faderift | [ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

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[ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

WHO: Alistair, Araceli Bonaventura, Beleth Ashara, ~~Anders~~ Detlef, Korrin Ataash, Taashath, The Iron Bull, Twisted Fate, an Zevran Arainai. Guest Starring: Samouel, Cyril, and Merrick, Super Special Guest Star: Leliana.
WHAT: The Crows come for the Ombra Nera.
WHEN: Begins Guardian 6
WHERE: Skyhold/Antivan Border/The Road
NOTES: CW/TW FOR: Flesh hommonculi, violent/gruesome content, torture, blood magic, non-consensual drug use, adult content, adult language, reader discretion is advised. Sign up post, original plotting post, hit me on PM or @

thesouthernbelle if you have questions.

It's a normal morning in Thedas until, abruptly, it isn't. The Crows come calling; they are swift, they are certain, they are silent and leave behind but one witness that won't be alive for much longer (or so they assume). Prize in hand they ride North for Antiva.

Subthreads for portions of the plot are yours to tag around in as you like!

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There is healing for the body- which has been done to the best that Anders can manage- and there is healing for the mind and the soul which- well. Zevran is on his own in that respect. But little things, small things, like the sound of the group around the fire at night, the warmth of a body next to him- or this.

Something so far removed from the Crows and what they've put him through that he's sitting in stunned silence at the offer. For his birthday (had that truly been only a short while ago?) a bottle and now? He takes it with hands that still shake, mumbling a soft 'Grazie.'

Uncorks the top and takes a sip and it is sweet, spiced, and soothing. All he needs is the warmth of a sun and the crash of the ocean. Eyes closed he can almost feel the hot air from the port combing through his hair. "If I have to drink another healing potion in the next few days- I may scream."

Zevran said he would take her to Antiva. That she would weep for the warmth and beauty of his country. The weeping, well the weeping is true though not for the reasons either of them would have wanted, a catch whenever she breathes too deep or when she stops to think, when she looks at their captives. All of them are wrung out, that kind of bone deep exhaustion where you could collapse and sleep for days if you were able but they need to keep moving.

She lets Korrin approach first, and her usual light tread is louder, the swing of her hips exaggerated to let her weapons and pouch of coins clatter. A thief knows vigilance for different reasons to an assassin but she'd rather not take chances startling him, not when she couldn't watch the mage Detlef healing him.

Sometimes she's grateful for the practice as a guard, how she can keep a smile on her face when it feels like she could crumple in an instant. "It'll do more than some of those potions, little comforts, eh? Still, it can be our secret."

If mage healers are like doctors, then they might have some strange rules that involve only giving patients what they say is allowed.

Much as he will be frustrated, later, by the gentle handling he is quietly grateful for it now. Grateful for them in their warmth, with their smiles, holding a bottle of joy for him in the middle of all these sad eyes and earnest looks. He can no more stand sincere attempts to prove him wrong on being left behind than he can another health potion. This change? Is one he's needed.

Without more than a thin cut of a smile he offers the bottle to Araceli, tipping enough to lean against Korrin. Solid and warm and- oh. His hands may tremble but Araceli's hair is, while not a horrid mess, somewhat tangled. He needs the distraction and gestures to the ground in front of him. "Come, sit, drink. Let me braid your hair."

An offer wrapped around something soft and pleading. He needs this. Something to center him, to remind him this is real. That they are here.

In truth, the bottle hadn't originally been intended for Zevran and this moment. After making it for his birthday, Korrin had to keep a little extra because the drink surprised her with how much she enjoyed it...but not enough to let Zevran go without at a time like this. She can always make more later, now that she knows how. And he's definitely welcome to use her as support; whatever helps make the moment more bearable is what he gets.

Araceli's unusually loud approach is met with a warm smile and sympathetic eyes, knowing well what it's like to hold back from falling apart. She'll gladly be her support as well; there's room enough for them both. Well, after Zevran brains her hair. "Araceli helped me make it, as you might have guessed. I'm not sure I could have managed as well, otherwise. She's a wonderful kitchen assistant."

Edited 2016-02-05 23:44 (UTC)

"Kitchen assistant," she snorts, taking a drink of the orzata herself because it's good, she knows it's good because she was there in the making of it, not being any sort of a slouch in the kitchen. "I tease though, Korrin would have managed admirably but some things are better with friends and help, no?"

If that's on the nose then what does she care, her nerves are frayed like an old rope, she's sore and stiff, they could have lost Zevran before they reached him or others in the team in the efforts.

Handing the drink back, she sets about removing her earrings and necklace, the complicated set of lockpicks resting in her lap as she drags a hand through her hair. She sits before he can see her wince, pulling her hand free before she shakes it out over her shoulders so he can work with it more easily.

"Perhaps next time we three might invade the kitchens together, the head cook will have to leave at last, at least for the day."

"You have the right of it there." This is...this will be difficult in more ways than he knows, has been difficult beyond his ability to wrap his mind around and yet here they are; two of his favorite women in all of Antiva, perhaps of those he's met in Skyhold, helping him through. There are words that he feels he ought to say but he does not know what they are.

Simply that he is grateful. Perhaps this, combing his fingers through Araceli's curls, leaning back against the stability and warmth of Korrin, may be enough. "I could teach you how to make alfajors- it always ends in a sticky mess but the mixing is great fun."

Focus on that. On the tiny braids he winds around her curls, on the mental image of Korrin with flour dusted over her cheek, honey drizzled over the table, almonds everywhere. "Or if we ever find a good hank of mutton and spices I could show you how we braise it in Antiva."

"Alfajors? Oh, good call. I love those; they're worth any mess." Korrin smiles fondly, glad to focus on the good things about Antiva, not its Crows and the horror they recently wrought. Such ugliness can only be dwelt on for so long before losing all sense of perspective.

She watches Araceli's curls and Zevran's braid-weaving with equal admiration, making a mental note to ask him later about teaching her. Simple braids are one thing, but she'd love to learn how to play with Araceli's hair in a more elaborate fashion. "As for spices, I have you covered. Vivienne gave me a truly ridiculous variety of them for a Wintersend gift. I'm more than happy to share with those possessing actual culinary skill."

"Alfajors for the rifter?" The name doesn't sound familiar, something of a surprise but she can't expect everything from Antiva or even Rivain to neatly sound like home, she's merely just been happy to find whatever comforts she can. "Don't worry Korrin, I will help you clean up."

Just maybe not right away. That's why Skyhold has hot springs.

So easy to close her eyes, to arch into those fingers in her head with a soft sound like a purr. "No one else has braided my hair in months," and it's been months, months in Thedas, months of friendship with them, of love she bears them both.

"Cloves, there should always be cloves and a glaze of honey so thick it cracks between your teeth. What I would give for more fish though, for fat pink shrimp."

"Little sticky sweet cakes made with flour and nuts, dusted with sugar or dripping with honey. Some cities roll them into logs or flatten them into round disks. They are a delicious mess no matter how they are made. When I was a child one of the cooks would take the leftover scraps of dough from making these and roll them into tiny balls, roll those in honey, bake them, and top them all off with chopped nuts. It was as good a way as any to keep all the children quiet." A rare treat, one he thinks of fondly. Happier times. Warmer times. He must reach for those rather than dwell. Dwelling does little and he has two fine, warm women leaning against him.

What more can he ask for?

"She sent me a variety of dried sausages and cheeses, packs of smoked fish, and a few bottles of brandy. Between that and the spices, if we have run of the kitchen? I could make some fine, proper pasta." Spicy and flavorful, rich with garlic and butter. His appetite, such as it'd been (absent) picks up a little at the thought. All the while he twists smaller braids into larger, weaving in and out of Araceli's delightful curls. "Depending on where we are there may be a tavern on the border that sells boiled shrimp by the bag for a pittance."

Korrin lets out a sigh of longing at Zevran's description, now certain she'll need to satisfy that craving before long. The food at Skyhold hasn't been terrible, but all this talk reminds her of how long it's been since she's had her fill of dishes from up north. Bits and pieces from care packages sent just aren't the same.

"All of that sounds heavenly, Zevran. Trust you to bring back that appetite, you and Araceli both. You're my guardian angels in warding off bland food." And sure she has the spices herself now, but this isn't really her forte. It's better to offer them up to a true cook in exchange for sharing the spoils.

At Araceli's understandable longing for seafood, Korrin darts her a sympathetic glance, knowing that it's hardly fresh by the time it reaches Skyhold. Mention of that tavern perks her up, though Korrin resists the urge to get up and check her map when everyone's so comfortable. "If that tavern's anywhere nearby, then we'll make our way there. It would be cruel to leave you wanting, kadan."

“Nuts are too expensive for us to use in treats, they have to sail such a long long way for such little things.” It makes her laugh quietly, why she doesn’t know, there are smaller and more expensive things. Maybe she’s just cracked a bit right not but it’s always better to laugh than to do anything else. Savoury biscuits for Castilean children are more common, a touch of salt, nibbled with whatever there is to be found, or fresh fruit because the sailors would throw them if you whined just right and looked particularly sad until a ripe juicy orange landed in your hands.

“Maybe there should be a night of it - a taste of Antiva, of places where snow is but a rumour, clear out the tavern or the main hall in Skyhold. Something less dour than the usual.” It wouldn’t be on the scale of First Day, no musicians but those who chose to sing or play themselves but she misses how loud Castileos is at night in so many places, how there is always a tavern with warm golden light spilling out over the docks with laughter and songs, the clatter of dice in cups, the stamp of feet in some dance that spins faster and faster and faster, until a person is left breathless and able only to see colours.

“Even here and now we all have to eat, my favourite foods make me well again faster than something bland. Pearl barley and boiled fish with a little milk, supposedly good for the stomach but spice sweats out the fever and makes you feel alive, bright peppers and other vegetables with a crunch, something just rich enough to make you glad that you are here to eat it.” Carefully, so as not to snag her hair she tips her head back at an almost impossible angle, lopsided upside-down smile aimed at them both right as her stomach lets out an angry sounding growl.

A good thing Lux is in Skyhold, safe and warm, spoiled rotten. He would be howling were he here. “All of us must eat to venture back home,” and it’s home for now, she supposes, where the people she loves are, where she feels safe and can sleep curled against someone with her weapons no longer directly under her pillow. “I’m sure I could make us one good meal with shrimp, no meal is bad if there are shrimp.”

Not this many months without at least.

Edited 2016-02-08 19:26 (UTC)

Zevran finishes the last of his small braids, tugging his fingers through the mass to check if there was anything else that cried for additional adornment, but that was all he could manage without the trembling of his hands moving him to the point of frustration. Instead he tugs Araceli back to lean against him, pressed warm and content between the two women. Here for a moment, it is not so cold, not so unsteady. Here he feels warm and real and can think back to what he loves of Antiva, and of life in general. Was that not what he said often? That to be Antivan was to love life and be alive?

He clings to that now, just as he clings to Araceli. Just as he leans back into Korrin.

"If I am not mistaken we are about a ten minute ride to the south from it. Grab a bag of shrimp and a sack of wine- or several- and we might both be satisfied." Honestly he will feel better with something of home that isn't bitter and aching in his teeth.

And Korrin is just fine with continuing to be that steady support, her arms loosely draped around them both now that Zevran's done with the braiding. She pauses to admire his work, answering them both after a moment's inspection. "I'm willing to go whenever you are, though that's not a sign to rush if you're not ready. It's nice to just not need to move for a while, I know."

Her own appetite is steadily reviving with all this talk, though Korrin can be patient for Zevran's sake. Right now, his needs supersede her own. She makes a thoughtful noise, considering Araceli's idea. "We should absolutely do that; dedicate a night to such dishes and remind people of what can be done with the proper use of spices. I bet we wouldn't be alone in appreciating the reprieve, either. The ambassador probably misses a taste of home." She might have to check and see what dishes Lady Montilyet favors, as a way of thanking her for putting up with all that political bullshit. "Anyway, you direct and I'll follow instructions."

"Gracias Zevran, I have no wish to look like some old haridan fishwife. Or like I've spent the last of my coin in the brothel only to be tossed out." Mindful of his injuries, she reaches back to squeeze his thigh as she settles, another hand inspecting her hair absent a mirror. She would ask for one if things were different but her fingers will have to do and she smiles again, content.

"Perhaps if Korrin lets down her hair we could switch places. It’s easier to hold people up sitting." Plus she likes being the little big spoon sometimes, getting to wrap herself around Korrin as far as possible.

"Can I ask how all of you can bear to ride horses? My arse has never hurt so much before." Maybe a little injection of levity is required here but equally this is her first time atop a horse and she’s concerned. Her thighs hurt too but that’s something she’s dealt with for a few reasons but well, a pressing issue as she shifts to keep her weight off it if she can. She'd rather wait a little while longer until certain spots are less tender before she goes to get shrimp for dinner, but it's a reminder of how much she'll have to buy given the numbers returning compared to the company that departed Skyhold.

"The ones they brought with us, this might be their last taste of him for a while. Will they eat if we eat the same things?" An easier thing to ask when Korrin isn’t looking at her and with Zevran sandwiched between them because tempers had been frayed but though she’s a guard, understanding risks and threats, she has only ever killed when she’s been fighting, not when she’s had someone surrendering before her. White flags are white flags. And she's not about to let anyone go hungry, not when her prizes from thievery put food on the tables of others.

"The same way one rides a lover. Practice, patience, and a great deal of ointment after the fact." A twist of his old humor, faint and flickering but for them? It is there. The idea of riding long enough to get something from home, something he should have had on his own ride up if he had ridden of his own accord? Warms him. He would not be alone. Korrin and Araceli are clever and quick and guards better than most can hope for.

"Perhaps after we see your hair braided, Carina." He tips his head back to smile at Korrin and it is slight and it is strained, going only a little more at the mention of the Crowlings. He vouched for them- they are his responsibility. "Well. I did promise them some manner of treat if they didn't try to seduce anyone as leverage. As no one seems to be particularly seduced..."

It is a legitimate concern, the seducing.

"It'd be rude of us to deny them, then." Korrin's eyes meet his and while she doesn't especially trust the Crowlings yet, the Vashoth knows the last thing Zevran needs is more tension at this point. So she'll keep a lid on that temper and the Crowlings will be unharmed, though closely watched. They can let the rest of this mess sort itself out, later, when he's willing.

Thinking back to the horses, she chuckles softly. "Zevran has the right of it, more or less. I'm no fan of horses, anyway; there are better mounts, though I suppose the point is moot now. I'll do my best to help ease those aches and pains of yours, though."

There's a spark of mischief in her eyes and grin before Korrin finally gives in to that braiding request. Reaching up, she unties her stark white hair and shakes it out into loose waves. "Do what you will with it. I trust your judgment."

"And this is why I much prefer women. My friends are all mad to actually race these things." The only other animal that sounds like you could ride it is a druffalo and parts of her ache simply at the thought.

Carefully she extracts herself from Zevran, shaking out stiff legs and stretching, all the way up on her toes and arms high above her head until her back pops and she moans quietly in satisfaction. Her coat is stripped off to make a small cushion that she sits on for when it's her turn to hold them up. As ever, seeing Korrin with her hair down has her grinning because yes, it's probably much more impractical for a mage, for someone with horns but she looks beautiful with it down. If she could find some pretty pins, dark metal and shimmering shells? She'd make her the envy of everyone in Skyhold.

Maybe putting her in a much better mood will help when Araceli's taking her turn guarding the Crows, because she absolutely plans on getting to know them without scaring the life out of them.

"I would say charmed, but then they remind me an awful lot of people I know, just like you." So Zevran should know that she means that with a touch of something a little like grief, for opportunities missed, for home taken and made into a sharp and bitter thing. She won't say that she feels sorry for them, that might sound wrong but she does, and already she's nervous about what should happen to them in Skyhold if word gets out.

"You are going to tell me what you use to keep your hair so fine and white, Carina. Untarnished." Even his hair has the odd fleck of staining after a long day's fight- some of them stubborn enough to take more than the usual lather and oiling to see them freed. Korrin? Never seemed to suffer the same ashy fate as he's seen others with such pale, glorious hair. He tips his head back to watch Araceli settle behind Korrin, smiling at the image they make.

Such lovely women would look marvelous together. His fingertips itch for charcoal and paper- later, perhaps, when they are no longer on the road.

"It is a defense mechanism. If they are kind and they are charming or seductive people are less likely to wish them dead. I, myself, bought protection for many years from one of my fellow Crows by being as such. Whether or not there are similar arrangements in effect with them- I cannot say. But I hope that they are young enough that they might unlearn it."

Hearing Zevran's perspective does give Korrin something to ponder beyond her kneejerk attitude. He'd know far better than her what those Crowlings have been through, what their chances are of breaking past their training. "With you as their influence, they could stand a chance. I'll give them that much. They're fortunate to have you as an advocate, Zevran."

After what he's been through, Korrin wouldn't have blamed him the slightest if he didn't want anything to do with them. He could have just let them die. And yet, the fact that he's giving them a chance has her grudging approval. She just wants to protect her friends, but her friends are often the type to think beyond themselves, even if one wouldn't think so at first glance.

"And I use the souls of my enemies, of course, specially infused into the care package products I receive from up north. I'm more than willing to share, at least with those who appreciate such things." She lets out a comfortable sigh the moment Araceli's fingers touch her hair, always appreciating such attentions.

The snort is so ugly that Araceli starts laughing at herself, having to lean forward and press her head against Korrin's shoulder so she doesn't fall backwards, dragging the others with her. No doubt one of their number would suddenly appear and possibly ruin the moment as she lay on her back giggling and hiccuping.

“Oh I dare you to casually mention that in front of one of the really uptight Templars, I dare you, I will watch from the rooftops laughing, Zevran you will be there too, we could charge admission and retire to lives of leisure.” Without a comb she uses her fingers to separate out Korrin’s hair for a waterfall braid, working from behind the right horn with ease; her fingers remember how to do it, the comfort of familiar patterns and looking after a loved one, content to enjoy whatever little bubble this is. It will burst, eventually, but they might make it back to Skyhold first or until setting watches becomes a real issue.

Food will help, not quite the same as stealing friends back to the little scrape of a flat she still keeps but close enough, because it’s something made because she wants to make it, to fill them up and keep them warm when this world seems so opposed to letting anyone keep even one person safe and sound for long.

“There’s never a clean slate, not really, but if waves can wear down broken glass into something soft and smooth, and turn boulders to sand? Then I hope that they can find a place and happiness. Some of them mustn’t be much younger than I am, maybe about the same age I was when I left home to make my own way, nothing and no one should steal the carefree years from you.” After all, she hasn’t left those years behind entirely either, and though Korrin isn’t much older than Araceli in the grand scheme of things, it’s hard not to feel for the Crows, to think about herself at that age when life was a game and she raced through it but with so many hands to help her catch herself and dust herself off if she fell.

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[ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

yzplz threeway with rad ladies

sliiiiiiiiides

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Can they end up a snuggly pile? Qunari pillows are good for that.

i vote yes

Yes, yes they can <3

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