run boy run

[foundmyselfagain]

WHO: Gareth and YOU
WHAT: Gareth adjusting to being back from his surprise extended stay in Tevinter
WHEN: The week or so after the rescue
WHERE: Around the Gallows
NOTES: Probably gonna be talk about trauma and how not to deal with it, gareth being gareth, etc etc

i. work

Gareth is a ghost.

He is, however, a ghost with a job, and while his superiors (Salvio? Thranduil? Whatever) would probably be willing to give him a few days off to get over the whole...captive thing, he would prefer to have something to do. Something to occupy his mind, his hands. He's had plenty of time to sit around in a small room.

So he idles around the library, or more accurately, lurks, fidgeting with books in the background, rearranging them, making sure everything is where it should be. He stays away from anyone else, stays silent, and close to the shelves, as though he can make himself invisible simply by not speaking or getting too close to anyone.

When not at the library, he's in one of the vaults, or poking around at one of the old, dusty corners of the cellars of the Gallows, inventorying and tidying. There usually isn't much company in these places, which means anyone who comes here will probably be trying to seek him out to speak.

ii. night

He doesn't sleep much. Dreams provide little comfort, and there's always an unpleasant lurch when he first opens his eyes, wondering if that cell will greet him again.

So, he makes his way to the shore, book in hand. Because, if you're not going to be doing something for a few hours, you might as well read. If the moon doesn't provide enough light to read by, he simply raises the hand with the anchor shard in it, soft green light spilling over the pages.

iii. break
[[ooc note: closed to close cr only!]]

At some point, something in him snaps. Something that had been repressed since he was first captured, waiting to come out, snarling and angry and hurting. He doesn't wait for the Gallows to fall again to let it out, and takes his staff into the training room, hoping to burn that energy on something constructive.

But it isn't enough. Each time his staff makes contact with the training dummy, he imagines a new face, the Venatori, Corypheus, even the ones who broke him in the first place. Templars, Meredith, even Orsino, and it's not enough, he has to hurt them more, give them that yawning pain that he had to live through, that he had to relive, that seems to never leave him.

Fire and thunder break out, sizzling across his staff at first, and then growing stronger as he lashes out with all the mana he can muster, until it runs out and Gareth, with one final swing to the now rather singed dummy, falls to his knees, panting. It doesn't feel better. Not like hurting the Templars did, during the war. Like seeing the people who sought to strike him down fall to their own comrades sword. But he's supposed to be better now.

He doesn't feel better.

Comments

[heirring]

Strange, how every librarian or clerk she's ever known seems to have that exact same habit of leaning away from her when it comes to a few questions and a little light conversation. It must be a very particular kind of person who finds themselves at this sort of work, she thinks, and charges on valiantly.

"'Enchanter.' Of course. Thank you so much for you help." She exhales it all in one breath, and turns promptly to leave him to his books and his book-adjacent duties and whatever else attendants in libraries do. Only after a split second, a single step, Wysteria pivots back around with a smart click of her heels.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'us'? Earlier. In reference to mages, I mean." She pitches her voice very low. "Are you one?"

[foundmyselfagain]

Gareth has all of a singular second to feel relieved that his personal bubble has been restored, when she whirls back around, and he realizes that the Chantry might actually be right. The Maker has well and truly left, and they all probably deserve it. "There

He stares at her silently for a few breathes, then furrows his brows into a vaguely confused look. Quickly, he glances around the library, to see if there’s anyone he can inflict this woman on instead, or maybe this is all a terrible joke that Prompto or someone else thought might cheer him up. But there’s no lurking salvation, or sinister pranksters. Just this woman.

"...Yyyyes...?" This is a terrible idea, but there’s little point in lying about it, when he’ll probably (hopefully) be back to yelling about mage rights when he’s fully recovered. "I suppose I am."

[heirring]

She takes a half step closer. The naked enthusiasm reflected in her face is difficult to ignore.

"What kind of magick suits you best, would you say? I've been reading there are different ways of categorizing them. Is there a kind you would say is particularly useful? Or that's easiest perhaps to learn? And what about it's connection to the Fade? Could you explain that to me?"

Wysteria glances correspondingly around the library, then lowers her voice even further. "If you've the time, of course. Or the inclination. I've heard it's all very delicate."

[foundmyselfagain]

Maybe before everything in Minrathous had happened, Gareth would have been willing to share what he knew. He had a love for knowledge, and believed in sharing it--especially when it involved a chance to tout his own views about mages.

But Minrathous did happen. The continued invasion of personal space, the questions, the intensity--it's too much, and he's well past his limit of tolerance. Something snaps--luckily for Wysteria, not in the burn-everything-to-the-ground kind of way. But his eyes darken, and the book in his hand is pushed at her, and if she doesn't move on her own, will be used to give him some of that space she refuses to let him have.

"No."

It's all he says. There's plenty more that he could elaborate on, but he wants the conversation done and over with, and anything more would just serve to continue it. To make sure his point is well and truly made, he wheels around, and starts to the door. He can continue his work some other time.

[heirring]

Well. That's a very definitive answer, isn't it?

Wsyteria opens her mouth, but gets only as far as making a choked off noise of affront before she schools herself - frowning at his back as he goes. Well, she had said only to explain it if he had the inclination. His leaving should be entirely fair, but gods if she hasn't been indulged terribly since falling out of a hole in the sky. Someone refusing them their time is shocking enough to catch her short, to shock the words out of her mouth until he's too far gone for them to make any difference.

With a huff, Wysteria turns on her heel. "Enchanters," she mutters, and goes diving into the stacks for herself.