fast enough to get in trouble and not fast enough to get away

[favoriteanalyst]

WHO: Mobius, whoever has business with him
WHAT: open-y log for mobi during fantasy september (and like late fantasy august too if need be), for various catchup purposes
WHEN: both pre- and post-arlathan forest
WHERE: [makes a general motion to kirkwall] Around
NOTES: warnings will be in subject lines if/when need be!

Before the mission to the forest, Mobius still has plenty to deal with. After the Conclave, the 'secret' of his life being a(n ex-)Templar does not stay quiet for long. It isn't something he ever addresses publicly; he's not taken to speaking on rumors just because they exist. But if someone comes to find him about it directly, he might actually be willing to talk to them about it.

So long as it isn't someone interrogating him under some ridiculous pretense of the good of Riftwatch.

But that isn't the only thing to deal with. Sylvie and Loki are both gone, wherever and however Rifters go. Sylvie takes a little more time to notice, but given her absence on the training grounds and around her usual library haunts where she, catlike, likes to cause him some trouble, it doesn't take too long. Loki--of course he noticed Loki being gone right away. Given they had finally started to see each other, at least sexually, and Mobius trying to get used to the idea of sleeping with someone and staying, in their bed, together, instead of leaving immediately after. Not every night; he was hardly about to move into Loki's-which-was-Alexandrie's place. But often enough.

So when he awoke in Loki's bed one morning to the conspicuous absence of Loki, well. That took a much shorter amount of time to figure out.

It stings.



After the mission to the forest, Mobius returns worse for wear. Like a lot of other people, in fact. He is in various states of burnt and bruised and battered. He'll heal as surely as anything else, with time and patience. But.

He has very apparently lost some kind of use of his hands.

The fingers still bend and curl. His fists can still form. Can still point, can still count on them, or give a thumbs up. But on the training grounds, his sword has a habit of slipping from his grip as though there's no grip at all. When jotting notes down, he's snapped more than a few quills and has taken to putting up with writing with the nubs where the tip remains. Meals have become fraught affairs, where he is slow and careful with utensils--and finger foods don't always fare much better. He can be seen, when not spilling half of a meal, grabbing at bowls or cups that he is warned are too hot to the touch and not minding at all. There's not much yet that seems too cold, but no temperature seems to bother his hands at all.

He tries to eat during off hours, or to take things somewhere a little more private. His training sessions have shifted to earlier in the morning (which, given the habits of nightmares, is not much of an inconvenience) when there are even fewer people. But it isn't as though he can hide the way he sometimes grips things too tight, or too loose to drop. He hasn't yet taken to wearing gloves, so one might be able to catch nicks and cuts and scrapes and a few angry red marks.

He's fine, basically. Definitely fine. Others have had it worse.

Comments

[armd]

(Abby falls silent at that. She feels the opposite. Without any immediate threat looming over her shoulder, there's too much time. All she can do is sit in her feelings and she's already tired of turning thoughts over and over like wet river stones in her palms, gauging every weight.)

... I have time. If you need somebody.

(It's not an altruistic offer. She wishes it was, but she needs people too.)

[favoriteanalyst]

[There is only so much time for him. He is...keenly aware. He's already lived longer than someone like him perhaps should have. Riftwatch might kill him. Or, perhaps he'll live to a ripe old age, but eventually his mind will leave him, and he'll have run out of time long before his body gives out.

People have left, and people have died, and these are things that are not new in his life. That it hurts so deep and so suddenly catches him off guard.

But others are still here.]

Do you need somebody?

[He thinks Loki and Abby had a not dissimilar kind of relationship he has with Ellie. Friendship, yes. But also something not too far off from being a little paternal.]

Do we both need somebody right about now?

[armd]

(The question catches her by surprise. Before she can think too much about it and say something that she doesn't mean simply to save face, she musters to tell the truth.) Uh, (Her voice cracks across the word.) Yeah. (She does. She really does, she can't be alone with these new, old memories. It's too much for one person to bear.

Whether or not she'll talk to him about that remains to be seen, but the company will help; Abby wants to help. She wants to make sure that Mobius is okay.)

... Kinda sounds like it, huh. (It's silly. The two of them sitting here in silence, on opposite ends of the crystal, missing the same person. Abby rocks in place, sits up. She wipes her eyes, pinching off tears between thumb and forefinger. Scoops her crystal up from the bed to ask,) Where do I find you?

[favoriteanalyst]

I think I need out of the library. Let's not meet there. [There's a tiredness to his words, a muting of his normal chipperness (or approximation thereof).] You up for a midnight snack, see what kinda trouble we can get up to in the kitchen and the mess?

1/2

[armd]

Okay. (She's more than happy with that suggestion; Ellie hangs around the library. Abby is not going to be able to avoid her forever, but for now, if she can, she would like to. The thought of her makes her stomach twist up into knots. Really, it should come secondary to everything else that is going on right now.)

Meet you there?

> action

[armd]

The kitchens are very empty at this small hour of the night; it's almost odd not to see Jude the moment she pushes the door open with her fingertips. Abby doesn't think she'd find it surprising if he were curled up on the stone floor, wolf-formed, asleep.

She waits for Mobius to get there. Sort of. She actually finds an off-cut of bread first, wrapped up in brown paper, put aside for the next meal that needs it. He'll find her sitting up on a counter and plucking the soft inside out of the ring of crust, chewing thoughtfully.

... Midnight snack was actually a great idea. She's happy to sit here, shut her mind off, and jaw on the heel of bread until company arrives.

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius isn't much of a cook, so he's not going to fire up the fire and whip something together. When he wanders in, he--actually has a bottle in hand. He has no idea if Abby drinks, but frankly it doesn't occur to him that she wouldn't.

"Peace offering," he says a little weakly, tilting the glass of dark liquor. It's one of the bottles Loki had gotten him as a thank you gift. This one's a heady rum of fine quality. Might as well bust it out for an occasion like this. "Find anything good to snack on lying around?"

[armd]

Abby takes the bottle from him curiously, uncapping it to sniff the contents. She does drink, typically when she's with other people, and this occasion feels more than somber, and appropriate. "Thanks." She knows where the glasses are. She pours his amount first, and passes it to him silently.

As for the snacks: "I found some bread." That is... long gone, sorry. She ate it. She hops off the counter to look for something else and finds: a few wedges of cheese, and cold slices of ham, a few rounds of old, brown bread. She hands them wordlessly over.

[favoriteanalyst]

A nod of thanks, both at the glass, and then the food. He's no stranger to sneaking some scraps from the kitchen, back at the tower. One of those things you're technically not supposed to and sure, you'd probably get in some trouble by way of extra duties and chores if you got caught, but everyone does it.

"So." With a bite of bread, drink of rum. "This sucks."

No shit. But he kind of feels like it's at least better than silence.

[armd]

Abby grunts in acknowledgement, sipping her rum. It's good, but the first swallow has her pulling a face at the burn, and wiping her mouth on the back of her arm. She considers a bit of ham between her thumb and index finger, frowning.

Eventually says, "How long has he been gone?"

How long did it take for her to notice?

[favoriteanalyst]

"I should have said something," is not an answer to the question, but it comes bursting out of him anyway. To Abby, to Ellie. Fuck, who else was close to Loki? Astarion, surely. Who else? Had he even become all that close with others, others who are still here anyway? "I don't know if there's some kind of...protocol to this."

An announcement on the crystal? A quiet contact of friends? A notice on a board? Are those things that are done?

"A little over a week." The eventual actual answer. Food seems less appetizing all of a sudden. But the drink is still welcome.

[armd]

Abby's expression sticks, halfway between upset and exasperated. Her mouth twists at one corner. She says, "Nah, it's okay," like a sigh, and puts the ham into her mouth, chewing just to keep herself from having to talk for a moment. She wouldn't have known what to do in his position either.

She nurses the bit of rum in-between her knees, hands curled around the glass. Offhandedly, "Figures. Felt like I was just starting to get through to him."

All that stuff he said under the influence of soup, about not wanting to say anything about himself because he didn't think he deserved comfort, or whatever...

[favoriteanalyst]

"Yeah? Stubborn piece of shit, but he was always willing to listen." Oh, he knows this well. Loki always trying to understand, even if he was skeptical. "What were you trying to tell him?"

[armd]

Abby chuckles, she can't help herself. Accurate assessment... if a little pointed. She shrugs a shoulder and says, "That he was one of my people," before she has another sip.

He knew that. She's pretty sure.

[favoriteanalyst]

"...Yeah. He was definitely having a hard time with sentiment like that. That's what copious amounts of self-hatred can do to you."

But they were both of them making progress. In their own ways.

[armd]

Yeah. You don't have to explain self-hatred to Abby. She gives Mobius a little look over the top of her glass.

Then she says, casually, "Were you two together?"

Because she had her theories... her little suspicions...

[favoriteanalyst]

So, alcohol burn, that's all well and good. The burn that comes from choking and sputtering on alcohol, though, that's a particularly nasty feeling. And he's going to be thankful none went up his nose.

Probably gives all the answer she needs right there.

Eventually, when he looks less embarrassing and not choking: "What do you mean by together?"

Because! There are different definitions!

[armd]

... Okay, be that way. Abby will amend her earlier question for clarity's sake:

"Were you fucking?"

[favoriteanalyst]

He scrubs his face. Not because he's embarrassed about the answer, but because this isn't a conversation he thought he'd have with Abby? Why this.

"Yeah." And maybe she wants to know because it sheds some light on how Mobius feels about the fact that someone he was ~together~ with is gone. "Why?" But he'll ask anyway, because...now he's just curious.

[armd]

At first Abby's just pleased to be right about it, and then a second sense of satisfaction sinks in: she knows the exact feeling of having lost somebody you were with, how strange it is. She knows how it blindsided you. She relents, silent for a moment.

"Just want to be on the same page," is not not true. As is, "He didn't gossip very much about that stuff." So she wants to know what her friend is getting up to, sue her...

[favoriteanalyst]

"...Yeah, he didn't--I don't know. He talked about himself pretty openly if asked, but he didn't gossip about himself. I..." He purses his lips, looks down into his glass.

"He got this for me. A lot of bottles, actually. Went on a date. Decided not to sleep with him then because he's kind of a fucking mess, yeah?" Yeah. Abby would know. Even if her baseline is a liiiittle skewed. "And even when we started, it was still a bad idea, but...seemed like we were working out. A bit." He turns the glass in his hands. "I'll spare you the details, obviously."

[armd]

"Yeah, but most people like talking about the people they're seeing to their friends," she argues, and then she gets an odd little pang in her chest because Loki still didn't really talk about those kinds of things with her? But that doesn't have to have any deeper meaning than he didn't want to. So.

Hrm. She sniffs at the rum instead, once he confirms it was a gift. An especially nice gift, surely? Abby has always known alcohol to be expensive, just- not in a monetary value sort of way.

"Fancy," she decides. She's not about to pass judgement on anybody for making bad decisions about their sex life, that would be....... intensely hypocritical of her. She asks, "Why was it a bad idea?" instead.

[favoriteanalyst]

"I don't know." Well, he does, and he doesn't. Yeah, people do tend to like to talk about their partners, but also there are so many extenuating circumstances that he would never judge someone for keeping that private. "His whole--that part of his life as a whole was very messy. Which is also why it seemed like a bad idea. Sylvie was pissed at him, and they were apparently a thing. Lady Alexandrie had left for home, and they were also apparently a thing, which also involves him looking like her husband who is, as far as I understand it, literally a Thedosian version of Loki."

A shrug, and he keeps hunched, stuffing a bit of ham in his mouth instead and speaking around it. "Didn't really think it was great to step in the middle of all that." Washes it down with some rum. Burns good. "Compelling arguments were made."

[armd]

"... He called him a 'native variant'," Abby recalls, her face scrunching up. The rum is starting to make her feel warm, which is nice. The kitchens have cold stone under foot, "Whatever that means." She never really found out? She didn't have time to ask if Loki thought there might be a Theodosian version of her running about the place.

Maybe it's better she never knows.

She chuckles dryly around the lip of her glass, lifting it. Doesn't actually sip. "Gotcha."

And now he's gone. She sighs heavily. "... Could he ever come back?"

[favoriteanalyst]

"Well," with a click of his tongue, "apparently both Sylvie and Loki knew a variant of me back where they're from, so." That's been a lot to contend with. From the perspective of a native Thedosian who barely has much understanding of the concept of the world he inhabits much less others.

So that's fun.

And what's fun is he's about to bring up a name he knows is complicated. Maybe he could skirt around it, but context for the source of information seems important, in this case. Glances at Abby, glances at his drink, pours a little more into his and offers the bottle back at her. "Ellie says it's possible. That it's happened before."