[Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

WHO: Adasse Agassi and Sorrel Ashara (Guest Starring Beleth Ashara)
WHAT: Because you know what you need when everything else is Blue Flu and chaos? Your not-boyfriend getting kidnapped by a gang
WHEN: After this conversation.
WHERE: The Gallows/Darktown
NOTES: Violence, threats of mutilation, racist slurs of an ugly elven nature

The note had been simple enough - Sorrel wanted Adasse to meet him down in the kitchens. Which ... was good, right? It meant that Sorrel wanted to have further contact with him and Adasse could talk to him about this whole 'ma'nehrn' word and what that meant to Sorrel. Then Adasse could ... try to ... tell Sorrel what he meant to Adasse, but how he wasn't pressuring him and how he could pick his Clan. That he would say, with all due respect to said Clan, that he'd give anything to be worthy of Sorrel's affections, but then again, he wouldn't force Sorrel into anything at all and -

Maker, he should just give this whole mess up -

Something in his throat tightened when he entered the smaller side kitchen, but it wasn't nervousness. It was a jolt of fear. There was flour spread on the floor, and clear signs of a struggle. Mostly damning though, was the basket of jam pies, tipped over, with one or two pies crushed under the heel of a sharp boot. Sorrel was nowhere to be found, and Adasse immediately went looking around the place for any sign of him ... or who could have him.

Comments

[writteninblood]

The crumbs and the ruined pies, all fruits of Sorrel's anxiety, are the least of te signs of trouble. There's the basket, or course, and the clear imprint of the boot-- Kirkwall make, but clearly meant for city-walking with not a hobnail in sight. The door, left slightly ajar, and the bit of snow that's blown in. Mud there, that was tracked in as snowmelt or slush, and became a puddle, that became a smudge. It's fresh.

All that of course, and the big-eyed child watching from not far away, sucking at the corner of his sleeve as if it had any color left in the fabric, let alone flavor. Oh, he's seen something. You can tell by the way he drops his sleeve and asks, "Copper for the daily news, sir?"

Kirkwall loves an entrepreneurial spirit.




Sorrel, meanwhile, was having a fairly bad day. He'd been delivered a blow from behind, rough handling, a burlap sack over his head, and by the time he'd cleared his mind enough to figure out what was going on-- he had no idea where he was, or where they were taking him. What he did know was this: they kept talking about someone who sounded suspiciously like Adasse, and it smelled of sewers and mold all around.

This was Darktown, and the only thing Sorrel really knew about Darktown was that it lived in the basements of other buildings, far below, where if you caught fire to something unwisely, the whole town might burn. That pinioned his first plan, and the second; even if he got away, where would he run? He had no idea how to get out.

Beleth was going to kill him.

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

He takes this all in. He is starting to have his suspicions. Mess like this, someone didn't care if they got found out. They wanted to be, at some point. Maybe just not this early. Finally, his gaze locked on the boy, and he moved towards him quickly.

A silver flashed between his fingers. "Silver for that and all that happened here, chum. Make it quick, because the silver can turn into mere copper really, really fast."

[writteninblood]

"Yes sir," The gob-eyed act vanishes under the gimlet eye of an opportunity spotted. But this one didn't get so wise for nothing, and snatches for the silver in Adasse's hands before it can vanish, quick as a cricket.

"S'morning, more of those rift-demons types is gettin weird than ever, I saw them all acting the nutter, an that makes a dozen I seen, including the Templar, so we knows it's not just them now. Then I saw the cook stealin' flour, but I can't remember what she did wif it," More likely that another copper or two would jog his memory, but the boy continues on, heedless, "Was this Dalish guy here not a bell ago, he had a basket and looked like he'd jump dead if you said boo, real nervous. I knowed he was Dalish on account of the wicked savage tattoos on his face, like the always says Dalish have. Coupla fellas came in a boffed him on the head, took him off, said this'd be enough for Carker."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

...There were going to be a lot of reasons that Beleth would kill him right now. The top two were going to be, 'You want to sleep with my brother' and 'you got my brother inadvertently kidnapped by the Harlots'.

He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw tightening, before he opened them again and slipped out another silver, dark eyes serious. "You get another one of these - if you find Madame Beleth Ashara, and told her all you just told me, and then let her know I'm getting him back."

A pause, because come on good information is hard to find. "Make sure to tell her everything about the cook as well, or I'll take copper out of your hide. Got it?"

Once he made sure the urchin was on his way, he went back to his rooms to grab his things. His tool kit, his cloak, and of course, his knives. Then he was on the first ship to the Docks, and from there, he slipped into Darktown as easy as a shadow.

Carker. Bloody fucking Carker. She should have left well alone. She should have. If she touched a single hair on Sorrel's head ...

[writteninblood]

The facts of the matter were: Carker had indeed touched a goodly portion of the hairs on Sorrel's head. This in the process of grasping them firmly so as to assure him of the sincerity of her curiosity, when she had asked after his knowledge of one Adasse Agassi.

Sorrel, who had weathered every mite of ink on his face and worse without a peep, who's patron god was one of secrets, and who had certainly no good sense, said nothing. Later on, if he survives to see it, the bruises will heal, and that side of his face will look no different from the other, aside from the existing scar. This pain is temporary; by a related symmetry, Sorrel is quite sure this woman-- Carker, they'd called her, had a life span of equal brevity. For now, his hands were bound behind his back and there was nothing he could do.

Then they'd put the sack back on his head, shoved him through a series of doors, forced him to his knees, and left him on the floor while they talked around him, as if he weren't conscious, weren't even a person. He was starting to care less about the inflammability of Kirkwall's Darktown when the shouts of recognition went up from the woman, and her gaggle of lieutenants.

It would seem, the guest of honor had arrived.

"Come on out, boy," the one nearest Sorrel sneered, and in a motion ripped the sack off Sorrel's head, leaving him blinking in the sudden change of light, "Or mayhaps we'll get bored waitin' an' content ourselves with your little friend, here."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse's voice floated down from the rafters, still hidden in the shadows.
"You know what I have always hated, about working with you Harlots?"


He'd only allowed one glimpse of himself to be seen when he gave away his position. and he wanted to make sure they knew that he could get in and out whenever he wanted. So he dropped the guards truncheons down at Carker's feet, before moving lightly from one rafter to another. "It's the fact that you can toss out comments about my inferior age and completely miss the fact that I'm just fucking better at this than you."

Shift, and his voice again, tone mild. "Or are you really dumb enough to think that taking him meant you were going to get out of this alive, unscathed, with my head on your wall?"

[writteninblood]

The thick-necked man with the nasty grimace snarled at that, gripping Sorrel's shoulder hard enough to hurt, but even as he opened his mouth to retort, his leader cut him off, smoothly authoritative. These people were thieves, brigands, and thugs. Carker was a professional; perhaps not truly brilliant, but she was better than them.

"I'll give you a choice of his head or yours, boy-- there's a debt to be paid. Why don't you come have a nice, civilized chat."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse snorts, as he comes into the light, dark eyes narrowing on Carker for a moment, "Considering everything, I think you'd want to reconsider that deal. More going on here than you and your merry band of mad women - and eunuch - know about."

Yes, thick-necked man. He knows alllll about how you're the only 'tough guy' in a group of mad, mad women.

He let his gaze linger coldly for one more moment, before he focused on the only important person in this room. "Sorrel - are you all right? How badly are you hurt? Or, rather, how badly am I hurting them hurting you?"

He can hear Carker's hiss of frozen disapproval. She disliked being ignored, to the point of hurting her own people badly for turning away from her during a conversation. There, keep all that rage focused on him. Sorrel was a smart fellow. He'd hopefully figure out that rope was brittle at best, when met with the elements of magic.

If not, well. Adasse could bluff, trick, and carve their way out of there.

[writteninblood]

"I'm alri--" Sorrel began, only to be cut off by a shake from his guard, a shifting grip, grabbing for his hair, or an ear. Later on, he wouldn't really be able to give an account of this moment; instinct took over, the ropes burned away, and Sorrel's hands came up to slap the offending grip away.

In reality it ended up like nothing much more than an undignified slap-fight, a brief scuffle that ended with the shemlen's meaty hands wrapped firmly around both of Sorrel's wrists. There'd be bruises there, and it hurt, grinding the small bones together. So Sorrel did the first thing that came to mind.

Carker's lieutenant became a pillar of flame.

It leapt up along the length of his body in a sheet like the trunk of a tree, a torch that flung itself towards the ceiling as if propelled from some subterranean rift. The room goes in an instant from a vague, dim-shadowed hole, lit only by blue ambience and lantern-light into a stark inferno, ruddy as blood, and the pale faces of every Harlot caught in a pale, shocked mou. They hadn't known he was a mage; after all, he wasn't wearing any robes.

Not so for Sorrel: he darted away from the roaring, screaming figure of flame and crossed the space between himself and Adasse like a fleeing squirrel.

"Go!" He cried, seizing Adasse by the wrist to pull him along together. Their shock wouldn't last a moment, and he wanted to be away from here almost more than he wanted anything else in the world.

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse's mouth twisted into a smile as Sorrel's hands came free - but what happened after that made both his eyebrows shoot up in sudden surprise. He knew Sorrel could burn himself free. He ... did not realize that Sorrel would burn other people to do just that.

Well, he never liked that fellow anyways.

He flipped down to meet Sorrel, who had him by the wrist now and was pulling him away. Adasse took one look back at the flaming, screaming pillar that had just collapsed on its knees, and muttered, "Don't have to tell me twice."

Behind them, he could hear Carker scream, "Come back here you FUCKING FAIRY KNIFE-EARS!"

He made a face, and started to run alongside Sorrel, "We gotta get out of here. She just lost her temper, which means she's not going to go for a clean kill. Take a left up here, I made us an escape route."

[writteninblood]

"Don't look so--" He panted, stumbling slightly as they turned a corner together, not a difficult thing on the slick, uneven ground of Darktown, "Don't look so surprised! I am Dalish."

Which is to say, not all stories about wild, savage elves in the forest, are untrue. And for a Keeper... one must protect their own: mages were feared on the battlefield for good reason.

"Where?" Sorrel asked, turning to Adasse for direction. Escape route?

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"Fair enough ... after all, you are Beleth's twin." He huffed, twisting down one hallway, then left down another. "Yeah, how do you think I got in here without anyone raising an alarm?"

They passed by two female guards, both dead, one with stab wounds in her chest and in the other with her throat slit. He switches topics back, "It's not that I don't admire the craftsmen skill of taking out your enemies. I just didn't realize when you get angry - You Get Angry."

A cheeky grin, " .... and I also have to admit, it's rather alluring. Come on, up."

He started climbing up, towards an opening in the upper part of Darktown, holding out his hand to Sorrel. Behind them, he could hear the pounding of boots.

[writteninblood]

"Is it?" He asks, mystified, as he reaches for Adasse's hand, less because he needed the help than because-- well, because Adasse was offering his hand. It was warm, rough in patches around the fingertips, little details that stood out with uncommon clarity, "I panicked. I do that, sometimes."

And, up you get, not a moment too soon. Did they know about Adasse's trap-door entrance? Possibly. It seemed too narrow for a human, but then, perhaps it was better to be sure of the thing by leaving.

"If you think I'm impressive, you should see a real First. Pel's much better than me," Were they still holding hands, then? Whoops, "...More controlled."

But also, he doesn't precisely seem to want to let go.

Coming Back Around

[writteninblood]

Sorrel woke from the aftermath of Carker's poison and Beleth's antidote by stages. First he became aware that he was warm, in that delicious, lassitudinous way that made him reluctant to move. He lay like that for some moments, thinking of nothing at all, as the sensations trailed in, one-by-one, like guilty children.

His leg ached, deep and pulsing, a bruise that went all through the large muscle at the back. Sorrel's face hurt too, though that seemed somehow less wonderful. His eyes were gummy, throat dry-- thirst warred with the desire to lay still, an unpleasant stalemate. And then, finally, there were the walls. Was this Beleth's bed? He yawned, contemplating the puzzle of it; why would he be lying in Beleth's bed?

It all came back to Sorrel then, the darkness, the Darktown thugs, the woman they called Carker, and the man-- the fire, the poison, and Adasse's terrified, panicked voice. Sorrel sat up at once, then groaned and lay back again.

"...Oooh... Fen'harel's fucking teeth..." Sudden movement, then, was not to be advised. Yes, that's the ticket, lay back and let the room stop spinning, "I shouldn't have done that."

Re: Coming Back Around

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"I should say not." Came a groggy voice from across the room, where Adasse had managed to curl himself up on a chair with a light blanket. It hadn't been comfortable, but he had refused to leave Sorrel's side until he woke up again. Maker's Breath, it took all of him not to curl up around the foot of a bed like a cat.

He pushed himself up, stretching as he did so, going to the pitcher of water on the bedside table, and then sat on the bed. "Here, sit up a little. I'l help you drink."

[writteninblood]

"Thanks," Sorrel groused, sarcastic with one hand over his eyes, but when he peeked out enough to see the water in Adasse's hand, he scooted up a little and said instead, "Ma Serranas."

He put his hands up as if to help, but they seemed to have no strength, and a fine tremor ran through him so that he ended up more holding Addase's hands than the glass of water. Still, it was enough; he was desperately thirsty, draining the entire cup at a go.

"...That's much better. I think I might live, believe it or not. Long enough for my sister to kill me herself, at least."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"You're welcome." He sassed back, but he could feel the blush rising across his face as Sorrel's hands closed around his own. He immediately poured another glass for the man, because he had to be parched.

"Listen, if your sister is going to kill anyone - it's going to be me. I'm the one who got you into this whole mess, after all."

[writteninblood]

"Oh, no," He reassured Adasse, voice slightly muffled in his next greedy drink, "About that."

Sorrel drew back a bit, took a deep breath and-- and didn't let go, "Adasse, you didn't.... have anybody left, in that gang, did you? They seemed to know you. And... I mean, you didn't like any of them? There wasn't one who you might've been friends with?"

The wince around his eyes says he hopes not. Or, maybe that's just the nervous tone.

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"What? No. Never. I didn't even want to work with those mad wenches." Adasse made a face, "I've only done independent jobs for them a few times -- and the last two I did as a favor to find my friend Haelan."

He shook his head, the face turning into a scowl, "They threatened to kill him, me, even Coco! They bloody well threatened to kill and eat my pet if I didn't steal Inquisition secrets for them. I'll wipe out the lot of them, once I have the equipment for it."

He's going to need a Lot of Poison.

[writteninblood]

"Oh. Well. Good, then."

Sorrel drinks his water peaceably enough for the moment, trying to think of how to phrase it. Eventually he just gives up and lets Adasse have his hands back; there's no other way to say it.

"They're probably already dead, is all. Well, that woman-- Carker? She might be alive, for a little while. Beleth's really not at her best when people go after me. And a couple of the Inquisition's assassins answer to her and all, so..." He temporizes with both hands, one smoothing through his hair, nervously. Sorrel hazards a glance at Adasse, to gauge his reaction to this news, "...I wouldn't worry much about any of them, anymore. Coco can sleep easy at night."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse makes sure the glass is held steady, with Sorrel's hands on his. He only puts the glass down when Sorrel releases his hands completely. Much to his regret.

He's silent for a moment, considering what Sorrel just said, before he states mildly, "...is she just waiting for me to leave this room so she can also have me assassinated? Because, while I don't blame her, I also like breathing."

[writteninblood]

"No, she wouldn't-- I mean, she'll probably threaten you a bit," Sorrel amended, sheepishly, then winced. None of this had seemed so halting and awkward before he'd heard them said aloud, "...She means them too, so. It's only I... I don't think she'd actually hurt you."

Please don't ask why, he prayed, but didn't know if he actually wanted that prayer answered or not.

"I'll protect you, ma'nehn. Don't worry."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"Oh well good. The end of the day, she usually threatens me a little about you anyways." He smiled slowly, hands folded over his lap as he looked over at Sorrel, "I know she does. She's right to do it. You're worth being threatened."

One eyebrow tips up, "This time, she would sort of be justified in hurting me ... what's stopping her this time? Or honestly, any other time?"

That smile softened considerably, "I know you will. Maker knows you're the real bad-arse between us."

[writteninblood]

"I, um. I."

Sorrel exhaled, focusing on the way the blankter twisted in his fingers, the distance from here to the floor, to the door, to the window. It was pointless, of course, he probably wouldn't get two steps, even if running for it hadn't been a stupid idea to begin with.

"I... Asked...her not to?" Beleth would do anything for him, he knew, just as he'd do everything in his power for her, "Because I asked her not to."

And of course, Adasse was right-- she had good enough reason to be angry at him; didn't take much interpretation to see that that gang had only gone after Sorrel because he'd been seen with Adasse. That line of logic made more sense than a half-impulse confession; Adasse was hoping not to be stabbed by Beleth, motive enough to show the sincerity of his apology in the strongest terms he could, wasn't it? Doting at someone's sickbed was about as firm a statement as could be made, after all.

Yes.

Yes, alright.

That made sense.

And then Sorrel looked up and saw the way he was smiling at him and... You're worth being threatened. No, no, of course Adasse wasn't here purely out of self-interest. Because he was kind, and generous, and Sorrel's friend-- he hoped they were still friends, at least. Had to be.

"I would never want to see you hurt," Sorrel said quietly, honest enough that his throat ached like it was a fist, held clenched too long around the words, "Whether or not it's justified, that doesn't matter. Not to me. If- if that's alright."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse looked at him as Sorrel looked away. That flush, that twisting of his fingers in the blankets. How could he have missed that? He hadn't been looking, that was why. Too busy just being entranced to notice the details. The smile lingered, as he nodded his head once.

"That's all right. It's all ... all right, Sorrel." His dark eyes grew more serious, "I was scared, you know. In the boat. I have never been so scared in my entire life, when I thought you were going to die in my arms."