faderift | MOD EVENT ↠ IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

What an odd boy. She starts to walk away, but some nagging feeling in the back of her mind makes her stop after only a few steps. She turns and narrows her eyes at him, trying to place him and coming up empty-handed. Strangers in Kirkwall rarely offer strangers, much less elven strangers, the time of day. And they definitely don't care about their well-being or give their home address for no reason.

"Who are you?"

Oh. The conversation isn't over. He wasn't going to blame her for turning down his help, though he's not sure how much less threatening he could be. He shrugs.

"Roy."

"Roy," she repeats. Doesn't ring any bells. "Huh."

She shrugs and turns again, walking off into the throng of market-goers.

--

The next time she bumps into Roy, it's in Lowtown, and she literally bumps into him because she's busy looking down instead of watching where she's going. Her conditioned instinct is to immediately apologize, uttering a hasty "I'm so sorry" before she sees who it is she collided with and blinks in surprise. "You!"

Her shock is replaced by dread as she realizes that she's dropped the potion she was carrying. She stares down at the shattered pieces, the mixture seeping into the cracks between the cobblestones, and laughs.

"I'm so fucked."

Edited 2019-12-04 23:16 (UTC)

"Roy" was on his way home from work. The droll of double-entry bookkeeping gives him space for his mind to wander, and he is lost in thought when Athessa bumps into him. He can assume the potion was something she was sent for, but he doesn't like the sound of that laugh. That's the laugh of someone with no other coping mechanism.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly.

"Oh, just...everything," she chuckles, crouching down to pick up the pieces of glass at their feet. Only a couple, before she drops them because what's the point and she covers her face with her hands. "He's gonna kill me."

Colin hesitates for a moment. Then he hesitates for another moment. It's one thing to walk an elven woman home. Stopping, connecting emotionally and getting mixed up with her wealthy master, that's a much bigger risk. He's not just any working-class, solitary Fereldan in this city. He's an apostate. And he knows the he's gonna kill me mantra very, very well.

He takes a deep breath and squats down to be at her level. "Were you supposed to bring him this potion?"

Athessa drags her hands down her face and shakes her head. No, it wasn't for Devigny. If he needed healing, he'd go to a mage healer. He had one who would make housecalls, too. If the damage he inflicted on her left marks, he'd get her sorted out right away, like it never happened. He wanted her pristine. A strangled sound makes it out through clenched teeth and she stands up, fidgeting and pacing.

"Stupid, stupid, why was I so stupid? I should've kept my stupid mouth shut! I can't go to a healer, he'll find out and then I might as well have just done nothing!" It's clear that she's distressed, and probably not really registering that Roy is even there, until she stops and looks back at him like he's a venomous spider about to strike. She bites her lip. "Sorry. This...isn't your problem."

Colin's hands are shaking slightly by the time her rant ends. It's like leaving one abuser only to find another, albeit not his abuser. The mere proximity is upsetting. Everything in him is telling him to run, to leave this girl and hide away in his little room.

"Come with me," he whispers. He doesn't touch her, only begins to lead her away and toward his tiny flat in the slums.

She hesitates for a long moment, watching him walk away. Worst case scenario: he kills her. How is that different from what Devigny will do? It might actually be preferable. Because she knows that Devigny will keep her alive for her punishment.

"Sure, ok, why not?" She mutters, another frayed-around-the-edges laugh wheezing out of her. As they walk, she hugs herself, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill she's sure isn't the weather. "Just--if you're gonna kill me do it fast, ok?"

It's a joke, sort of. She doesn't think he's going to try to kill her, or even hurt her. He doesn't even seem to be the extorting type, or after sex. Weird.

"I'll try," Colin says way, way too casually for it not to be a joke. He moves fast through the crowd. He takes the stairs to his flat two at a time and holds the door open for her.

The room is extremely small, roughly large enough for a cot, a chest, and a space between. There's a small fireplace made of metal, the chimney simply a pipe that goes through the ceiling. The furnishings are sparse--a tattered blanket and no pillow on a cot made of wood and canvas, a towel and some clothing hanging on pegs, a wash bucket, a bar of soap, and a cast iron skillet. This is not a lived-in home. Someone came here with nothing, and recently.

Which is fortunate for him, because it leaves him with less to pack up and carry when he has to leave after this.

"Sit," he says in a nervous voice, "and just...tell me what you need. I'm a healer, I can help you."

Athessa looks around, not sure what to sit on. Cot, chest, or floor?

She chooses the cot, sitting as much on its edge as she can without upending it. For a moment, she doesn't speak, not sure what to tell him. So she swallows hard and hooks her fingers inside her sleeves to pull them up to her elbows and expose the deep purple bruises encircling her wrists. Silent tears spill down her cheeks as she blinks rapidly to clear them from her eyes, and she's forced to lift her gaze from the floor to pull back her collar. Another circlet of bruises adorns her neck, finger marks clearly distinguishable.

Lutair always made him heal the marks left on him, once his magic came back to him. Colin thought it was to cover his tracks. Looking at Athessa now, he thinks he might have had the same reason. He wanted a fantasy, a perfect and pretty little thing he could use again and again without it showing signs of...

He can feel the tightness in his throat and chest, but somehow, his calm maintains itself while there is work to do. It hasn't been so long for him that all of the old defenses are gone. To the contrary, he peeks at the world from behind them long enough to commute to and from work. That's all. He's still the boy in the wall. There are just four walls now instead of one. They'll protect him until this is over.

He kneels in front of her, eyes averted.

"I'm not going to touch you," he explains gently, "but my hands will come very close."

He has to look at her now, and he reaches out, hands gliding inches above the bruised skin. His hands never touch her. When the bruises are gone, he picks up the blanket to use as a curtain so she can dress herself in relative privacy. Now, he can react, and when the blanket lowers, tears are streaming down his cheeks.

Unused to the courtesy, she's already putting herself back together when he lifts the blanket. She's regularly seen in states of undress and distress by strangers, what's a bare wrist and neck compared to that?

But it's a kindness she doesn't expect, which only serves to make her feel worse for imposing. It's probably just as much a risk for him as it is for her.

She has to clear her throat to coax her voice out, quiet as it is. "Thank you."

Colin holds his breath to try to keep everything contained. His hands shake terribly as he raises a sleeve to his face.

"I fled the Circle," he says in a long exhalation, "because someone was making those marks on me."

Edited 2019-12-05 02:19 (UTC)

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, meaning both the abuse and that he’s an apostate. With a sudden thought that she should compensate him for the healing, she fumbles with the pouch at her belt. “I um...I have some coin...”

Colin shakes his head. "Please don't. And, um. My real name is Colin. Don't tell anyone that, but I wanted you to know."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, damp but calm. "I can help you get out," he says, and it surprises him. He never meant to get this involved, but he can't just let this happen if she wants help. "I shouldn't stay here long anyway, with Meredith cracking down."

There's that familiar spike of fear again, and she shakes her head.

"No, no, I can't," she insists, backing towards the door. "He'll... he'll find me, he has people, guards in his pocket." Shaking fingers finally extract what little money she has and she presses it into his hands like she can't let go of it fast enough. "I'm... I... I can't. You're right, it's not safe here, and you should go."

Something compels her to kiss him on the cheek, which she does quickly, thanking him once more before she flees the flat.

And she is flown.

The next few days, it troubles him. This is something happening to her every day and he's going about his life. The books take longer to balance because he can't stop thinking of her. How dare he? He escaped. He is free. He thought the only room he had in his life was for his own survival, but now that he has met this young woman, he feels trapped again.

To try to take his mind off of it, he works late. It's dark by the time he leaves work, trotting through Hightown quickly and keeping his eye out for gangs. Though gangs tend to be scarcer, given how Marian Hawke has taken to hunting them for sport.

How does he know that? Colin stops in the middle of the street, trying to figure out what's so strange about knowing that.

Heart pounding. Blood racing. Feet drumming against the floor in panicked paces. And one word repeating in her mind: run.

He's going to catch her. He always does. If she doesn't run, he'll beat her for disobeying, lock her in a room, and she'll spend every waking moment in fear of the key turning in the lock.

So she runs, and he hunts her. The rabbit and the wolf.

The sitting room with the fireplace. Somehow she ends up there, a dead end. Why did she go there, she knows it's a dead end. But she also knows how this game ends. Maybe she just wants it to be over.

Behind her, the door slams shut. He has her.

He sees a glimpse of her in a window and his feet start to carry him there without being told. Soon, he's running. Something is wrong. Something is truly wrong, because no one runs that fast unless afraid for their life. Things press in on the edges of his mind, all the times he ran, all the times he hid for hours until giving up because he hadn't figured out that hiding was pointless in a tower neither of them ever left. Athessa must be stronger than he was. He broke quickly.

Athessa. She hadn't told him her name. How does he know it?

A door slams, and even from outside, it makes him jump. It allows him to pinpoint which room she is in, but his feet have stopped going. He stands there and trembles, everything in him telling him to save himself. He has been nothing but an exposed nerve for so long, one five-foot-ten fight-or-flight instinct that never, ever fought. Or did, once, but not afterward--that he can remember.

He sees the man in the window, and he waits. The thought slowly takes shape, a realization that there is no instinct that causes anyone to go toward danger. It has to be a choice. That's when his feet start moving again.

He arrives at the door and flings it open, striding into the foyer. There are two extremely surprised guards there, and a gesture sends both of them flying off their feet. And somehow, the rest of the household isn't immediately on alert. That's when Colin realizes why he knows Athessa's name.

Far from it making the danger unreal, being in the Fade spurs him forward even faster. This is a realm he knows, a place that brings him power and a place more dangerous to him than any other. It matters, and it doesn't. He won't let Athessa dream another rape.

She doesn't hear the front door or the bodies of the guards landing just outside the room. All she hears is Devigny's voice and the blood rushing in her ears as she backs away from him.

She tries to run again, cries out when he clamps a hand around the back of her neck. He's not a big man, but she's easy to overpower. Every time is as bad as the first, this will be no different. He hisses something into her ear, doesn't matter what, and shoves her down over the arm of the chaise.

The door to the sitting room bursts open and the instant it does, a cage of force is erected around Devigny. Colin yanks it backward, pulling him away from Athessa, then runs to her. The cage will gradually shrink, and it's still too good a fate for that monster.

"Athessa?" Colin breathes as he reaches her side. He doesn't touch her. Least of all now.

Ok, so maybe this time will be different after all.

Her fingers are curled tightly against the cushion of the chaise, and when Devigny is suddenly no longer pressed against her, she freezes, not sure if this is some sick trick or if she's being granted a reprieve for once.

Her name breaks her free of the ice and she turns to see Colin standing there, and Devigny struggling futilely against magical bonds. Back to Colin, like she doesn't believe he's real.

"Colin. You... h-he..." She covers her mouth with her hand and sinks to the floor, doing a poor job of stifling her sobs.

Colin turns to look Devigny in the eye. It's not really him, obviously. Whatever demon it is isn't even particularly powerful. It doesn't change form to defend itself even now, even to him. He clenches a fist at his side, and the prison begins to shrink faster.

Kneeling before Athessa, he offers her a hand. Not to help her stand up, but just in case she does want contact.

"Do you remember how you got here?" he asks gently. "Here, to this house in Kirkwall, from wherever you lived before."

She clutches at his hand, flooded with relief that yes, he's here, and yes, he's real. His question takes a moment to sink in, and she frowns, trying to focus enough to answer.

"Before?" How did she get here? All she has is the vague understanding that this is where she was taken that night, and where she remained when money changed hands. "I... I don't..."

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