(closed) These violent delights have violent ends

[armd]

WHO: Abby & Ellie
WHAT: Two girls one mission
WHEN: they least expect it (October)
WHERE: Wounded Coast
NOTES: Violence, mention of old trauma and past violence/torture/murder

The Wounded Coast is colder than she thought it would be. There's a southerly blowing up off the top of the water that sets Abby's horse stamping in place, shifting restlessly when she tethers him up near the sparse tree-line. She presses her palm gratefully against his cheek, and offers him a bruised apple from her pocket; the later is the real treat. She leaves him munching, and descends down the track to the beach to get a better scope of the area, hands dropping to her hips as she breathes in.

Scouting wants people out to mark new enemy supply lines up the coast, and thinks they could run into a bit of hassle along the way. It's why she's here and working with somebody out of her usual division: she's the muscle, as per usual. She doesn't mind. Means she gets to do a bit of exploring by herself while she's at it, and it's nice to be away from the Gallows, out in the salt air.

Abby just hopes she hasn't been paired with somebody quiet, or boring, god fucking forbid. Guess she'll have to wait and see.

She's waiting on them to arrive, after managing to worm her way out of getting on the back of a griffon. Yeah it would have been faster, but some how Abby doesn't think it'd work out so good for her. She's trying to make a good first impression here. Sorry, Lev. She'll get back to facing her fears... later. Promise.

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[notathreat]

The Wounded Coast is a craggy, rocky place, with cliffs that strike up into the skies, creating plenty of blind coves and small, rocky fingers that appear and disappear with the tide. There are twists and turns and plenty of caves, and a thousand places to hide.

It's thick with bandits and sometimes even a pirate ship or two, or an illegal black market vessel.

It's a wet, cloudy sort of day, the smell of the sea thick and cold, and Ellie bends down over Artichoke's warm back as he flaps his powerful wings, and settles down into the descent. Ellie's got on a thick cloak, her hood pulled up over her hair and face, gloves on to keep warm. Her bow's strung across her back, easily at the ready.

It'll be a simple, straightforward enough mission, she thinks. She figures they'll put her Ellis, or someone else she's worked with from Forces, and tries to ignore the strange feeling of foreboding when she draws closer and closer to the designated meeting spot.

Ellie sees the armor at a distance, and wonders if it's Jone, clings to the idea that it's her, but why would they put Jone on a small mission like this-?

Later, she'll reflect that she knew even before she spotted Abby's braid.

Buttoning up her mouth, narrowing her eyes, Ellie pulls Artichoke around, circling once to be sure of no obvious threats before easing him down. He galumphs onto the sand with a shake of his feathers, tossing his tail and trotting to a stop before digging his huge claws into the beach.

Ellie rides him as easily as she would a horse, staying in her saddle as the huge griffon paces closer, and reaches up to pull her hood off.

For a second, she doesn't know what to say. There doesn't seem like there's anything to say, and there's no one that either of them can be upset at. They both knew this day had been coming.

It was just a matter of time.

"Supply lines?" she asks, finally.

[armd]

Abby has a tiny explore during the calm before the storm. The large rocks up on the shore have tide pools in-between. She jumps between them, crouching down to get a better look. She could be on Earth again for how normal this feels, dipping her fingers into shallow water to touch a shell or two, rub her thumb over a mossy rock. She ends up collecting a souvenir or two to put in her room, tucked into a tiny pouch at her waist that holds a very modest amount of coin.

Then, it's back to the sand. How long does it take a griffon to fly out here, exactly. Maybe it got lost, it'd be just her luck.

Or, rather, it really would have been fortunate had Artichoke not known exactly where to go, but Abby doesn't realise that until it's too late.

"About time," she calls to the rider brusquely, turning, and... pauses the moment Ellie pulls her hood back to reveal an expression that is carefully blank. Abby's not nearly quick enough to disguise the way her eyebrows immediately furrow in dislike and agitation at the sight of her.

Fuck.

For a long moment, they stare at each other in complete silence.

Ellie is still up on the griffon, her jaw set. She shows no signs of slipping off its back any time soon. It's so she can look down at Abby from on top of her literal high horse, isn't it. Bitch.

"... Supply lines," she confirms, arms folding tight across her chest. "Figures it would be you."

[notathreat]

It helps that she's not the one to acknowledge it first, and that Abby is distracted in the moment she puts her arms across her chest like that.

There's no way for her to know, but it's reminiscent of the way Joel used to hold himself when he was uncomfortable -- though he'd often hang his head too, not stare up at her stubbornly. It's also the first time she's looked down at her when she hasn't been actively trying to kill her, and that alone makes Ellie stay on Artichoke's back.

He clacks his beak, sensing the tension.

"Figures," Ellie answers in the same tone. The moment stretches out between the two of them, the both of them weighing whether they'll be able to do this. Whether they can stand to work together.

Ultimately, it's the idea of explaining why to Yseult that makes Ellie decide.

"There's some caves up the coast," she says. "I've been there before, it's a good place to shelter. Some places you can even steer a small boat in. First place I'd check."

[armd]

"... Okay."

She's giving Ellie the lead, here; more than that, she's silently agreeing to this facsimile of teamwork. For now, anyway. Abby doesn't relax her jaw. She doesn't trust her, and now she has to.

The silence between every casual remark they trade feels heavier each time.

"You want to leave that up near my horse?" Of Artichoke; she doesn't like the way the griffon looks at her, like he's already been told that Abby is somebody he is not supposed to like. The griffons are still too foreign a concept anyway. She's as interested in being near them as she is in attempting to fly one.

[notathreat]

Ellie lets the barest amount of the tension go, at Abby's agreement. It's a pebble at the foot of a mountain, but they can work together like this, if they concentrate on the job.

"He can take care of himself," she answers, giving Artichoke's neck a rub before sliding down and off of him. She's tiny next to the great beast, and he barely registers the removal of her weight. She unhooks her pack from the side of the saddle, along with her bow. He headbutts her roughly in the chest, and she strokes his beak with a soft murmur, unclipping and tying off his lead. She offers him a strip of meat from her pocket, and he gently takes it from her fingers, nips her hair, then launches himself into flight.

"He'll come back when I call him," she says, by way of explanation, and eyes up Abby for a few long seconds before she starts to head down the beach, staying on the rocky parts that won't show tracks.

"Have they put you on the field much before this?" she asks, and tries to tell herself that it's business, all business- but she can't deny her own curiosity.

[armd]

Abby can't help but watch the two of them, fascinated. The beast, which seems intimidating to her only because she doesn't know him, is practically playful with Ellie in the way that he rubs at her, looking for treats. She rewards him for the effort, and scratches where his feathers meet his hooked beak, the sharpness to it abrupt, almost cruel. He could tear her to pieces if he wanted and yet he acts like a giant dog. Even comes when called.

Begrudgingly, she's impressed-

But immediately rankles when Ellie turns to stare, her face an expressionless mask. It's the most collected Abby has ever experienced her, and she has no idea what she could be thinking underneath the careful façade. She doesn't like that.

She allows her to trail ahead before she starts to follow, noting that it was possible for Ellie to turn her back on her. It's a start.

"Not much." It's professional curiosity, and for the sake of transparency, she'll give her this much, "This is the furthest I've been out since I arrived." Ellie should know that she's unfamiliar with the terrain. Could make all the difference, if things go south.

"How long have you been here. In Thedas, I mean." Fact for a fact, a careful exchange.

[notathreat]

Having Abby at her back is less upsetting than Ellie would have thought. She tries not to remember the way she followed her down the beach, the air choking with fire and fog and the smell of death, human misery and decay. The way they were both staggering.

Abby's healthy and hale now, but somehow this version of her feels more like a ghost.

"Okay," she breathes, and opens her mouth to tell her about the spiders, but comes up short at the question, swallows it back down as she weighs it.

"Is that important for the mission?" she asks, caught between being defensive and unsure. If it is, this implies, she's not going to keep it from her.

[armd]

Well, heralding the rear has its advantages. Means she can roll her eyes petulantly behind Ellie's back.

"No." It has nothing to do with why they're out here now. She wanted to know for her own sake, but that isn't going to fly. "Forget it."

Not that important, and far more pleasant to look out at the scenery as they start to cut into rock face, keeping off of the sand. Abby likes the wind in her face. She finds that wearing the armor can get to be too warm after a while, and she's uncomfortable enough without slowly cooking in her leathers.

"Is it far?" Look, a mission-specific question. Just for you.

[notathreat]

"Sure," Ellie grunts in response, but the feeling prickles up her back, and behind the annoyance is confusion. Why does she want to know? Is she making conversation? Is there some other question she's trying to answer?

It puts her off-balance, and she doesn't like it.

"It's in that cove over there, past the rocks," Ellie says, gesturing to the sloping, rocky cliffs held together by hardy trees. The rock juts clear out into the ocean, so there's no way around it by the beach. As they get closer, it blocks the wind in places, makes it rougher in others.

"We'll have to climb up and over, and then down in. That's the only way to reach it if you're not sailing straight up."

Ellie leans forward as they start ascending. It's a steep hike, best that they don't have horses for this part.

[armd]

"Got it."

She can reduce herself down to short, simple answers. Ellie won't take anything else from her, will give even less, so Abby puts a heel down hard on her own curiousity and leans up into the hike, relishing the ache in her legs as a result of the climb. Turns out they can keep a pretty decent pace together. She has no trouble keeping up.

The height doesn't really register to her, not at first. There's a lot on her mind. She's busy stewing over Ellie and the reproach she's reading into the curve of her back, wondering what she's thinking, why she cares. If she's leading Abby astray on purpose. The truce hasn't broken, but it was only ever held together by a handful of words in the first place; Abby could die out here, by accident. Nobody else would ever know.

A chilling thought. She frowns, suddenly wary, and then realises with a start- "How high up are we going?"

[notathreat]

Hell, maybe she should have answered her. Awkward silence with Abby is almost worse than Abby asking her questions.

But she's not going to be the one to change her mind. Fuck that.

As they head up, Ellie can admit (silently, to herself) she's grudgingly impressed. This is a hike even for more experience and active scouts, and Abby's keeping up with her in armor. She shoves away the uncomfortable memory of her staggering along a beach, on death's door, still managing to carry someone in her arms-

The question comes out of nowhere, and Ellie frowns, pausing to look back at her.

"To the top of the ridge," she answers, pointing up. "It's not that far." She pauses then, assessing the path. The way she normally goes would eat up another half hour, but if...

Ellie hesitates, visibly, weighing the outcome, and bites it back to point up at the ledge of the rocky outcropping.

"Boost me."

[armd]

"Boost you?" Up there? "What are you going to do, pull me up after?"

Rhetorical, but not really. It's a decent height. Ellie is strong, Abby will give her that, but is she as strong as Abby is heavy? She doubts it, but– well, fuck it. Ellie's the one calling the shots today and Abby has deigned herself to heed them, even though registering where the top of the ridge is makes foreboding churn up in her gut.

Fuck, it's high.

She'll be fine. It's fine, she's going through worse.

A final, quick glance at the ledge before Abby grits her teeth and sighs, coming in closer to shove her shoulder up against the rock face. She laces her hands together, and presents them for Ellie's boot, anchoring her hands on one bended knee. "C'mon then."

... And if she puts a little too much boost into the motion, that's only for her to know.

[notathreat]

"Let me worry about that," Ellie answers, rolling her eyes openly -- no waiting until Abby's back is turned for her, thanks.

She steps back to give Abby room, and nods once before she can stop herself, good body mechanics, before she reaches out to steady her hands on both of Abby's shoulders, brace with her foot and then push off to jump.

"Jesus-" Ellie wheezes softly as she hits the ledge, with her middle and ribs rather than gripping to pull up with her hands. It knocks the wind out of her, and she has to take a breath, thinking dark thoughts about the old wound in her side. She pulls herself up over the ledge, grumbling, then turns around to reach down with her good hand.

This is going to be an experiment. She's pulled up people of Abby's size before, but not in full armor.

[armd]

This is the first time somebody else has been in the baths at this time of night. Abby isn't a stranger to picking some horrible hour at which to visit them, more out of convenience than any shyness or reluctance to bathe with her fellows. She's up at this time of night more frequently than other people, that's all. Finds it difficult to sleep.

Warm water helps with sore, cramped muscles.

She undoes her braid in the changing room, combing through thick hair with her fingers, a soothing ritual. Loose, it almost reaches the small of her back, would meet it easily if her hair were straight (it curls upwards, hangs in slow, golden waves).

Her reflection looks tired. She only checks it to gauge how well her neck is healing, and it looks fine save for bruising, a yellow tint lining the scabbed scratches. Doesn't look infected. She'd wondered (who the fuck knows where those demons had their claws before they had them in her), but the person who briefly saw her in the infirmary hadn't been worried.

She skims her palm over her throat, and grabs her towel.

It's dim inside. One candle, lighting a silhouette; somebody half-asleep or ignoring her even when Abby clears her throat to indicate that she's there. Whatever. Fine with her.

She drops her things by the lip of the bath and wades in, scrunching her nose at the heat as she finds a spot to sit, and stretch out her legs with a sigh. Water's nice. It's going to wear her out. Thirty minutes to soak her muscles, and she'll turn in for the night.

[notathreat]

Ellie still has trouble sleeping, most nights.

Most of the time she takes refuge with the telescope, but tonight it's too cloudy to see much. On nights like this she looks at books, but concentrating is rough. Instead of seeking out the healers she'd doctored her latest hurts herself, and the lingering soreness has set in. While she usually can't be assed to take an in-depth bath -- she hates feeling sweaty and usually just washes off quickly -- it's getting colder out, and nobody'll be away at this hour.

So Ellie takes a book and a candle to fool herself into thinking she'll read, plunks herself into the baths after a quick scrub, and promptly dozes off against the side, with her head pillowed on her elbow, hair dripping down over her freckled, scarred skin.

She hears someone enter, briefly annoyed with the intrusion, but it doesn't rouse her to concern. Her knife's just inches away, under her towel, so she's not particularly concerned with an assassination attempt. She tries to keep her eyes shut and fails, now that there's someone there.

With a small grumble she straightens up, reaching up to rub her hand over her eyes, chest-deep in the warm water, and fixes a glance on the woman in the candlelight.

A stranger, or so she thinks; she doesn't remember anyone with hair like that. So she gives a soft yawn, leans her neck back against the lip of the pool and shuts her eyes again.

"You just get in?" she murmurs, her voice a little thick from almost-sleep.

[armd]

With wet hands, she pushes her hair back from her face. It's thick and takes a long time for her to dry it properly, but it's due a wash, and squeezing her towel through it while she sits up in bed is an easy, repetitive motion that requires very little thought. That's good, it's what she needs. There's been a lot on her mind lately.

She dips underneath of the water completely after a slow inhale, and resurfaces gently just as the other person finally chooses to address her.

The water in her ears muffles an already soft voice. Abby might not have placed it if she hadn't looked again, her eyes finally adjusting to the low, flickering light. Ellie's never had cause to speak to her so freely.

She's got her eyes closed. Her head tipped back against the raised edge. The heat of the water makes her freckles stand out on her face and throat.

Abby's stomach turns over in unpleasant realisation and– worse than that– wild embarrassment and discomfort. Her hands jump to her hair, gathering, pulling it wetly over one shoulder; it's hideously intimate for Ellie to see her like this, though she hasn't noticed yet. She'll probably look when she receives no answer, only the slow sounds of Abby retreating further into the water to her shoulders, her gaze wary.

"Couldn't sleep," she murmurs, voice equally quiet.

[notathreat]

The soft splashing of water echoes in the chamber, warm, steamy, sleepy. That supreme quiet of the night, otherwise. It feels like they occupy a third space, between dreaming and waking, and Ellie keeps her eyes shut, mainly because it feels like too much work to open them.

"Yeah, same," Ellie murmurs back, takes a deep breath and lets it out as a slow sigh, disrupting the steam. It whorls, first fast and then slow as drops of water make their way down her skin like slow tears.

"This place feels haunted at night," she mutters, trails off. Soft, awkward. "Not in the ghost way, exactly? But in the... I dunno how to explain it. Like it's remembering."

It feels like a vaguely stupid thing to say, though, so she falls silent.

"Not good, not bad, just... something was here, and it's not anymore."

[armd]

First, she wonders if she should leave.

Second, she thinks that she shouldn't have to. That she'd make it worse if she did; and isn't it a mark of her patience, that she can sit here and listen to Ellie speak and bear it, even though she's uncomfortable? Ellie hasn't opened her eyes yet. She's still talking to somebody else, and not Abby.

Abby wants her to know. She wants her to understand the entirety of the situation, and on a greater level: she doesn't want to sit here and talk with her about ghosts. All she wants to do is wash her hair and get out.

"Yeah," she says, voice clipped at a normal volume, normal cadence. She ducks underneath the surface for a second time, tangling her fingers through her hair a few times before she sits up, and reaches for her soap, blinking water out of her eyes.

A delightful find at the marketplace: pine. Some things get to stay the same.

[notathreat]

It takes a couple of seconds to hit.

When it does it's a slow trickling horror of vulnerability. Ellie's breath catches in her throat, and she opens her eyes just as Abby goes under. She doesn't remember reaching for it but her knife's in her hand, her breathing coming fast and loud as she looks at the bubbles rising up to the surface.

Ellie scoots back about a foot, her knuckles scraping along the lip of the bath, hair dripping down over her face as she grits her teeth, staring at Abby furiously.

"Why didn't you fucking say something?"

[armd]

"What was I supposed to fucking say? I didn't recognise you."

This situation is remarkably different from the first time they met. Ellie has a knife this time too, but if she wouldn't let her drop off the side of that cliff 'by accident', she isn't about to stab Abby to death in the communal baths either. Her hair is wet, very dark in the dim light, and plastered to the sides of her face. It makes her look like a drowned rat. Abby isn't scared of her.

She glares right back, then turns to grant herself as much privacy as she can while she works soap into her hair. Ellie can talk to her back and shoulders while she does it, a broad expanse of heavily scarred and freckled skin (not unlike her own).

"I'll be five minutes."

It doesn't have to be a big deal if they don't make it one.

[notathreat]

"Fucksake," Ellie mutters under her breath, feeling deeply embarrassed and fucking stupid, too- why had Abby let her talk like that? Why hadn't she said something to begin with? She'd clearly recognized Ellie before Ellie had caught on-

Ellie sets her knife down with a faint clatter as Abby goes under the water again, and Ellie thinks dark thoughts about pushing her under and keeping her there. It's a little too close to home to actually make her feel better, and she swallows back a deep, sick feeling, sinking down into the water up to her chin and crossing her arms over her breasts.

Not that she thinks Abby will look.

It's somewhat eased when Abby turns around to start soaping up her hair, and Ellie grits her teeth together, unable to really- drag her eyes away from the back of her shoulders, the arch of her arms. It bothers her when Abby's afraid of her. It bothers her when she isn't, blatantly turning her back on her like this to soap it up.

The silence is killing her, and she's still on her back foot emotionally. She sinks down further into the water, until the ripples are covering her chin, splashing lightly over her bottom lip.

"Why do you keep it that long?" she asks, suddenly.

Somebody could grab it. It has to be a pain in the ass to take care of, even here.

[armd]

This would typically be a soothing process. If circumstances were different Abby would have sat and taken her time to work both hands through her hair, sectioning it out. It spends a lot of time braided and she sleeps with it in because she can't be fucking bothered doing anything else, so it's nice whenever she can make time for this to happen.

Now, she's hyper aware of Ellie looking at her. She's trying to go as quickly as possible. Perhaps the worst part is the silence, it doesn't lend itself to any particular atmosphere. She can't tell if Ellie is angry, or tired, or ignoring her. She's just quiet, and very still in the water. Something waiting to strike...

with a question. It surprises Abby, and she stops with her hands stuck through her hair, halfway down.

Is that important for the mission? She could say it meanly, make Ellie curse her out and drop it. Instead, she counters with a question of her own.

"You don't think it sends a message?"

Because yeah, it is a pain in the ass to take care of, and somebody could grab it, and yet the braid remains. It grows longer every year.

[notathreat]

Ellie hadn't been at all sure that Abby would answer, especially given Ellie's history of shutting her down. It's a shock when she actually does- and more than that, the question.

It's an oblique way of asking what Ellie thinks. And what's fucked up is that Abby's right.

It does send a message, one that Ellie, who grew up in the same world, understands intimately. Hardly anyone wears their hair long, let alone in a style so easily grabbed. It's a pain in the ass to maintain long hair; it means you have the time, the resources, and the safety to do it.

To have it in a braid like that, with the way that Abby fights up close, is practically a dare. An invitation.

Fuck around and find out.

It was part of what made her appearance, in the end, so very shocking. Ellie had looked for the braid even before she looked for her.

Ellie scrapes her blunted fingernail along the stone lip of the bath, watching Abby's back with eyes that aren't seeing her, and feels... not sorry, but a strange emptiness. Knowing what she goes back to. What's going to be taken from her.

It doesn't feel right.

Ellie doesn't know what to make of that, and is silent for far too long.

[armd]

Once again a drudging silence stretches out between them, only broken up here and there by the soft splash of water, and Abby scrunching soap down into her hair. She doesn't expect Ellie to accept or understand her answer. It's her business, nobody else's; Lev would get it, she thinks ruefully, and sinks back into the water right to her chin. Lev understands that hair can mean nothing, and something. The soap makes the water go white around her.

Smells good. Pine needles, and salt. She wishes she could relax. She'd really like to rest her forehead against the cool edge of the bath and let her thoughts dissolve in the bath water but it's impossible with Ellie lurking just out of the corner of her eye.

She isn't being judgmental, she's clearly thinking, worrying something in her mind. Abby doesn't like the way that it makes her feel. She both wants to know what's on her mind and doesn't ever want to be privy to exactly what Ellie thinks of her, something that surely runs deeper and more nuanced than simple hatred. Dark curiousity unsatisfied, she sets about working the soap out, back still turned.

"What happened to your hand?"

She doesn't say it to intentionally push back. They're asking invasive questions, and it's her turn.

[notathreat]

The question's a nasty jolt, because it confirms that Abby's been thinking about it. Under the water, Ellie grips the stumps of her fingers, staring into the middle distance.

It makes it easier, knowing Abby's not looking at her. Has her back turned to her while she asks this. It's... it almost feels like a type of twisted respect.

And it's for the same reason that Ellie decides to answer.

"Your teeth."

She says it simply, almost thoughtfully. Like it was a storm, an act of nature. Something that neither of them could fully control. It happened.

It's a confirmation, too -- of a future that Abby has, a future that's this Ellie's past. Facts that Abby's blind to, and something that made Ellie stop short of killing her here in Thedas. Her reasons.

Ellie wonders sometimes if she could articulate the reasons, but is almost afraid to try.