faderift | [ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

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[ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

WHO: Adelaide & you
WHAT: Catch All for the month
WHEN: June/Justinian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Wine, swearing, PUPPIES, allusions to demonic violence. Prose or Brackets are fine, roll with what you like most. If you want a specific prompt hit me up on plurk @ here!

[ Courtyard -> Stables ]

When her sister wrote 'their arrival is imminent' Adelaide had not quite considered how imminent Juliette meant. Perhaps she might have been better prepared for signing off with the courier when they herd the rather rambunctious litter of several month old mabari pups to one of the few empty stalls in the barn. Playful things that they are- Dennet is a horse master not a hound master and it will be some time before the appropriate point of authority finds their way down to check on the five puppies ready for imprinting or...whatever it is these dogs do- but they will need minding until they are handed off and as she'd had the fortune to sign for them- Adelaide finds herself sitting in the barn, trying to keep the dogs from gnawing on one another, on her, or on anything valuable. Moments like this are a thorough reminder as to why she is a cat person.

[ Library ]

She can be found, as ever, at her table tucked into one of the unoccupied nooks of the library- a cold cup of tea at her elbow, a sheaf of notes she writes and reorganizes- a quill on occasion hovering over a sheet of blank paper and mimicking her notes stroke for stroke so she might produce them in duplicate. So long as she remembers exactly how she's laid out the paper, it works well enough. For questions, comments, concerns, condemnations or complications that have arisen during research she has made herself thoroughly available.

[ Return of the Attache ]

"No." That is all she has to say. No. She won't bother to stop or listen, she won't bother to mind him in the slightest- that same family attache doggedly tails Adelaide about the hold, hovering just behind with a leatherbound sheaf of papers in his hand while he awaits for some sign that she'll take them or at least listen. He spends the bulk of his time holding the odd extra book or pen or, in a singularly distressing moment, a pad of gauze against a seeping wound as she mends a patient in the healing tents. He's a step down from a personal valet- he is not meant to be dealing with literal bloody commoners and yet- this is his life. Someone please help him convince Adelaide to at least take the papers and look at them.

AFTER JUSTINIAN 19th

[ Stairs ]

After the final ritual is all said, done, and finished Adelaide finds she has a wealth of extra time due to no longer needing to spend several hours picking apart what went wrong with the last and what could go wrong with the next- and at least a few hours extra that she'd otherwise spend training with Martel in the evenings due to the incontinence that is her leg. Magic, even hers, can only do so much and the nasty break in that last fight leaves her less walking with the calm poise she's known for and more hobbling from place to place, staff less an afterthought and more a requirement for keeping her weight off her leg. At the moment she's glowering at the stones underfoot as she takes one slow, shuffling step up the stairs at a time. Her research is in the library- and eventually she would make her way there. Just- give her some time.

[ Healing Tents ]

Here, at least, there are fewer stairs. Adelaide splits her time between minding patients and beginning new notations on old research she'd set aside- tending to those she could while moving as little as possible for the first few days. Her humor is...subdued, somewhat, but that is easily explained by the weight of her work of the past months finally catching up now that she is forced to spend less time on her feet. Now and then she might be caught dozing, chin tipped to her chest, fingers still holding the page of her book in place.

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"Remi." She corrects- and with a soft 'prrt' the kitten in question unwinds from a pouch in her robes and hops up onto the table between them, stretching. She sighs faintly and nudges him away from the brandy. Not for kittens.

Why do they always wish to dig into things not meant for them?

"I have a hard enough time with mage politics. Bring the Chantry that failed me into the mix and I would be ignored at best and killed at worst." Reasons to not consider it. "But- Thank you The work I do here is...everything I should have been working for before the Spire fell. But better late than never, yes?" She lifts a glass to him, lips pressed in a wry smile.

There's a little sparkle in his eyes at the correction. Bonbon had been deliberate, and seeing that Remi's still with her helps him win a point. In his own mind, at least. He raises his glass in return and drinks, matching her smile.

"Definitely better late than never. We're getting somewhere." He's starting to believe that maybe they can't be forced back into Circles, that maybe they've made enough strides here toward true independence that the risk is lesser. "There's still ground to gain, but we've started down a path that, that has promise."

It might not take fifty or a hundred years for a mage to live and love in freedom, anymore. The time may even be here, if people around Skyhold are anything to go by.

"In a generation's time, or two, mages could not simply know freedom, but only know it." To have a tiny bit of hope again is a gift. "But I'm getting ahead of us. Far ahead." He might not live to see the end of the month, and here he is thinking of decades down the road. "For now, there is tea, and there are notes, and ritual. If... If this does not work," does not kill me is the true meaning here, "have you seen anything else that might be an option?"

"With every meeting, we manage a little more." More of those that were on the fence come to trust them, more that had concerns came to them- they are short steps forward but lately? There have been very few steps back. It is promising- heartening, even, to see and know this.

And it all might come for naught if this thing gets her killed. Hence. Another glass of brandied tea. More tea than brandy, Remi tumbles against her and she'd rather worry about keeping him on the table than having more to drink. Perhaps he is her cat- but she is not about to admit it. Not yet. That'd be handing victory over to Anders and it is not something so easily or simply done. Not truly.

"There are a few options." Most of which might kill you but that goes without saying. Actually killing him isn't precisely plan B, but it is roughly around Plan C or D. The less he knows of it? The better.

He wishes he could be a part of the meetings, but at least he still has a part to play, even if it's mostly unseen. ...Or he has a part to play if he survives this. That bit's fairly crucial.

Anders reaches over and gently urges the cat away from Adelaide's drink, rubbing the underside of his chin as a distraction as he waits for clarification about the options. When none immediately follow, Anders looks up from Remi.

"That bad, then?" It's not really a question. He can't expect another sing-a-long. "Well. Maybe this one will be the one that works."

It takes work to keep his voice on the lighter side. He doesn't want to die, but the signs do not point toward good things. But there aren't any options. He can't live like this, a constant threat to those around him. Those around him don't deserve it.

"Is there an actual betting pool on the outcome?" That's... not as funny as he'd been hoping it would be.

"Our current best bet is for this ritual with volatile ingredients, untested magic, and more lyrium than I am normally comfortable working with to go off without a hitch." She tops off Anders' cup with more of the brandy. "Every successive option is pretty shit."

And only get shittier from there. But after this- she'll either be dead or have done as she'd sworn. Which is...a relief, somewhat, to die knowing she'd been fulfilling her word. "Three to one odds on this working, a fair portion in favor of my dying, double that in favor of your dying, a slim chance of it working and no one dying, and a hefty sum on this somehow backfiring and we're all possessed at the end."

So. There is a betting pool, and everyone's being very pessimistic. "Is there anything you wish you could have done differently- or something you wished to do but could not? Since this may or may not kill us."

"So even if I bet against myself and any winnings go to Nate, they'd be sparse." At least he doesn't think everyone will wind up possessed. He's the only one who will be in the circle.

Her question sobers him, though, and he takes a sip of the cup that's holding more brandy than tea, now. His life is a series of regrets. Would saying something to her be worse or better than saying nothing? Anders takes a breath and stops himself, eyes on the kitten. It won't change anything, but maybe he shouldn't leave the words unsaid.

"I say this with no expectation of extra consideration, or anything. Simply because the chance of one or both of us dying in a couple of days is so much higher than usual." Another breath, and he looks up. "My greatest regret in Skyhold is how I did by you. I was supposed to come in and be distant while I helped for the short time I had left. And instead I let my heart run over my head, and hurt you. I am... I am so sorry. You were kind, and I was cruel, and you deserve so much better than that."

Edited 2016-06-12 05:34 (UTC)

"There is a pool for this succeeding, however, and the odds are so slight that should we manage this? They would be substantial. I can give you the name of the bookie if you wish." Ten she might have on this killing her- but to hedge her bets? She has twenty on this going well. Maker only knows which will prove to be more profitable.

But she has done all she could. Researched every rune, tested every ingredient in the philter, gone over the ritual forwards, backwards, and in every possible language.

It will succeed, it will fail, or it will kill them.

"Damn. Apparently I am simply too personable for my own good. I am candy to more than demons, it seems, but also to men of questionable ethics? Would that suit? I think it might." Dry and wry and not terribly sincere- she is weary and slumped against the table, teasing Remi with her fingertips as she attempts to not feel anything. Before the compartmentalization was for her own peace of mind but this? She cannot move forward with this and put someone she might have seen as a friend in that circle. She cannot. "What I deserve has never truly mattered, that much I have learned. What I work for- that is what matters."

"Then I'll take the name of the bookie and bet the way a few people would want me to." Optimism isn't something he can manage... but putting a few coins toward it can't hurt. He won't need them if he dies anyway.

That's as light as he can manage, with the way she's so easily dismissing his answer. Candy to men of questionable ethics. He feels odd, fuzzy, numb, not the relief of having that out he'd expected.

"I suppose what is deserved never truly mattered for most mages." Maybe it should have gone unsaid after all. He's made another error in regard to her, but in a few days that might all be over anyway.

"No, no we are not starting that song and dance. If we delve into philosophy and ethics I will need another bottle of brandy and I am attempting to drink less." She takes a deep sip of her cup, turning her head from where she's leaned back against her chair, cheek pressed against worn wood to peer at him. "You are forgiven, you know. Things are strange or I am distant at times but- you are forgiven for the lie. That much you might know to be true."

There is so much more she could hold against him, so much more that she does- but in this moment? It does not matter. "I wished to see my family again. Oh there have been letters and the attache but- to meet my sisters, see my younger brother, my niece, my nephews. I've written them all should I die but it feels...insufficient. Especially since I am certain one of them is a mage."

It's best he not get fully drunk either, not at the end of things, whatever this end may be.

"I know I'm forgiven for that. I beat you with a stick to get there." It's a paltry joke, delivered with a half-smile. As she continues on, that fades and he looks past her.

"I wish I knew if my mother was still alive." It's quiet. "But I wouldn't know what village to start with, or a name." A beat, and then he's forcing a chuckle, as if it's funny. "Better this way, really. This way she never knows she's related to me."

"I would have forgiven you either way. It simply seemed the simplest means of making it obvious." To Anders. To everyone. Reaching out now- it isn't wise. And yet she stretches a hand across the table to rest against his, thumb swiping idly back and forth across his skin. Remi follows, nuzzling into his wrist, looking for scratches or treats.

"You have made a family for yourself here, have you not? There are those that would miss you terribly."

He swallows, hard, and uses his free hand to scratch behind Remi's ears before giving Adelaide an attempt at a smile.

"I have. I don't quite know how it happened. But I've people who matter to me, who care about me, more than I've ever had in my life." Slowly he turns his hand in hers so he can half-hold hers back. "I've a family. And one that's chosen me, no less."

"I cannot promise you will survive- but I can promise that whatever comes? I have been glad to know you." Even if some part of her will always be angry at the man he was before they ever met. "And that my letter, should I not survive, does not end 'civilly yours'. And no matter what happens? It is not your fault."

"And I you, Ade-ade. Or Lai-lai. I'm not really sure what you'd prefer, though now that the latter's out of my mouth I'm leaning toward the former." The smile's finally there, faint as it is. "Whatever happens is not your fault either, and my letter to you would have ended tidily but there's a paw print there. And a nose smudge. Purrelden's grown fond of you."

"Ade-Ade." She confirms, quietly. "Lai-Lai does not quite fit."

Truly, neither does Ade-Ade but she hasn't been able to get him to stop, and at this point? Does not quite wish to do so. "Purrelden has grown fond of the dried salmon I give her."

It's a good moment. He hasn't had a lot of those in his life, and he's had disproportionately more of them here in Skyhold than anywhere else. Maybe it's the lack of pressure, or maybe it's some of the people here. Anders rubs his thumb along her finger for a moment before she gets a true smile, a drop of the fear and the shields.

"That must be why I keep bothering you too. The dried salmon. I can't imagine why else I would, certainly not the look that's about to enter your eyes as you jerk your hand back and purse your lips. I hope I'm not being too terribly uncivil, or I might have to go edit my letter."

"Well now I am not going to move at all out of spite, I hope you realize." There is the thought that she should pull her hand back, though. Regain some distance, some perspective. It is easier to remember what he has done and why when she isn't around him. The more she insists that they do not speak of things like the state of politics, the circles, the easier it is to forget what he thinks and feels, his arguments, some of his experiences.

His actions.

She taps his hand with her thumb, idly causing Remi to prrt and follow the motion. "If you are that deeply in need of salmon I've a jar of it somewhere on the side table."

There's blatant surprise on his face for a solid few seconds before he's smiling in full again. He'd given her the clearest opportunity to pull away and she hadn't.

"Yes, salmon is the answer to everything." What is he even doing, still holding her hand? Feeling. Getting lost in feelings, soon before his death. It's only due to how much he doesn't want to hurt Nate that Anders doesn't push further. She's the most amazing woman he's ever met and it's only when he thinks that that he starts to grasp how much he feels for her. Maker preserve and protect him, he will not think about that, not now, not when there might not be a next week.

Instead, under the cover of being playful, he lifts her hand to press a kiss to it before releasing her and looking for the salmon - Purrelden isn't the only cat with an appreciation for it, and he'll dole out a serving for each feline as soon as he's found it.

He's surprised she's-

Not entirely indifferent, not entirely amused. Drifting vaguely on waves of emotion she cannot quite name and does not truly mean to think too much over. They are friends. It would be easier if they were not friends, if he was someone else, if she wasn't some manner of public official but...they are friends.

The kiss, now, does earn a playful scowl and a tugging of her hand back. "It's behind the honey, next to the embrium paste."

She could find anything in this tent no matter where she is in Thedas. Roul called more than once while she was in the Western Approach to ask after an item.

"You and your honey. Everything's always behind it. If we... Mm."

He finds the fish and brings it over. Anders has no desire to speak of if they make it. If they do, then he'll find some way to tease with it, or something else. He's not quite sure. In fact, he's sure of very few things. Among them, though, is the fact that he wants to survive, wants everyone involved in this to do so. Her and Nate especially.

Both kittens crowd over and he serves them before raising an eyebrow at Adelaide. "Fish? Or shall we stick to the spiked tea tonight and let them gorge for just a little while before I let you... return Remi to his owner?"

"It has benefits for one's health and improves the taste of many potions." And tea. And she'd never had much honey in the Spire- they did not often have it in the kitchens so what little went around was precious. Here there is plenty and while she cannot stand by and say she wanted for much while she was there-

Adelaide would also not go so far as to say she keeps at least one full jar on hand to make up for the lack.

"Mm. There's a bit of butter and bread somewhere-" She says, rousing herself enough to find the covered plate. Hearty, crusted bread, a knob of butter, dried salmon. It isn't exactly a meal but it's...something. "Roul is busy with doublechecking my notes for the philter. If something goes wrong it shall not be on my end."

He gives her a nod of thanks for the bread, cutting off two slices and passing the first to her.

"If something goes wrong, I believe everyone knows whose end it will be on." It's said calmly. The mood isn't something he wants to bring down, but the simple fact does need to be said. "The work you've put into this has been hard and flawless, Adelaide."

He passes more salmon to Purrelden, getting his fingers nibbled on. She gets a smile and a chin rub before he butters his bread and gets some fish for himself. "As is, it looks like, the bread. I had--" Anders stops. He doesn't know what happened to Lirene; she vanished around the time his network did. He takes a bite as if to cover up the break, nodding a moment later. "I've not had bread this good in some time."

"If a fundamental conceit of the project is not as it ought to be, it will fail." If Justice continues to wish to remain? It will fail. And then they will both likely die or have to be killed or-

She tops off her glass with a touch more of brandy, putting it from her mind. This is not what she wishes to think. "It is a point of pride to live up to the family motto. Sans Tache."

Without stain.

Impossible standards.

"One of the apprentices has taken a secondary apprenticeship in the kitchens. Apparently being able to rapidly prove bread with the haste technique has earned us the right to fresh bread upon request as it means they are able to produce more and the refugees and soldiers can eat fresh bread instead of saving it until it is hard and stale." It means more work to be certain but it is all the more worthwhile. Perhaps the kitchen might require an expansion in time.

He's trying to work on the Justice aspect of it. The spirit has to come to see that this isn't working... but Anders doesn't know if he can succeed. He needs to, though.

"I'm just glad that if we had a family motto, I don't remember it." He takes a sip of his own drink before actually doing some thinking, tilting his head.

"Does your apprentice have time to teach that, spread it around? Written down, too." They've talked the future of mages and how he feels practical magic ties into that, before, over a meal that was at times tense and difficult thanks to her family's pressures. "Meanwhile I'm trying to figure out a spell to perpetually heat a rock to work without causing problems. It'd be very useful for roads, or keeping at the foot of one's bed... if I could set a precise temperature. Warm, but not dangerously so."

He may have set a small fire the other day, but at least he'd put it out right away. "Earth is not exactly my strongest suit, though I'm rather good with fire."

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[ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

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