faderift | [OPEN] gone out, down the wrong way

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[OPEN] gone out, down the wrong way

WHO: Bellamy + OPEN
WHAT: open catch all log! starters below!
WHEN: end of Guardian, beginning of Drakonis and onward
WHERE: Emprise du Lion, outside EDL, the wide open road, and then Skyhold. all over the place.
NOTES: let's not talk about blood mages.

EMPRISE DU LION - INSIDE.
To keep busy, Bellamy joins in with training drills. There's other Templars in the Inquisition, no one he knows and no one who knows him. They ask just a few questions, and if he's careful to stay reticent he can keep his stories straight, and he does. The patter of drilling comes back to him pretty quickly, and if they tease him about being rusty, backwoods, country, Bellamy just smiles, a little, bears it pretty well, even if he's thinking about how none of them know what the hell they're talking about.

Anyways, he is pretty rusty. The fights he's been fighting have been less disciplined. In the yard, he goes up against anyone, bigger than him, smaller than him, eager for the distraction. When he gets bested in these little trials of mock combat, he gets up again, wipes the sweat off his brow and picks up his sword. It's as he's adjusting a strap on his armor that one of the knight captain claps him on the shoulder, gives some word of advice. Bellamy's mouth tightens into a hard line. He's polite enough, yes sir, but as soon as he's able he steps away, goes for some water to cool down. It's cold, in the yard, cold enough that steam rises off of his skin, but all the same, he grabs a bucket and dumps it over his head. The icy chill sets his teeth together. That's good. It helps to disguise how pissed off he is.

EMPRISE DU LION - OUTSIDE.
Outside the boundaries of the settlement, the wild terrain lies under smooth drifts of snow. Even the trees wear it on their branches, like old women with shrouds pulled tight around their shoulders.

Hector is tied to one of the trees, nosing patiently around the base. The dirt there is mostly clear of snow, kept clean by the close knit of the branches above. Bellamy, sat on a cold rock and working, rough, at skinning a squirrel, watches his horse--and when Hector gives up his search, with a frustrated snort, he even manages a little smile, before he sets aside the carcass and his knife and reaches for his pack.

Bellamy hasn't done well with waiting in Emprise du Lion, and he hasn't done well with blending in. His presence was more of a coincidence than an earnest volunteering, and if Kane is satisfied to ride around with the Templars among the Inquisition's ranks--that's his business. Bellamy's gone through the motions, helped a little with the smaller campaigns. Let himself pretend to be a Templar. Mostly he's waited, kept a low profile, kept watching for Clarke. But he hates waiting; he's grown restless. That's what puts him out here, today, under the grey sky, with only this stupid scrawny squirrel to show for his efforts. It's not really fun: he's a shitty hunter. You'd think a kid who grew up hardscrabble would have learned a little more. He can set snares and traps, he can stalk prey, he can shoot, but when it comes to the moment of the kill, it always seems like it goes wrong. His sister ended up a better hunter than he was.

When he thinks of Octavia, his mouth twists out of that smile. He grabs a withered apple and chucks it, underhanded, toward Hector. The thud of its landing catches the horse's attention, and he falls eagerly on the apple.

But even Hector's loud greedy chomping doesn't overpower the sudden crack of a branch breaking. Bellamy jumps to his feet, his knife in his hand, wariness hardening his face. Friend, foe, whatever: whoever's approaching ought to keep right on moving.

THE ROAD.
It's hard to wait patiently. It's impossible, really. So he leaves Emprise du Lion, without telling Kane that he's going--which is stupid, maybe, but he's angry and tired of feeling penned in, kept bound by vows and promises and--

Whatever. He doesn't owe Kane much. They will meet again soon. (Which is a stupid saying, he thinks, bitterly, every time he accidentally thinks it.)

The distance between Emprise du Lion and Skyhold isn't so far, and it's not so dangerous a path that one armed man on horseback can't make the trip alone. And maybe he's riding a little harder than he should, pushing Hector to a pace that makes the horse pant for breath. Maybe the speed is unnecessary. But it feels good, just like leaving behind Kane feels good, in this stupid childish vindictive way. Bent low over Hector's neck, he doesn't notice the road growing rockier beneath the horse's hooves, doesn't notice the pockets of ice, or the way that Hector's trying to pick his steps more carefully, until a hoof hits wrong, and one of Hector's front legs buckles beneath him and the horse stumbles, with a high, panicked whiny. Instinctively, Bellamy yanks back on the reigns, and Hector slips on the ice, panicked--and then they're off the road, horse and rider both; Bellamy gets thrown into a snowbank and Hector falls hard on his side, screaming the way horses do, shrill and desperate. The sound carries loud across the stillness of the snow.

By the time Bellamy's up, Hector is, too, running for the trees. At least his leg seems unharmed. Bellamy, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, already sore from impact, his shoulder aching, watches his horse go.

"Dammit!"

SKYHOLD.
After he's led the recaptured Hector to Skyhold's stable and settling in his spooked horse, the first place Bellamy goes is the tavern.

He gets a table alone, back in a corner. Hot mulled wine, bread, cheese, and the warmth of a fire, plus a chair that he can sit in. Which is maybe the best feature of them all, given how uncommonly like shit Bellamy feels, after getting thrown off his horse in full armor. He eases himself into the chair with minimal wincing, and as soon as he's seated he grabs up his wine, taking a generous gulp. It burns his throat when he swallows, but it warms him, too, so he has a second sip as soon as he can manage it.

He's a cup and a half in when he hears the name Montemps. And then he can't help himself; he looks over, caught as sharply as if there's a string tied to his nose, yanking his attention sideways. The name was on the lips of a man some feet away, bent low over his table as he tells some tale to the others around him.

Unfortunately the wine has softened Bellamy's wits a little. He's still got his wine in hand, and his turn is a little more dramatic than it would be otherwise, sharp enough to jar his arm against someone--trying to squeeze past him and back to the bar, or maybe sitting at the table beside him, chair pulled too close--either way, the impact sloshes the wine over Bellamy's hand. His breath catches, he swears under his breath--and drops the cup right on the feet of the person he's just inadvertently elbowed.

Damn. "Sorry-- sorry, that was--" He's sincere, but fumbling, and the drink puts a flush in his cheeks a little more quickly than he'd flush otherwise. He grabs a cloth off the table and starts trying to sop at some of the wine. "Sorry."

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"Hey, I'm a practical nature-lover." He fishes a leather cord out of the saddlebag and loops it around the skinned squirrel's back paws, lashing them together before he ties it to the bag, like some weird talisman. Or maybe just dinner. "Means I don't turn my nose up at opportunity."

And neither does she. That's how she got out here in the first place. If it was him, and someone strongly suggested that he stay put? He'd probably do the same. Maybe he'd even take off if he thought his odds were good enough. Just being out here suggests that she's an opportunist, and smart enough to slip out unnoticed.

Bellamy tightens the strap of Hector's saddle and gives the horse a pat on the neck, once, a gesture of comfort that's trying to hide as a utilitarian gesture of reassurance. The horse nickers, again, uncertain, his ears turning. Bellamy grabs the reigns and wraps them quick around his hand.

Then he nods at the rifter. "Lead the way. It's your walk."

"What opportunity is that? That's hardly enough meat for an appetizer. And he'll make a pretty small hat." She's judging a little, sorry. Mostly because she's at least a little bit sad at the idea of somebody hunting squirrels. Bigger prey like rabbit or deer probably wouldn't bother her. She liked animals but she liked humans more, and they made a good meal. Squirrel, though... those little guys were more tail than meat. It didn't seem productive to her.

Emma glances toward the horse and tries her best not to look guilty for the obvious nerves. She's already experienced it enough that she knows it's her fault. Something about being the Dark One means animals don't react well to her. Maybe she could convince the horse she's not a threat if she were to try, she's just intimidated enough by the animal that she's better off keeping her distance.

She picks her way around them to the path, keeping ample room for them to follow behind her. It's too small a path for them to walk next to her easily, especially when he's leading the horse. "You got a name, nature lover?" This is a bit backwards, he should probably be asking her and not the other way around. Her sheriff tendencies die hard.

"I don't know what it's like where you're from, but where I'm from? Little or not, that thing's a meal." Which probably says a lot about what he comes from. Some habits die hard. Short on resources even beyond childhood, and old habits have always died hard. If she'd turn back to look at him, she'd get a good look at his expression, dark with sarcasm. Come on, girlie. Don't be a food snob. "But if you want the fur for a hat, it's yours."

Bellamy's assumptions of the worst of her are pretty broad. Rifter, nervous around animals, disparaging toward his choice of food and choice of activity. The line about available food isn't just a line. It's true. But he also just sucks at hunting, like it or not. So what? Beats sitting around, or participating in the half-assed training drills with the other Templars. Not that he can count himself with them.

He snorts at her question, as he fits his feet into the footprints she's leaving behind, trusting her stride to mark out the path. "Yeah... Since I'm the one that's supposed to be asking the questions: you first."

She glances at him slightly curiously about the mention of food shortage, yet she can't really argue with it either, and seems to soften slightly. Food here isn't quite as plentiful as it was back in Maine. Especially when you don't have any money to buy it with, which she doesn't most of the timet. Even her world isn't that much better, in certain circumstances. When she had run away from the system and was sleeping in cars, would she be desperate enough to eat squirrel? Probably. It just so happened that poptarts were easier to steal than squirrels were to catch.

"Thanks, but I don't think squirrel hats would suit my dress." She can't think of anything else to do with the skin, either, but hopefully someone can. She rubs at her wrist, one that is empty and leaving the mark of her flower tattoo very obvious. Graham's bootlace is gone, disappeared in accepting the curse, and she misses it in moments like this when she thinks about him.

She shakes her head at the question immediately turned back on her, but doesn't have much of a reason to lie. "It's Emma." He doesn't need a last name, as far as she's concerned. "Didn't realize I wasn't allowed to ask my walking companion questions." She knows this is more like a ride along, but still.

Emma. Well, at least it sounds normal. Walking along behind her, he can't see what she's doing with her hands, but the movements read a little from behind. Nothing compulsive, nothing she seems like she's really trying to hide. Hector's ears turn back when she talks, but otherwise the horse plods along behind him, led by the grip Bellamy has on his reigns.

"You can ask questions. Doesn't mean I'm going to answer them. Bellamy," he offers, somewhat belatedly. "You got a lot of questions, Emma?"

The answer is probably yes. Right? Come through a rift and end up in Thedas--that's got to be more different than just crossing the border from Orlais to Nevarra. There's no sympathy for her in the thought, or sympathy for any of the other rifters. The sooner they're gone, the better. Everyone can agree with that--even Emma, probably.

He is right on that, even Emma can agree on that one! She'd rather not be here, she'd rather be with her family. Figuring out how to break this curse so things can hopefully be normal again. As normal as a town full of fairytale characters can possibly be, that is. She's mostly interested in finding a way to make that happen, and that's kind of hard when she's not allowed to leave Skyhold. Hopefully that will ease up sooner, rather than later.

"Bellamy," she repeats, half to herself and half to him. An interesting name, but no weirder than any other she'd heard lately. "I think it's pretty natural to have questions about a world you're suddenly trapped in." If the shoe were on the other foot, she'd bet he'd have questions, too.

She'd probably be just as suspicious as he was, though. At least they were even there.

"Yeah, sure." His easy agreement might be a tiny bit surprising, until he qualifies it: "And I think your first question should be, 'how do I get the hell out of here so I can stop making life a little harder for everyone else'."

Probably would be his first question too, if their situations were reversed, though with the focus more on keeping his own life less difficult. Who cares about intruding. But a mutually beneficial getting-the-hell-out isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Was that your first question?"

"You guys are the ones making your lives harder. Not me." Look, buddy, she didn't ask for a guard detail or a shard of... whatever lodged in her hand. Safe to say she already had enough of her own problems before all that. They were the ones determined on making sure all Rifters were monitored, on her own Emma would have probably focused on trying to find a way out and stayed as far out of their mess as she could.

"As far as I hear, there's no answer to that question yet." She assumes it will have something to do with the rifts. Look, if that's how she got here, that's how she's going to go home. It's not very reassuring that nobody seems to know how any of this works. "If you've got one, trust me, I'd love to go back to my family and get out of your hair."

It's not that he softens up when she brings up her family. Pretty much the opposite. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. And if he's thinking about Octavia, back wherever--or Clarke, who knows where--or any of the others, the close-knit group that he's come to think of not as a family but as people that he owes, people he's responsible for, people he would do anything to keep safe--well, shit. Who could blame him for keeping all that to himself.

But it's there, briefly, in the stormy pass of emotion that plays over his features. There, and then gone again.

"So does that mean you're alone here?"

Emma is known for her walking lie detector tendencies, and she can't quite miss that look, even if he's behind her and not next to her. She's got to wonder what about family crawls under his skin, yet it doesn't seem like a wise thing to ask about. It's not her business, and she doesn't intend to try and change that. Not too long ago, Emma's reaction to family had been much the same — bouncing a bailjumper's head off his steering wheel for pointing out the truth. Now, hers is a hobbled, broken jointed mass of a family, but it's still hers. She's not have a family for too long to give up on the chance of one now.

"That castle is full of people." Which is basically a hint that she doesn't intend to answer him in specifics. She's not actually completely alone, she's got Red along with her and that is a true gift compared to most Rifters. That's not any of Bellamy's business, though.

"Not your people," he counters, easily. "Which is a good thing, for my people."

Although once he's said it that way, he thinks twice about it. His people? Nowhere near here, with few exceptions. Lumping himself in with the Templars and the Inquisition feels fake, and wrong, and like nothing he wants to claim. Bellamy winds the reigns a little tighter around his hand, cutting off slow of the bloodflow to his fingers. It's a good feeling, kind of.

To distance himself from his own feelings, he lays back into Emma, more snide than cruel. "But I guess that means you're alone. Too bad. If you stick back there, do what you're told, maybe you can make a few friends for the time that we're stuck with you."

Telling Emma Swan she's alone is sort of like telling the ocean it's wet. It already knows and has probably resigned itself to the fact a long time ago. She has Ruby, which is more than she's usually got when things go to hell. It's a position of precarious honor, considering being close to her isn't particularly safe right now. Not for anyone, and it was just a little worse to put someone you cared about in danger. Not that Emma seemed to enjoy putting anyone in danger.

"You'd have a real career in life coaching," Emma says wryly, glancing back at him. She's not really going to go out of her way to follow that advice, but thanks for the heads up, Bellamy. She's really glad to have you looking out for her.

Life coach is lost on him. Or the specifics are, anyways; he gets the jist well enough from context. Well enough that he meets her gaze deadpan, except for the little raise of his eyebrows.

"Hey, anything to help. I figure you're going to need it." With an encompassing nod, like, just look at you. Living proof of that assessment. "Wandering out here on your own, on the thinnest pretext... You're lucky you ran into me."

Behind him, Hector snorts. It's kind of an agreement. Bellamy doesn't smile, but lets his steps slow for a minute, so Hector's nose bumps into his shoulder. Kind of like patting him.

"So what's a life coach do? Tell you what to do?"

"I'll take your word for it." In the end it just means her walk is chaperoned, instead of being sent back to the castle to stew. Though perhaps it could have been worse than that — questioning, restrictions, some kind of punishment for the audacity to walk outside. Emma finds she doesn't want to know what might have happened, so maybe Bellamy is right that she's lucky on this one.

What does a life coach do? "Give people advice, of perhaps questionable quality. Depends on the one you're listening to." Most of them were just out to take advantage and make easy money out of people desperate for answers. "I'm guessing they don't really have them around here." Probably for the best, they weren't exactly needed in her world, either.

"Nope." Easy confirmation of her suspiciouns. "Maybe in Val Royeaux. Seems like the kind of pointlessness they love in Orlais."

Maybe that's a little harsh. But after the perspective he's gained on what real problems are, and all the complications that come with them, the luxury of hiring someone to give you advice seems pretty damn stupid. He's got the Free Marcher toughness that associates stupid with wealthy and Orlesian. In other circles, that would be kind of a joke.

Bellamy's foot juts into a pothole hidden under the layer of snow that blankets the path. He guides Hector around it, as he steps free. Off in the woods, somewhere to their left, there's a soft whud as snow falls from a treebranch. The horse's ears swivel around again, but Bellamy doesn't pay it any mind. "Don't tell me you keep one on your staff back home."

Well, she's in agreement that life coaching is incredibly pointless. In fact Emma has never taken terribly well to most mentoring, even those with mildly better intentions. People tended to give advice without understanding the situation well enough for it to make any sense. Her social workers had never really had anything worth hearing to say, even if they told themselves they were doing the right thing for her.

"I've got plenty of people willing to give me advice I don't want back home, but no, I don't pay them for it." Her parents, Regina, all of Storybrooke seemed to have opinions on what it meant to be the Savior. None of which Emma was especially good at living up to. Emma turns toward the sound of snow falling, before rubbing at her ear. It's still unnerving to be able to hear so well.

"Willing is one thing. Offering without you asking for it?" That's another. Another that he's unimpressed with, by his tone. With grudging sympathy born only of similar experience, Bellamy gives her back a grim half-smile. Same. "Kind of nice to know some things are the same no matter where you are. Thedas, Skyhold, Emprise, Kaiten.. the Fade... through a Rift...."

The snow didn't get his attention, but her reaction does. Mildly. "Doing okay up there, Emma?"

"There will be people with ideas for what is best for you no matter where you go." Apparently that was a universal fact of every world. In the end, the worlds different and the rules and laws changed yet the people rarely did. And giving other people advice was always a lot easier than taking it yourself.

As far as his request, Emma shakes her head and rolls back her shoulders, intent on going back to Perfectly Normal, as if it never happened. As always, it never appears as seamless as she might like it to. "I'm fine," because she always is, obviously.

"Uh-huh," Bellamy agrees, skeptically. "Because you looked pretty startled. What's the matter? You wanted to go for a hike. I'm guessing that means that even back home, you were outdoorsy. Am I wrong?"

He nods, out to the trees around them. "You know it was just snow, right. No big bad demon."

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[OPEN] gone out, down the wrong way

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