but I still hold out hope that maybe someday

[favoriteanalyst]

WHO: Mobius, whomstsoever decides to bother him
WHAT: it's another catchall /fingerguns
WHEN: All month long
WHERE: around, about
NOTES: tbd

Sure, the library is like a home now ever since he sidled on into the Gallows and decided it all needed a little upkeep, spiraling out into taking it under his wing and being a resident bookworm with, sure, a penchant for being precious about the resource of the word. And he spends a good amount of time there on the daily as it is, though less through the new year with the new title. So long as nobody's destroying things or starting fights, it can all be tended to with assistants (thanks Abby!) and not need to be micromanaged under his care. He won't be breaking any arms.

Where he's been spending more time is in the archivist's office, spending time...well, archiving. Cosima appreciated the assistance with what's already been started, though it's clear there have been differences in organizational tactics between whoever all has been in here over the years. It's relatively quiet work to sort through reports and notes and track down dates and related project pages and suss out where to put it all in a manner that makes sense. And then there's rooting through new documents or half-finished projects that have come before. Having the good Lady Lamonia's collection of personal letters and libraries of journals and such donated to Riftwatch's care has been...fun. (It has not been fun.) He's been more than glad for assistance in perusing sultry love letters for tidbits of gossipy information about other lords and ladies from across the Marches, because frankly it isn't the most interesting thing to him, and he's not sure why it's all been donated to them. And whoever left this particular project barely started with some archaic archival system the likes of which might only be understood by the Maker Himself didn't do Mobius any damned favors. Please. Save him from this. Uuuuuuugh why is it another perfumed letter talking about beauty and oh did you hear what Marquis Audile got up to and blah blah blah...

When he spends time away from that, he makes a point to spend some time each day in the chapel, dutiful in his beliefs in his own ways. Quietly praying and keeping to himself, cleaning up if it's dusty or a bit of a mess. When in the dining hall, he keeps an eye out for friends and associates, and even occasionally makes the acquaintance of someone he is less than familiar with, though more often he keeps more to himself. The less than stellar function of his hands might always be something of an embarrassment to him, he knows. Which never stops him from training, keeping a firm grip on his sword at all times, shield at the ready strapped to the other arm, or simply going through the motions to keep himself in shape. Bookworm he might be, but he won't skimp on being battle ready.

He also lately is spending time out in Kirkwall proper, asking after printers and asking them where they procure their supplies, asking too after those who make paper and parchment. Does research on the side, since naturally he'd turn to books first, on how best to start setting up that kind of practice within the walls of the Gallows. Maybe there's space in the basement somewhere? Or an empty office space? Negotiating prices for deliveries might help in the short-term, but...

[or y'know hit him up elsewhere, or hit me up for a bespoke prompt]

Comments

[icasm]

"...I don't think that not using a skill to its full potential effectiveness is the same as something being squandered. I also don't think you would be nearly as harsh on anyone else who happened to have a Fade shard, so please, do me a favor, and be kinder to my friend? Namely, yourself." Very. Pointed. Look.

Which crumbles almost immediately after, because now Loki has to consider the staring and his various reasons why. "I want for us to be close again, but I have no idea how to begin. Or. If you would want to. It feels like so much has changed, things you don't want to discuss."

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius gives a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Doesn't answer about the being kinder, but, sure, point taken.

"A lot has changed. Are you gonna tell me everything that's happened to you, or is it painful to think about?"

Because that's a lot of what's behind Mobius and his reluctance. He doesn't want to recount his hands, or delve deep into the shard, or talk about Granitefell, or talk about even some of the more amazing things he's seen when it leaves him grieving and wanting. "I'm not trying to push you away." That pain is something he has to figure out himself; it's not on Loki to deal with or fix. "You can ask questions. Kinda feels like you just wanted everything to slide back into the way things were, and it's not like that. Not that easy."

[icasm]

"The problem of retelling what's happened to me isn't pain, though it does exist. The problem is story, and the problem is time, and the problem is the friends I don't believe I'll ever see again, and the idea that there is always a last time, and it is always sooner than I'd think, like, or expect.

I suspect that is the problem of us as well, or part of it. I've never come back, before. I have always left the past behind, until I had no choice but to confront it, again and again, and relearn the same tired lessons endlessly until I accepted the truth of them. And then I had to move forward. It's not the same as coming back at all."

Loki has leaned back in his seat a little, frowning at his own hands folded in front of him on the table. He turns his head to Mobius. "I want to ask, certainly. But I don't think that demanding a retelling would actually solve the problem of time minus distance." A little shake of his head. "It isn't that I want what was. It's that I want it to be a part of what is to be, and I have no idea how to do that."

[favoriteanalyst]

Story and time and people he'll never see again. Mobius is the one frowning now, trying to suss out the meaning. The Maker, or Andraste, or both, has always given him clarity, insight, but he wonders if in gaining some things he's lost others. Maybe he's losing his touch, so to speak, since here he is, trying to read Loki like the open book he always feels like he is, but coming up short. Trying to understand what the fuck he's trying to say and left trying to sort several pieces. Or is that his mind starting to addle?

"Neither of us knows what coming back is like, is what you're saying. What to do with the coming back, how to pick things back up."

The few times he's come back, it hasn't gone well. Starkhaven's more or less gone, for instance.

He takes a long and steadying breath, shoulders up, holds it. Lets it go and sinks back down. "We figured it out before. We'll figure it out again."

[icasm]

Loki can see it, on Mobius' face, the fact that he's managed to talk circles around being in a time loop for an uncountable number of centuries. He doesn't want to be direct about it, because being direct means coming face to face with the feeling that he was outsmarted and outplayed, that there were no options other than letting the wrong person win or personal forfeiture.

Which, for the record, was the option he chose at the time. The him that didn't know/remember/experience Thedas.

The Loki that remains here is glad it's not likely to come up again as something he has to do (hopefully).

He watches Mobius breathe through it. Hears but only halfway pays attention to the things Mobius says along with that bit of breathing exercise - not because it's unimportant, but because what Mobius says with his body might be moreso.

Mobius' body says this won't be easy. Loki agrees.

"Okay." A beat. "Sorry for the odd staring."

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius shakes his head, just a little. "It's not like you not to be more upfront with me, but then, it isn't like me to hold back. If you wanna know how we get back to us, or how we move forward to a new us, I don't have the answers. But I also wouldn't worry too much about it."

He rises from his seat and moves to the door, shuts it all the way. The work they're doing isn't anything sensitive, and sometimes there's more help, and sometimes there's Stephen making his attempts to throw what he calls 'paper airplanes' across the hall and diagonally to the room to get his attention. But this might be. More sensitive.

"I'm sorry. For not being more forthcoming. For being..." No, he's not really sorry for anything that he is, now. Different. Changed. Things that can't be helped. "I'm sorry for making you feel like you can't talk to me."