[CLOSED] | I'll say you haven't met me,

[alankazam]

WHO: Alan + Beleth, Alistair, and Kolgrim Jr.
WHAT: Touching reunions.
WHEN: Drakonis.
WHERE: Outlying Camp Shady.
NOTES: The touching may be with fists.

 

He still isn’t certain how he’s been talked into this.

Alan would’ve been fine never meeting the man. Would never have even had to know that he was here. Through the years and a child's eyes, the faces have long since unravelled.

The facts came later, sharper: Wardens. Cousland. A Blight,

He would have been fine. He is. But Beleth was so — invested — had such faith in the idea, and if he's fine (and he is, because there's no reason not to be, no alternative,) then this is only proof.

His posture changes to approach the camp; stride lengthens, shoulders press out angular. When he arrives, his expression wears its usual distance. If you don't know him, it's difficult to notice the new tension in his jaw.

"Hello," A glance up, unblinking. "It's been a long time."

 

 

Comments

[arlathvhen]

Rubbing the red pinpricks on her nose is a great distracting from actually crying, but she can only do it for so long. This is such a shitty situation, for both sides, and it's just. Not fair. For anyone.

"Leaving isn't always a choice." She stares down at the ground, trying to figure out the words to say. She's going to say something wrong, and Alistair or Alan or both will hate her, because this was her shitty idea, and she failed at executing it. But this really isn't her tragedy to get upset about, so she sucks it up. "They were sure that if they didn't get the ashes, that they would be forfeiting all of Fereldan."

Is she just repeating what Alistair is saying? Ugh. When Alistair looks at her, she gives him a strained smile, then closes her eyes. She can do this. She's not completely pathetic (except she is, but she can act like she's not).

"They thought they had to go on, just like your village thought they had to be stopped." Back to Alan, expression trying very hard to be more sure of herself. "There aren't always choices, and--sometimes, it's hard to see choices at the time. I...know that isn't much comfort. And I'm sorry, too." She moves towards Alan, reaching out to touch his arm. She's not sure what else she can really do.

"You don't have to stop being upset. You have the right to that. But--Just. Try to understand. And see if you can forgive."

someone cover junior's eyes

[alankazam]

For a moment, it almost seems like it’s helping: The frankness of Alistair’s admission, the little weakness of the gesture.

Alan watches people, even when he doesn’t understand them. He knows the things that are meant to signal hurt, and something in him wants to tip sympathetic — recognizes some symmetry in that. Pain is a circle, that just twists and eats itself. Neither an ending or beginning in whole.

It almost helps. Almost.

And then Beleth is touching him, again, and this time he can’t keep it in, it's all too much and too close. Alan jerks away with startling speed to throw himself towards Alistair, teeth bared in a snarl. It’s no coordinated attack. It’s barely a conscious decision at all. His first attempt at a punch is — bad. Really bad. He's clearly never learned how to throw one. Whether it lands or not, his hands scramble randomly for any purchase, sharp nails searching for exposed skin.

If he was feeling a little more articulate at the moment, he might whip out some tired one-liner. Like, Only the Maker forgives. Or: How do you like these choices?

But he doesn’t say a word, just make this awful. Noise. In the back of his throat, steadily rising in pitch, like a cat doused in cold water.

[byblow]

For good or ill, Alistair is not that much smaller than the broad side of a barn, and therefore not much harder to hit. He takes the punch with a backwards step and recoil that's more about instinct than pain. Instinct and respect. He's learned from experience that small people with skinny arms only get angrier if he stands his ground while they beat on him—which is funny sometimes, sometimes that's what he's going for, but not now, no.

And that's well enough, because nails follow shortly after. That's when Alistair makes his first noise of surprise, bringing up an arm to block his face. That hurts. And it carries with it an instinctive stomach-flipping fear, one that's hardly unique to him among Thedosians, but amplified of late: not his blood, not his blood.

"Andraste's—" he says. Which garment or body part of Andraste's he was about to invoke in front of a clawing boy who believes he helped murder her, no one gets to know. Not because he realizes it's a bad idea. It's just that another one occurs to him—turns into a wolf, Beleth said before, a wolf and who knows what else—and he shuts up to breathe and slam the force of his will into Alan, into whatever it is in a mage that reaches through the Veil. Just for a minute, until the clawing stops, before it gets more literal.

As if to compensate for that excessive presence of mind, he also takes another step backwards, directly onto an uprooted chunk of ice, and stumbles and falls flat onto his back.

Is Beleth crying yet?

[arlathvhen]

Yeah we have reached 100/100 in crying factor here.

When Alan throws himself at Alistair, Beleth's too stunned to move, to yell, to do anything but stare in silent shock. But panic is a familiar companion, and it's quick to move in. What had she done wrong? He'd freaked out when she went to touch him. Was that the point she'd fucked it up? Were either going to forgive her again?

It's Alistair falling to the ground that finally induces Beleth into movement, instead of just standing there sniffling. Alan is--a friend, one she likes, but Alistair occupies a place that few other people do. And when she realizes that he could really get hurt, she only hesitates for long enough to set Kolgrim Jr down, before jumping between Alan and the fallen Warden.

A 5'3 elf comprised mostly of limbs and eyes full of tears is probably not the ideal meatshield. But Beleth stands her ground, even as she sniffles, staring stubbornly at Alan. She should probably say something moving, something that'll make him stand down. She wouldn't want this or you're becoming the people you're so angry at, something thoughtful and moving. She doesn't have those words right now.

"I won't let you hurt him." It's all she can manage, tone obstinate, and expression sullen, through the tears. She may have fucked this entire thing up, but she won't let Alistair become of victim of her failure.

[alankazam]

Alan staggers back, wheezes, bent abruptly at the middle. His eyes are shot wide and wet; Beleth's not the only one crying.

Instinctively, he reaches for it, the shape of that other soul — but there’s nothing there, nothing but the smooth face of air, and fingers that should stretch into feathers, into claws, instead hook only with the form of their own stubborn flesh.

It’s panic, or it would be, except that Alistair’s fallen. He's fallen, there’s an opening, and you can take the wolf out of the boy, but you can’t take the boy out of the increasingly strained metaphor. Alan’s preparing to dive back in on only his own stubby merits, until at once Beleth’s in the way. She’s a little thing, but really, so is he; she blocks enough of his view to force him to pause.

It’s hard to say how much of the words even land, his face contorted into something a bit beyond reason, bobbing to hunt for a way around her. But the meaning’s clear, and he isn’t so far gone yet. Alan twists suddenly, to stalk a short distance from them both, head lowered at an unnatural angle.

He says the most hurtful thing he can think of, and he can't say which one of them it's meant for:

"What did you think would happen?"

Another moment, before he huffs and takes off into the snow. It's the edge of the treeline before something cooperates, and pale skin finally spools out into rough fur. Something big and black and angry disappears into the woods beyond.

It’ll be a few days before he’s back.