WHO: six, marcus, marcoulf, barrow, matthias, laura & derrica WHAT: escorting some stranded orphans back to ostwick WHEN: firstfall 9:45 WHERE: on the road to ostwick NOTES: n/a.
"It fell apart," Barrow says with a shrug, remarkably serious for the first time since he came to Riftwatch. "I could have followed the Knight-Commander all over the world trying to force people back into their cages as Andraste intended," (this is clearly not meant in earnest), "or I could say, welp, it was a job while it lasted, time to move on."
He takes another drag. "I was never suited for that life. Just as well that it ended."
"What does that mean, it fell apart?" Derrica asks, each word clipped. "The rebellion happened, and it was inconvenient for you?"
It's hard to dredge up anything soft and sympathetic in this moment. Just a job? What had his job required of him? Had any part of it ever given him pause before he'd parted ways with his order?
She's grafting the whole of the templar order onto him in this moment, expecting his answer to make up for everything they'd done. It's impossible for Barrow to bridge this gap.
Barrow gestures vaguely around himself. It fell apart.
"Inconvenient..." He pulls a face at that, shaking his head. Derrica is speaking with venom, but taking it at face value is the approach he knows best.
"The rebellion was," he muses, blowing out a breath of smoke and giving his stubbly cheek a scratch with the hand holding the cigarette, "an excuse to not have to do it anymore. ...so if anything, it was convenient."
He looks down at her, knits his brow, and gives one shoulder a shrug. "Sorry, love. I don't know what you want me to say."
It's unfair to hold one man to account for the sins of an entire organization. Derrica knows this. But it's so hard not to look at him and feel the same burn of anger and fear that's dogged her steps for years.
"You should have told me."
She thinks back to healing him all those months ago in that little bar with Eshal yelling at two fighters in the ring just a few feet away. If she'd known, she'd never have offered, nor would she have grown to enjoy Barrow's brash, jovial demeanor.
"I don't know what you should have said, but it would have been..."
Easier? No. But at least she wouldn't feel like this, foolish and endangered. She draws her cloak tighter around her body, shakes her head wordlessly rather than trying to put those feelings into words.
He probably should've told a lot of people. Maybe even everyone. But 'probably' doesn't solve anything.
"It was..." he admits heavily, "...a chance to start anew." Forgetting everything and beginning again, free of the bias that had kept them under the boot for so long. He'd advise her to do the same, but has a suspicion she wouldn't be too receptive.
The luxury of being able to simply walk away from what his past—
How many of them couldn't simply start anew? How many of them couldn't separate their present from their past and what had been visited upon them by templars? Her initial incredulous expression hardens to anger before she turns fully away from him.
"You don't deserve it," Derrica says, the faint fluttering urge to soften her words gone unacknowledged. "It doesn't go away just because you want it to."
Barrow knows instinctively that he's done wrong at this point, and his natural joviality has melted away into an awkward hunch as he focuses almost exclusively on his cigarette. It's not that he's insensitive, he'd tell anyone who asked, it's that he knows when to choose his battles (and the answer is usually Never, Unless A Sword Is Needed).
He doesn't challenge her, and perhaps doesn't even disagree. But he doesn't say anything either, no doubt hoping she'll drop it and go away so he doesn't have to make a break for it.
Rather than doing any of the many things that immediately come to mind (hitting him, cursing him, etc) Derrica draws herself up, takes a deep breath, and shakes her head dismissively.
"Don't speak to me outside of what's necessary for our work."
And then she spits into the dirt between them, before turning to walk away without waiting for a reply. What else is there to say now? Everything has been made painfully clear, and Derrica isn't interested in anything beyond firmly closing off any friendship between them.
He opens his mouth as if to acknowledge her, but simply closes it again and nods. Presumably that warning applies now.
There's an uneasy little tug in his heart as she walks away, spit or not. Perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive. Or perhaps this is exactly why he should.
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no subject
He takes another drag. "I was never suited for that life. Just as well that it ended."
no subject
It's hard to dredge up anything soft and sympathetic in this moment. Just a job? What had his job required of him? Had any part of it ever given him pause before he'd parted ways with his order?
She's grafting the whole of the templar order onto him in this moment, expecting his answer to make up for everything they'd done. It's impossible for Barrow to bridge this gap.
no subject
"Inconvenient..." He pulls a face at that, shaking his head. Derrica is speaking with venom, but taking it at face value is the approach he knows best.
"The rebellion was," he muses, blowing out a breath of smoke and giving his stubbly cheek a scratch with the hand holding the cigarette, "an excuse to not have to do it anymore. ...so if anything, it was convenient."
He looks down at her, knits his brow, and gives one shoulder a shrug. "Sorry, love. I don't know what you want me to say."
no subject
"You should have told me."
She thinks back to healing him all those months ago in that little bar with Eshal yelling at two fighters in the ring just a few feet away. If she'd known, she'd never have offered, nor would she have grown to enjoy Barrow's brash, jovial demeanor.
"I don't know what you should have said, but it would have been..."
Easier? No. But at least she wouldn't feel like this, foolish and endangered. She draws her cloak tighter around her body, shakes her head wordlessly rather than trying to put those feelings into words.
no subject
"It was..." he admits heavily, "...a chance to start anew." Forgetting everything and beginning again, free of the bias that had kept them under the boot for so long.
He'd advise her to do the same, but has a suspicion she wouldn't be too receptive.
no subject
How many of them couldn't simply start anew? How many of them couldn't separate their present from their past and what had been visited upon them by templars? Her initial incredulous expression hardens to anger before she turns fully away from him.
"You don't deserve it," Derrica says, the faint fluttering urge to soften her words gone unacknowledged. "It doesn't go away just because you want it to."
no subject
He doesn't challenge her, and perhaps doesn't even disagree. But he doesn't say anything either, no doubt hoping she'll drop it and go away so he doesn't have to make a break for it.
no subject
"Don't speak to me outside of what's necessary for our work."
And then she spits into the dirt between them, before turning to walk away without waiting for a reply. What else is there to say now? Everything has been made painfully clear, and Derrica isn't interested in anything beyond firmly closing off any friendship between them.
no subject
There's an uneasy little tug in his heart as she walks away, spit or not. Perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive.
Or perhaps this is exactly why he should.