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

Entry tags:

[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!]

Threaded | Flat

Their gardens... their poor gardens, with the newly begun collection of rare herbs, with her wisteria, the flowers she'd cultivated so nicely. They were dug up or burned out or damaged by magic, and after all the hard work they'd done.

Sina had come to visit as soon as she'd been well enough to walk, and had promptly dropped to her knees and wept at the sight of it. It was the one part of Skyhold that had been starting to resemble a home, and she couldn't have predicted how much it hurt to see it all but demolished. This compounded with the terrifying memory of the abomination, how it had erupted into being right here in front of her; it was too much.

When Bruce entered the cloister he would be met with the kneeling Sina's back to him while she hunched over and sobbed into her hands.

Ariadne liked to keep busy. And she liked to keep a low profile. It resulted in a lot of simple labor, a lot of fetching and carrying. Occasionally, she would play her flute for the children.

But she had a talent far greater than music (or stealing, but that was another story) and it was gardening. It was a private little joke back home that she had a green thumb. Mostly since all her fingers had been green before coming through the Rift and it took her forever to actually understand what the expression meant.

When she could, she'd try to lend her services to gardening and planting and reaping. It was good to be connected to the land, even if it wasn't her own. And she was enjoying learning all about the new herbs and flowers.

It was something of a surprise to see Bruce there that afternoon. Not that she minded. Any familiar face, at this point, was something of a comfort for her.

"Hello, Sir Bruce," she said, bowing her head.

They'd tried, he and the elf woman. They'd pulled and dumped the buckets as quickly as they could, but still so much had been lost.

Maxwell stood in the garden, surveying the damage, his shoulders slumped glumly. The corner he'd made for himself had mostly survived, but the trunk of the tree was blackened and the grass and flowers were withered and the belongings he hadn't been able to grab had been singed and scorched. The candle he'd left out, waiting for Gavin, had melted into a pale puddle, looking like a strange stone upon the ground.

He nudged it free from the earth with the toe of his boot and bent to pick it up with a heavy sigh.

Gavin had somehow managed to fall asleep in the little corner between the wall of the battlement and the tower, and was snoring quietly to himself between shivers. He wasn't on duty or anything, he was just exhausted, but this was a particularly bad place to fall asleep as it was not warm at all, and since he hadn't intended on sleeping, he hadn't brought a blanket.

So it was either a very cold gust of wind or the sound of Bruce coming up the stairs that startled him awake, and then made him sneeze. He looked up blearily, and offered Bruce a sleepy smile.

"Oh, Hey Bruce. How's it going?"

Reading by candlelight is supposed to be horrible for one's eyes, but there are fewer distractions after dark when most everyone else has gone off to bed (or the tavern, or patrol, or...) for the evening. And after the most recent incident in Skyhold, Alfsigr feels it's prudent to brush up on some of her magical knowledge.

The tricky thing is that she doesn't want anyone to think that she isn't prepared to defend herself from possession. Another benefit of the hour. So she stands among the shelves with a candlestick in hand, squinting at the spines of books, reading their titles. Shouldn't the tome she wants be right about here? She was certain she saw it there last week...

[ All that has changed and she has not forgotten their brief meetings to sit quietly and drink tea, perhaps eat, and simply be. Though over the past few days they've both been sitting tense and to be quite frank, Bruce is one of the few people she'll let on that the aches from the burn linger. He's not beholden to her in any way, he owes her nothing, expects nothing. It makes him safe.

On time she ducks into his tent to fetch him, hissing as she straightens. ]

Come now, Bruce. We have both been working overlong today.

"Excuse me." His voice is hushed as he gets up from where he'd been leaning against the wall and comes over to the bandaged man. He knows he looks a little rough and ragged around the edges, but being on the run did that. "Could you use some help?"

Maybe he should stick to the shadows a little longer, keep a closer eye on the place while he decides how safe it is or isn't, but neither Anders nor Justice feel good about not helping out when someone clearly could use it. One day it might get him killed. So be it. He'd already lived past when he expected. At least he wouldn't be utterly stupid and use the name that everyone knew.

"I'm a healer, Detlef, only just arrived. If you'd like I can take a look at what you've got wrapped."

[ Sam spends a long while just kneeling in the dirt - longer than he should have, anyhow, with so much work to do.

But as he'd stepped into the garden and seen the awful state of it, he couldn't help but think of the images he'd seen in Lady Galadriel's mirror - crops and flowers alike crushed and snapped by heavy boots and trees ripped up by their roots. He'd thought himself safe here; not as safe as he'd felt in Rivendell or Lorien, perhaps, but safe enough. Now...now he's not so sure. And the gardens! It's such a waste.

Wiping away a stray tear, he sniffles heavily and gets to work, though he's perhaps a bit slower and more glum than usual as he starts gathering up the ruined plants, careful to check over them for any seeds that may yet be of use as he clears the ground for new plantings. ]

[Work is such an easy thing to distract oneself with, and Bruce is not alone in trying to do that. Simon needs the distraction as much as he needs to soothe his own guilt. When 'it' happened, the first thing he'd done was to take River and get her to safety. It was necessary and he wouldn't have done anything differently...but it meant that he wasn't there to help.

Of course he easily could have gotten killed if he'd tried, but the thought doesn't ease his conscious all that much.

Simon is returning to the tents, a package of clean cloth strips from the quarter master under his arm, when he spots Bruce in all his bandaged glory. He's seen the man around, it's impossible not to be at least passingly familiar with his fellow healers, but he's yet to really talk to him... Simon offers a nod and tight smile.]

How's your head?

[ It doesn't take living in a decrepit mountain castle to drive Dorian to fall asleep in the library. There were late evenings of a tinier Dorian sneaking into the Pavus estate's extensive study and discovered fast asleep beneath a particularly weighty codex far beyond his reading level, and then later, when he took to his studies, late nights spent in the Circle's library only to wake up with inked notes printed backwards on his cheek. It really is his natural habitat.

And the chair he's claimed for himself is very comfortable.

He hadn't exactly meant to fall asleep here, anyway, which is also standard. There's a book in his lap that he was barely reading in the first place, and he has a heel kicked up onto a stack of books made into a crude footstool, and there is a small circle of undrunk wine nestled at the bottom of a wine glass that is perilously hooked in his fingers. While unconscious, the crook of his hand seems to keep it from slipping.

But then there's the sound of another person, creaky floorboards whining away, and he rouses easily from his restless Fade dreaming. His fingers twitch, the glass slips, and the delicate, near musical sound of shattering gives his position away while he's still coming to. Startling himself ever so, his heel jerks back from the books, which in turn, fall with a heavy clamour of leather and paper.

He blinks down at the chaos he's wrought at his feet, not quite cognizant to the fact that something woke him to begin with, and peers at the dark window. It's very late. ]

[The silence is broken by other things, though only occasionally. The scrabbling of tiny animal feet, for instance: a rat that's wandered far away from the basement for some unknowable reason, or a cat that's taken it upon itself to explore. These are rare, however, and quiet compared to the sound of flame and bubbling potions.

Tonight, there's something different. Shortly after the night patrol passes, there's a creaking of wood, the sound of a barrel being opened, and a light clanging of metal. If Bruce goes to investigate, he'll find Cole just in time to see him closing up the barrel again.]

[It was never-ending. The world exploded, they put it back together, and it exploded again just for the trouble. It was enough to make a dwarf want to pull his hair out, or it would have been if he hadn't been so attached to how good his hair generally looked.

Skyhold was, once again, a bit of a wreck. It wasn't back to a dilapidated ruin, at least not as far as Varric's judged, but that was more a matter of personal taste than objective measuring. He was trying to get things done, insofar as he was able, and he'd decided to take a short break for a hot mug of tea. Of all things in this world, caffeine was the one he could depend on always, and so he'd taken no issue dragging out his mid-morning break.

This gave him a pretty good view of Bruce when the human walked by, or limped--Varric had seen enough proud people with broken ribs to know what the painful-torso-shuffle looked like, and Bruce was doing a pretty good rendition of that. They hadn't talked much, apart from some banter about his books a while back, but Varric was never one to let that sort of thing stop him.]

Well, you look terrible. Need a cup of tea?

[Varric considered his tea and then thought better. As good as Bruce's painful-torso-shuffle was, he had a introspective scowl so distinctive it was worth an honorable mention or five.]

Or maybe a flask of whisky? I'm sure I've got one on me...

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two

Two

Gardens

three.

three; library

One - Courtyard

one