faderift | open | full circle pt 1

Entry tags:

open | full circle pt 1

WHO: Concerned mages/rifters/others
WHAT: An emergency meeting!
WHEN: Solace 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Explanation in the OOC post. Please tag this like a network post. There are top-level comments to provide a little chronology/structure, but threadjack to your heart's content.

Before and during dinner on an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday, there's a chain of whispers (or notes, or perfectly audible comments from the particularly unsubtle) about an emergency meeting, at an evening hour, in a basement room, regarding a matter of concern to rifters and mages.

The basement part is probably unnecessary. It's certainly ineffective; the organization is too small, the Gallows too contained, and the halls too echoey for something arranged with this much finesse-wrecking haste to truly remain a secret. They could have done it in an empty office or the recreational dining hall, probably, and sat on chairs instead of storage crates. But Kostos picked the location, and he's dramatic. If nothing else it signals a clear intention to do this as unofficially as necessary.

Anyone who accepts the invitation (or just decides to come see what the fuss is about) will first encounter Marcus Rowntree, posted up outside the door like a bouncer, letting mages and rifters move through undisturbed but stepping in to question and likely bar the arrival of anyone else. Inside, Kostos is nothing but a dark scowl in the room's far corner, picking at a splinter of wood on a crate and not mustering a word of greeting for anyone who comes in. Derrica has parked herself within arm's reach of Kostos, a long gold-edged shawl spilling over one shoulder. Her diplomacy pin gleams from the front of her tunic. The worried pinch to her brow is the only outward sign of anxiety; otherwise, she is tightly contained, watching people enter. Julius–notably not in robes–is serious but calm as people come in, standing next to the ever-composed Madame de Cedoux.

Once as many people have arrived as seem likely to, Marcus closes the door, remaining beside it, and they explain what the problem is.

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[The more Astarion listens, the less visible he manages to become.

By all rights, it's a little absurd: stark white hair, blood red eyes— black open-collared clothing doing nothing to detract from the aforementioned traits aside from stirring up that much more visual contrast. But maybe there's something to be said for stillness in a bustling room. That over time, even the little microreactions in his expression stop entirely, leaving him less animated than the shadows on the walls themselves, aside from the occasional blink or two.

Maybe he's learned his lesson, after snapping more than once across the network. Maybe it's only on the network itself that he feels bold enough to speak his mind, where nothing translates directly into proximity or touch. No immediate escalations to be found.

Or maybe it's neither.

Unless he's noticed or asked after, it's progressively more obvious (in ways he presently isn't), that he isn't going to volunteer whatever's figuratively ticking away in his mind as he watches from the not-at-all figurative sidelines. Arms still folded across his chest, back fit comfortably to cool, smooth stone.

Sharp ears fully attuned.]

[Ellie clocks him immediately as he enters the room, and something in her expression settles, having him there. She deliberately doesn't look at him for the rest of the meeting, or acknowledge him while she's running at the mouth, or volunteering where her skills can help.

It's when she's leaving to grab her things and get saddled up, away from prying eyes, that she finds his sleeve. Tugs it.

She doesn't really say anything. She doesn't feel like she needs to.]

[It's a mistake to follow after her when she pulls at his sleeve; nothing good will come from it— not in the wake of what's been said tonight.

Even so, he does.

Trailing along in her footsteps until they're alone, corridors quiet at this odd hour. Him only one step behind, staring at the path ahead of her rather than Ellie herself. Particularly when he takes up the mantle she leaves behind long before they ever left that closed-off room: talking.]

You shouldn't go.

[It's not saccharine, and it's not pleading.

It only is.]

[Ellie really doesn't expect him to say anything. And if she does, she expects him to be angry, or worried, or upset, or even joking. Sometime that isn't this serious, this sincere.

The corners of her mouth harden, and the words tug at things much deeper than the rest of this. She wants to hold herself apart, to argue, to get him to see why she has to. Maybe even reassure him; it's dangerous, but far less dangerous than anything they've done together. To say come with me then, because she knows he won't.

But she swallows it all, and reaches out to wrap her arms around him. To hold on tight.]

[There's no bracing for it. Even after all this time, he hasn't learned to expect just how gentle she can be with him— handling his moods like overly sharp knives: careful and steadied, rather than letting impulse cut them both. On any other day, it'd be enough to settle him to the marrow. Tonight, though....

Tonight, he only sighs, setting a hand along the arch of her spine, cold touch stilling over fabric. She has no idea why he'd spoken up, he realizes. If she did....

Well, it'd be tempting to let it lie. Leave things as they are, and let her think he's satisfied with this (as much as he ever could be satisfied). But he's learned this lesson before, what deception brings in her eyes.

Even if it is only omission.

The hand settled between her shoulders lifts, gloved fingertips coasting through her hair.]

She's a very persuasive creature, isn't she.

[Ellie sighs as he rests a hand on her back, her heart beating under his touch, steady and slow. She knows she's going to go, just as she knows that Astarion has to protest. He doesn't want her in harm's way, he never does.

She can understand where he's coming from. He's not wrong. Maybe it's better if she doesn't get involved.

But Ellie is Ellie, and someone she cares about needs her, and she can help. It's not easy to ignore that.

Still, she stiffens a little, at the perceived slight to Derrica.]

Yeah, I'd hope so.

How bad is it?

[What a mild delivery. Wry in the face of how she (rightly) tenses for what he's figuratively dug in against her side, his arm still comfortably drawn around her shoulders.

He'd be the same, after all, if someone started after Fenris. It's why he'd led with it in the first place: tipping his hand rather than letting her misread his discontent— though, all right. Fine. She probably grasps it already, now.]

I knew you had a spark, but holding hands in the middle of planning an interception that'll no doubt ruffle dangerous feathers at best? That's a different thing entirely, isn't it.

Are you fuckin'-- I was comforting her because--

[Ellie huffs against him, cheeks heating quickly until her freckles stand out as she pulls away to scowl at him. But by the look in her eyes, he really hit the nail on the head here.]

Yeah. Fine. I have it bad, okay?

[Ellie scrubs her hand over her face, like that could possibly get rid of the flush there. Yes, it's stupid. She's a grown-ass woman, she can have feelings for another person without internally combusting. But Jesus. This isn't just one thing. It's never just one thing.]

But this isn't just about her, or mages. This is going to matter to rifters too. And I don't want to live life locked up, or on the run anymore.

[Ellie's voice catches, just barely, and it shows in her eyes. The way she's gone breathless.

For the first time, she's really starting to hope for something better.]

[He doesn't give chase when she turbulently yanks herself loose, both scrubbing at the heat drawn feverishly across scarred skin— and admitting in the same breath that his perceptive arrow's managed to find its mark. But what does chase it instead (on her end, that is, assertion pressed right back into the empty space between them), isn't wholly irrefutable either: it does matter— to all of them. To more than all of them, in fact, if the Circle's reformation sparks a war within a war, or brings the Chantry down on Riftwatch's collective heads.

Or worse still.

(He isn't thinking about lyrium's softer glow dispersing itself through rippling water. He isn't thinking about thumbprints fit tight across the glassy span of his anchor, gripping fiercely.)

No, she's not off the mark....but that doesn't mean there isn't so much more to be said.]

How long? [He asks, deliberate in favoring one topic over the other— not flinching or snarling for either of them; after their last exchange across the network, he's already suspected her view of what their future could be has started to change.] You two, that is.

You never told me.

We're not.

[Ellie's voice is strange, though. She has a note in there like she doesn't entirely believe herself. They're not together, because Ellie's had one foot out the fucking door this entire time, ready to bow out at any moment. A graceful exit for both their hearts if Ellie turns out to not actually be ready and fucks this up beyond repair.

Because until this moment Derrica's just been a good friend that Ellie's been wildly attracted to since day one, but she couldn't say that she truthfully harbored real romantic feelings for her. Just a little crush, maybe. A fluttering in her heart. But she'd have never called it love. Not even during the thunderstorm, when Derrica stroked the hair off her face and told her stories about sea monsters until her fingertips itched with the urge to paint.

But watching her today had changed something irrevocably.

And Ellie's going to deal with that by carrying Kostos to the front of a warzone, partially because she can't stand by and do nothing in the face of this, and partly because she can't watch Derrica be one of the bravest people she's ever fucking seen, and not step up.]

Not really.

[ Kostos notices him.

But they're separated by distance, and Kostos is flanked by people who he knows would come cleaning up behind him if he opened his mouth, so he doesn't.

He just looks exactly like his icon, for multiple stretches of several minutes. ]

[He's not the only one sticking to the periphery of the event. Richard knows enough about what's going on to know he doesn't know enough to get involved. Better to stand back, to listen and learn while those with some more solid - and possibly personal - knowledge of this world and its history duke it out.

He doesn't really look at his sidelines peer - there's more action to pay attention to in the middle of the room, as well as his brother to keep an eye on. But if, on occasion, their eyes should meet across the room, he'll tip his head slightly in acknowledgement.]

[It's not until it's all over that Astarion slides in closer to Richard. Not quite in his personal space, and not offensively so, but near enough that in the useless din of reassuring chatter or milder musing, what he says is easily registered.]

Tell me....

[New is such a relative thing when it comes to other Rifters; he doesn't bother to specify that's why he's about to ask exactly what he's about to ask, but he imagines it's obvious enough to anyone with a decent amount of common sense:]

What do you make of all this?

[He isn't entirely expecting the approach. The other guy seemed to be like him, more interested in listening, but then, maybe that's the thing. Richard hasn't voiced any opinion, so he has to come seek it out.

There's a brief moment of consideration before he offers, dry smile stretching the corner of his mouth:]

That politicians are assholes no matter what world you're in.

[Which was why he never paid too much attention to them. The privilege of a career criminal - you were always on the wrong side of the law anyway.]

How about you? Haven't seen you get involved.

[Yet still present, and therefore involved in one way or another.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open | full circle pt 1

during; OTA but fr it's just lurkin

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for the record.

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lurkers gonna lurk

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