faderift | [closed] had a falling out with a window

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[closed] had a falling out with a window

WHO: Sherlock, the Valo-Kas, Kirk
WHAT: The Fade sure was a thing, and now everyone needs a drink. Even those who are only hearing about it after the fact.
WHEN: Early Justinian
WHERE: On the road back from the Approach to Skyhold? (as long as that works for everyone)
NOTES: Pseudo-party-post. No real tagging order, feel free to make new threads for side conversations.

Perched on the half-crumbled wall of a ruin, Sherlock had stood and watched the larger part of the Western Approach expedition get sucked into a rift. He'd been at a distance from them, part of a small band of scouts tasked with keeping watch, with picking off any stray threats that managed to get past the initial assault. In the end, watching was all he'd been able to do.

The fact that any of them made it out, much less the entire group, is astonishing. The Fade has always been something foreign to Sherlock, something relegated to the world of dreams and of mages, neither of which he concerns himself with too heavily. If the possibility exists, no matter how anomalous, that he might get pulled into it one day? He'd better start getting acquainted.

As much as he wants the details to remain coherent, he's willing to concede that alcohol may be necessary to the facilitation of his questioning. As much as he wants to keep his head, he may require a bit of liquid courage to keep his nerves from shaking.

They're sitting around the campfire, and Sherlock is nursing his cup slowly. For now. All the better to get used to the burn of maraas-lok.

"What did you see?" he asks, "When you were first pulled into the Fade?" He knows what he saw, for a half an instant, while the rift had opened wide — what he thought he saw. He wonders if their stories will be consistent, even with one another.

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He almost kissed the ground when they came out of that damn place. God, it even smelled better than the Fade, like it was meant to have life in it rather than whatever twisted shit they had left behind. Tired as he was, though, he couldn't fathom going to sleep. His mind ran to many places even in its weariness, and that was always a signal for a bad night to come. So, best to put it off.

"I would say the stuff of nightmares, but those things ate nightmares," he growled, reaching out to take a cup of offered drink and throw it back - only to cough as it burned on the way down, and he was sure he would spit up flame, slapping his chest. "Stars above!"

Korrin doesn't have the energy to laugh as might otherwise, but there's a tired, amused huff at Kirk's priceless response. "I told you it's strong, didn't I? If that doesn't kill any chance of dreaming tonight, I don't know what will." That's the idea, anyway. The hangover that's bound to come afterward...well, that's to be expected.

Eating nightmares. Sherlock's willing to forgive a touch of poetry, particularly considering that things wouldn't work as expected in the Fade. He shouldn't make any presumptions. Maybe they really did eat nightmares.

He tries another, larger swallow next, suppressing the cough that tries to fight its way up from his chest. He's... somewhat successful.

"Fearlings," he repeats, with a slight sneer. What a quaint little name for swarming demons. "Who came up with that one?"

Bumping shoulders with Lena, leaning into her a bit, Korrin shrugs. "No idea. It's a stupid name for something so awful, isn't it?" She takes another swig at that, feeling her throat burn but able to hold back from coughing.

"...saw a desire demon, too. She looked like Araceli, kept trying to lure me away from that pull I felt toward the rift." Her lips tighten and she looks away, still processing that.

Lena's head tilts towards Korrin slightly. When she speaks, she stares down at the ground, but there is fresh angry in her voice.

"Fucking demons. Always know the spot to hit to try and get you. But you were smarter."

"You did," he coughed and rubbed his chest, lungs burning. If there was ever an alcohol that could cause heart burn... "But it's worth it not to see that thing's face in my head all night." He took another sip - slower, this tip, getting it down without coughing though he was sure his eyes watered.

He looked to Korrin when she speaks of her lover and his mouth thins in a line. No, he had no love for those creatures either.

"Korrin threw a boulder at a demon that tried to look like the man who was practically a father to me," he said. "I haven't seen his face in a long time." He looks down into his cup, eyes dark as he stares at the liquid, turning the crockery slowly. "I don't like that those bastards were deep enough in my head to pick him out..."

Personal connections. Friends, lovers, mentors. All the more reason to keep those types of connections as rare as possible. Less fodder for the demons.

"They can always see into your mind. It's as easy as dreaming." You didn't have to be a mage to know that. Although... "Although it can be even worse for mages."

Korrin quirks a faint smile at Lena's words, glad she's still there to agree instead of having fallen to their lures. But she can't take full credit for that, since company kept her focused. Her expression softens upon hearing Kirk, remembering that incident well but not having had time to ask for details then.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Mages get hit with that shit every time we visit the Fade in our sleep. Any mentor worth a damn teaches you how to ignore that shit, but it's still always there. If it was through sleep and not physically being there, it wouldn't have rattled me so much." She frowns at that last part, shaking her head. "I hope this doesn't set a trend. The last time people walked in the Fade, the whole damn world suffered for it."

Lena has no desire to be a mage with all the shit they have to put up with in this world, but it definitely gave them an edge in the Fade. Korrin didn't freak out half as much as Lena did, because she just wasn't prepared. Assassinating a mark, stealing goods, guarding shit? She can prepare for that easily. It's like second nature to her. But dealing with demons in her head, picking at her one weak spot and exploiting it to torment her? Yeah, she fell apart like a damn baby.

"If it's true," Lena mutters, swirling her drink in her glass. "Just because a bunch of stuffy fucks in robes got together and said that's how the darkspawn were created doesn't make it true. Could be true; could be a load of shit."

To be frank, Kirk was a bit lost with all the talk of mages walking in the fade in their dreams and the stuffy fucks in robes. He had some things straight in his head about the Chantry thanks to Korrin, but his knowledge of the whole thing was still woefully incomplete.

"Can we all just agree that it fucking sucked?" he said, looking into the fire and his brows knitting, remembering the things the nightmare had whispered to him when they were fighting it, the things it should not have been able to find because he had buried them so deep. He heard his voice in his head, a tinny echo....

His breath came sharper for a second, hand trembling around his mug as he stared hard into the fire.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a line.

"Clearly." He looked down into his drink, gathering his thoughts.

"Anyway," he breezed, then, connecting back to what Korrin had said, "so long as you didn't desecrate any divine cities, I think we can set aside those concerns."

Korrin raises her cup a little at Kirk's question, drinking to that. "Truer words were never spoken." She glances over to Lena and nods, knowing that between the sheer disparity in time plus Chantry propaganda, the truth could be something altogether different. Still, though, it could contain a kernel of truth. "I hope it's shit, but I still doubt anything good can come of entering the Fade like that. Killing the Nightmare doesn't count."

That does bring a slight twitch of her lips as she pats her travel bag, though. "Asher's getting a souvenir."

"Yeah, and it damn well better not turn him into a demon or some shit," Lena says, nose wrinkling. You couldn't pay her to mess with a hunk of demon. That said, she definitely wants to witness him eating it, because that's something you don't see everyday. Hopefully he takes it like a champion. It'd be a shame if she had to stab him because he went all demon on them.

...wait, what? Sherlock's eyes flick toward Korrin's bag.

"You actually brought something back?"

"The stuff there seemed tangible enough," Kirk agreed, coming out of his slight moment of tremors. He held out his cup for more of that insanely strong alcohol, glad that his liver had been reinforced over the past year otherwise he might be down for the count right about now.

"I mean, the demons could touch and harm us and there were... things scattered about. If it's tangible in one place, should be tangible in this world," he shrugged. "Unless they're on some higher or lower dimension, but since we didn't go crazy in there right from the get-go, I think it's safe to say anything from there could survive here."

Science, it was his save haven, and maybe that drink was beginning to hit him a little now.

Of course Korrin ensures that Kirk will have plenty more to imbibe. It would be cruel to delve into such topics sober, so they can't have that. She nods to Sherlock, even as Lena's words make her lips twitch. "A piece, yeah. If I didn't, Asher would no doubt implode from sheer jealousy at not being well enough to take it down in person. So this will make him happy." Gross, sure, but never let it be said that Asher was a dainty person.

Lena says nothing, but assumes that this rifter is going to be collapsing at some point in the near future, complaining that the world needs to stop spinning. She'll have to remember to stay out of the splash zone if he starts throwing up.

"It goes without saying that Asher Hardie is fucking insane," Lena says, and her tone of voice is some weird mix between fond and disgusted. Because even she's not sure which she is. Is it possible to be both at the same time?

Augmented blood had some side-effects he wasn't to sorry for. His ability to hold more alcohol was one of them, though he didn't think he would be asking for more beyond this second cup. He could feel the burn still from the first, and would rather not turn his stomach and throat into a heart-burn wrecked mess.

He glances to Lena and his lips twitch into a little smile. "But that's his most endearing quality, is it?" he teased her, turning to his favorite method of banishing sadness and levity.

Sherlock is still staring at that bag. Now he's real interested. His eyes only flick upwards toward Korrin again when he's about to speak.

"Let me see."

"I guess I can't say something like that and not turn this into show-and-tell, right? Fair enough." After taking another swig and setting down her drink, she reaches in to pull it out. It's not a huge piece, maybe about the size of both her hands put together. "A chunk of its leg, more or less. I know I helped chop that off and saw where it landed, so I claimed it."

"Some trophy," Lena mutters, wanting to put that entire place behind her. But if they have to be talking about the Nightmare demon, she'll throw in her opinion. "Should have brought Asher back an eye ball."

While Lena's muttering, Sherlock is leaning forward, getting close (the ground seems to tilt slightly as he moves — two swallows of the stuff and he's already a little tipsy. So that's a thing). He reaches out and brushes a thumb against the thick exoskeleton surrounding the chunk of demon leg.

"Feels real." If he hadn't known, it might have easily been taken for a piece of an exceptionally large cave spider. Curious.

Kirk shudders when he sees the trophy, not because it was revolting (it kind of was), but for the memories it dregged up. Thank you, for this Korrin, it is such a good thing he has alcohol in his hand right now and already in his blood stream at this point. Why would you choose that as the trophy anyways? He at least keeps that thought behind his teeth, but he can't suppress the second round of shudders.

"That thing nearly tore all of us to shreds, of course it's real," Kirk snorted, hiccuping in his indignation. His next comment is made to Lena. "Why? Would he have made a necklace out of it?" That absolutely seemed the thing to do with an eyeball trophy.

"No, he'd eat it. Like Lena said, fucking insane. Or it's an Avvar thing or both." Who said they were mutually exclusive? Though Korrin says it fondly, taking another swig. She sets her drink down to prop up Sherlock when he looks to be tilting a little. "Look at it this way, at least this is a reminder that it tried to tear us to shreds and failed, because we're more awesome than it could ever hope to be."

And the look Sherlock gives Korrin in response to that steadying hand is oh, come on. He's not exactly three sheets to the wind, only a bit wobbly. Although, if he winds up needing that hand again later, she won't hear him complain.

"The Fade is an enigmatic place, James," he says, setting back in his spot and... looking into his cup. Considering another drink, but not taking it for now. "We can't take anything for granted."

Enigmatic. Sure. Lena's not even sure she knows what that means. Weird. It means weird, right? She snorts a little to cover up how much that place has messed her up and throws back her head to gulp down the last of her drink. Then she sets her cup down in front of Korrin.

"Gimme one more. I'm chugging it, then going to bed."

He chuckled and reached out to shove at Sherlock lightly with a soft laugh. "Wisdom from drunk men," he intoned, quaffing the last of his cup and setting it down between his feet, not wanting more just as of yet. Better to let what he had settle in his belly and his blood, by which time he thought he should probably be close to full on drunk.

"Why would he eat it?" he said, backtracking to the issue of the eyeball, drunken brain wandering in strange circles.

"Something about gaining the power of enemies, I think. That's as much of that supposed logic as I care to absorb. At least he's not dumb enough to try the same thing with darkspawn." That would be a one-way ticket to the Joining or a painful death.

Nodding over to Lena, she nudges her and then pours. "If this doesn't knock the dreams out of you, nothing will."

"Some Avvar thing," Lena adds oh-so-helpfully before taking her now full cup and starting to chug. Her throat feels like it's on fire, and maybe flames are going to shoot out her mouth next, but she squeezes her eyes shut and keeps drinking it down so that her sleep is unmarred by nightmares of what she experienced in the Fade. Once it's all gone, she has herself a coughing fit, but that's natural even for Vashoth who drink the stuff. Pounding a fist on her chest seems to help, and she says, "I'm turning in," once she's able to speak.

Kirk's shove also earns him a look... but in any case, it seems the conversation is winding down, or at least passing the point at which he'll be able to learn anything useful. Steeling himself, Sherlock lifts his cup and drains what's left in it.

That burns. He closes his mouth to prevent coughing out loud, but he does clear his throat rather loudly, and instinctively thump a fist onto his chest.

"Sympathetic magic," Kirk said, his words taking on a bit of a slur now, cheeks hot.

He looked to Lena and tossed her a pout - as pretty as he could make it in his state. "Aw, already? But we've only just sat down." He looked to Korrin now, holding his hand to his mouth briefly to hide a hiccup that shook his shoulders sharply, a sudden flash of worry creasing his brows.

"It can't touch is in our dreams, can it?" he asked. "That place, that thing. It can't touch us here."

Korrin shakes her head. "Not like what you're thinking. You're not a mage, you won't remember your time in the Fade. If anyone here does, it'll be me. Yay for being a special snowflake."

Standing up to slap Lena on the back when she starts coughing, she nods and slips that arm around her friend's shoulders to give a quick squeeze. "Go crash, and in the morning I'd better hear that you don't remember a damn thing."

Kirk, pretty pouts do nothing for Lena. Right now nothing is going to entice her to stay, least of all pretty boys she could probably throw into a wall.

But Korrin at least gets an arm briefly around her waist in return and a nod. Chances are, even if Lena does remember her nightmares, she'll lie about it. No sense letting Korrin think her drink did nothing.

"Night," she tells her, before heading off to her tent.

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[closed] had a falling out with a window

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