faderift | [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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

[closed] had a falling out with a window

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