faderift | Open w/Closed to Adalia

Entry tags:

Open w/Closed to Adalia

WHO: Sorrel Prompts (with closed to Adalia)
WHAT: Sorrel at work (feat Adalia)
WHEN: Vaguely May
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Sorrel and Adalia have a conversation, and also do tattoos

Closed to Adalia | 1
Sorrel found Adalia in the afternoon. It'd been a long day, though they all seemed long-- longer every time he considered it. When there was so much to do, you moved from one to the next, and the day behind you stretched out like a string of beads, filled with tedious, uncertain things. Nobody knew what would happen next. More accurately, Sorrel didn't.

But she'd asked him, to come see her, when he could. And, like the fool he was, he'd half-forgotten. Now he had gone looking, and poked his head in on her work.

"Adalia? You wanted to ask me something?"

Open | 2
Sorrel considered the rubbing in front of him for the fiftieth time-- for what felt more like the fifty-thousandth time. It was elven, that much was clear, more accurately elvhen, older than the Dales, older than anything, something left over from Arlathan, maybe. Or maybe not.

"Or maybe it's just a bunch of squiggles and no one can tell the difference," He mutters, to the quiet emptiness of his office. It's late, more than late, but these things don't translate themselves, do they? In this case, he has to admit, they don't translate at all, "This is why everyone says we're illiterate bumpkins. Don't even have a whole fucking language, just this..."

Sorrel sighs again, and puts it aside for hopeless.

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Adalia looks up from where she's been working on a particularly stubborn bit of her temple puzzle, smiling and waving Sorrel into the room.

"Yes, I would — well, two things, actually, one moment —"

A brief flurry of motion as she organizes all her work and moves it out of the way so that she can focus on talking to Sorrel. With it all either in a drawer in her desk or pushed to the side, she turns back to him, and is suddenly... bashful, sort of, unsure of his reception to her questions. That's never stopped her before, though, so Adalia presses on.

"Firstly, I was wondering if you knew of any Dalish — or anyone else, I suppose, though you're the only ones I've seen with tattoos — in Kirkwall who could give me a tattoo. It'd be a long process, I expect, my idea is sort of big, but I'll pay for their time."

He waits. And he listens. And then, for the first time in a long, long while, Sorrel suddenly feels aware of his face. Were they really the only ones? Maybe just the only ones it was so obvious. He never noticed any such thing.

"Well, lots of people know how to do tattoos, so long as you don't mind trusting someone in a Lowtown alley," Sorrel replies, wincing a little at the idea, "But, I know how to do it. Part of the..."

He can't help the little stumble, the way his mind skips over the idea of it, the name of the title: Keeper. Sorrel tries to cover his stutter with his hands, waving as if the words had simply escaped him, and not run him through.

"...training. You know? So, that's lucky."

Well, that was certainly not conspicuous or weird at all. Adalia blinks at Sorrel's... whatever that was, but he seems not to want to spend any time on it, so she just nods slowly and chooses to smile rather than think too hard about it.

"Very lucky! Would you be willing to tattoo me? Soon? I would very much prefer not to have to trust someone in a Lowtown alley."

Because down that way lies death, probably, whether by a knifing or from infection due to poorly kept tools.

If he only knew how he sounded, Sorrel would thank Adalia for her discretion.As it is, he thinks maybe he just about got away with that one. So good for him.

"I-- I don't have anything on hand," He thinks a moment, mentally tallying what he does have, and coming up with a promising result, "I could get something together, though. Why is this so important?"

"Oh, it's not, I'm just bad at waiting."

Points for honesty, maybe? Adalia has vague thoughts about how important her magic is to her life, how cloaking herself in the self-mythologizing of being a storm made flesh makes it easier to bear when others make her feel like shit... but really she's just impatient and she likes the idea, so why not do it as soon as possible?

"That's not a reason," Sorrel scoffs, but he's already half-turned to gather his preparations, "Give me an hour, then come up to my quarters when you're done. I'll try and have what I need together, by then-- is black ink alright?"

Dalish tattoo in many colors, but black is by far the most common, and the easiest to acquire. Or rather, the easiest to make, without trusting the dye-content of someone else's tinctures.

"Oi now. I'm only a bumpkin, not even near being illiterate." Comes a drawl from the doorway, where Adasse is leaning against the frame, a basket under one arm. Concern flashes through his dark eyes, as he notes Sorrel's tired ones.

"You work too hard, love." He straightened, heading over to put the basket next to his lover, kissing him atop the head.

And Sorrel, still blinking at the sudden interruption, tilts his head back in response, as if Adasse's kiss were merely a call for attention. And then-- oh look, a basket.

"Well, city-bumpkin, someone has to do it," is his only excuse, with a smile for accompaniment, but at the moment it sounds weak and tired, even to Sorrel. He indicates the basket, with his quill-hand, "What's thi--"

He stops on a yawn, one that turns into a jaw-stretching, neck-cracking, back-stretching thing. Ooh, and he's stiff, too long bent over papers and reports in the candle-light, trying to decipher what might only be embellishment from what might be vital reliefs.

"...Sorry. What's this?"

Since his attention has been called, another kiss follows the first one. He grins upside-down at Sorrel, drawling, "I must say, that's one I've never heard before. City Bumpkin. Might get a sign for myself."

He tuts at the sounds Sorrel makes when he stretches, and his hands immediately start working in on Sorrel's shoulders to help loosen him up. "That, my love, is dinner. You missed it again."

It does take Sorrel a moment to recover from that. Upside down kisses? Well, now there's a new experience. He's not entirely sure how he feels about it; more experimentation is called for.

"Ah, sorry," He's apologizing quite a lot, this evening. But Sorrel supposes he must be forgiven after all, since Adasse has already put his hands on him and-- "Oooh. Oh, oh that's... thank you..."

Who cares about mundane things like dinner, when delicious things are happening and all the unconscious little knots of pain are being eased away? Not Sorrel, that's who.

"Have I ever.... told you? I love you. I love... so much. Everything. I love you, Adasse."

Adasse will be more than happy to add more data to Sorrel's pool on upside-down kisses. Starting with another one, before he goes back to working out the kinks in his love's neck, next. Honestly he was as wound as a crossbow. Long, clever fingers dug into narrow, wiry muscle.

"...I love you too, but now I have to wonder if you love me or love the fact that I learned how to do a proper massage?" He drawled once more, but that didn't keep his fingers from working.

"I have to choose?" Sorrel squeaks, as wide-eyed as he can make himself, staring up at Adasse with trembling lip for the best effect, "Can't I love both? And the way you bring me food?"

And the crown jewels of Nevarra, and ten galleons full of gold, and one of the moons? And another kiss, while he's at it. Sorrel spoils his puppy-eyes when those nimble thief's fingers find a particularly painful spot and press it into submission: ouch! And then, ahhhh... The slack-jawed gasp of appreciation is not very dignified, but as reactions go, it's honest.

"You know, ma'nehn, if thieving doesn't work out for you..."

"No, you don't have to choose. You can love me for whatever you want." Especially the way he looked at him right now. Not to mention the slack-jawed look of appreciation for hitting that one knot right now.

"...I could become a handy person at the Rose? I suppose so. I hear they tip better there anyways." He smirked, as he started to work down Sorrel's spine. "Why are you so very crooked?"

Sorrel bends obediently under the pressure, letting Adasse maneuver him so that he's leaning across his desk and damn the rubbings. Well no, don't damn them but-- but he's forgotten why they're important, for the moment.

"I don't know why, but it might be that this horrible criminal from the alienage came into my office and started pushing on my spine like-- ow." That's a good ow, if there is such a thing. Sorrel heaves a sigh to label it as such, and lets the joke go, "...Sorry. It's only, they don't exactly teach elvhen in chantry schools, and all the other Keeper-trained Dalish fucked off to take care of babies or try to fix Orlais or something."

He's still a little bitter about Ellana.

"...Or they're wardens and I don't want to bother them. So it's me or no one to try and translate things, it seems. Except it's all shit, and I'm just... what gives the shemlen the right to all this anyways? I know, the Inquisition is just... You know?" He half-sits up, gesturing with an open hand. The Inquisition, saving the world, needing the information. Surely, it was important and that was fair enough, "But what about after? Anyways. I'm sorry. I lost track of time. Again. You ought to abandon me to die at my desk or something, instead of... coming in here to upstage the Rose for me."

Adasse smirked once more, before he made sure to rub in one particularly tight spot right along Sorrel's spine. "That's not what I meant and you know it, prince brat."

He pauses, before he lets out a snort, "They really don't tend to teach elves much of anything from Chantry school ... not sure about the Keepers, though. If they're off to save the world at least they're off doing something?"

He listens after that, because Sorrel's concern ... is not an uncommon one and Sorrel needs to get it out. He presses a kiss to Sorrel's head, and moves his hands up Sorrel's spine once more. "I think what happens afterwards is I steal all our history back, and we head off to start a new elven city. But hey, that's a battle for tomorrow."

He smiles against Sorrel's red hair, "And you know I'd sooner cut off my hands than abandon you anywhere. Drama queen."

"Oh then, you'd better not, after all. I like your hands right where they are," both at the ends of his arms and pressing warm, pleasurable circles into Sorrel's stiff muscles. He grins at his own joke, though Adasse can't see it, pressed close as he is, "I do feel much better, by the way. Thank you, ma'nehn."

And he does, both in terms of bent backbones and low spirits. But then, was that an surprise? Adasse always brought out the joy in him. And the idea of stealing a museum's worth of artifacts for the benefit of some hypothetical elven revival... it's an endearing fantasy, at least.

"Will you eat with me?"

"Well then I'll be sure not to move them then." He smiles at the back of Sorrel's head. Pleased that he's able to help his brilliant love in some way - even if it's not in reading elvhen. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

He made sure that Sorrel's back was all in sorts, before planting another kiss on his beloved auburn locks. "Naturally. That's why I brought enough to feed a small army."

This time, Sorrel turns into the caress, twisting on his seat so that his smile shows where Adasse can see it, and so that he pull him back down for a kiss of his own. This is what love is, the thought comes to Sorrel all at once; not the passionate grabbing, or the mushy declarations, or even the saucy jokes. Just coming up late at night, and bringing what someone else needs, even when it's inconvenient. Even when there's no benefit to yourself. Quiet love, like tree roots in the soil, and just as strong.

Maybe that smile of his has gotten a little goofy.

"Sit down, then," He tells Adasse, already scooping up the smudgy rubbings and clearing them neatly away, "I should probably give this a rest, anyways."

It was all in the way that Sorrell looked at him, honestly, for doing such a small thing like just bringing him some food. Love is in the little things. It always had been, and always would be, part of a larger mosaic of feelings and passions and whatever but ... the little things? The little thank yous? That was love.

He sits, as requested, and starts doling out the food. "Now you're talking."

Sorrel allows Adasse the drama of the reveal, taking what's offered to him with appropriate noises of approval, and settles back in his seat once the work is filed. Just the smell of food is enough to waken forgotten hunger, and Sorrel tucks in eagerly.

"I've been wondering something," He says, between bites, "I know I keep throwing Elvhen at you like it's supposed to mean something to you, but you never ask what any of it actually means."

Come to think of it, does he even know what ma'nehn means?

"Don't you ever... wonder?"

Adasse tears off a piece of bread, but doesn't stuff it into his mouth just yet as he gives Sorrel a quiet, even look. "Sweetheart, you realize ... the two Dalish clans that I have met are the only two Clans who have been in Kirkwall for years. Before that, yeah, the Keeper of Merrill's old tribe came once or twice, and Merrill tried to teach anyone who would listen - but the old ways?"

He sighed, looking at the ceiling, then back at Sorrel. "It didn't put food in our bellies. Didn't put a roof over our heads. Beyond that, who wants to learn about something from someone who calls you a 'flat-ear'?"

A pause, and he reaches out, touching Sorrel's hand, "Maybe if we had a teacher like you, to show us what we were missing? It wouldn't have felt like we were dirty commoners even amongst our own kind."

Sorrel's quiet while Adasse talks, listening. It reminds him, obscurely, of Ellana-- of how he'd tried to approach the thing sidelong, and only managed to insult her by the effort, and drive her away. It seems like he's doomed to be damned for subtlety; Adasse, at least, will forgive him the offense. He hopes. No, he'll never be his mother, that's for certain.

"Well, I-- I'm here, now," He says, finally, because there's little else he can say. Sorrel turns his hand to accept Adasse's touch, "And your ears look plenty vhen to me. So, I... What I meant is, if you want to know, you can ask. It's not a very practical gift, but... I'm sorry. Here I am spoiling the good mood with my babbling."

Adasse ... blinks at that. Blinks once more before a little smile tips on his face and he tilts his head to the side. "You mean it? You'd actually teach me the language of the Ancients, and all that? Even though I'm not Dalish?"

Honestly, he was surprised as Hell - but leave it to Sorrel to surprise him in the best ways possible.

"Well, it'd be nice if you actually knew what half the stupid things I say even mean. You might be thinking I'm very suave, when in reality, I am... not."

This said as if to put a bow on the offer, all discussion closed; he'll begin tutoring you immediately. Or at least he's ready to catch fire with his blush. Sorrel picks at his food, as a distraction from his own awkwardness, then shrugs one-shouldered.

"And. I want you to know it. If you want."

"You know, I can't argue that. Then I don't look dumb pretending that it's suave when you're just babbling at me." He grinned in turn, before he tips his head.

"I want to know it. So teach me, Teacher. I am, as ever, an avid pupil of the written word."

Sorrel snorts at that and turns back just in time to catch that slanted look, and can't really hide the smile. So, to protect his dignity, he throws a pinch of bread at Adasse's face. You know, like an adult.

"Ma'nehn," He says, though not quite the endearment he usually makes of the word, almost cutting it in half along the syllables, "Ma is short for emma, which can mean either 'me' or 'mine' depending how you use it. Nehn is joy, as in Sulahn'nehn, which means to rejoice."

"Ma'nehn," Sorrel repeats, and fails very much to keep to the instructive tone, "My joy."

Adasse takes it to the face. You know, also like a mature adult. He makes a 'OOOF' noise and everything. He leans on the table, one hand cupping his pointed chin, as he listens to Sorrel. He's an excellent teacher, and Adasse finds himself mouthing the word along with Sorrel to get the right consonants.

Then he pauses, arching an eyebrow at Sorre, "I'm sorry, who said you weren't smooth?"

"Shut up," He retorts, blushing like flame, and turns to his food with a vengeance. The first bite is over-large, as if to compensate for the wait, and suddenly Sorrel is ravenous, as if his body had suddenly been reminded what hunger was, "Anyways, you're the guy who--"

He swallows, realizing his rudeness.

"--Who just went along with it, and never asked."

In his more sober moments, Sorrel wonders if getting him flustered is some kind of attractant for Adasse, because if not... Well, Sorrel certainly seems to spend enough time doing it. He hopes it's not unattractive, at least.

"Never." Especially if it made Sorrel blush. His lover would be happy to know that him being flustered is in fact a major turn-on for Adasse. He's used to dalliances who were as full of themselves as ... well, he was. To have someone so open and honest and blushing?

Was so very alluring.

"Of course I did. Beautiful man, calls me things with that low tone? I think even stupid donkey would have been an acceptable translation." He grinned, ear to ear, dark eyes flashing.

"Wh-- Oh, I see. Your bringing the food was all a ruse. You just came up here to make fun of me."

Which, though at least half joking, is still, somewhere, down deep in the dark, a very serious statement. A beautiful man. Somehow, despite all the whispered adoration in moments of passion... Well, it takes longer to unlearn things than to learn them, sometimes. And Sorrel's spent a long time learning this one.

"Anyways, I'd never call you that," He thinks about the for a moment, then has to admit the flaw in its logic, "Well, unless you really deserved it."

A moment's pause, and a sudden grin.

"...You stupid donkey."

"Actually I came to get into your trousers at some point, so let me make sure you heard the beautiful man part again."

Which he'll keep saying until Sorrel believes him. He figures he's got a few years before it sinks in just how lovely Sorrel actually is to himself.

"You would. And see, started already!" Adasse shook his head, "Now say it in Elvish."

Sorrel scoffs at that, and thinks. But when he speaks, it's only slowly.

"Banal'dirth..." He stops, seemingly stumped, and the smile fades, "...We don't have a word for Donkey. You could substitute Halla, but then it's barely an insult. Halla are family, y'know?"

Maybe he doesn't. Sorrel finds himself suddenly wondering if... if alienage elves just think the Dalish use Halla because they don't have horses or donkeys. As if Halla were just stupid beasts of burden, things to be used up and discarded, like a dead horse on the royal highway.

"We don't really have as many words as most languages do. We lost a lot when Arlathan fell to Tevinter. And when the Dales fell to Orlais. And... every time a clan dies, we lose more than lives. Maybe one of these days an ancient dictionary will turn up in one of the temples the Inquisition is always breaking into."

He does look baffled - halla is family? But, maybe Halla are like pets? He looks confused for a moment, as he tips his head to the side, "...so they're like Coco?"

A quiet snort, "That would be nice. Hey, look, you're stealing our culture so now we can steal it back and actually know about ourselves."

Sorrel opens his mouth, suddenly and irrationally delighted- and then realizes that Adasse has no idea what the joke would have been. How, how had he gotten this far into their friendship without that nug joke?

"No, no, no," He says eventually, trying to suppress the urge to giggle, "No, it's... alright, so the legend goes, that a long, long time ago, the Creators walked among the People, looking not much different than elves themselves. And of the People, there was a huntress named Ghilan'nain, who could track and catch any creature in the world, but never killed them."

Sorrel's hands moved as he spoke, and he quite forgot to eat as he told the story of Ghilan'nain Halla-mother, how she used her magic to create life, every kind of creature. He told of Andruil and the love that grew between them, and the jealousy of men, which had led to Ghilan'nain's torture, and her forgiveness, and her transformation. Ghilan'nain, the beloved of goddess Andruil, lifted to the status of a goddess herself, first of the Halla.

"...And all the Halla today are descended from her. So really, if you go back far enough, we're all one blood."

Adasse listened closely, because this was a tale that had a lot of meaning for the Dalish, and it seemed for his own lover as well. Didn't make a great deal of sense, turning an elf into a halla -- but blood of my blood stories were as old as time itsef.

"Well, sounds like the creators had it right for awhile there. Save the people who needed to be saved."

"It does seem like that," Sorrel says, in a way that puts the lie to his nonchalance; his is a bone-deep faith, "It is a true story, though. The Halla are too smart to be animals. They're our cousins. So calling you a Halla really wouldn't be the same as a donkey."

After all, nobody cares to ask a donkey's opinion. Contrarily-wise, when a Halla has an opinion, it's everybody's concern. Sorrel shrugs and turns back to his forgotten meal, grateful that it's all food that doesn't mind being too cold or too hot, thoughtful friend that Adasse is.

"Sina's Vallaslin was for Ghilan'nain."

"Huh ... but it would be the same as calling me a Coco. I like it." Adasse is of the personal opinion that Coco is as smart as anyone, so that Halla are the same? Is pretty neat.

He looks pensive at that, before he tips his head to the side, "Does that mean that Sina is a Halla now? You know, like, her spirit became one with the halla?"

Sorrel blinks, refocusing on Adasse so quickly that he nearly give shimself whiplash. He had grown up in the alienage, surrounded by no end of Andrastian superstition, cruelty, and hard ways, had received no real education except what survival made necessary and... and he was so, so very, painfully sharp, Sorrel's beloved. Oh, Adasse played up the grinning fool, and it was a delight to play along, enough that every now and again one found oneself almost forgetting...

But never for long, not with moments like this around; Sorrel found himself thinking, of that gilt-edged moment in the Fade, of Sina's spirit, bright and free, bounding away like the leap of a sprightly young creature...

...Like a Halla.

"Maybe she did," He says, wonderingly. Where else could Falon'Din's path have taken her, to rest easy, but the hearts of her patron's best children? There's something terribly sad about that, somehow, as if the idea makes everything settle in, more permanent, and farther away. Sorrel breathes, and reaches for Adasse's hand, feeling the weight of the hours, "Hey, 'Dasse? Let's go to bed. I'm really tired."

"Sort of like that. All you good Dalish become Halla, and the People live on." He smiled quietly at the thought, before Sorrel's touch drew him back to the here and now. He arched his eyebrows up, concern flashing.

"Yeah, of course love. Are you feeling all right?" He squeezed Sorrel's hand, and started to pack up the food immediately.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just..." He shakes his head and can only repeat himself, speaking past the pressure in his chest, and heavy, leg-dragging feeling, "I'm just tired."

It wasn't even a lie; he was tired too. But there was more than that, a small, childish voice that kept interjecting into his thoughts whenever Sorrel had an unguarded moment: I want to go home. But there wasn't any home to go to. There was this office, and Beleth's, and her bedroom, and Adasse's. And then there was Kirkwall.

And everything else... he had to remember, it was all gone to ash, really. And who's fault? Only his own. Sina would have been so ashamed of him, halla or no. He tries to smile, for Adasse's sake, at least, but is uncertain of the result.

"You're really smart, you know that? Every time we talk, I feel like I'm learning something new."

Adasse got all the food gathered up, and then offered his hand to Sorrel. When he got like this, Adasse knew the only thing he could do was be here for his lover. Sorrel was tearing himself apart inside to make all this work and Adasse knew that there were going to be times like this where all he could do was hold on. As tight as he could.

He quirks a half smile, "Don't tell any humans that. They might start getting ideas about us city elves. Like we should get formal education, or something."

"Ha," Sorrel gives him the satisfaction of a well-received joke, and takes the offered hand, letting Adasse bring him closer, stepping into his grasp with only a little guilt, "You do deserve a formal education. Or at least someone could teach you manners."

An insult delivered with all the fierce, stern rancor of I love you. Sorrel leans his weight into Adasse's shoulder momentarily, to seal in the sentiment; something like a playful shove, but that it goes on for too long, and too fondly.

"You want to learn another word? Last one for tonight."

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Open w/Closed to Adalia

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