faderift | OPEN

WHO: Merrick and Y'ALL.
WHAT: Catch-all for the rest of September!
WHEN: throughout Kingsway
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: warning for drug use!!! if u wanna starter hmu

Tavern.

The whispering that follows Merrick around Skyhold is always the same-- 'Look, that Dalish there-- attacked a Templar, he did!' 'Stay away from that one, lad, you'll lose a year off your life every word you speak to him.' 'Frankly, I'm astonished the Inquisition would allow such a savage among their ranks...'-- but for someone with such a violent reputation, Merrick is remarkably mellow company. He spends many of his evenings at the Herald's Rest, either sitting alone with often-doled-out whiskey or engaging in the occasional card game.

With a few drinks in him he'll be amenable to conversation, provided you don't mind his brusque nature and his tendency to put away a truly legendary amount of alcohol. He does seem unusually mollified lately, and his hand often trails to the cord looped around his neck, on which a piece of a dragon tooth is fastened.

Rogue School.

It's become a bit of a calling for Merrick to pass on some of his fighting expertise to new recruits, and while he doesn't think he's being too hard on them, it's fairly obvious that he is. The recruits have started taking bets on who will have the cojones to take him on, and how long they'll last before they're pinned to the wall with daggers or blue in the face from being headlocked between his thighs.

He's open to sparring with anyone, always eager to shake off some of his manic energy, even though he might take the fake-fighting a little too seriously. Just bring protective headgear.

The Garden.

As a Dalish, Merrick has always enjoyed being around plants and trees, but there's a particular kind of plant that he favors most. He has his own private stash of elfroot--some local, and some varieties which he's procured from some rather shady sources--which he dries and cures himself and takes to the garden for some quality smoking. It's something he's been doing a lot more of lately in an effort to calm his fits of rage and mania, and he likes to spend his off time tucked in a little corner, pipe between his teeth as he works on his wood carvings (he has a lot of them now, all finely hewn and intricate, and he's open to selling them or even taking requests).

He'll also bring out his guitar and sing softly, or else pluck out chords as he works on a new song. He's open to sharing his pipe and exchanging music, and might pass you his flask of homemade moonshine too. It's okay; he won't bite unless you really piss him off.

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For a little bit, she doesn't say anything, or notice anything different. She just leans against him, enjoying the peace of the gardens. She does spot it eventually, reaching out to touch the tooth, clearly unaware of just what it's supposed to represent. Her eyes flick up to Merrick, curious.

"Did you get a souvenir from that dragon you killed?"

Merrick's heart drops. He knew it would happen, he knew it had to happen, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like a worse prospect than taking on a horde of demons.

"Want to go for a walk?" he says suddenly, stashing away his pipe and carving supplies. He stands, brushes off the stray shavings from his trousers, and holds out a hand to help her up.

Curiosity quickly turns to worry, and even as she accepts his hand and stands, she tries to figure out what the problem could be. She's reasonably sure she hasn't done anything lately that would cause a problem with him. It's entirely unlikely he's about to announce a pregnancy or a human romantic partner.

"Are you alright?" Her voice is low now, even as she begins walking, eyes flicking over him.

"Fine," says Merrick truthfully. In fact, he hasn't felt better in a very, very long time. It shows, too, in the way he holds himself-- shoulders back instead of slouched, eyes bright instead of flitting around suspiciously, hands moving animatedly instead of shoved in his pockets.

It's impossible to quell his anxiety completely, though, and he twists his hands together as he walks with her away from the clusters of people. He's not going to stall; it's not his style, and it's better that way. Easier.

"Bels, I didn't kill the dragon this tooth came from. Someone else did."

Beleth tilts her head, not looking as worried, but not entirely convinced. And still incredibly confused. She follows him while she runs through the various possibilities he's trying to talk to her about, and it's hard not to draw the worst possible conclusions. But Merrick said that he was fine, and he looks it.

"It was a gift?" There's something she's supposed to be Getting, that she isn't. What is it?

Merrick leads them out of the garden and up the steps toward the ramparts. He doesn't like this. It hurts, and he hates it, and he wants it to be over. Wants to drive the blade home in one singular thrust, right in the vital organ.

"Bels," he says when they reach open air-- sounding as if he's holding himself together with conscious effort, lest he come completely apart. "Listen. There's this--thing. That qunari do. When they want to--" Breathe, in and out. "To commit to someone. They take a dragon tooth and split it in two, and-- each of them wear a piece."

Something finally clicks in Beleth's mind. Merrick's awkwardness, leading her away from other people, the hesitation--

She reaches for the parapet wall, leaning against it, eyes suddenly very focused on the ground while she takes it in. A few carefully measured breaths, because she can't freak out about this. It isn't her thing to freak out about. She has no right.

"You're talking about bonding." And despite what she tells herself, there's an unmistakably accusatory tone to it. "That's what you mean by commitment, right? Bonding." He's bonded with Metaari, or--engaged to bond, or something. The semantics don't matter.

Her tone doesn't bother him. He'd expected this. Anything she throws at him, any emotion or reaction or word, he can handle it. That's how it had always been with them-- somehow, even with his own tumultuous nature, he has steadied her.

He doesn't bullshit, or dance around the subject. He never has, and he isn't about to start now.

So he replies, "Yes."

It might have hurt less if he had punched her. As it is, there's a feeling like she had the wind knocked out of her, and it's suddenly difficult to breathe. Maybe it's an overreaction, but the feeling is so foreign to her--It hurts. He hurt her.--but she has no right. She has no right, but that doesn't stop her from feeling that hurt.

She'd told him, on that rooftop, that she thought they would be bonded, some day. Not even a month later, and he's bonded to some--some qunari, that he's known for half a year. Some qunari that doesn't know him like she does, that hasn't been there since he was born. Was he making a statement? Making sure she knew that would never happen? No, she knows he isn't. But it doesn't make it feel better.

She keeps the bitter, hateful thoughts to herself. They aren't needed here. But even she can't look entirely alright. She's still got her hand on the parapet, leaning heavily against it, her eyes down. Her expression struggles for neutrality, but her eyes are too wide, looking lost and dazed.

"That's--that's so great, Merrick." Her voice is quiet, speaking slowly and carefully, because if she doesn't speak with care, her voice will crack. "You deserve it. You deserve all the happiness in the world." That, at least, is no lie.

Beleth can't hide anything from Merrick. He can read her easily, feel the sorrow dragging her down, and he's knocked breathless for a moment because he did this.

"Bels..." He doesn't know what to say. He hasn't done anything wrong, objectively speaking, but he still feels like he should apologize. Instead he just reaches out a hand, trying to meet her halfway, to absolve her of the hurt that he caused.

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