faderift | Life in Camp Shady Fuckers

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Life in Camp Shady Fuckers

WHO: Everyone living in or visiting the Warden camp
WHAT: Just some low-key action-spammy stuff for a bunch of sketchy losers who got tossed into the camp for sketchy losers. And the people who come to hang out because sketchy losers are the coolest losers.
WHEN: Vaguely stretching around Cloudreach?? Nothing is set in stone, time is an illusion
WHERE: ~~Camp Shady Fuckers~~ The Warden camp
NOTES: Just throw whatever warnings necessary in the heads of your threads

Just throw opens or whatever up this is a low-key general mingly kinda thing for hanging out and shouting at each other. Feel free to interrupt other threads or whatever and idk man this is basically like a network post but in real life.

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Is this when I tell you it's a nice night for an evening? I hear that's a very popular pick-up line.

[He's awake sometimes, this time of night, stressing to no end, and tonight playing with Purrelden hasn't helped. Walking around the camp is clearly in order until he runs into Alistair.]

[ Alistair lowers his pendant-fidgeting hand until it, too, is hanging from the chain around his neck, and looks at Anders like he has a second head. For a moment. It shifts into a smirk quickly enough. ]

You're either going to need a better line or to come back with flowers.

[After a beat, he gives Alistair a faint smile.]

I'd go for flowers, but I'd break Beleth's heart. And Zevran's. You're quite the popular catch, it seems. Maybe I'll skip any more lines too, because I think the two of them could quite effectively teach me a thing about messing with their bedwarmer.

They're only using me for my body heat.

[ Rightly so. He isn't wearing a coat or cloak now, and his nose is red but otherwise he seems unbothered. ]

How are you holding up?

Asks the other man walking around camp by himself when it's dark out.

[He doesn't know Alistair that well yet. The guy's decent, Zevran counts him as friend, which means the deflection the former Templar gets is humor instead of anger, but it's still deflection.]

I'm not dead, bleeding out, or currently facing a dragon. This means that on the scale of where my life has gone, tonight is doing very well. I'd offer to update you if a dragon lands on top of us but I think everyone would notice. Probably. Also, not currently in the mud. That's a plus. Yourself?

Great, great. Fantastic.

[ While they're deflecting and all. He shuffles his feet and goes back to fidgeting with his pendant and looking at the sky. ]

I don't know that I would mind a dragon about now. I hate waiting.

[He nods to the pendant.]

That have anything to do with waiting? Or dragons? Please let it be the former, because I always mind dragons. I've run into three, and have no desire to deal with a fourth.

This is, indeed, a dragon-summoning pendant. Four more turns and a whisper, and we're all toast. Or, [ in the alternative, ] it's a useless trinket I carry around because I'm a sentimental idiot. Time will tell.

[ He gives it another turn, demonstratively, three more now. ]

Three dragons, huh?

Is it assault if I jump you to try to take it away?

[There's amusement in his voice. It's definitely the latter. He's got a pair of useless, sentimental items himself.]

One high, one... normal, as normal as they ever get, and one bone. As in, animated bones. That last one was entirely Jonas' fault, which likely comes as no surprise. "Gather the bones," he said. "We can make things from them," he said. "Oops not that!" he yelled.

I think so, yes. But probably justified. I'm sure no one would blame you.

[ He starts off grinning at the dragon descriptions, and then—not grinning. There's still a smile, but it's obviously lingering out of duty. ]

That does sound like something he would do. I swear on Andraste's ashen fingerbones we disturbed every ancient altar we... [ That's it, that's the entirety of his ability to talk about Cousland and sound pleasant at the same time. ] Hawke isn't [ wasn't ] any better, I'd say. Maybe worse. I'm sure you're thrilled to be back with the Wardens, where it's sliiiiightly safer.

[There are more than a few who aren't fond of Jonas. He'd been... difficult to get along with, at times. Plenty of times. Anders has mixed feelings on him, but at the end of the day, despite how he'd abandoned Anders and the rest, he'd saved Anders' life. That did get some sort of loyalty.]

It doesn't seem to matter who I'm with, I keep winding up in the Deep Roads. At least this group knows not to touch the things that are obviously going to be harmful if you take a moment to simply look at them. Or seems to. I suppose the proof will happen when we're down there and something looks valuable and deadly.

Stick with me. I only touch dangerous things by accident. Granted I do that fairly often, but it's the thought that counts, right?

[ Right. Anyway, the actual abomination isn't allowed to judge him for occasionally inadvertently stepping into a trap. He bounces on his feet for a moment, fidgety. ]

I'm not a Templar, you know, but I do a pretty good imitation, if you ever need one—to make people calm down, I mean.

Continuing on the topic of it's the thought that counts...

[It's said as lightly as he can manage. Alistair can't know what being Silenced is like.]

It's not a good idea. Even for a break. Silence is stressful as it is, feeling like a part of you is simply not there, but I'd not be prepared for when he came back, full of fury.

[He hesitates before continuing. They're walking on thin conversational ice here.]

If... If I'm ever slipping with control, then it could be, would be useful. If my eyes are blue, if my skin looks like it's cracking in a thousand places to show blue underneath, Silence will knock him back and buy a respite. A chance to regather, deal with what caused that.

Oh, I meant them.

[ Them is illustrated by a thumb jerked toward the fortress, torches and lit windows visible in the dark. ]

But I'll keep an eye out for skin cracking thing, too. [ He smiles a little. ] Does that hurt? It sounds like it would hurt.

Oh.

[Now he feels a little stupid.]

I thought, with the whole Templar mention... Right. Sorry. Though if you've any sway to keep another one from punching me, I'd appreciate that. I didn't even...

[He trails off, shakes his head. Less mopey in camp. He'd promised Zevran.]

Skin cracking. No. Or, I don't think so. By the time that happens I'm not exactly aware of what's going on anymore.

No, no, don't be sorry. I would have offered that, too, but I know Warden Templars haven't gone well for you. [ Or for them, and Alistair is too pretty to die. But more importantly— ] What do you mean, another one?

[They haven't. Mostly because they put Templar before Warden despite how joining the Templars was supposed to end that sort of thing. Alistair is better, and he gets a wry half-smile at the comment about not going well before Anders glances back toward Skyhold.]

I've been hit three times since dropping the alias. One of them I provoked. He was being an idiot so I was a deliberate jerk back. But the Templar I didn't. Nerva. I was greeted by a former patient by name, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, her standing over me and glaring.

[He frowns.]

If I thought it would do anything I would have tried to find a superior officer, but I'm... me.

You are very you, [ Alistair agrees, settling back to look at the sky again. ] Have you considered a haircut?

[ As if that's the problem. ]

I don't know that they'll put anyone in the stocks on my account, but I'll—if you need anyone to stand behind you and look stern, next time you go up there, let me know.

[He glances over, flicker of a smile back on his lips at the haircut comment.]

Actually, I'm thinking about growing it longer and braiding it. Loops upon loops of braids, all very modern, very complicated. What do you think? Could you stand behind me and look stern instead of bursting into snickers if I wore it like that?

[It's strangely nice to be able to talk about something and have it treated lightly. Not dismissed. Not ignored. But considered and then addressed in a relaxed way. It's different, too.]

[ Alistair considers this quietly for a very long moment, giving the question the weight it deserves. The real answer yes: if someone were being an ass, or if Alistair made himself think about something sad, he could manage to keep a straight face. But the answer he gives is, ] I could wear a helmet.

[ Then it wouldn't matter. #problemsolving ]

That'll fix it.

[Not like he's about to go for long, complicated braids; Justice is annoyed with the time it takes him to get ready in the morning as it is, and he's not taking nearly as much time as he used to. But he doesn't want to be entirely serious right now.]

Provided Zevran doesn't absolutely object to a fancy hairdo. He might have something to say about it not suiting the shape of my face.

Zevran is a hair tyrant, [ Alistair says, with feeling. ] Add that to your list. At the bottom, I mean. Mage freedom first, whatever else you care about, and then Zevran's hair tyranny.

Mm. Maybe I can find ways to persuade him to not be so tyrannical about hair. I make no promises, but I can try. Definitely a bottom of the list thing, though. Somewhere under 'ways to make my cat's claws not hurt,' and 'fresh, hot bread.'

[Actually, the bread sound really good right now.]

Slightly above 'finding excuses to hike in mud again,' however.

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