faderift | [Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

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[Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

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.

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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.

"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.

Edited (spelling corrections) 2018-01-28 03:53 (UTC)

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."

Edited 2018-01-28 03:53 (UTC)

"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?

"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.

"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.

"Yeah, I noticed that, and that's just adorable. So you're alluring and adorable. Deal with it, Handsome." He smirked over his shoulder, and if you think he is letting go of Sorrel's hand now, you've got another think coming.

He pushes open the trapdoor, and pulls Sorrel up through it with him, never letting go for a moment. Maker, he might never let go again, if it would keep Sorrel safe.

"Honestly, I think you do fine on your own without comparing yourself to Pel, sweetheart." Up and up again, until they come up near Anders's clinic. "Come on, we've got to make it to the docks."

Handsome he's almost used to. But 'sweetheart?' Sorrel blinks, pink at the tips of his ears, and cannot think of a single thing to say in response. Alluring? Adorable? Alright, Adasse had to be joking. Still, it was close enough to what Sorrel wanted to hear that it was hard to think of any way to protest. He'd had a comeback in mind, a moment ago, and Sorrel was sure it'd been a good one, but all of that was impossible to recall.

So, instead of saying anything at all, Sorrel merely revels in the feeling of Adasse's hand in his, and the hot sensation in his face. Better to remember this later, then, for when it's all over.

Better, still, to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, following at arm's length past sewer entrances and unkind-looking little stalls, past the floors that could be hoisted up to street level on ropes to the narrow stairs that slanted with sunlight and smelled of fish and salt. This way, apparently, to the docks.

Well, look at that blush. Not that his was any better. He was flushed from running, from the squeeze of Sorrel's fingers in his. Up towards the docks, to freedom and - Adasse's eyes widened behind them and he yanked Sorrrel up and in front of him, as a crossbolt bolt flew right near them, striking near Adasse's head.

He pushed Sorrel up the stairs, glowering back into the darkness. Knife in his hand, he pointed to the shadows. "We're up top now, and you know you ain't got no dominion here, no power. Tell Carker that I'll be back for her, for touching what's mine. But tell her that day is not today, and she can thank her lucky stars for that."

Walking back out of the darkness, into the salty warmth of the sun on the docks, he reached out and took Sorrel's hand in his once more. "Let's go home."

Perhaps this would keep happening, Sorrel thought, as Adasse moved to shield him. The motion was entirely different from the other night, when he'd caught Sorrel, save dhim from tripping, and yet... It felt the same. Protective. Probably, it was bad to hope for that kind of thing. Beleth would say it was a sign he was crazy, wanting to need to be saved. Sorrel couldn't honestly think of any way in which that wasn't true. And yet.

And yet, with the sun rolling bright on the bay, and Adasse putting his hand into Sorrel's like that, just as if it belonged there...

Fine, he's crazy. What else is new?

"What's mine, was it?" He said, finally, as they made their way in the direction of the imposing bulk of the Gallows. As the rush of escape faded, small details seemed to reassert themselves, in the feel of wood and stone under his feet, the flow of wind and the sun, a persistant itch growing at the back of one leg, all the little sounds and the slightly dizzy way all the fresh air made him feel after being stuck in the choking damp, "I suppose I ought to be Dalish about that and find it insulting, but really, I'm just glad to see you. Thank you, ma'nehn."

Dizzier and dizzier, actually. He knew he'd been a little slothful these past few weeks, but surely that bit of running hadn't been enough to wind him? Sorrel paused a moment to attend the itch and then cursed, this time aloud.

"Fenedhis lasa," He held it up for Adasse's inspection, a slim metal stud of a handle on a surpassingly fine little throwing blade, small enough that it hadn't even registered as pain, in all the excitement, "Beleth's going to kill us."

There was only one reason for such a thing to have been used.

Edited 2018-01-29 00:43 (UTC)

There were no more shots of the dark, at least, so getting to the boats shouldn't be a problem. As it was, Adasse thought he might have been flying. Sorrel's hand in his, his heart thudding along and the realization of his words on his lips.

He paused at Sorrel paused, looking over at him with a faint snort, "You can be Dalish all you want, considering that -- " His eyes went down to where Sorrel was gesturing, and they went wide. He pulled Sorrel up, cursing as he did so. He knew only too well what that blade was for.

"Keep the blade in. Tell me how you feel, I'll be able to tell the poison from that." He all but lifted Sorrel into the boat, yelling at the soldier to 'Take off, Maker damn you, right now!' He turned back to Sorrel, his entire expression sick with worry.

"Listen to me. We're going to get you back to the Gallows. Beleth will know the antidote, or one of the healers will. You just have to stay with me, Sorrel. Look at me, and Don't. Fall. Asleep."

"Dizzy. Like too long at sea," He tried to find the words, "Kind of... blurry, I guess?"

It was suddenly hard to think and the way that Adasse suddenly lifted him up and put him down again was distracting in more ways than one. The world seemed to smear with every motion, like a sickly painting, and bobbing of the boat combined with it to make him close his eyes as tightly as he could. It was his only defense until Adasse bent back over him with his urgent, undeniable look at me.

"Bel' will know. She learned poisons and antidotes from a Crow. She knows better than anyone," He swallowed thickly, and even tried to smile, reaching for Adasse to steady himself. "I won't. I am tired. And thirsty, of a sudden. I think I'm having a bad day."

"...Damn. Damn." If it was working this fast, it was one of Canker's best poisons. He let Sorrel lean into him, and one arm went around the other man's shoulders, to keep him steady and up.

He let out a choked laugh, before he tapped Sorrel's shoulder. "You are having the worst, I won't even compete on that. But you make it through to the Gallows, and I promise, it'll get better. We'll have some jam pies, and some tea, and Beleth will yell at us .... and it will all get better. You just have to stay with me, Sorrel, all right? Just stay with me."

Maker, please, for once, let someone stay with him. Let someone he loved stay with him.

"I made jam pies for you," Sorrel told him, stupidly. Then he wondered if he should regret saying so; it was hard to think straight, maybe he could just blame it on the poison, "They were going to be an apology gift. I think I lost them, I'm sorry."

Creators, he was tired. And, everything Adasse was telling him was only getting more confusing; stay? Of course he was staying, where else would he possibly go, they were stuck on this horrible little boat in the water, he was hardly going to swim for it.

"But I'm right here," He tried, thinking perhaps this was comforting, and caught himself on one of those slow, weary blinks. No, no, no, gotta stay awake, "Oh, she's gonna be so mad."

Not his most brilliant performance, no.

"I know, I saw them." He stated quietly, before he tipped his head back to look at him. "What are you apologizing for? There's nothing to be sorry about."

Another choked noise, before he whispered quietly, "I know you are." A faint smile, twisting up at the corners. "Yeah ... yeah she's probably going to wallop me good."

It didn't have to be brilliant. Just, you know, awake.

"I. I don't know. I thought maybe...you might be mad at me," He tried to remember exactly why he'd been so sure. There had been a reason. Sorrel closed his eyes again, to help his memory, but all that did was make it harder to open them again, "I'm always saying the wrong thing, making an ass of myself. Big mouth."

It was ironic, really. Like a joke, with his vallaslin. Dirth'amen would surely have disowned him, if he knew someone like Sorrel aspired to his virtues.

"Everyone likes gifts. Gift pies," It was getting harder and harder to stay upright, but Sorrel doggedly shook himself out of the comfortable slump he'd been falling into. How long was this damned boat ride anyways? "You have to give a gift when you apologize. S'polite. Dalish tradition, gotta, gotta show you mean it, not just saying it."

"I was never mad at you, Sorrel, although I appreciate the thought. I was just ... I don't know, confused. About why you pushed me away. I understand now though, I get it." He gave Sorrel a little shake, "Don't close your eyes! Look in my eyes!"

He held Sorrel up, looking frantically to their destination. The Gallows were coming up, after all. "Yeah, I know, it's all about you being Dalish. But we'll worry about that when you're not about to die from poisoning."

"But you wanted to learn! Or... or for me to teach, I... I forget. I thought nobody here wanted to know things like that," Adasse was shaking him, why was he shaking him? It wasn't fair, if Adasse was going to say he wasn't mad while being so mean. What was the truth?

He opened his eyes, suddenly afraid that Deheune would be watching, saying kind things and meaning them so unkindly. She would have shaken him too, Sorrel thinks. Perhaps he wasn't making enough sense.

"I like your eyes," He tries, mumbling now. Perhaps Adasse will stop shaking him if Sorrel pleases him, and who doesn't like compliments? Anyways, it's true isn't it? "You have nice eyes. I like-- I like them."

Nailed it.

"I do want to learn, I want to know about your people and your faith ... and I want to know you too. So don't die on me, all right? Remember, you promised. You said you'd keep looking at me."

He's stroking Sorrel now, just trying to keep him awake however possible. They finally reach the docks, and Adasse leans in, just as Sorrel ... tells him he likes his eyes.

His smile softens, as he picks up Sorrel bride-style, and resists the urge to kiss the poisoned, adorable elf. "Thank you. I rather like your eyes as well."

And now, he's running up the docks, as fast as he can with Sorrel firmly in his grip.

Beleth is not usually an intimidating woman. She doesn't try to be, she gets far further in life by looking cute and amicable.

But is neither looking cute nor amiable, while she stands at the entrance to the docks. She's rigid, tense, and utterly cold. Her eyes, locked onto Adasse as he approaches, speak volumes for just how utterly furious she is, beyond snarling rage. It's an expression Sorrel might be familiar with, as one that had shortly followed Beleth stabbing a man in the face until he stopped having a face.

"Take him to my room." Part of her wants to demand to take Sorrel herself, but she doubts her ability to carry him, and definitely doesn't want to try it up multiple flights of stairs. "I've already been working on potions. Do you at least know the base of the poison that was used?" It's said in a tone that she not only doesn't expect Adasse to know, but suspects he doesn't know anything, and possibly never did.

She might be just a little upset.

"Oh no," Sorrel says quietly, watching her stalk towards them with suddenly wide eyes, "We're in trouble."

So much trouble. Sorrel seems to shrink in a little, meek in Adasse's arms. She's terrifying when she's truly angry, as much because she spends so much time not showing it as anything else. Like a flower that's grown teeth.

"Sorry," He tells Beleth as Adasse hustles them forward, not quite in a whisper, "I'm really sorry."

He's so, so sorry.

He almost wants to retreat, in the face of that fury. Pick up Sorrel and just run back to the boat. "We are in so much trouble. Me, more than you."

He huffed out a breath, nodding as he moved to carry Sorrel up to her rooms in the tower. He thinks about the symptoms. "Cyanide, got to be for the base. Probably with the speed? She put in deep mushroom to catalyze. Not sure if she added anything else, but we've still got the dagger, so you can test it.

He looks over at her, sorrow mixing with apology, "I'm sorry. I didn't know they knew about him. I would never put him in harm's way on purpose, I swear it."

"I'm not angry at you," Beleth tells Sorrel, angrily. But then there's a pause, as she hustles after Adasse up the stairs, reaching to touch Sorrel's hair, make sure that he's there, and he's safe. Relatively speaking.

The door to her room is opened, and she gestures to her bed, before moving to the table that holds a variety of apothecary instruments, as well as a large amount of jars filled with various plants, liquids, jellies, and whatever else could be of use. None of these were labeled. "Cyanide," She repeats after Adasse, and grabs a jar, inspecting it, then pulling out a spoonful of powder from it.

Adasse's apology isn't acknowledged. Instead, she looks up, staring at him blankly. "Why are you still here?" And then, to Sorrel: "Don't worry, I'll take care of this."

All of this. The poison, the gang, Sorrel's health.

Sorrel reaches when she does, brushing his fingers along the bumps of her knuckles, his own reassurance. I'm here, I'm here and alive.

He says nothing more, thereafter, merely hunkering down against the nausea and the grey tide of exhaustion, confusion reigning supreme. What he knew was Beleth's voice and the good-smelling presence of Adasse close at hand, warm through his shirt, and that for some ungodly reason he mustn't give in to the overwhelming desire to just sleep. It holds until it seems as if he'll be put down, his porter banished, an Sorrel rouses his own weak panic.

"No," The protest is small, anxious and confused, no stronger than Sorrel's unsteady hand fisted in Adasse's shirt, "Please don't go. Bel, lasa ma'saasha, please."

He's begging, not even cognizant of how pathetic it is; it would be no effort at all to deny him, pull his hand free

Adasse carries Sorrel, glad for the thousandth time that he took his own personal training so damned seriously. He made it to Beleth's room, out of breath but Sorreal still safely in his arms. He nodded at Beleth's order, going to put Sorrel down gently on the bed.

He looks over at her as she asks why he's still here - mouth opening - then shutting with abrupt surprise as Sorrel's hand curled into his shirt. He looked down at that hand, and knew he was totally lost on the sensible course of action. "I won't go anywhere, not until you tell me to, Sorrel."

He gives Beleth a half defiant, half nervous look, but he's not going anywhere unless she drags him out of here.

[Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

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