faderift | [OPEN] don't you ever tame your demons

WHO: Atticus Vedici + various starters, and OPEN
WHAT: Some dream stuff, some general stuff, some tense stuff.
WHEN: The first half of January
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: None currently, will update as needed.

I. DREAMING (GALADRIEL)

Whatever dream Galadriel finds herself immersed in, on one particular night, something about it will change--a softening around the edges of it, at first, like someone painting watercolour across the world around her. Colours blend and bleed into each other until her surroundings lose their definition entirely, though the painter himself, when he steps into view, is clearly identifiable.

Perhaps he should have asked first.

"Good evening," Atticus greets her in what is, perhaps, the closest approximation to real friendliness that he can muster.

II. DREAMING (ADALIA)

His appearance in Adalia's dreams--on another night, at another time--is more subtle. Masked and shrouded, he insinuates himself into the fabric of her dream in such a way that he is more a part of the scenery than a visitor distinct from their surroundings.

Still, he follows the marks that the sleeping mind leaves in the Fade; ultimately, it will lead him to Adalia.

III. AROUND THE GALLOWS (OPEN)

He has been free from the Gallows' dungeon long enough to develop a routine. It looks something like this:

He rises quite early in the morning and takes a small breakfast in his private quarters, before reporting, as required, to his Templar handler du jour for his work assignment. This, predictably, lands him in the Rifts and the Veil work rooms, or in the library, where the majority of his time is spent pouring over the Inquisition's existing resources and putting in requisitions for additional material. (Some of the books he requires, unfortunately, are only available in the Minrathous Circle's Arcane Library. He files each of these notes away for further consideration.)

Lunch he takes in the mess hall so as to not present the appearance of being secretive or unsociable (perish the thought). He rarely has guests here, or in the baths. Dinner, again, is a private affair in his quarters, where he pours over his notes from the day with a glass of wine and the remnants of his still very broken reading glasses.

Some evenings, if he can lower himself enough to ask permission for it, he tolerates the bitter cold long enough to venture outside and observe what he can of the City of Chains across the murky water. It's not much of a view, but spending half a year behind bars gives one the ability to appreciate even the most underwhelming skyline.

In short, Atticus keeps himself busy, and is often alone. He seems to prefer it this way.

IV. ATTICUS' QUARTERS (MYR)

One especially cold evening after the conclusion of his work, Atticus brings a few books with him back to his quarters and settles in to peruse them before turning in for the night. In the relative privacy of his room, he feels little compunction about frowning to himself as he closes his single window as tightly as possible, endeavouring in vain to keep the chill from infiltrating his chambers.

(Had it been this cold in the dungeons, or did the illusion of freedom give him more opportunities to nitpick? He quiets the thought.)

V. WILDCARD (OPEN)

(surprise the shit out of me)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Without the blanket to encumber them any longer, Myr folds his hands around his staff, fingers laced together as is his wont at rest. (Perhaps this time he'll avoid the fidgeting entirely; his unease hasn't improved much, but he's a better façade to hide it behind. Keeping to forms helps, so:) "You're welcome.

"As it happens, there are two things I'd like briefly to discuss with you." He takes a careful breath in to steady himself before launching into the first (tries not to turn his head to follow Atticus' approach). "The first is the matter of the phylactery.

"I owe you an apology."

"...I owe you an apology."

A guilty conscience it is, then.

"Please," Atticus begins and pulls out a chair for Myr to seat himself; the sound of the legs dragging against the stone should be enough to indicate to Myr where the chair is. "Have a seat. Would you care for tea?"

He is a practiced and relaxed host, engaging with the expected niceties with poise. Once Myr is seated, Atticus crosses the room to his chamber door and closes it, but doesn't secure the lock.

Guilt had surely driven Myr to do more foolish things than this in the past--

He just can't think of what they might be, right now. Not with all his energy invested in the peculiar balancing act he always feels caught in when speaker to the magister. (Though why he bothers, he's not sure--he's not been particularly good at keeping his secrets in the past. You need to stop doing this, Myrobalan.) "I would not," it's not bread and salt but accepting it would nevertheless imply receipt of hospitality he's not comfortable with, "though I thank you for the offer."

It is a little beyond his own ingrained politeness to refuse the chair, though, not when they may be talking for a time. He arranges himself with his staff beside it within easy reach, laces his hands together before him on his lap--and waits. (If you've stepped into a spider's web, sometimes it's all you can do to let it make the first move, fatal as that might be.)

[OPEN] don't you ever tame your demons

I know you've called a tag pause but I felt v bad I did not get back to this

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compulsively tosses out late tags