was deeply wrong, but it's over now. It's fine. Everybody in their group came back alive, against every odd, and the battle has bloodstained the edges of Abby's mind anyway. Around the Gallows, she's on autopilot, walking just to walk. Eating just to do something with her hands. She's not wholly present. Has to strain her ears to hear over what feels like rushing water, sloshing about in her brain.

She does actually bump up into Ellie in the corridor, enough that she grunts, "Shit, sorry," and takes her by the shoulders to steady her. Then, blinking, she goes, "It's you." Like that makes it okay.

Ellie's got a weird look on her face. Abby frowns and says, "What," a little self-consciously. She's really not in the mood for Ellie's particular shit right now, okay. "Do you need something?"

Ellie braced for it, so she doesn't even wobble when Abby bumps into her, doesn't drop her plate. Doesn't flinch when Abby takes her shoulders to steady her, because she's ready for it.

They're this close and her skin almost doesn't prickle. There's a weird expression in Abby's eyes; she's not entirely back, even if she's gotten her attention.

Ellie had half-planned to say something witty, like how she's so distracted even a runner could have taken a chomp out of her throat, but it all kind of falls out of her head in the moment.

"Something happen to you?"

Maybe the fact that it's Ellie should make it worse, like seeing a vengeful ghost might. Abby barely falters, but she does realise she's still holding her at the shoulders far too late.

Releasing her, she says, "No." Which is not untrue, not really. Physically, she's fine. A healer saw to the cuts on her arms and all that remains of the blood-letting are two, nearly identical scars up behind her elbows, currently hidden by three quarter-length sleeves. It seems only natural that she'd feel a bit out of it afterwards, right. All happened so fast.

Her voice sticks in her mouth for a moment, and she works her tongue over her teeth. "Actually," it comes out abruptly. She almost startles herself, "Can I talk to you? In private."

She isn't supposed to tell anybody about it, but Ellie isn't anybody, and she'll get it. Abby knows she will.

Ellie's eyes are sharp and suspicious on Abby's face, her jaw held at an angle that says she doesn't believe her, but doesn't have the leverage to push. But then something changes in Abby's face, and Ellie physically rocks back on one foot, catching herself the way she didn't have to earlier.

"Sure," she says, her eyebrows knitting together. She takes second to shift her plate, then jerks her chin towards her room.

Abby knows where it is.

Once inside, Ellie sparks up the candle in the lamp, parks herself on her bed. Gestures to her desk chair. It's wooden, sturdy. More comfortable than it looks. Spread over the desk's surface are a few works in progress, including what looks like several references for a pirate ship, and a large sea monster.

... It's a weird request and they know it, about as much as they know Abby wouldn't have asked at all if she could have come up with an alternative. She wonders what could be going through Ellie's head as they make their way, not speaking; her room is quiet, and small. That's good. It helps, a bit.

A distraction in the form of Ellie's drawings presents itself before she takes her seat. Abby nudges an open book out of the way to better appreciate the arching sketch of a large, double-breasted ship-sail. Ellie's really got an eye for this kind of stuff, huh. It's cool.

Frown. She looks down at her fingers on the paper, and opens her mouth.

"Got back from Starkhaven this morning. We were raiding a Venatori encampment full of researchers and–" a thick swallow, one hand gesturing to the softness of her throat, "Ellis got stabbed right through. I saw him die."

Abby has seen a lot of people die before. It always happens faster than you think, and then it sticks with you for an indeterminate amount of time. You remember it when you're least expecting it. Of everything, a gurgling, wet death-rattle is stuck in Abby's head. Her brow knits again, and she feels weightless and strange when she adds, "But– Dickerson was with us, and he brought him back to life. With my blood."

It's a weird request. It's weirder circumstances.

It takes long enough for Ellie to question her own judgment in bringing Abby here to talk. Each step they take seems fucking insane, when it's really a steady continuation of what's come before. They talk, now. They get each others' perspectives, now. And what's more, they value them.

No. This fits whatever weird thing they are slowly building together.

Still. Nothing prepares Ellie for what Abby says. Ellis, dead- it takes a second to slam through her brain, the shock and grief of a friend not coming home, something that they've both been through countless times-

Except that she saw him walk in with the others. She saw him alive and breathing.

The air presses out of her lungs in a rush.

"What the fuck?" she whispers. It's caught between horror and disgust and naked relief.

And then:

"Is he okay?"

Hoarsely, "Yeah. He's fine."

Maybe that's what fucked her up upon closer consideration. Never got someone back from death before. No sane version of someone, anyway. Ellie's expression mingles perfectly with what Abby is feeling, and the eerie ringing in her ears. She clasps her hands tightly between her knees.

"I think he was dead for five minutes, right at the end of the whole thing. Somebody caught him up in a spell and he couldn't get out of it in time." Not before the wet shlock of a blade, plunging into skin. Abby's expression shutters, disturbed. She swallows. "I felt his heart start again."

Because he was under her hands. Because she was holding the tatters of his throat together, while Dickerson worked.

How close had it been?

Ellie trusts Abby when she says that Ellis died. They both know what death is. Intimately, utterly. They've seen it, they've dealt it. They know what it is to watch someone's eyes lose their soul.

Ellie wasn't there. She can only imagine. She never once questions the idea that Abby volunteered, or that Richard would have done it. It's Ellis. How could any of them have hesitated?

"Jesus Christ, Abby," Ellie whispers, because it's all she can say. Her heart's going a mile a minute. Her palms feel clammy. She wasn't even there, and she can't imagine it, but Ellie understands exactly why seeing that would fuck someone up.

"Yeah," she says again, and this time her voice breaks ever so slightly on the low syllable. Suddenly her palms are busy ironing her knees, a grounding motion. She looks away from Ellie, over her desk, out the little window set into the wall of her room. She didn't say any of this to get sympathy, but it helps that she can tell Ellie is horrified. It did fuck Abby up, and there wasn't time to deal with that. She had to press on, but at least she's used to doing that. Right?

Eventually she clears her throat, and breathes again, and her hands slow down.

"Dickerson- told me that if I reported it to anybody, we'd be imprisoned." Obviously she's not going to do that, but- yeah. That's part of the story.

It takes Ellie a moment to put it together, that this magic definitely wouldn't have been the kind that anyone approved of.

Blood magic.

A shiver crawls up between her shoulder blades, and Ellie smooths her hands over her arms, pushing all the breath out of her lungs.

"What fucking choice did you have?" she asks, because obviously there wasn't one. They couldn't just let their friend die. Not when it was possible to save him. If Ellie had been in that position, she wouldn't have hesitated either.

But she understands, now. Why Abby would struggle with it, and why she would need to tell someone. Later, she'll be a little fucked up over the fact that it was her. Not because she disagrees; but because they both know that Ellie will never, ever breathe a word to anyone. And Abby knows that about her.

"Exactly." Yeah she had no idea what she was being asked, but even if she had Abby would have said yes. She doesn't regret any part of what they did, only wishes it wouldn't linger in her mouth like a bad taste.

At least she can trust that Ellie won't talk about this, to anybody. She doesn't know how she knows that, she just does. And admittedly, it feels better to have talked about it.

She leans back in the chair with an almighty sigh, her eyes closing. "... I didn't know he knew how to do that. The healing, yeah. The- blood magic? Not so much."

"Yeah, I don't think that'd be. Something anybody would wanna talk about."

Ellie pauses.

"So was it like a magical blood transfusion or did you... I don't know, make a pact with a demon, or what?"

She's half kidding, half devastatingly serious.

Abby snorts. "The first thing. He said he needed blood."

She opens her eyes, and sits up, rolling one sleeve up to her bicep to better show Ellie the thin, seam-like scar behind her elbow. "There's a matching one on the other side." Both healed, now. Added to Abby's collection; nobody will ever notice, unless she tells them.

"Shit."

This one is of relief. It seems like a little thing, a couple of scars, being a little woozy. What a small price for saving a life.

She half reaches up as if to touch, pulls her hand back.

"Well. If any demony shit comes up... let me know."

Abby's eyes track that half-movement, catching it for what it might have been, and it calls to mind something that Dickerson said to her in that moment. Shucking her sleeve back down with careful motions, she thinks to glance back over her shoulder at Ellie's desk, and the sketch of the ship that spans it.

Hmm...

Without asking, she lifts the corner to check underneath of it for anything else. Don't mind her. "Yeah, I think if it were ever something demony, you'd hear about it long before I could mention it."

Wow, excuse you.

Underneath there isn't anything else of interest- just a charcoal drawing of a fawn curled up in the grass, doing its best to blend in with its environment. It's nothing worth hiding, but Ellie gets up anyway to slap a hand down on the edge of the paper, half standing over her.

She's bristling, but far less than they're used to. It's more a grumpy vibe than an imminent warning.

"Anything else?" she asks.

Aw, the fawn drawing is cute- she's in the midst of lifting the paper higher to check past it, when Ellie cuts her off with the flat of her hand. Abby huffs, looking up at her, and-

makes a decision: she wants to know!

"Yeah." Challenging, "Where are the ones of me?"

Sorry what.

Ellie pauses for just half a second too long.

"The fuck makes you think I have drawings of you?"

Another pause, in which they stare at each other.

Then, "Wow," Abby says, eyebrows flying to her hairline, "Kinda thought he was lying just to throw me off."

No elaboration, only, "Where are they?"

"Who the fuck-"

No point in lying now, she rolled a 12 on that bluff check.

"Dickerson." She really doesn't have to say it slowly and clearly, but being an asshole to Ellie is the most normal she's felt in the last 24 hours so, "He told me you're fascinated with my eyes."

"How in the hell would Dickerson know what I'm drawing?" She's barely spoken to the guy, and then it was only over the crystals. Light panic!

"And anyway, I'm not."

And because that's obviously not true-

"It was from before here."

Mostly.

So she didn't tell him about it or accidentally leave the sketches where he could have seen them... the plot thickens. Abby straights in her chair, greatly amused; her heart is beating quickly again, an anxious thing.

"What were you drawing me for?"

They're close. Really close, and her hand is still laying on top of her sketchbook. For just a second she hopes Abby remembers how fast she is.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

Oh, she remembers. And she can guess at exactly why sketches of her would exist in an old notebook of Ellie's from back home, and why she would be remembered enough to be drawn there. She really doesn't need to hear Ellie say it.

They aren't close to snapping but everything is tense in a way it hasn't been in a while. Abby didn't forget what it felt like, but it comes as a surprise.

She stares until the nape of her neck starts to prickle.

"No."

And, relenting, "I'm just fucking with you. Relax."

The tension snaps between them, a hint of something old and painful, and Ellie almost regrets it- it doesn't feel nice to fight with Abby, even if it's just this. They've been doing better with each other. Not gentle, but- enough.

Her expression settles inwards from the fighter Abby knew to the somewhat awkward young woman she's still learning, and Ellie bites the inside of her cheek. Try.

"... if you want to see it you can. There's just- some writing in there too."

Things that are more personal. But the drawings are of Abby, and that- well. That makes them hers too, in a way.

She reaches out to gather up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages. Abby will get glimpses of things. A shambler in profile. Joel, with his eyes crossed out. Dozens of scribbled moths, over and over. Jesse, the man Abby had shot in the face in the theater- and finally Abby.

Ellie puts the sketchbook down on the desk, on top of the rest of her work. She places her hand across the text, but it can't hide all of it. The picture of Abby floats over a broken watch, scribbles of moths. A dozen shots of her eyes.

The words are crossed out in some places, like a draft. But words peek out, the end of each line, sneaking along the side of Ellie's cupped fingers.

When does it get quiet?
heavier
harder to breathe
cut the ~~cord~~ ~~rope~~ cord?

Can I leave it all behind?

Ellie doesn’t reply right away, and Abby finds that they’ve fallen back into that same, old rut of not wanting to say anything more to each other, but not being able to leave just yet. Surprise surprise: she still hates it. The air between them gets thick.

So she’s noticeably surprised when Ellie actually… relents.

Saying nothing, she cranes her neck to watch her page through the book. It’s encased in grubby leather, with a well worn spine. She can imagine Ellie creasing it in earnest to make the page lie flat, and then while she’s looking, Joel’s fucking eyeless face jumps out of a new page at her; she stops paying attention for a numb and buzzing moment.

She goes for the tail end words first when she looks back, absorbs them with what is, hopefully, a neutral expression even though this has swiftly become intimidating and deeply unnerving. Ellie’s fucking pocket sketchbook of ghosts; cool. Well, she asked. She makes herself keep looking.

A lot of her. A lot of moths.

“This is fucked up,” is her verdict, gaze flicking back up to Ellie.

It is unnerving. Intimidating. There's a deep sick feeling in her stomach, an itching that's spreading across her skin, digging in like bugs. She doesn't feel right inside of her own body, and this is just an echo of it.

There's nothing like looking at a glimpse of what she used to be, to make her realize how far she's come. To make her realize just how lost she was. How twisted, and angry, and desperate.

How close to the edge.

Looking back on it makes her feel closer.

"Yeah," she answers, unflinching. She's looking at the page, not Abby's face.

"I was fucked up."

With a sharp twist of her wrist, she flips the journal shut.

Ellie doesn’t say anything for a moment and Abby falls silent, tracing the outline of her own face and braid, fingers tucked underneath of her lip. She couldn’t contain it. Abby was starting to burst at the fucking seams by the end. She had a clenched jaw sitting, aching in her skull and the nightmares were completely out of her control, killing her people off left right and centre. Maybe writing and drawing was helpful. A way of putting it all out there.

She won’t know for sure, she can’t bring herself to ask.

The sharp snap of the book startles her, and she sits up straight in the chair, hands dropping to her knees.

“So was I.” She still is. Sometimes.

Ellie falls silent, existing in this weird place where she just doesn't know how to handle it. They share the kind of pain few others will ever really get, and Abby's the source of Ellie's side of it. Different pieces of the same fractured circle.

By all rights they should have each other, but they don't. Their choices made sure of it.

Ellie sets a hand heavily on top of her journal, protective of her hurts, but after a few seconds her fingers relax, and she leans her hip against the desk, looking down at her fingers.

She has something of her tongue and it's digging a hole in her, too heartbreaking to say, too venomous to keep inside.

"I thought killing you would fix me," Ellie says quietly.

Abby doesn't need to look at her to know what expression she's making. There's a furrow in her brow as she considers a spot on her knee where the fabric of her pants is fraying, picking at it with blunt fingernails. She says, "I thought killing him would fix me," quietly. "All it did was make me worse." And she doubts that it would have been any different for Ellie.

She didn't take that final step, the same way that Abby did. She was able to pull herself back from the brink. Not an easy thing.

She stands up.

Distractedly, "Don't– rush Ellis about all of this, okay. I don't think he really wants people knowing," because they'd fuss, obviously, and he isn't about that. She probably shouldn't have told Ellie in the first place, but oh well. Abby doesn't regret it.

The answer leaves her breath short, catching at the edges. It's not better. Joel dying that disgusting, excruciating death ultimately did nothing but make it everything worse.

Ellie doesn't know what she might have answered with. Is fine with not answering that at all. It's best if she doesn't. Instead she takes half a step back, her fingertips still resting on the journal, eyes following Abby's shoulder, if not quite her face.

"Yeah." She taps her fingers once. "I'll keep it under wraps."

Even to Ellis.

Clarisse isn't a big smoker on her own, necessarily, but look—she has a jar full of pre-rolled joints in her possession, and sometimes living in the Gallows can be juuuust boring and/or depressing enough to make her feel the need to be high in order to deal with it.

She also doesn't typically smoke in the room, since she... shares the room, with Abby, and no offense but Abby seems like the type who'd get bothered if her library books got smoky.

But she is smoking in there today, sprawled on her bed with her head hanging down, hair nearly brushing the floor. When Abby unlocks the door and enters, Clarisse gives her a slow, languid wave.

"Hiii."

She absolutely is that kind of person. At the same time she's so deficient in fucks to give that seeing Clarisse draped across her bed and tilting toward the floor just makes her snort-laugh when she gets in. She closes the door. Don't wanna let the smoke out.

And it's pretty Manny-adjacent behaviour, really, so it feels... homey??

"Hey."

She dumps her bag by the door, kicks off her shoes. She leaves them by the door with the tongues pulled out, so they're ready to throw on at a moment's notice. Old habits die hard. "Having fun?"

“Just relaxing.” Clarisse turns onto her stomach, grinning, and holds the joint in one outstretched hand. “Want some?”

She likes Abby, likes rooming with her, and wonders if getting high together might be exactly what the two of them need to go from friendly to real friends. Either that or Abby will say no, and she’ll have to try some other tactic.

Abby pauses. She'd been about ready to flop onto her bed and close her eyes for a bit. Instead she says, "Sure," and reaches out for the joint before she sits. She brings it to her mouth, slow, and thankfully doesn't cough when the smoke rushes into her lungs. Clarisse seems like the kind of girl that would dunk on her for fun if she choked.

"Woah," she says thickly, exhaling, "Nice." She's gonna have one more before she passes it back... "Where'd you get this?"

Clarisse rolls again, almost depositing herself in Abby’s lap, and comes to rest with her head pressed up against Abby’s outer thigh. Like a pillow, almost.

“It’s good, right?” She takes the joint back and puffs on it. “Satinalia present.”

Oh, hi. Abby snorts, but doesn't move. She looks down at Clarisse; rolling over like that got her hair in her face, so she helpfully brushes it back for her, lest it come between her and the joint.

"How generous. You have a good first Satinalia?"

Ah, that feels good. Embarrassing, but Clarisse’s grin softens to something more genuine.

“It was nice.” She watches the smoke drift up from her mouth and disappear into the haze above them, then offers the joint back to Abby. “More?”

"It was, huh." She'd been long overdue a night out.

And this is even nicer still, hanging out with Clarisse in a relaxed, limp sort of way, passing a spliff back and forth between them. She takes it again at Clarisse's question, wipes her mouth before she has a puff, and settles her back up against the wall.

She sighs out smoke and says, casually, "D'you like it here?" She's curious. The rifters all feel different ways about it, and she hopes Clarisse doesn't hate it or anything.

Huh. Now that's a question (that she probably wouldn't be thinking about as hard, if she weren't high).

"I like... some things about it." She doesn't hate being here, at least not like she did when she first arrived. Most days, now, she feels like herself. But every so often, something will happen that will remind her how very far away she is from everything she knows, and that's hard.

"I miss home," she admits. "I wish I could talk to my mom. But at the same time, being here's kind of like... I don't know. It gets some people off my back." Or, like, one person specifically. 'Person.'

Abby grunts. That's good. And to be fair, she's still pretty new, finding her feet. She remembers having no real solid opinion of Thedas for months after she first got here, and she understands missing home. "I get it," she says, "I left a friend back home, and I really miss him. He'd love it here."

And because she can't help but be nosy she immediately asks, "Yeah? What people?" and passes the joint.

Clarisse takes the joint and sucks smoke into her lungs. She holds it there as long as she can, finally exhales in a rush. Her thoughts are slow and rolling in her head, and she doesn't feel in control of what's about to come out of her mouth.

"My dad, mostly," she admits. She doesn't offer an explanation. It's bad enough she's even said as much as she has.

"What's your friend like?" she asks. If Abby can start talking about something and change the subject five seconds later, so can Clarisse.

No, back up! She wants to know about the dad comment and she also wants to talk about Lev so bad. She has a little fight with herself and gives in immediately.

"He's- I met him 'cuz he saved my life after I got caught up in the wrong territory back home. These death cult freaks knocked me out and strung me up and tried to disembowel me," hate it when that happens, "but he cut me down. We had to fight our way out of the woods through all these infected. In the dark. And the rain. It was crazy, I'm kinda still can't believe we made it."

This is not about what Lev is like. It's just the meet cute, but work with her here. She feels chatty.

"Death cult freaks..." Clarisse echoes her slowly, bemused. She's interested in this death cult that strings people up and disembowels them—like, the fuck? Why?

But whatever, that's clearly not the important part of Abby's story.

"Sounds badass. Your friend, I mean." Not the... cult thing. "Go on."

"He is." Having slumped in place, Clarisse's head is now at hip level rather than thigh level. Abby can feel her braid pressing against her neck, squished between that and the headboard, but she can't be bothered putting an arm back to fish it out so it lives there now.

"He's incredible with a bow and arrow, I've never seen anybody better." Yes, she has been on missions with Ellie. Several. "And he's got a really dry sense of humour. He was raised in that same cult so he doesn't really... get a lot of stuff? One time I told him to head for the apartment complex and he said-"

She snickers. Hang on. Hoo boy. "He said. 'Really? I find it quite simple.'" WHEEZE

It takes a few seconds for Clarisse to get the joke. When it clicks, and she realizes that's it, she snorts. It's not quite a real laugh, but then, once she gets going, she has to fight to stop.

"He sounds like a dork." She gives Abby's leg a little pat pat. "But you're a dork, so I get why you'd be friends."

"You're so funny." She's not offended though, not in the slightest. She can tell Clarisse isn't being mean, she's joking around, she's teasing. Feels kinda good.

"What about your friends?"

"My best friend is my ex. Chris," Clarisse admits. "We broke up but..." At least he's still alive? The bar is so low. Anyway. "He's really funny and patient and he picks locks as a hobby. I could call him about whatever and he'd always listen to me."

Normally she wouldn't gush about him like that, but the smoke's making it easy to talk without thinking too hard about whether what she's saying is too revealing. It's making honesty seem painless.

"I really miss him."

Abby wrinkles her nose. It's not at what Clarisse is saying specifically, just the idea of it... being best friends with your ex? How does that work. Her and Owen had such an awkward friendship after breaking up, it was so much easier to avoid him, or see him in some kind of group setting.

Realising that Clarisse is maybe more mature than she is... it's kind of devastating.

"Yeah," she says. "Somebody told me- their theory is that another version of me came here through the rift, and there's still an Abby back home carrying on, doing her thing."

It's so weird to her. She still gets jealous of that other Abby sometimes which is even weirder, and she's not sure she can say that to Clarisse.

"Oh."

Another version of herself, still living life back home. Clarisse sort of wishes Abby hadn't mentioned it. Now it'll be something she wonders about—whether it's true, and if it is, who's living the better life.

"I kind of hate that," she admits, and lifts her head. "It's weird to think about."

"Same." She has no idea she just unsettled Clarisse, she's busy reaching to pluck the joint out of her hand again so she can help finish off the end of it, "I kinda hope it did happen like that though." Cuz then she didn't leave Lev all alone against her will. Small comfort, really.

A sigh. "Chris sounds cool," she admits. "I'm shit at picking locks, I hope I can meet him some day."

Clarisse doesn't understand why that would be, when Abby's told her before how much she hated living in her home world. But she doesn't want to argue about it, not stoned, especially not when neither of them actually know the truth about this theory anyway. She just shrugs and lets Abby smoke the last of the joint.

"Children of Hermes are good at that sort of thing. God of thieves and all." She's no good at lock picking, either. Too impatient for it.

"Yeah?" The last of the joint is smoked. Abby stares at the end, rolling it between her fingers. She says, "Tell me what the rest of the children of the gods are good at, and I'll decide who I think my godly parent would be."

It'd probably just be Ares because of the strength thing, but she wants to hear all of the options available to her first.

Clarisse snorts. She's not used to having people around who'd have the balls to ask a question like this (or who'd need to have someone tell them the information in the first place), but... okay.

Mentally, she's thinking about the cabin numbers back home. She skips right over 1-3, Zeus, Hera, and Poseidon, because no offense but that's another level of weird shit she doesn't want to get into.

"Okay. Demeter. Her kids can control plants. They... tend to be good cooks?" For some reason? Grain? Clarisse doesn't know. "Ares, the best, of course. His kids are strong and know how to use all different weapons, and we can also summon the losing side of any war to do our bidding.

Athena's also war, but her kids tend to be better strategists. They're brain children, so they're smart, and they tend to good at architecture and weaving and stuff like that.

Apollo's kids are great archers and they're good at music and healing. Sometimes not all together, but definitely at least one out of three." Artemis is an eternal maiden, so skipping her. "Hephaestus's kids are great forgers. They make all kinds of crazy machinery. And Aphrodite... her kids can change their physical features, and sometimes even charm people with their voices. And they can speak fluent French, 'cause it's the language of love." She rolls her eyes. "Hermes kids can lockpick, obviously, but they're also great at stealing shit and they tend to be pretty fast runners. Annnd Dionysus, his kids can also control plants, but only the ones that grow on vines? Grapes and stuff."

Hades and the minor gods are getting shafted here, because again, Clarisse isn't going to bring them up. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Abby listens dutifully at first, but then her mind wanders off after Clarisse describes what Ares' kids can do (what she can do) because she's thinking about what it would be like how to use any weapon the moment you pick it up... that would be so useful. Especially back home, imagine- she could be good at archery. And swords. Knives. Polearms. Ooh, what about a halberd or a javelin- oops shit, Clarisse is still talking.

She catches the tail end of- something about the language of love. Boring. Must be Aphrodite. Once Clarisse has finished her spiel she nods sagely, as if she's thinking very seriously about this.

Her result: "I guess I'd just be an Ares kid. Like you." It makes the most sense. "But if I was a Hermes kid that would round out my skill set."

Clarisse snorts. She has a suspicion that Abby stopped listening halfway through, but that's the most Ares cabin thing she could've done, so it tracks. Though, personally, Clarisse would stick her in the Athena cabin. Seems more her thing.

"You don't get to round out your skill set. That's the point. You'd be too OP and it would freak the gods out and they'd blast you to ashes. Or turn you into a shrub." Nobody wants to worry about their kid growing up to be powerful enough to turn on them!

Abby mouths 'OP?' at the ceiling, not understanding, but the idea of being turned into a shrub tickles her so much she has to laugh for a while at that. She completely forgets to ask what Clarisse means in the end.

"Does that happen often?"

Abby's laugh is contagious, and Clarisse can see how the idea of being turned into a shrub is funny. Objectively. So she laughs, too.

"Uh, I wouldn't say it's common? But it's happened. More likely they'd just kill you."

"Why though?" She doesn't get it, and she's still laughing.

"They were the one who made you, so shouldn't they be the one taking responsibility? Not the kids fault for being- tricked out, or whatever."

"Because."

Clarisse blows air out of her cheeks, trying to think of the right way to put this.

"They have all this power over everybody, and once you have enough of that, you get scared someone's going to take it away from you somehow. That's the only thing you have to worry about anymore, basically. Losing control."

She's thought about this before, a lot. Especially during the years when Luke was trying to do exactly that, and overthrow the gods. That must have scared them shitless, knowing their kids could be a real threat to them.

Oh. Abby's laughter fades off into little gasps and a sore tummy, and then she shuts up entirely. Cuz that's not funny.

"Shit."

She thinks for a moment, then says, "It- the leader of my group back home was like that. Scared of losing control. He was under the control of the military when everything went to shit right at the start, and then he broke away from them to make his own group." She's jiggling her leg restlessly right next to Clarisse, thinking, "In the end it was exactly like the military? We just ended up doing the same shit as them. For land."

Well, it's not funny, but something about it strikes Clarisse as amusing. She's thinking about the ancient Greeks at war thousands of years ago, and Abby's group at war in 20-whatever. All that time passing, but everybody still fighting over the same dumb shit. There's a kind of humor in that.

Also, the way Abby's jiggling her leg has Clarisse's head feeling like it's pressed against one of those massage chairs they have at malls back home. She smiles.

"People never change. Is that when you met your friend, when you were with that group?"

Abby has to admit that she's right. Keeps jiggling her leg though. Talking about this shit- it's not hard, she can do it, it's whatever- always makes her nervous. Peeling back layers, exposing what's beneath: it's fucked up. Hope you like it!

"Yeah. Did I say we were fighting each other? His group and my group, I mean." She probably implied it, with the whole they tried to hang me spiel. God, it's like she's got word vomit, it keeps coming up. "After he saved me, we started our own group, and nobody liked that. At all."

Why is she sniggering it's not funny

"So you just... left to do your own thing?"

Clarisse's tone is hard to read—not judgmental, not impressed. She's a little jealous, actually. Of Abby's ability to decide she didn't like something, was tired of it, and... let go.

"Uh huh." She's staring at the ceiling. "And now I'm here."

On a side again... feeling weird about it sometimes, but mostly enjoying the experience. Mostly missing Lev. The conversation has come around in a neat little circle, she thinks. Her stomach rumbles, and she sighs, says, "And I'm hungry." A terrible fate.

Hungry...

It hasn't occurred to Clarisse until now to want food, but now that Abby's brought it up, she decides she could definitely eat. She lifts her head and struggles into a sitting position.

"Let's go get food."

Maybe next time she'll remember to stock up on something good before she gets high.

Are you in the Gallows?

Yeah. What's up?

I'd like to speak with you, if you've the time. If you would tell me where to find you.

(Hrm, ominous. Abby's currently in her room, and in the process of tugging on her boots.) I'll come down to the dining hall.

Ruadh and I can meet you in the courtyard out past the kitchen.

[ Compromise, in the name of Privacy. ]

Sure.

(Means she can duck into the kitchen en route, fish a few floury apples out of a bowl to take down to the stables with her. She stashes most, meets Ellis with the fourth in her hand, rolling it in her palm like she's thinking of throwing it, but immediately stooping to great Ruadh the moment she sees him. She rubs the heel of her palm in against the top of his head, down his neck, worries him like a stone.

Whatever they're talking about, Ellis would not like other people to hear it. Abby's arms fold across her chest when she straightens.) Everything okay?

Ruadh tolerates the contact, clipped ears flattening and head tipped away, remaining still throughout before circling away once released.

Ellis is seated on the lone stone bench beneath the bare-branched tree. The courtyard may be picturesque during the warmer months, but without any leaves and the grass scrubby and dull, it makes for a less than enticing location. Not that Ellis is overly concerned with it. His head tips towards the bench beside him as Ruadh scrapes a paw through the dirt, settles at Ellis' left.

"Aye," he answers. "I've an offer to put to you, if you'll hear it."

Abby takes a seat. There's a dark brown wool cap on her head that covers her ears, leaving her braid to trail out the bottom of it, marking out the length of her spine. She's glad to have it. There's some wind chill today, and cold air makes her ears hurt after a while.

She scuffs at the courtyard with her boot, dull earth breaking up underneath of it. "Came down to talk to you, didn't I? What's going on?"

"I'll be leaving to head north soon," is Ellis' chosen approach. "I mean to search the Hunterhorn mountains for Wardens."

This is not a small task. The Hunterhorns are vast. There's a reason Ellis had once told Tony it was where he would have hidden, if his exit from Weisshaupt was messy and indelicate.

"The Commander has given me leave to bring a few others, as I see fit, in case of trouble."

And therein lay the offer: he is not talking to her of this venture for no reason.

Abby has always found Ellis to be very deliberate in both action and word; she's come to the same conclusion before he gets to the point, her attention pivoting toward him.

"Hunterhorn mountains," she echoes. Rings a bell. She's looked over maps of Thedas before, never obsessively, but enough to recognise the name. They must be big. No wonder he wants a few people along with him.

There are a lot of questions that need asking, and Abby will start with the biggest. "What are you doing with the Wardens when you find them?"

In case of trouble. She thinks she can guess...

A flicker of wry amusement precedes:

"I should like to know that they are well," is less complicated than, "And what form their opposition to Corypheus may take."

"Ohh," ha ha, "And they're just gonna tell you that if you ask them nicely? Okay, sure. I'll come."

"We have common cause."

And he has brought members of Riftwatch for a reason. There is a chance he will not be so welcome. That he has not been forgiven.

"I am asking because I think you understand the importance of..."

A pause, uncertain of the correct word.

"Of discretion."

Abby makes a face without thinking (because that 'correct' word hits a little too close), and rubs at the back of her neck with her fingers, redistributing the warmth.

Well now she has to say yes. She was gonna say yes, but now she feels guilty and shitty on top of it, like she owes him.

"Yeah," she says. "I- yeah, okay. When are you heading out? Who else is coming?"

"In a few weeks, once the worst of the weather passes."

Traveling by griffon doesn't entirely offset the misery of camping in a snowstorm, or worse, trying to fly through it.

"I've spoken to Stephen Strange, Marcus Rowntree, Vanya Orlov and Ellie. They'll come with us."

If anybody on this list bothers Abby, she doesn't hint at it. "Okay." What's actually getting to her: "We're going by griffon, aren't we."

There's no way they'd get horses up the side of the cliff without putting them at risk of broken leg. It's griffons, or walking; the later would take a ridiculous amount of time.

Sigh...

"Aye."

Very mildly apologetic.

"You can ride with me, if it eases the discomfort."

That she isn't arguing her way around it is noted, appreciated. There is no other way, really. The Hunterhorns are vast. They aren't easily traveled. It's a good choice of hiding spot for those reasons.

What else is there to do? She's the only one in that group, to her knowledge, that has an issue with flying. If she protests he'll just drop her. From the mission, that is, not off the back of a griffon or anything. (Unless...)

She'd have suggested she ride with either him or Ellie anyways, they've both borne witness to her melting down about it once before. Makes the embarrassment somewhat bearable.

"It will. Thanks." Not like she wants to be a liability, so. "I'm working on it."

"It's alright."

And it is her prerogative, to decline. There is some seeking element to the way he looks at her, waiting for that withdrawal. When it doesn't come—

"I knew a man who wore a blindfold, when we had to cross any crevasse together. He swore by it, and he had the rest of us to guide him."

Just saying.

Huh. Abby looks at him now, considering. "A blindfold?"

Would that make it... worse? Better? Most of the panic comes from seeing the steep drop-off so maybe she really could trick herself into thinking she weren't so high up? But blinding herself intentionally feels insane.

"Someone back home always told me to think about the good parts to fear whenever I started get scared. How it- gives you adrenaline, makes you focus better, shit like that. He said I should try think about how my body is just getting ready to protect me from whatever's coming next."

A pause. "It kinda works."

"We can practice, if you like. Until we are certain of what works."

Because it is all guesswork, isn't it? All the possible approaches in the world will work for one person or another, but what works for Abby won't be guessed at. They'd have to test, as much as she cared to attempt.

Whether or not she attempted those tests with Ellis was no matter. Not to him. It mattered that she found a way forward that made griffonback tolerable.

Abby has a feeling that she will only ever get this to work so much, but... well, may as well try, right. After a moment's hesitation, she nods slowly.

"Yeah. Okay.

With you?" That would be acceptable. She could withstand that.

"Aye."

And because Ellis understands the inherent vulnerability in this exercise—

"We can travel outside Kirkwall. Find an empty field."

This is acceptable.

Abby nods, adding, "This week?" Because if it's any later, she will try to wuss out, maybe pad her schedule so she can avoid the entire thing.

"Aye," Ellis repeats. "This week, we'll try."

Because yes, Ellis understands inherently the temptation to wriggle out of an event tied to that kind of visceral fear. Better not to leave it overlong; the nature of Riftwatch's work tends to provide many valid excuses to put a thing off.

Abby? You around?

(Why do people keep asking her this, where else would she be.) Yeah. What do you want?

(Oops, bitchier than intended. A sigh, and she clarifies:) everything okay?

Yeah, it's fine. [Less bitchy in whole than Ellie's been, generally.]

Do you... have a minute? To talk?

[And fuck her, that sounds like she's about to break up with her or something. Can they be normal?]

(Obviously she is now supposed to ask Ellie why she wants to talk, but Abby both thinks she knows the answer, and also wants to talk to her about a couple things anyway. Instead, she says,) Sure. Should I come to you?

(... Presuming she is in her room.)

Yeah. I’ll meet you at my room, just come in.

[Weird but fine.]

(Oh, no, she doesn't wanna do that, but Ellie cuts the connection before she can suggest they just meet up in the mess hall instead. You know, like normal people? Her protest dies in her throat. So she goes to Ellie's room, and she doesn't bring the dog along to diffuse the tension (it's tempting) because she has a feeling that if she avoids this now, Ellie will bring it up again later anyway. Or Abby will, because there's a pressure yet to lance and it isn't going to go away on its own. They do need to talk.

She knocks once on Ellie's door anyway before she opens it.)

Hey.

(She is trying very hard not to think about the fact that Clarisse has probably been in her more frequently than she has at this point... Abby doesn't make a point out of asking her for any details, obviously. But she still knows.

To gather a little control of the narrative she says,) I wanted to talk to you too, actually.

Edited (a single forward slash) 2023-02-02 07:41 (UTC)

Ellie's at least managed to get things settled after her last mission, and it's been about week since Seattle. She's had her bite tended to with magic, and surprise surprise, no new infection. It's healed up clean.

Coming out of the Fade did a number on all of them, though, and it's given Ellie enough time to let things settle in her head.

Ellie gives Abby a nod as she comes in; it's far from the first time she has. She's sitting on her bed, but her desk chair's nearby, pulled out for her.

No new bits of artwork to snoop on this time, sorry.

"Okay. D'you wanna go first?"

"Sure."

She's found a spot by Ellie's desk, not in the chair, kinda leaning up on it. Half sitting, since there's no artwork spread across it she'd get in trouble for putting her butt on. Ellie is sitting on her bed. It strikes her as almost funny, the way they carefully position themselves in a space relative to each other, it's almost... performative? Not that she's about to go and join Ellie on her bed, but.

A sigh. Okay. Her arms are folded loosely across herself.

"I- wanted to say thanks, for what happened back in Seattle. It was really good to have you there, I wouldn't have been able to handle it by myself." Obviously Ellie wasn't holding it together for her, Abby isn't trying to suggest that. But she does think a bit of gratitude is in order. "You did really good, against the rat king." A big breath out, and she unfolds a little, skimming her hands down her face, "Fuck, I can't believe we made it out of that."

Ellie's been thinking much the same thing. How bad Seattle was, how difficult it would have been on her own. How good it was to have somebody there to instinctively got it. Between the two of them they'd led everyone out still alive.

How many people could claim something like that?

"Fuck, I- I still can't believe you pulled off that shit alone."

It had been beyond terrifying even with six of them. She can't fathom that thing chasing her through the twisting hallways of the hospital, forced to use only what she had on her, to hope and pray it would be enough.

"And I'm really glad that you were there too," she admits. "Even though they were there, I don't think anybody else got it. Not until the end." And even then, did they really?

"And I'm glad we're talking again," she adds, picking at a spot on her quilt.

"I know it's fucking weird, but I missed it."

And the fact that Abby will know exactly what she means is why she missed it so badly. There's no explaining things with Abby, there's no lurking uncertainty. Abby knows exactly how Ellie thinks. She knows exactly where she stands at all times. And she utterly, completely trusts her when it comes to having her back in a fight.

Abby nods mutely. She thinks that if anybody else were to come in here and see them like this, having the most sincere conversation they've ever had while they fiddle and refrain from looking at each other, they'd probably laugh. Like, it probably is funny, but for them? It's huge. Or at least it feels that way, to Abby.

"Me too." On both counts. It... doesn't feel awkward to say so either, which is nice. At least they're agreeing on it. They reached this understanding a while ago, and now they're finally acknowledging it.

Before she can lose her nerve, she'll ask. Staring at her hands, thumbs pressing on knuckles, feeling that tension swell before the pop of bone under skin. She says, "I wanted to," and halts. Fuck, there's no easy way to cushion this question. Tries again, "What you said about Nora, did- was that what happened, or were you just trying to..."

Rile me up? Make me snap?

Abby knows. Truly, she knows, but if she doesn't ask she'll keep entertaining the notion anyway, just to torture herself. She has no idea when she got so good at doing that.

She looks up at Ellie, her expression neutral. Careful.

Ellie can't really help it; her expression crumples when Abby starts to ask, and she fists her hands in her lap, biting the inside of her cheek, taking a deep breath before she makes herself meet Abby's eyes.

"I told you the truth," she says softly, her face going just as carefully neutral. She makes herself meet Abby's eyes, resists the urge to add anything else, to clarify anything else.

I told her I could make it quick if she talked, Ellie had said, Or I could make it worse. She chose worse.

It's both better and awful that Ellie had left it at that, to let Abby imagine what Ellie had done. Neither of them slept well that night, and they probably won't tonight, either.

It lends weight to that horrible moment on the beach to know what Ellie has done. What she's been capable of. What Abby's life was worth to her. Once.

Ellie doesn't apologize or explain or try to say things are different now. She sits with her hands on her lap, gripping them tightly together, and waits.

They watch each other. It doesn't hit Abby as hard this time; she didn't come in here to make Ellie feel bad about what she said or did, anyways. It already fucking happened. What's the point. She doesn't want to hear anything like regret or pity come out of Ellie's mouth either or she'll have to leave, and they're not done.

So she shifts her weight, and nods slowly.

"Okay." Now she can stop wondering. Now, she just knows. Abby clears her throat.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

It's not an easy thing to have asked, and Ellie half expects Abby to leave after this. Hell, she kind of wants to leave, and it's her own room. Her skin aches, but she breathes through it, lets it pass.

Yeah. They're not done.

Ellie's forgotten how she wanted to approach this, though, and it feels so fucking weird and awkward, but it also has to be done.

"Clarisse," she says, pressing her lips together. Don't blush. Don't fucking blush.

"I- haven't told her anything. At all. She says she doesn't care about whatever history's between us. But... it's gonna come up, you know?"

It's inevitable, given this world, given how many things have been dragged uncomfortably to the surface, through magic, through nightmares, through shared dreams.

"And it's not just mine."

Aw, hell. Abby's attention jumps back to her instantly the moment she says it, and like that, trying so hard to be casual. She can't help but notice Ellie has turned pink. How could she possibly feel more awkward and on edge listening to Ellie get flustered while bringing up her roommate than she did asking her about Nora?

She doesn't say anything. Her arms have migrated back to her chest, crossed over each other. Her mouth has dropped into that usual frown, but she's not annoyed or anything. Default expression.

Ellie's right, anyways. They need to decide on what they're gonna... say. To other people. Before they all get caught up in the middle of this shit.

Huh, she's just thought of something.

"... Do most people even know we talk? Or do they still think we hate each other." You know, after the cunt incident.

"They probably still think we hate each other. But they know we can work together. People saw us in Seattle."

Hopefully that made an impression. But the rest comes a heartbeat later, and Ellie has to stop on that feeling, not sure what to make of it.

Abby doesn't hate her.

"I think only Derrica, Mobius and Glimmer, like... picked up on the whole thing."

"Yeah, but." Dismissive, "We had to work together in Seattle for the sake of everybody else." So it could be easily explained away like that, right. Wait, why does she even care if other people think she hates Ellie or not. It shouldn't matter to anybody other than Ellie anyways.

Abby's got a look on her face, a sort of scrunch.

She says, "I might have told Flint."

A weird sort of relief arcs through her stomach. Weird but not terrible. It's good that Abby told someone, at least. She gets the feeling that she doesn't talk a whole lot.

And they'd both been really bruised up.

"What'd he say?"

"I told him to stop pairing you with me for upcoming missions, and he said no," is the watered down version of what happened, embarrassing even when stripped back. She hopes that Ellie never finds out she completely lost her temper with him, yelled and slammed his door. There was no harm done, not really. Only a bruise on her ego.

"Other people know a little," she adds, gruffly. "I talked about the Rattlers a few times."

But not Ellie.

"What do you want to tell Clarisse, exactly?"

Everything? Should they just tell her everything?

Ellie fights not to pull a face. Yeah, that's pretty much what Flint would say, wouldn't he? There's a reason Ellie hasn't exactly gone to the higher-ups with anything. Barring Tony, but. That was more of a friend to friend than a security thing.

Exactly, Abby says, like it's something they can measure.

"... she's probably gonna ask about my fingers," Ellie mutters. "At some point. And she knows who Joel is, just not."

Ellie pauses, looking away and slowly running her tongue over her bottom lip.

"What happened."

Deep breaths. "And she probably deserves to know what I did. To your people."

And to you, she wants to stay, but stops short of it.

"Why?"

It... sounds completely fucking bizarre coming out of Ellie's mouth. She doesn't know what Clarisse could have done to deserve hearing about the various ways in which all of her friends were hunted down and murdered. Part of her gets that Ellie is self-flagellating (she has done this before too); Clarisse is close enough to the both of them now that they can try and scare her with the terrible details just to see if she runs.

But Abby's chest feels tight. She says shortly, "Don't talk about them like that."

Let me tell you all the terrible things I did and you can make a judgement call. Never mind all the actual people who died to exist as a stand-in for some kind of relationship test. People that Abby loved, and misses more than anything. "I've already told her a few things about Manny anyway, I'll tell her that part."

Adding fuck you isn't necessary when it's already there in her tone.

This conversation was never gonna be easy, no matter how much they understand each other.

Ellie bites back the immediate urge to snap back you know why, because Abby's done the same shit. They both of them are shitty people and maybe people deserve to know that before they decide they care about them. Or maybe Abby just doesn't remember. So she lets Abby finish speaking, sits there and takes a breath.

"Because I didn't tell you everything," Ellie says, biting off each word. Not so much aggressively as because it still hurts. "And it... hurt you."

Abby had felt tricked. Like Ellie had done it on purpose. Like she'd made her trust her on purpose, only to find out what kind of person she was. Only to find out that Ellie had hurt someone that Abby cared about.

It's not something that Ellie wants to think about right now, but she has to.

As if Abby could ever forget.

Silence crackles between them, staccato, and she realises she's clenching her arms across herself tightly, that Ellie is reeling herself back on the other side of the room. This would have been enough of a spark to start a fire if they'd been having this conversation a year ago. All Abby has to do now is think of Ellie mopping her up in that fucking cellar and it kills any desire to pick a fight.

That is some semblance of growth. They have been working, this entire time, to come to slightly better terms with each other, and they have.

And yet, what Ellie says still surprises her, mostly because she didn't think Ellie had... internalised that part of their conflict, at all, and it's oddly gratifying that she has.

Abby looks at her. Really looks at her, the downward tug of her mouth and dip of her head toward the ground, eyes fixed firmly at her feet.

"Yeah," she says eventually. "Okay." Okay. That's not what she was really getting at when she asked Ellie why, but this answer is satisfying to her anyway. But, "Like I said, I'll- I want to tell her that part." Maybe Ellie should talk about what she did to Joel, that... seems fair. She can't say that out loud. Seems flippant.

In her own way, Ellie has already indirectly answered it. She values Clarisse's feelings. She doesn't want to hurt her, if she finds out down the line that Ellie is a lot less of a good person than she's assumed.

That Clarisse trusts her, and she cares about that. That Clarisse trusts Abby, and that Ellie cares about that, too.

What she doesn't answer is why Clarisse deserves this particular consideration, and that's the one that Ellie's not entirely sure she wants to look directly at. She knows damn well where things are headed, if she doesn't screw them up. But that doesn't make it not a little bit terrifying.

"Okay."

It feels raw, saying it. Leaves her feeling hollowed out on the spot and aching with the aftershocks. The both of them right here and now, putting words to it. Deciding how to live with it.

They never could have done this before. It's been a long, awful road to get to a place where they can.

It really has. That they've managed to come and talk to each other about it at all is a victory in itself but Abby feels steadier for having said it too, even though it aches. Look how easily they came to terms with this. Part of her thinks she should be insulted or angry, hating herself for finding a compromise. It might come later.

She rubs the back of her neck, and makes herself say the thing she doesn't want to.

"Will you tell her about him?"

Can't quite speak his name. Coward. She could say nothing but for five years of her life, but the feelings are messy, complicated. In a way, she'd be glad not to have to explain why she killed him to Clarisse.

Ellie works her mouth, drops her gaze to her blankets, and picks at a stray thread. She still doesn't want to look at Abby when she says it. Is relieved when she doesn't say his name.

She still can't stand the thought of Joel's name in Abby's mouth. It no longer feels like a betrayal to sit here and speak to her, but that doesn't mean she can stomach it easily.

Abby took him from her, and Ellie is rapidly running out of steam to continue this conversation. Her fingertips are tingling.

"Yeah," she says softly.

Abby nods, in lieu of saying anything. There's a coppery taste in her mouth, blood-like and familiar, the tang that accompanies clenching her jaw for too long. She tries to relax, but she has to be actively thinking about it to do it. That's impossible with Ellie sitting there on her bed not saying anything and staring hard at a thread, picking. She probably wishes she could do that to Abby. Pluck her out, and toss her away.

Time for her to go.

"Ellie." It slips out, quiet and thoughtless. Abby furrows her brow, grasping at loose ends.

"Thanks," is what she settles on, "For- talking."

It's not easy, but they're doing it. They're making space for it to happen, that isn't nothing.

Abby saying her name is a quiet shock, a sting against her nerves, especially because it sounds so gentle. It draws Ellie's eyes up from the top of her blanket, her scarred fingertips, back to Abby's face.

It flusters her, but not in a way that feels terrible.

"Yeah," she says. It's an awkward feeling. But... good, too. Yeah. They both are trying, aren't they. "You too. Thanks."

A few nights after their return to the Gallows after the weirdness in the Arlathan temple, and Clarisse doesn't come back to the room she shares with Abby. In itself, that's not weird, especially lately. What is weird is the way she comes back in the early morning, at a time when she knows Abby will still be there, looking pale and upset and like she hasn't slept well, or slept at all.

She lingers in the doorway like she isn't sure she should come inside, like suddenly she's not sure the space is hers, too, anymore. Abby's awake, and that's what she wanted, but part of her had also been hoping that maybe she'd still be sleeping. That maybe they could put this off a while longer.

"Hey," she says, presses her lips into a thin, bloodless line. "You got a minute?"

Clarisse certainly does bring a very weird energy into their room. Abby hasn't been awake for very long, she was having a weird dream. Not a nightmare per say, just – a weird amalgamation of different things, some humble task she was doing that inexplicably felt like a live or die situation, and Flint grading her on it for some reason? All of her hair was chopped off. Edgard was there.

She's sitting up in bed, still parsing it out when Clarisse appears in the doorway. It's good to see her. Kind of? She doesn't look very happy to see Abby in return.

"Yeah. You okay?"

She's been staying with Ellie for the last few nights, which is fine, Abby no longer gives a shit about that, but it would have been nice to have her company after... everything. At least the dog has to stick with her (though he is currently out, and loose in the Gallows).

Edited 2023-05-26 06:15 (UTC)

"Not... really," Clarisse answers, honestly.

It's not like she and Ellie broke up over this shit, but they could've. And things seemed kind of okay after, but Clarisse still feels like she's been punched in the stomach a bunch of times and then dunked in gross water and wrung out and drop-kicked down a dirty flight of stairs and left there for a few days in the scorching sun. Emotionally.

She crosses to her own bed and sits on the edge, running her fingers over the blanket again and again so she has something to fidget with. She's facing Abby, but she can't quite look at her.

"Ellie and I talked last night. She told me some things." Clarisse knows she probably doesn't need to get too specific about what kind of things. "I just wanted you to know that." So there's no secrets between them. So Abby knows where they stand.

She watches Clarisse come and sit on her bed, and pick at her blanket, and not look at her. She's assuming that Clarisse saw something in the temple, a terrible or sad memory of hers that she'll have to explain. She presses her back teeth together and waits, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding when she finally speaks up.

"Oh." Right. That. Her... side of things.

It's Abby's turn to look down at her blanket, tucked around her waist. "Okay." She frowns, and picks at a little flap of skin on her thumb, feeling weirdly guilty. Why should she? It's not as if anybody ever hands you a manual on how to deal with a situation like this; she's been doing her best. Right?

"... We talked about that," she confesses, "About telling you what happened. We were gonna tell you different things, but I – didn't know when to bring it all up."

She adds awkwardly, "You guys okay?" Like. Relationship-wise...

"Yeah," Clarisse says. "Ellie mentioned that."

Her mouth twists like she's trying not to scowl, but she's never been great at hiding her feelings—she's pissed that they talked about it so long ago and then neither of them said anything to her.

Abby's question makes her balk, and she almost snaps something like what do you care? but stops herself. She keeps reminding herself that it isn't Abby she's mad at, but it's hard. Her nerves are frayed, and she hasn't had time to process all the things Ellie told her, and here she is waiting on Abby to tell her more, because what else is she supposed to do? She lives here.

"We didn't break up, if that's what you mean," she says finally.

Abby nods. Obviously they aren't the same – and it's more than a bit fucked up – but Clarisse and Ellie occupy the same space in her mind that Mel and Owen did: two people in her life who happen to be in a relationship with each other, one she tries her best not to look directly at. They're happy together and good for them, but she doesn't want to hear any details. She's still glad they didn't break up though, it would have felt like she had a hand in doing that if it had gone the other way.

Clarisse doesn't look relieved about this at all. She looks stressed out, like she wants to shout but she's holding back from doing it, and there is a tiny, morbidly curious part of her that wonders how it all went. What she thinks.

So she asks, "What happened?" Light, and casual. Offering her the chance to talk, if she likes.

For a few seconds it seems like Clarisse might not answer. She chews on her bottom lip, staring off at some point over Abby's shoulder, knowing that she shouldn't do this but needing to do it at the same time. She doesn't have anyone else to talk to about this.

"I saw a couple things. In the temple. They upset me." And that's an understatement. "When we got back I avoided her because I was pissed off, embarrassed, but last night we talked. She talked, mostly. I sat there and listened to it." She puts her face in her hands, breathing through her fingers. "The fucked up thing is that a lot of it I wouldn't have been angry about, you know? If it'd just been Seattle? It's not great but it's not like I can judge, with my family. But ditching her family so she could go on some fucking unhinged revenge quest and 'finish what she started' and threaten a little kid at knifepoint? I'm fucking sick about it. I feel like I don't even know her. Like... who does that?"

It's not like she thinks Abby's going to have an answer for her. If there even is an answer. But it's something she's going to be asking herself for a long time after this.

Fuck, she really did tell her everything. Clarisse probably knows more about what happened than Abby does. While she's listening she pulls the tie out of the end of her braid, grabs the dark brown, wooden comb she keeps on her bedside table, starts to drag it slowly through her hair. It's a comforting thing.

There isn't an answer for her question, not really, but it feels disingenuous not to reply to it. Abby doesn't stop combing. "Me."

If she heard about everything, she knows about Joel. She doesn't know the extent to which Abby went to find him, because Ellie doesn't know that either, but she was out of her mind over it, for years. If she had to hold a kid at knifepoint to get information on his whereabouts? She probably would have done it. She would have done anything. She isn't a good person either.

"I'm not defending it," she adds, "It wasn't right. It was fucked up, but it happened."

Clarisse decides she's just going to flop onto her back on the bed, so she can stare up at the ceiling instead of having to avoid looking at Abby the whole time.

"Guess you two are just made for each other," she mutters, and yeah, it's a bitchy thing to say, but she's over it.

She shuffles her legs, kicking first one boot onto the floor, then the other. She's not leaving this room today. (Unless this conversation goes so badly that she feels like she can't be around Abby anymore. Then all bets are off.)

Abby snorts. "... You're actually not the first person to say that to me."

Or the first person to get caught in the middle of them. Abby knows it fucking sucks. Clarisse isn't alone in wishing it wasn't like this.

Setting the comb aside she drags her fingers slowly through the waves of her hair, sectioning it out before she starts to slowly braid. "That why you've been avoiding our room too?"

She noticed.

"No," Clarisse says, "I was avoiding our room because you stink it up so bad."

Look, she's never going to pass up an opportunity to roast Abby (lovingly). Her heart's not really in it, though, and after a few seconds she admits, "Yeah."

She isn't mad at Abby the way she's mad at Ellie. But it's a lot to deal with.

"Shut up," she replies automatically, and falls silent. She's braiding slowly, but she still finishes before she can formulate anything to say in response. What do you say to that? Even apologising feels lame and stupid and not enough.

Tying off the braid, she tosses it back over her shoulder, and looks at Clarisse.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Well, yeah," Clarisse says flatly, "I'm pissed at both of you for talking about me and deciding what I'd be allowed to know about you, like, three months ago, and then not actually telling me anything."

But even in that instance, her anger falls more toward Ellie. And she knows it isn't entirely fair, but Ellie's the one she's been lying in bed with night after night, and she can't just turn her feelings off.

"As far as everything else goes, I don't know."

Abby can't help wincing. Without realising it, she's scooped her braid back over her shoulder again to tug at it, fucking with the loose ends as she mulls a couple words over.

"She really cares about what you think. I accused her of hiding some shit from me because she was trying to trick me into trusting her." Saying it out loud is embarrassing, especially when it's so obvious Ellie wasn't trying to do that, but at the time that's what it felt like. "She didn't want that to happen with you. And it's kind of a hard thing to bring up when you know what it sounds like."

Eugh... is she really going to sit here and stick up for Ellie? This sucks. She sighs heavily. "We fucked that up, obviously, but I don't know how we couldn't have."

Edited 2023-05-28 03:57 (UTC)

"It would've helped if she hadn't namedropped the baby over a month ago and skipped over the part where she was raising him," Clarisse mutters darkly.

Because that's a big part of it. The revenge and the murder weren't amazing to hear about, obviously, but Clarisse can at least relate to those concepts. Finding out her girlfriend has a kid, even if that kid is in some other universe, is fucking her up way worse.

Again, though, not Abby's fault. Unless Abby knew about that, too, and didn't say anything. Then it's... partly her fault.

Abby looks up instantly, frowning. Clarisse is still lying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her jaw set. She looks pretty pissed off, but it's not like anybody would expect her to be anything else, considering. "The what?"

The... baby?? She adds, stupidly, "What baby?"

Clarisse knows immediately that she fucked up, and Abby doesn't know anything about JJ, but the problem is that she's too hurt to care enough to stop herself from fucking up worse.

"Her girlfriend's kid. She had him after Seattle and they moved onto a farm and were raising him together." Until Ellie decided to leave, but Clarisse doesn't want to get into all that.

"I'm allowed to be mad. Right?" She isn't just being a dick, right? It's kind of fucked up not to tell someone you're dating that you technically have a kid somewhere, even if you have your reasons for keeping it to yourself, right? Right??

She realises what Clarisse is talking about in stages, the first round hitting her when she realises Clarisse isn't saying Ellie had a baby, second as she remembers that pregnant woman in the theater, the one she held a knife to the throat of. That one makes her feel sick, stomach churning. Relief pokes a few fingers through. Obviously she was fine, she... had her baby. They moved onto a farm and raised him together, but Ellie left, she must have, because she was there. At the end.

For a moment she doesn't even process Clarisse's question, too busy tripping through all of the implications. Then she says, "Yeah," haltingly. "I think so."

She feels mad. She feels disgusted, and she doesn't know what to say.

It seems to occur to Clarisse, all of a sudden, that they shouldn't be talking about this, and that bringing it up at all was a shitty thing for her to do. She just took very private, personal information of Ellie's and handed it over to Abby without hesitating.

She hadn't known at first that Abby hadn't known about the kid, but... still.

She falls into a brooding, guilty silence, still staring up at the ceiling. Wrings her hands together and uses one thumbnail to pick at the other one. Click. Click. Clickclickclick.

It's a fairly awkward silence. Abby, upon noticing Clarisse is maybe wishing she hadn't just said all of that, releases a held breath. She unclenches her jaw.

"That – must have been a lot. To hear all at once."

The baby thing in and of itself is wild, and it was only one slice of the insane pie. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Clarisse agrees, and lets all her breath out in a long, tired sigh. "And I will be.

Just not today.

"I had to tell her about something fucked up I did, too." Like, not as fucked up as all that, but still. "It was just... a really long night."

"Oh. Is this some... new thing that couples are doing together that I don't know about?"

It's a bad joke, but she's trying to make Clarisse laugh, even if only a little bit. She looks stressed out over there, stretched out prone, pinging her nails off of each other as she picks at her fingers.

Clarisse snorts. It's not a genuine laugh, but it's the closest thing she can manage.

"Yeah. You wouldn't know about it because you're always single." Boom, roasted.

She stops messing with her thumbnails and rolls onto her side so she can look at Abby. She knows that Abby is going to Hate This, but she has to be honest and she doesn't have anyone else to say it to.

"I think... I love her," she says quietly. It's why this all hurts so much. If she didn't love Ellie, she wouldn't care, right? "Don't—tell anybody I said that."

"You're so funny," Abby tells her witheringly, and her eyes go right to Clarisse's face the moment she rolls over, baring herself. This means Clarisse gets treated to an expression of distaste that forms before Abby can catch it: a scrunch in her mouth, brow furrowing, a tightness in her jaw.

"Oh." She doesn't hate it, but it's weird. Clearly, this thing with the two of them is not just a thing, it has staying power. Abby wonders how it got this big when she wasn't looking. While she was being 'always single' or whatever.

Big feelings all around. Realising she should at least try to be a better friend than this, she gives Clarisse a thumbs up. "I won't tell."

But, "Are you gonna tell her? Honestly, it doesn't really do anything for me."

The look on Abby's face isn't any kind of surprise, but at least she doesn't audibly gag or anything. Clarisse knows that she's trying. This is most definitely not the conversation either of them thought they'd be having right now, but here it is.

"Yeeeeah," she says, and her face is a little red, "I mean... eventually, sure."

It feels like she and Ellie have been dating for months and months, but that isn't really true. It's complicated. And saying it right after all this would feel weird, almost performative.

Abby considers this, and the look on Clarisse's face, her reddening ears. It's weirdly sweet. She tries not to think about how she'd actually be really happy for her if they weren't talking about Ellie right now, because it makes her feel like an asshole.

"Well," and this feels fair, "if you haven't told her in... three months, I'm doing it."

That'll light a fire under her. It's probably better to get in now, establish this hard rule before all the pining starts. If she has to lie here for more than three months listening to Clarisse agonise over how to tell somebody she loves them, she really will audibly gag.

"No you're not," Clarisse fires back, but the only reason she's so confident is because she doesn't think Abby would go out of her way to tell Ellie the tower was on fire, much less that Clarisse loves her.

After a moment, though: "Fine. Within three months." That's plenty of time.

"I might."

She won't. She can't imagine anything more cloyingly awkward, and it's not even worth pretending she would even to jokingly threaten Clarisse with it. But she has to say something, and she doesn't know what else to say.

Changing the subject, "What do you mean you had to tell her something fucked up you did?"

Also, what thing was that? She wants to know but doesn't want to ask outright.

For a second Clarisse only blinks at her. The sudden circling back to this is almost disorienting, but... she gets why Abby would want to move on from the subject of her being in love with Ellie Williams, so she lets it slide.

"She saw my memories, too," she says finally. It's not an explanation in the way Abby wants, but it's not nothing, either.

Feels more like getting a door deliberately shut in her face. She says, "Right," and falls silent, feeling awkward, like she shouldn't have asked at all. But she still wants to know, it's like they've had something in common this entire time and she's only just finding out about it.

"How come I didn't see any of your memories?" Like it was something that Ellie got and she didn't.

It's weird, that's all. Presumably Clarisse knows a fair amount of fucked up things about Abby at this point.

"We got lucky, I guess."

Clarisse is glad for that, if nothing else. She's not sure she could have dealt with the fallout of something so invasive happening to her and Abby at the same time as all this shit with Ellie.

She's surprised by the look on Abby's face more than her question, though. Sort of hurt, and closed off. It takes her a few seconds to realize why.

"Oh," she says, not sure whether she should be offended or not. "You want to know what I did?"

"Well," Abby says, "Yeah."

It sounds pretty bad saying it outright like that but it's not like she can take it back.

What she's trying to say is, "I wanna know more about you. It doesn't have to be something really fucked up, for the record." She tugs her braid through her hand, tosses it over her shoulder. "It's just that you know all this shit about me now, but I don't feel like I know that much about you."

The basics of Clarisse's life, yeah. They talk all the time, it's not that, but as far as deeper conversations go...

Maybe they aren't there yet? And for some, insane reason, she's envious of Ellie for knowing her better. But they're literally dating, so of course she does?? Abby frowns. She rubs her neck. She's probably making this uncomfortable.

"I don't know shit about you," Clarisse says honestly. She's felt this way for a while, and she's past being mad about it. "I know... basically nothing."

She's loathe to defend Ellie's honor right now, but she kind of has to. At least when it comes to this.

"You don't get it. Ellie is always so careful when she talks about you. She never says anything that has any emotion attached to it, because she doesn't want what she says to change how I feel about you. And she won't say anything she doesn't absolutely have to, because she says it's not her story to tell. So get it out of your head that I know all about you, because I don't."

Edited 2023-06-10 01:28 (UTC)

Abby opens her mouth instantly and then shuts it, because she can't think of anything to say. In wake of her silence, Clarisse keeps talking. She's right, and Abby did not get that, she assumed—

Her face feels very hot.

She's always talked about Ellie like that to other people. Seldom complaining, even coming to her defense once or twice because nobody else could possibly get it, not like they do. But is that even true? Or has she just been stopping Clarisse from trying to understand her, and know who she is? She did this with Derrica, too. And Glimmer.

The problem with Thedas is that the friends she's made don't know what she's been through. She's used to them already knowing. It isn't a bad thing, it's just different and she obviously isn't handling that well.

"Right." What she wouldn't give for something to happen that would force her out of the room and from this conversation... Abby gives it a couple seconds just in case before she grunts, "Sorry."

Seems like they sit there for ages, facing each other without speaking, but in reality it's not that long. Fifteen, twenty seconds, maybe.

Somewhere around second nine, Clarisse realizes that this is also kind of her fault. She hasn't pushed Abby to talk about anything deeper than surface-level shit, and she hasn't exactly jumped at the chance to talk about anything on her end, either.

She's still doing it now, having flipped the conversation away from her own fucked up trauma—less awful than Ellie's revenge trip to Seattle, but not exactly forgivable, either—to point fingers at Abby instead.

Can't really be that mad at someone for not wanting to talk about themselves when you're pulling the exact same shit.

"Why'd you do it?" she asks finally. She doesn't need to say what it is. They both know.

Clarisse just told her that Ellie was holding her side of the story at arm's length and it still surprises her that she doesn't know. She snorts air and says, "Because he killed my dad."

Says it matter of fact. Like it happened so long ago now that it doesn't bother her any more. To be fair, most days it doesn't. Abby thinks she might be actually processing what happened instead of letting it sit, jammed up in her chest like a spike, poking at her insides every single day. It's definitely better this way, even though she fumbles from time to time, and slices herself open on it all over again.

Slowly, she takes a breath. Then, she adds, "Not just 'cuz of him." Mostly because of him. But, "He stormed a hospital we were living in. The Fireflies, I mean. We were looking for a cure, and he killed half our base."

The last piece slots into place, and suddenly, she gets it.

"Oh," Clarisse says, almost breathing the word rather than speaking it. It all makes sense now. Ellie's story lining up with Abby's, and Clarisse can see them side by side for the first time. Joel killed Abby's dad, so Abby went after Joel.

"I knew about the hospital. She told me that part, about the cure and all, but not anything about you. That was the thing I couldn't figure out, why you'd do that, but—" A pause, but not a very long one. "I don't think he was a great person. So I figured you must have had a good reason."

Abby doesn't move. Ellie may have taken great care to cut her out of their shared story, but she'll have heard about Joel by now. She understands the magnitude of Ellie's grief and loss. She's kind of waiting for Clarisse to have a go at her over it, feels herself bristling preemptively. She doesn't think she'd yell, but she might go ahead and say something blunt that will make Abby feel like dirt—

She lifts her head in surprise to look at her.

"Oh," she says, echoing the way Clarisse said it.

Well. Okay then. "Yeah." Felt like a pretty good reason to her.

It's complicated. Clarisse can't pretend it isn't. And the thing is, the kind of agrees with... all of them. She can't say she wouldn't have done what Joel did in that hospital, or that she wouldn't have tracked him down like Abby did, or that she wouldn't have gone to Seattle if she'd seen what Ellie saw. All of them had their reasons, and their reasons weren't bad ones.

"Well, I mean." She rubs the back of her neck, awkward. "If someone killed my mom, I would do the same thing."

This is... weirdly reassuring to hear, but it doesn't stop Abby from snorting. "I hope nobody kills your mom."

And she thinks that her dad would probably really like Clarisse if he could meet her, it's just something that she likes to think about.

"I had so much of Dad's stuff back home," she laments, staring dismally at her comforter and where she's pinching it ruthlessly between two fingers. "I left it in my room at the stadium... they've probably thrown most of it out." She hates that thought, but it's a better one than picturing the WLF giving it all away to other people to use.

Well, it's post-apocalyptic times, so they probably did give some of Abby's dad's stuff away rather than throw it out. But it's a good thing Abby hadn't said anything about it out loud, because it means Clarisse doesn't stick her foot in her mouth by announcing that.

"What kind of stuff?"

Clarisse is genuinely curious. The only items she's ever gotten from her father have been the spear, the replacement spear, and the replacement's replacement. Gifts for becoming head counselor and then capturing the Fleece and then slaying the drakon. Not, like, stuff.

She is always, perhaps weirdly, interested in what normal dads are like.

Abby shrugs, "Y'know."

Oh, but maybe Clarisse doesn't know. Abby remembers her saying at one point that she was glad her dad wasn't in Thedas. She rubs the back of her neck.

"I had the mug from his alma mater, his coin collection, a bunch of funny photos he took of me when I was a kid, a poster from his office, some of his medical texts... The Fireflies took all his notes and stuff, I didn't get any of that. But I got pretty much everything else." Whatever she could carry. "We only had a couple days to pack up. Nobody exactly wanted to stick around after what happened."

There were a couple fears that he'd come back.

Yeah, that all sounds like Dad Stuff to Clarisse. Not that she'd know, personally, but she's seen enough movies to have a general idea of what fathers are supposed to be like. A mug, a coin collection, dorky family pictures. The kinds of things you could run your fingers over if you wanted to.

"Sucks none of it came through with you. I mean. Some medical books could be pretty fucking handy."

Abby exhales loudly. "Oh, tell me about it."

It's a lot more comfortable for her to get off the topic of her dad's lost stuff and onto something else. "They believe in the four humours here. Whatever you do, don't bring up germ theory."

Edited 2023-06-19 02:30 (UTC)

Clarisse snorts. "Guess you don't need germ theory if you have magic." Still fucked up to think about, though. At least in her universe there's, like, both.

She rubs her hands on her thighs. She could decide the conversation's over and she doesn't think Abby would argue with her about it, but that doesn't seem exactly fair, after all this.

Finally: "I did something fucked up and I got people killed. My best friend died. It was bad. And... it isn't the kind of thing that you can spin and make it sound like it wasn't my fault. It was definitely my fault." She clears her throat. "That's the thing I had to tell Ellie about."

Abby grimaces.

She can't help it. For a moment she actually wonders if Clarisse is like... telling Abby her own story to show her just how fucked up she is. And then she realises that Clarisse doesn't know these things about her, because Ellie doesn't either. There's no way that she could know. They genuinely have these things in common. She sucks in a breath.

"Oh."

Where to begin. Another breath and she says tightly, "Same, actually. To all of that."

The look on Abby's face, a narrowing of her eyebrows and a twisting of her lips that make her look both disgusted and pissed off, has Clarisse regretting her decision to say anything almost immediately. Fffffuck.

She feels her cheeks heat up. It's shame, not anger. She can't be angry about it because she can't defend herself. She already just said there's no way to spin the story to make her look good.

She just really, really doesn't want Abby to think she sucks. Or to stop being her friend.

When Abby speaks, then, it catches her completely by surprise. Clarisse isn't sure what to say.

"Oh," she says, echoing Abby in a way that sounds almost dazed. "That's... a really shitty thing to have in common."

"Yeah."

Maybe it's better this way, actually. Telling Clarisse what she did instead of letting her learn it all off Ellie. She says, "I dragged my friends into my shit. I didn't make them come with me to kill him, but I made it hard for them to say no. And then I made them watch, because I couldn't stop.

They got killed, and it was my fault. Because they were there in that room when they didn't have to be."

She thinks about it all the time.

Clarisse had to tell her story to Ellie, but Abby is choosing to say this. It hurts, and is oddly satisfying.

Abby talks, and Clarisse nods. She isn't agreeing with her, just listening, taking it in.

She can't say their situations are the same, but she understands the feelings Abby must have in the aftermath. She gets what it's like to walk around knowing that you got people killed, people you love, and there's nothing you'll ever be able to do to take it back or even make it okay.

That some mistakes are so big and so awful that they alter the entire course of your life.

"I'm sorry about your friends," she says. "And... about your dad." For the record.

Obviously people used to tell Abby that all the time. Sorry about your dad. Sorry, Abs. Sorry. Hope you're okay. Over time it started feeling insincere, when the truth was nobody knew what else to say to her. What else can you say?

Hearing it from Clarisse now doesn't feel that way at all. It actually helps.

Abby releases a breath and nods, looking at her.

"Sorry about your best friend."

People might've said it all the time to Abby, but that hasn't been Clarisse's experience, and it hits surprisingly hard. People basically stopped talking about Silena in front of her after what happened. Mostly because they blamed her. Which is fair. She wouldn't have said "sorry about your friend" either, if the same thing had happened to someone else.

"Yeah. Thanks." She presses her lips together, not sure what to say next. Then, with a sigh: "It's been a few years now. But sometimes it still feels like it just happened. You know?"

It's weird, thinking about herself growing older while Silena stays seventeen forever. It doesn't seem right.

Abby nods.

In a way, she hasn't been thinking of her friends as dead? More that they're... not here. It's not like she's in denial, or thinks they could fall out of a rift one day, it's just easier to think of it like that rather than what actually happened. When she remembers exactly what Ellie said to her about Nora, she feels sick to her stomach.

Is that something that gets easier over time? Abby has no fucking idea.

She clears her throat. "Yeah. I do."

She thought she was gonna leave it at that but finds herself adding, "Talking about it helps. Otherwise it's like you're the only person here who ever knows they existed and it's... weird, and fucked up. If you ever want to talk about them with me, you can."

Thinking about Silena for too long makes her feel like she's hungover and just crawled out from in between the clashing rocks at the climbing wall back at camp, and Clarisse isn't sure how much she believes that talking about her would be any better, but she doesn't argue. Because even though it hurts, sometimes she does want to talk about it. To bring up things that remind her of her friend, so it isn't like Silena never existed.

Maybe it would hurt less if she did it more often.

"Okay," she says finally. "You too, if you want."

"Okay."

... Easy. She lets out a big breath.

Because Clarisse's expression is a little hard to read right now, she adds, "We cool?"

It's not until Abby asks that Clarisse realizes what her face must look like. For better or worse, she's never really been able to hide how she's feeling, because everything shows up right on her stupid face no matter how hard she tries, and this whole conversation must have been no exception.

"Yes, Abs." She even smiles, a little. Not fake, just a little too fragile to be considered enthusiastic. "We're cool."

She cracks a tiny grin at the nickname, stretches her arms up over her head.

"Hey," suddenly, "Let's go somewhere." Fun, that is. Something that isn't sitting around here, thinking about Ellie's secret baby, cuz Abby can already tell she's going to dedicate way too much time and energy to that and she doesn't wanna, ugh. "We could... grab food out of the kitchens and go out to Sundermount, or something."

"Yeah?"

Clarisse's fragile smile turns into something more genuine, and she gets to her feet, eager. Getting out of the Gallows has never seemed like a better idea, and she and Abby are long overdue for a hangout where they actually get to do something cool.

"Let's do it."

[[Jogging! Hand up in a wave! Let's see you keep up with this cardio, Barrow.]]

Abby! Could you help me with something?

[From about twenty feet away, Abby receives a call on her crystal:]

Don't listen to him, whatever he says he's lying.

[he'll never keep up with the cardio ok]

(Why is her crystal panting.)

Barrow? Are you okay?

Ignore Jude. Listen to me instead. [look he never claimed to be good at this stuff]

Don't make eye contact. I'm just trying to help you out.

I can hear you, you know.

Barrow help, I'm making eye contact. Now what??

Shit, he's onto me. Back away.

I'm trying!!

Don't make me hit her with the puppydog eyes.

Help with what?

Some heavy lifting. Flint's calling for helpers to clear an area, lift up some ballista to place them on the battlements of the Gallows.

[He leans in closer.]

Barrow's also recruiting.

Oh. (It all makes sense now. She is hiding her crystal behind her back.) You guys are having a competition?

[Barrow, still from twenty feet away, calls out:]

She's not interested, Adjei!

I'm considering my options.

As always, the kitchen's open. What would you like?

Oh, come on!

He's making good points!

Your favorite liquor. Anything you want. Brand new bottle.

Sorry Obie.

[That actually stops him in his tracks, and he’s thrown off in a non-joking way. It’s probably enough for Jude to get the upper hand, since he doesn’t react much more than pausing.]

Learn to bake, scrub.

(She should not be so easily swayed.

But she is,) Loaf of that pumpkin bread?

And honey butter if you want it.

... And a stack of tortillas.

Of course.

Okay you win.

Thank you, gorgeous.

[Very lovingly. He'll reach out to knuckle her arm.]

(Oh. Wow okay)

[probably at least a day after this:]

Don't... call me that. All right?

[He actually sounds kind of embarrassed, an unusual quality for his voice to have.]

(Abby doesn't reply right away. She has to think about what he means, then realise maybe she overstepped and squirm around in that feeling for a few moments first.)

Yeah. Sorry.

[A pause, as if he expected that to go much worse. And then, with a new lightness,]

thanks, mate.

(She grunts.

Maybe this is pushing her luck, but she did see the memory. She knows more than she should already, and maybe he won't mind telling her.) Is she okay?

(Pru.)

[It takes him a moment, and then he carefully replies:]

Better than most.

Good. That's – I'm glad.

When they're not on a mission together, he and Abby probably cross paths most often at the training yard. Today, however, he's looking for with a bit more purpose than a friendly spar (and, ideally, with an eye to catching her somewhere relatively private). They need to talk, but it's going to be a potentially delicate conversation, and he'd rather do it right.

He looks serious, but then again, when does he not?

Yeah, there's nothing too weird about this: Vanya approaching from across the yard.

Abby's just finished a set of training exercises and her eyes brighten when she recognises him coming toward her. Vanya is better with a sword than she is and, most importantly, just as tall. He's good to work with. She greets him, "Hey. Got time for a couple rounds?"

She's all warmed up! Though he doesn't have his leathers on, or anything.

"I do, if you still like after, but I hoped I might have a brief word first." It's probably a hint at what kind of word that he includes that if you still like. "At your convenience, though, if you would rather another time."

He doesn't especially want to put it off, but if she's about to start something, he knows it can be frustrating to be interrupted right after a warm-up.

Sort of. Abby's definitely got some idea of what he wants to talk about. There has been a reoccurring theme after Dirthamen...

She eyeballs him for a moment, trying to see past his somber expression and glean what he's talking about before he can actually tell her; sighing, she gives up. "Nah. It's okay."

Gesturing with her chin in the direction of the armory, "Wanna walk?"

Quiet enough over there. Plenty of privacy.

He nods, grateful that she's able to pick up the tenor of what he hopes to discuss. As they start to go, he says, "Have you been well, since we've returned to Kirkwall?" It seems fair to ask, or at least friendly; they've seen one another in passing, but work keeps both of them busy.

That is fair to ask, but Abby has a low tolerance for small talk. Her reply is brusque. "D'you wanna get to the point?"

He's made her nervous. She's not gonna walk around with him and talk about how she is and how he is and pretend something isn't wrong.

"Yes." As much as he's not looking forward to this, there's a relief in directness. "So. When we were at Dirthamen, trading memories. I received one of Ellie's. Joel's death. And I thought you should know that I did, under the circumstances." Since she was in it; since he saw that memory from 19-year-old Ellie's point of view.

After the briefest pause, he adds, "We do not have to ... You do not need to explain anything to me you do not wish to. I saw something that was not meant for me to see, something I did not have context for. But it felt unfair, that you shouldn't know."

Abby had thought it might be something along those lines but that doesn't stop what he says from hitting her hard. Not just any old memory, huh. The memory. That fucking night...

She wonders, perversely, if he saw it all play out from her perspective. Pressed into the ground, a knee on her back, writhing and spitting and cursing and crying.

She's gone quiet and stiff. It takes her a moment to come back, from the cabin.

"Thanks for telling me," is brusque. He very easily could have kept it to himself and didn't necessarily have to tell her about any of it. After a moment she adds, "Does this change anything between us?"

The two of them, her and Vanya, aren't best friends or anything, but they are colleagues. They work together and Abby's always thought well of him. If he's decided he wants to avoid her from now on that's... It's something she wants to know now rather than finding out later on. She doesn't look especially happy about it. Her jaw is rigid.

"It doesn't," he says, instantly and without hesitation. "I think ... I don't know how many of my memories others among our number received. But I can think of more than one that I'd be sorry someone else experienced, especially without context." A pause, then quieter: "One moment in time does not define anyone, for good or ill. At least I think so."

He's not averse to hearing more from her, if she wants to talk about it. But it's nothing he thinks he's owed, and if she wants to leave it there, his answer to her question isn't contingent on them discussing it further.

He does add: "I would be sorry, if you felt you had to avoid me or act differently, now. We know one another today, in Kirkwall, and our pasts do not change that."

She makes herself watch him, gauging any reaction, and seems to find it satisfactory judging by the way she relaxes by careful degrees. One hand comes up, fingers touching at her jaw where it hinges, pressing in gently, working on a lingering soreness.

"Thank you." It slips out. She looks awkward, clearly caught out by what he's saying. It's kind. Offering not to judge her, because he doesn't know all the details, probably the best reaction anybody has ever had to this situation.

Abby sighs. She adds quietly, "It's not like I would have wanted to avoid you or anything."

But she would have, if she had to, for any reason. The meaning is clear.

His expression warms a little, almost imperceptible in its particulars, but clear enough for someone even as familiar with his demeanor as Abby. "I haven't so many friendly relationships in Riftwatch that I am inclined to be extravagant in throwing them away," is, in fact, a joke in delivery (if somewhat true in content). Less of a joke, though, when he adds: "I trust you. It is not something to be undone that way, in a moment."

He's known before now that being friendly with both Abby and Ellie has meant navigating the bad blood between them. If he knows a little more of why, now ... it's still only a little. For him, it doesn't truly change the situation much. He's as relieved as she is that this needn't shift how they interact.

She looks at him then and a smile flashes across her face for seconds, a quirk of her lips. Exhaling, releasing tension, she says, "Thanks. I trust you too."

Perhaps that's why it feels necessary to add a little more, not to excuse the action but rather to explain it. That same awkwardness from before has returned. Abby doesn't usually tell people this; she's choosing words carefully. "I wasn't trying to hurt her. She got caught in the middle of it. She wasn't supposed to be there."

But she was. Abby doesn't think she'll ever forget it.

Her brow furrows. "It's... complicated."

"It seems like it must have been." It doesn't take more context than he has to gather at least that much. "She did not tell me many details, but it was clear that was not the beginning or the end of your stories. Yours or hers." He doesn't mind hearing more, if she feels moved to share it. But he's also sympathetic to the way one event can lead to another in a way that seems nearly inevitable at the time but disastrous in hindsight. And the world they come from seems especially unforgiving.

Abby shakes her head.

He's right in that the world they come from seems unforgiving. What happened between her and Ellie could have happened to anybody else, and probably has. A tale as old as time, right? Eye for an eye. Maybe it isn't that complicated after all.

"He killed one of mine," she says, "And I couldn't let it go. Had to get even. I did, but then she had to too."

And Vanya can undoubtedly imagine how hard it snowballed out of control.

He nods; when sketched that broadly, it's certainly not hard to understand. "It's hard to let go, when it's that personal. Or even when it isn't, sometimes." One could argue that the entire Mage-Templar war was he killed one of mine multiplied out across countries.

"It had to be jarring, for you both to end up here," he adds, muted but sympathetic all the same. What might have felt like more of a fresh start for either of them.

"It was at first."

That encounter feels like it happened a long time ago, and it did. Abby has been here for two years and a lot has changed. She sighs, rubbing her neck. Where her hand cups her skin is not too far from the jagged scar on her shoulder where Ellie stabbed her in the lowtown marketplace. "But... now I'm glad she's here. It means I didn't dream it."

Her life before this one was real, it happened. Ellie witnessed it. "You guys are all great. But you don't know what it was like to come here from that. She does." That means something. At first Abby didn't care, aggressively, but she holds onto that strange point of familiarity now. She thinks that she might even need it.

Edited 2023-10-18 03:36 (UTC)

"I can understand that." He imagines it must be a different order of magnitude, for rifters. But he remembers the strange comfort of finding Benevenuta here, when he first joined, the strange reassurance of someone who had known what his life looked like years before the war. (Wars.) "I imagine the little glimpse many of us got did not really ... living there must be an entirely different thing. Even the Fereldens who saw the Fifth Blight, it was a year or two only. I would think coming here would have been. An adjustment."

He looks briefly sheepish, then, hearing his own words and feeling their insufficiency. He wants to extend empathy, but he's not sure he hasn't overstepped. She can almost see him resisting the knee-jerk impulse to apologize.

Yeah, and it makes her smile a little bit. "Sorta," isn't her way of helping him out of what he just said. "Sounds crazy to put it like this, considering everything, but it's a lot safer here, so it hasn't all been terrible. But it has been hard to adjust.

"Where are you from?" She doesn't actually know this about Vanya, and a flash of embarrassment makes her voice a bit softer, almost hesitant.

He doesn't seem even slightly offended. "Nevarra City, originally. I haven't been back in a very long time, but I suppose the place you're a child always leaves a mark on you. I don't think I left the country at all until ... maybe 12 years ago?" It feels longer, but it isn't, or not by much.

It seems like he might stop there, but after a moment, he adds: "You know, it's ... I didn't think about how different Nevarra's culture can be until I left it. I mean, it's nothing as different as rifters have to navigate, but there is still a lot that feels strange here in the Marches. Or in Ferelden or Orlais." He's learned to roll with a lot of it, but it doesn't mean it feels instinctive yet. Possibly ever.

"Where is that in relation to Cumberland?" She has a vague sense of where Nevarra is on a map: to the west of here and slightly north. She frowns, remembering. Going to the College of Magi was not a long trip from Kirkwall, but the atmosphere was entirely different. Its city must be the capital, right?

"Did you come here alone?"

She hasn't thought to ask these questions of the locals before.

"More or less due north from Cumberland. I spent more time in Cumberland overall, probably, I was stationed there starting when I was fairly young. But Nevarra City wasn't so far I never went back. My parents are still there." A brief stab of guilt at how long it's been since they heard from him, but set aside for now.

"I did come to Kirkwall alone, yes. But I'd been part of the Inquisition before, back at Skyhold, so I knew some of the people here by reputation or in passing." A pause. She didn't ask, but he feels compelled to add: "I wanted to help stop Corypheus. I thought I could do more good here."

Oh, well. That's far more noble than falling out of a rift, catching a bad case of shard in the palm and having to stick around or die painfully, huh. Abby feels abruptly humbled by this. She says, "We're lucky to have you." It strikes her that she's never asked the others their motivations for being here, had been assuming that, like any war, people were just doing as they were told, waiting for it to all be over.

May as well voice that.

"I was with the Washington Liberation Front back home," she explains, "We were at war with this... weird cult group that wanted control of the same area as we did, so we hunted them down and killed a lot of them. They did the same to us. It wasn't about doing good."

Abby doesn't know when this became embarrassing and hard to talk about. She pauses.

"I didn't give a shit at the time. I didn't care, I was just doing a job. And I thought I was using them for information, it was so stupid."

He's not entirely sure, if the organization were to be polled, "lucky to have him" would be a universal feeling (beyond the overall sense that there are too few members to willingly wish one away). But it feels rude to dispute an observation that's kindly meant, so he lets it pass.

Instead, a bit softer, he says, "I don't know how much you know about the Mage-Templar War, but I can understand that. I mean." He exhales. "It's complicated, I don't have to get into it, but I just mean to say that ... I was in a war I wasn't proud of, before this one. Risking my life to save the world from an actual monster isn't easier, but it's certainly more straightforward."

Abby, [hello,] what's your opinion on arm wrestling?

That you shouldn't challenge me to it.

Trash talking noted and approved. Would you, perhaps, be interested in wrestling the arm of my research partner?

Yeah.

(Wait,) Why? Are you gonna be watching, or something?

Well, yes, obviously. I was also thinking, ehh... it might be entertaining for all involved if the both of you take turns trying to insult each other while you're doing it.

(...)

Is this a sex thing.

For someone, probably.

Are there gonna be bets on who wins?

Whatever inspires you to greater enthusiasm.

(For the record:) This is fucking weird, but I'll do it.

Try to describe arm wrestling in a way that doesn't make it sound, at minimum, a little bit weird. Or any sport, for that matter.

Fair.

Who is your partner, exactly?

Jayce. Tall, dark hair, big shoulders—you might have seen him at the anvil now and then.

Oh.

Does he know that you go around soliciting arm wrestles for him?

Not yet.

Should I yell SURPRISE right before I challenge him?

Nothing's stopping you. But leaping from the bushes into his path might put him off. He's, eh... little bit jumpy.

Okay. Guess I'll keep my eyes peeled for you, then.

(fr) inbox

a survey;

thank you this is hysterical

UuU*

crystal

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crystal;

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Voice;

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crystal.

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special delivery / backdated to the first week of harvestmere

satinalia gifting;

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