faderift | [OPEN] I can't get by pretending it's okay

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[OPEN] I can't get by pretending it's okay

WHO: Bruce ~~Banner~~ and Anybody Else
WHAT: Everything Is Fine And Nothing Is Wrong: a premier by Bruce
WHEN: Haring 16 onwards
WHERE: All over Skyhold
NOTES: Mostly open post through the rest of December - prompts and such are under the cut. I'm starting in brackets, but feel free to switch to prose and I will follow accordingly! Also warning for angst and Bruce being Bruce.

one. making the rounds. (courtyards, most of skyhold)

[Almost one week later, Bruce still can't quite shake off the entire incident from his mind. Or rather, he can't shake off the image of the dead mage in his head when he finally made it out of the garden, the poor soul gone for good after what Adelaide and the others had done.

He couldn't blame them, of course - they were only doing what was necessary, what was right - but all the same it still reminded Bruce of the reality of what he was and how people would perceive him if they ever knew the truth. The moment they knew... nothing would ever be quite the same, that he was certain of.

He tries not to dwell on it too much, but it continues to haunt him through the day as he does his daily rounds. Having denied himself the use of his magic save for that one time with Cole, Bruce is still healing from the injuries he suffered from the abomination. There're bandages around his head and arms and chest (although the last is hidden underneath his clothing) but Bruce doesn't let those get in his way, just as he doesn't let the occasional throb or ache of pain from his still healing ribs stop him from doing his work. Some of his more familiar patients do ask him about it, but Bruce is quick to brush them off and turn the attention back to themselves. They are all far more important than he will ever be, after all.]

two. fixing the garden. (the garden)

[With how things had been that night the abomination had more or less left a good part of the garden damaged. That, of course, included the herbs that had been growing, which was most likely going to cause some issues in the near future.

Still, at least its not like they're gone forever. Bruce drops by the garden whenever he can, helping to get the earth ready once more so that a new batch of herbs can be planted with the hope that they'll grow properly and without interruption this time around. It hard labor, yes, but at least the work helps Bruce to temporarily keep his mind off the more dangerous lines of thoughts that he knows he shouldn't dwell on. How long that works, though, is another thing entirely.]

three. midnight wanderings. (battlements and library)

[The thoughts never leave him, not really, and Bruce knows full well that he's going to have to deal with a good while of not being able to sleep properly. Sleepless nights are practically an old friend to him now.

That doesn't mean he will let himself waste his time - since he is awake he might as well make full use of what he has. On some nights he can be found on the battlements, brewing potions up there in the quiet that's only broken by the footsteps of the night patrol. On other nights he might in the library instead, perusing several books and if one manages to catch him at the right time, will see that it pertains to abominations and other such things related to them.]

wildcard.

[Feel free to throw in your own prompt or PM/contact me to plot out stuff!]

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For whatever else his life growing up had or hadn't been, Maxwell hadn't gone without. He'd always had a home, food, and things. That alone was more than most, he knew, and somehow it didn't feel right to let himself get wrapped up in the loss of what he still had.

Not until the man gave him permission.

He looked across at him, emotion moving across his face, and he quietly closed the burned book and turned toward the bags hanging from the tree, where his most personal belongings had been stored. The stones that Gavin had brought him back from the mire were likely okay, so he reached first for the one that held his clothes and sketchbook. His tools, the arrowhead...

He reached in and began to pull them out, shaking out the clothes as they came free.

"...What do you think," he asked lowly, looking up again as he held the shirt up. "Think anyone will notice?"

Thank the Maker it had been cool and he'd happened pulled on his leathers before the attack.

Bruce watched as the man picked out the bags on the tree, taking out some things from inside of it - looking at the shirt that was pulled out and studying it at the man's request. It was a little singed, no doubt, and some repairs to it would be good, but beyond that...

"If you wear it underneath your outer clothing, I'm sure it'll be fine." Bruce turned his gaze back to the man and attempted a smile. "But of course, it would help if some of the holes did get fixed. But that's entirely up to you." Either way Bruce felt that it wasn't going to be a lost cause - there was still something salvageable from it.

He slipped two fingers into a hole along the side and wagged them slightly, pushing a breath through his nose as he did.

"I seem to recall seeing something on the message board about someone sewing for trade? Perhaps I can talk to them." He wasn't sure he had anything anyone else would want, especially now, but maybe...

He rolled the shirt up and set it down on the bedroll to reach into the bag again, heart thumping slightly as he felt around for his tool pouch and sketchbook.

"I don't suppose you've seen noticed if anyone's selling any-- oh, thank the Maker," the little oilskin book came out, the cover a little scorched, but otherwise whole. He brushed at it and held it close, wholly pleased, just for a moment, that it was alright.

Anything else, in theory, could be replaced, but not that simple, silly book.

"Sorry," he smiled, small and wry. "I was worried about this."

"That sounds like a good idea." Bruce didn't really pay much attention to the message boards in general, but if such an offer was made then all the better.

He took one step closer as the man rummaged around his bad some more, about to respond to whatever he was about to ask when then the man cut himself off with words of relief. Bruce watched as he pulled out a small book from his back, looking somewhat worn out from the flames but otherwise seemingly alright. From the way the man reacted and how relieved he obviously looked, Bruce could only surmise that it must be something of great sentimental value.

At the other's apology Bruce only shook his head and smiled back in return, hopefully managing to look reassuring enough to him. "It's quite alright. I'm glad that it managed to get through the fire intact." Considering how Bruce himself had his battered copy of Hard in Hightown, he wasn't exactly in any position to judge people for their sentimental keepsakes.

"Silly, I suppose," he could chuckle, with it safe in hand, "an another one would be fairly easy to come by, but I've had it since I started my training..."

He bent back the cover and fluttered the pages, hand-drawn images flashing by. Sketches of bows and arrows and knives, a few faces, bits and bobs there and gone to quickly to parse out.

"I figured my tools would be alright, but this..." He closed it again and let out a relieved breath, smiling sheepishly once more and clearing his throat. "As I was about to ask - have you seen anyone with extra bed rolls? I'm not sure this one will do me much good anymore."

"Don't worry about it. Like I said, I'm glad that it managed to come out of it all intact."

And Bruce wasn't just saying it just to be nice, either. He honestly was glad to see that not everything was destroyed; with all the tragedy that had occurred it was good to see that there was still something that was spared. As silly as it seemed, it gave him a mild sense of hope.

Smile still on his face, Bruce inclined his head at the question, mulling over it for a moment before replying. "I'm not entirely sure, but I can ask around for you. I'm sure there's somebody who can spare some for people who need it."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," Maxwell replied, meaning it wholly, holding his sketchbook tight. "It... I know it's an odd thing to say, but if this terrible thing was going to happen, at least it was here."

He looked at Bruce, hoping he'd understand what he was trying to say.

"Here were people can help, and no one's alone."

Bruce did in fact understand where the other was getting at, and he nodded his head to indicate as such despite the tight expression that passed his face. Yes, the entire thing was horrible, but... the other man was right. At least here the response was quick, and there was people who could step up and do what needed to be done. Outside...

Well. Outside. That was a different thing entirely.

"Despite the tragedy that it was, at least it was resolved quickly." Bruce murmured, voice soft now. "In that, at least we can count our blessings."

"...Likewise," Maxwell carried on softly, but insistently. "I don't have much, but if there's something I can do - if you know of anyone else - and I can help, I'm willing."

He passed his sketchbook from one hand to the other, and held the free one out.

"My name's Maxwell."

It took a moment for him to digest the gesture, but once it clicked Bruce was responding in kind, giving his name as he grasped Maxwell's hand for a handshake.

"Ah--Bruce." He inclined his head and added on, "A pleasure."

"Well," Maxwell shook his hand and then released it, with a small lopsided sort of smile, "circumstances being what they are, anyway."

He took his hand back, and took a breath, glancing around again.

"Have you seen the rest? ...It seemed determined to get into the main hall."

Bruce gave a wry smile of his own at that - the other man did have a point, after all, and it wasn't for him to deny it.

"You mean the rest of the damage?" he asked once he drew his hand back, giving Maxwell an inquiring look. "I've seen part of it, yes."

"How bad is it?"

He'd been busy, so wrapped up in what had happened in the garden - to the garden - to really get around to the rest of Skyhold just yet.

"And did we - lose anyone else?"

Besides the mage in question and whatever poor soul it had been dragging along with it.

At the question Bruce's expression faltered a little, although he did try his best to smile, not wanting Maxwell to assume the worst just because he looked a little dejected.

"It's pretty bad. Not much losses, but--" It was still enough. Enough to feel the pain and the fear and remember why magic was such a terrifying thing to everyone.

He didn't have to continue. Maxwell understood, his breath drawing slowly, head nodding gently.

"Well, at least there's that," he said after a moment. "Stone can be cut, walls can be rebuilt."

He glanced sidelong at the torn and burned garden.

"It'll take time, but being alive gives us that."

Bruce agreed with a nod of his own. Buildings and such could be rebuilt, but not people. Not lives. Those were far too important to ever be put back together properly - a fact he knew all too well.

"That's the most important thing," he muttered, glancing at the destroyed garden as well. It would take time, but eventually there would be a proper garden again - life would return to these charred grounds.

Silence descended for a moment, both them to their thoughts as their eyes moved over the garden.

Then Maxwell took a breath and turned back to Bruce.

"Thank you again," he said. For the offer of help, and for the simple company. He appreciated that.

"It's nothing at all." He replied as he glanced back to Maxwell, managing another smile. "I'm glad that you and at least some of your things are alright." That's already much better than a good number of other people, for better or for worse.

"Still, thank you," Maxwell said again, smiling gently. "And if there's anything I can do to help I'll be... here."

He gestured gently to the burnt area around him.

"At least until I've finished going through everything."

Bruce gives a nod to the words, showing that he's heard them and then speaks. "Take as long as you need. I doubt anybody would really want to think of chasing you away from that one particular spot."

It would be rude, and it was clear that there was a lot of sentimental value attached to the things he had with him. Bruce knew he was hardly in a position to cause more distress for the man.

Maxwell smiled again, softly, then turned to continue going through his things. As hard as it might be, he needed to take stock, make a list.

He couldn't fix anything, until he knew what was broken.

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[OPEN] I can't get by pretending it's okay

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