faderift | The ache inside the hate / I found a way to sit and wait

I warn you now, I get nightmares sometimes, Abby had said, and River had chewed her lip thoughtfully. When everyone wakes up screaming you don't think about it, do you? So she'd nodded, and said sometimes for the both of us and left it at that.

Maybe she shouldn't have left it at that.

Because she's being puppetted by dead men through her blood, strings pulling her muscles against her every desire and instinct, walking into the water at the shoreline of the gallows, and her dress is floating up, and there's water in her mouth, but she can't stop screaming, she can't stop the water coming in, she can't stop walking to her death.

In her dream, there's a splash, and a heavy presence under her arms. In her dream, a dog licks her face and tells her she's safe, it'll be all right. In the waking world, Wagner licks her tears away as she slowly comes to an awareness of where she is.

She can feel the echo of her own screaming in her ears, in the stone around them. No one has been sleeping well. There's no way that Abby isn't awake at this point.

River sits up, in her newly purchased nightshirt (some clothes are what she bought with the coin Riftwatch provided her), wrapping her arms around the dog. "Good boy, bon tigason." It takes a few moments of squeezing something alive and wriggling and warm to feel less like a marionette and more like a girl. She lets Wagner go with a pat to the head and puts her arms behind her so she can tilt her face toward the ceiling.

"Growing so fast, you'll need a place with a running yard before the year is done."

Abby has already been awake once before now, when the dog decided she was asleep enough to keep him from resituating himself in the hollow between her ankles. He is usually not allowed on the bed, but doesn't take her half-hearted grunt of disapproval seriously; they both go back to sleep. She wakes for a second time at the first scared huff of breath from her new roommate.

She lies completely still for a moment, still in the space between sleeping and waking, trying to figure out what's going on. The sudden wail that follows scares the absolute shit out of her, and sets Wags off immediately.

In no time River is awake, hugging the whining dog. Abby is sitting upright, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

"Christ." Her voice is rough with sleep, and a little breathless. "You okay?"

River makes a noise, non-committal but no less pained. Is she okay? Her life haunts her and she's only twenty. She dreams of dying, of being an arbiter of death.

Is she okay?

She gives Wagner another squeeze and sets him off with a pat. Flops back into the pillows and sighs. "Is anyone okay?" By her measure, the answer is and perhaps has always been 'no'. "You have nightmares too."

Abby grunts something that might have been, "Fair," but she's still waking up. The dog, not so easily dismissed by somebody who has just had bad dreams (he seems to have a bit of experience with this), takes up occupancy at the end of River's bed, and stretches out, tongue lolling. Ears pricked.

"Yeah." She does. Every so often, and with no rhyme or reason to the schedule. "D'you want to talk about it?"

Talking... actually helps, is what she's found over time.

"Mmm."

River thinks about it, tilting her head to the left a little as she considers it. After a moment she sighs, brushing her hair off of her face and neck with her hands, swallows, and nods.

"She dreams about death. About dying. About causing death. Those are the big things. Death, and causing death."

Abby's lip curls at the corner in something that is not a smile, but isn't unamused either. It's just interesting because, "We have that in common." And the way that River speaks, that slip into the third person, makes it sound like she's talking about Abby, but to her face. It's unnerving, but she supposes she'll get used to it.

Anyway, she's properly awake now. Their shared room is very humble, and there's not much to see by the sunlight weakly poking through the shutters. She has no idea what time it is, but the sun rises a little earlier every morning in testimony to the lengthening of the days.

Wags looks like he may go back to sleep on his side at the foot of River's bed. Well that's nice for him. Abby stretches, wincing through the residual ache in her shoulder from yesterday's training. "Have you always had bad dreams?"

River shakes her head a little. "No. It's newer than some things. Used to have... what-if dreams, settled in the anxieties of the unknowable. What if Corypheus wins, what if the Fade could reach out and touch a waking dreamer, what if my brother died and I couldn't stop it, couldn't help him, couldn't..."

She puts her hands on both sides of her head, folds herself in half, and screams into her lap.

Sorry, Abby. Sometimes it's all just a lot going on at once.

Oh uhhh–

Actually, she gets it. Especially the notion to curl up and scream. She thinks stuff like that all the time, the only difference is River actually acting on the impulse. Wags whines, adding a mournful wail to the sound which Abby grimaces through. She isn't entirely sure what to do save for calling the dog and settling him again. He probably needs to go out anyway, but she doesn't want to leave River here, upset and alone with her thoughts.

Once the screaming has paused, she gets her suggestion in quick before it can start up again. "Come for a walk with me."

Might help get her mind off it all?

The thing about River, the thing that Abby is likely to learn faster than most things about her, is that her impulse control is very poor. A side effect of a broken mind, she'd say, and perhaps that is particularly true, but it's also true that she just can't control the overwhelming need to do certain things, at certain points, without much more rhyme or reason than her mind has demanded it of her.

So she takes a breath, because breathing is important, because she'll lose her voice if she continues, and then Abby manages to wedge a distraction in there just when it's most needed.

"Yes." River nods, and climbs off the bed, stripping out of her bedclothes and into walking appropriate gear without so much as blinking at the fact that Abby is right there. What? She's got nothing that Abby hasn't seen and puberty hasn't been a blessing in the chest department anyway.

She perches on the edge of the bed to lace up her boots. As much as she hates shoes, she hates dirty feet a little more.

Truth be told Abby's just glad the screaming has stopped, because she's awkward, and her hands aren't used to being gentle even though her heart is (more or less) in the right place. She wants to help, and this is the best way that she knows how to. And the undressing doesn't bother her either. She grew up having to share living spaces with other people. Your eyes glaze over quick.

In fact, she joins her, tugging off her shirt so she can put her bra on underneath of it. It's the one that came through the Rift with her and it's started pulling out of shape, wearing thin across the band, but it's the only one she has; she's also used to wearing her clothes to death.

She finds her braid fuzzy and loosening, when she fishes it out of the neck of her shirt. Whatever. She'll redo it later, maybe after a bath.

"Walks," she tells the dog, who barks in response, but only once. He knows exactly what he can get away with. Abby grimaces at the noise and rubs the back of her neck, shoving her feet into her boots. "Wanna steal some breakfast from the mess hall and take it with us?"

There's enthusiastic nodding to Abby's idea of raiding the mess hall, and then she's off. Running down the stairs, arms out, careening around whomever she might encounter. Wagner sets off after her, too much a puppy not to give chase to a friend.

River skids to a stop at the door of the mess hall, waiting for Abby to catch up, and grinning all the while.

in the library.

There are no books on blood magic that will help her, River is pretty sure, so instead she's got a book on botany in the Free Marches, and a blank notebook, where she draws the flowers from the first book and prints their names in Trade, in Orlesian, in Antivan (she has a dictionary for this because sometimes they're not what she expects them to be) and in Tevene (a primer, for this, which is slower going... some flowers don't get the distinction of four names).

Sometimes she stops drawing flowers and draws people instead. Studies them from her little nook and sketches their faces in different expressions she witnesses with a pencil.

on the training grounds

River tells the person in charge of the training weapons that she would like to try one of everything.

They laugh at her.

So she tries the bows first, but they need to be restrung to her standards, which takes some time to track down the appropriate items so she doesn't get in trouble for just outright theft. Then, finally, when the bow is ready she draws her arrow.

Bullseye. Bullseye. Near bullseye. Bullseye.

She frowns at the bow in her hands. "Four was too many, we had to stop at three?"

elsewhere.

River uses the heated baths a few times a week, can be found napping in the prayer garden and also takes her meals in the busier of the two mess halls. Feasibly she can be found anywhere in the Gallows, really.

Edited 2022-04-08 01:22 (UTC)

Edgard knows a good shot when he sees one. He laughs at her comment and strides up to her.

"Four would be alright. Four is not too many. But--"

He leans in and lowers his voice.

"The real strength of an archer is from how far a distance they can go. This--" He nods his head toward the distance between them and the targets.

"is baby stuff."

"Is it safe to try? From somewhere further?"

River tilts her head towards Edgard and considers the bow again. Is it up to the task? Can they avoid hitting anyone walking between them and the target?

She hopes so. Because she's game for whatever this turns out to be.

Edgard folds his arms over his chest and laughs.

"Who wants to be safe?"

He cups his chin in his hand looking around thinking. He sees a high rampart above the training grounds.

"All the way up there!" He says. "Much farther away, but not far enough for the targets to look super tiny. And it'll be windy!" He says this with great enthusiasm. He's dying to see just how good this new archer might be.

"The people in the courtyard," River states plainly. Obviously, though?

She whips her head around to see where Edgard is indicating they shoot from. Quite a distance, actually, and she peers at the targets again before giving a definitive nod.

"The terms are set. Aiming for bullseye or just to reach the target?"

"Always bullseye!" Edgard grins. "See how you do with that and we'll go from there."

"Where'd you learn?" He scratches the back of my neck. "The way I was taught it was bullseye or die."

He notices the rhyme and mouths it again silently, pleased with himself.

It did not take particularly long for Sidony to gather her things, to put a few essentials into a bag and pick them up. She brings her healer's kit with her because there is never any reason not to, especially wandering around their organisation. There will likely always be someone who is hurt, someone who might need help - it entirely depends if she is willing to adjust her course.

For the moment she is entirely dedicated in walking forward, tugging her cloak over her shoulders.

It doesn't take her too long to get there, especially not absorbed in her thoughts as she is. Sidony is well aware of the oddness of the relationships she has founded here - a husband with two lovers of his own who accepts her lack of interest and a partner who understands her marriage. It's something that she doubts many others might understand and she knows that, even as she relishes it, grasps it with both her hands.

It's a little cruel of her, to monopolise so much of their attention, but she hardly wants to change it.

Making her way to Adra's chambers, Sidony lean against the wall and knocks gently.

Does Adrasteia feel that Sidony's 'monopolization' of her time and attention is cruel? Hardly. She enjoys Sidony and her company, and it's not like Adrasteia is terribly close to many others in Riftwatch that aren't also Grey Wardens. All this to say she's always happy to see Sidony and never complains about how much time they spend together.

If anything, she worries that she's hogging too much of the other woman's time.

The gentle knock is neither unexpected nor startling; Adrasteia is dressed in a simple blue dress that has the length of her robes, barefoot since she's been by herself, and smiling at Sidony.

"Come in, come in."

Sidony doesn't feel as though she is overdressed, necessarily, but her clothing is made out of silk, and she is wearing what might once have been deemed high fashion in Nevarran society. She thinks that she ought to get into the habit of swapping out of silks and into something more simple; cotton, perhaps, or at least something less dressy.

Slipping inside the room, she smiles softly, placing her bag down beside the door and lifting her cloak away from her shoulders, letting it drop down to rest atop it.

"It's so good to see you," she admits quietly, reaching out to take Adra's hands, drawing her close to try and steal a kiss - or two, perhaps.

"I'm exhausted, frankly, and I could use some excellent company."

The room is cheery and warm. There's a low fire on in the fireplace, and there are books everywhere, some stacked on the floor and some along the windowsills. There's tea on a side table by the bed, which has been made with thick blankets to keep out the cold from the occasional rains of the season.

Adrasteia squeezes Sidony's hands in response, happily tilting her face upward to grant as many stolen kisses as the other woman desires.

"It's always excellent to see you," she murmurs when the kissing is done, pulling Sidony further into the room as an excuse not to let go of her hands. "I'm sorry you're exhausted. Have you eaten?" There is food, with the tea, just an arrangement of fruits and meats and cheeses from downstairs, but it's something.

It would be quite easy to steal a thousand and one kisses and get entirely distracted by standing in the doorway, but there are other things to do with their time. Sidony lets herself be drawn into the room, deliberately slipping her fingers through Adrasteia's, letting the smile settle on her face properly. It isn't false or pained; it simply is, a smile of genuine happiness.

"I've eaten a little, but I would not say no to more." She's getting a little thin with her focus on work and preparations for the future, so she's sure if Adrasteia isn't pushing her for more care in her meals then Byerly certainly would when next they spend time. It wouldn't even shock her if Bastien started to do much the same.

Lifting her head back up to look at the other woman, she lets some of the tension peel away from her, breathing out gently.

"It is nice to be somewhere that I can breathe for a little while."

If Adrasteia had her way, she'd probably make sure that both Sidony and Byerly ate more, in certainly an increasingly regular fashion. She understands that their jobs are stressful in very unique ways and that those sorts of stressors do not lend themselves to good self-care practices, but still.

Thin as rails, the both of them. She's not terribly pleased about it.

"Good," she says, and lets go of Sidony's hands only long enough to shut the door behind her. When she returns it is to reach up and place her hands on either side of Sidony's face and smile. "I always want to be a respite for you, I hope you know that." Even if this thing between them falls apart or otherwise changes, Adra hopes their friendship will remain. That her room will always be somewhere Sidony can just breathe. "Come on, sit, sit. You can tell me about your day, or not, but at least get a little food in you."

Part of the issue is that, despite their marriage, they do not spend as much time together as they ought. It might be nice, but Sidony is well aware of the pressures on his shoulders - diplomacy, friendships, lovers. She has scarcer few of those and is content for that to remain much the same, but sometimes she does wish. She does wonder.

Leaning into the touch is easy, as is her smile, warmth settling on her features.

"I had imagined that might be the case. It's why I am so content to drag my sour little shoulders to you whenever I can." Lifting her hand, she lets her fingers brush over Adra's knuckles before she lets herself be pulled away. "There's not much to tell. The usual stitches, infections and so forth. Nothing exciting of late."

"Nothing exciting is definitely for the best." Things are often terrible when they've entered the realm of excitement, in Adrasteia's experience; she likes when the times are a little less interesting, overall.

The touch and Sidony's smile work in tandem to set Adrasteia's features to soft smiles and warm blushing. Even though she feels a little too old for as much as she blushes around Sidony, some things can't be helped; the elf wouldn't rather change it, either, if she's being honest.

Sidony is led to the chair settled next to the bed, where Adrasteia climbs to sit with bare feet crossed over her legs and tucked into skirts. She picks up the teapot and begins warming it with her hands and a little fire magic. "What is your favorite sort of tea?"

"In our occupations especially so," Sidony agrees, settling down in the chair and leaning back, letting her eyes close for a moment.

It's blissful to relax, to not have to play pretend at being more than she is, more than she thinks she ought to be. No nobility, no demands, nothing more than a girl with another girl. Even that might once have left her hands shaking, so the notion of calm is one she greets readily.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she looks over at Adrasteia and smiles.

"I like mint, usually, but anything floral or strong. I don't think I've encountered one that I truly dislike."

Watching Sidony relax is like watching Kirkwall wake up from the top of the towers. It feels like so much work and then it happens, suddenly and all at once, and Adrasteia is almost loathed to interrupt it with more talking.

They should go to a bathhouse, she thinks. Somewhere private, and nice.

"I think there's mint in this blend. ANd a few other soothing flowers. Nothing too strong for this hour. One thing with the current coffee shortage is that tea options have become more... varied, I think."

Problem is the best tea is in high town. Problem is she's an elf. Problem is she doesn't go to Hightown often but maybe she should find a proxy.

It's an idea, anyway.

The tea is poured; Adrasteia adds her sugars and gestures with the small spoon and the fancy teacup that clearly belonged to some Orlesian child in another life, silently asking if Sidony wants any.

It's difficult to completely turn her mind off, but she manages as she settles into a space of comfort and happiness, with no expectation other than to simply be.

It's nice, to let some of her burdens disappear, to allow herself to smile and laugh. It's not something she has felt comfortable to do beyond Byerly for some time.

"That seems well enough to me," she nods, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. She will likely sleep well tonight, wherever her body ends up dropping. Shifting forward, she prepares her own cup - and then, deliberately, reaches out to take Adra's hand and squeeze it gently.

"Will you sit with me as we drink? Together, I mean." What she is asking for is to be held, for a little time, but the words escape her.

"Yes, of course. Come here." Patting the bedcovers next to her and setting her teacup down. It's much easier to hold and be held when there are not the arms of a chair in the way, after all.

Once Sidony is situated Adrasteia loops her arm through Sidony's, briefly, before unwinding it and wrapping it around her midsection instead. She leans her forehead against Sidony's shoulder, and sighs.

The ache inside the hate / I found a way to sit and wait

closed | for abby | cw blood mention, themes of suicide

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around the gallows

training grounds

wow and we can all tell what sort of a shitshow my april had been

also slow here, sorry

we don't mind at all

lol slow pace continues sorry

date night

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