[ OPEN ] Days too full, nights too dark

[fleurdesel]

WHO: Adelaide & You
WHAT: Catch all for end of Guardian & Drakonis
WHEN: All of Drakonis
WHERE: EDL, Skyhold
NOTES: some prompts to follow, poke me via PM or plurk if you want a particular starter!

[ The Healing Tents ]

Even if nothing else seems to be certain- this much she knows she has right. Every scrape, every wound, every cough she mends with a faint murmur and twist of Compassion's power. Here things are simpler. There is an injury, she is to mend it. No questions of morality or trust beyond that which her patients put in her to see them made well. It's simpler. It's a relief, honestly, after the current mess. Here if nowhere else she can trust her judgement beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now and then the lantern outside showing she is taking patients is shuttered- feel free to come in and find her drinking tea with a cold compress to her forehead. Migraines, Oh joy.


[ The Library ]

For every answer there are at least ten to twenty more questions- though the further along she goes the more precise she might make them and the less dithering about archaic academic footnotes she has to endure. Still she hunches over texts with notes, ink staining her fingers, tea at her elbow long since gone cold as she sketches and notes what scraps of something coherent she can find in these rituals on spirits, the fade, and demons. Either deep in thought, scribbling furiously, or dozing in her chair she is easy to find in the far corner, candle melting down the hours.


[ The Garden ]

Lessons in the morning, sparring in the evening, meditations around midday or tea with whomever she finds that has been overworking themselves just as much as she has which will not do. Adelaide sits here cool and calm at dawn, sculptures of ice spinning through her fingers in forms and shapes that meld and melt and meld over and over- in the early day with her students going over magical theory or discussing with them one on one their fears about demons and fade dreams, in the evening with a rapier, practicing forms, or late at night when she is unable to sleep, staring at scorched earth grass is only just beginning to grow over.

Comments

[fleurdesel]

That is... [ The first thing that's wrung a half crackled laugh out of her. ] A very apt way of putting it. You have quite the way with words, Church.

[motherfucking_ghost]

Eh. [He shrugs and takes a sip of bourbontea.] It's a gift.

[fleurdesel]

You might wish to return it. [ More brandy, less tea. She sips and goes so far as to extend a hand to him, curious as to how he might take it. If he might take it. ] I did not say it was a fine way with words.

[motherfucking_ghost]

Isn't having a way better than not having a way at all? I'll mark it as a win in my book.

[There is a hand. Why is she- what is hand for. Is this suddenly flirty, should he like, brush fingers, or is she waiting for something-- He finally decides that, given her topping off her drink, she intends to do the same for him and hands over his cup.]

But seriously, fuck that guy for taking advantage of your trust and your friendship.

...Okay, but real talk, does that mean I'm being a shitheel trashpile if I'm not telling my friends all about me? I mean. The part that you've made pretty clear might get me killed dead for real this time if I did. I doubt that was the case for your no-longer-buddy. Or should these things come out regardless?

[fleurdesel]

No, I do not think it is.

[ Well that-

That is...she snorts and rolls her eyes, filling his cup again with the Brandy while making a mental note that such gestures do not seem to gel with whatever it is Church thinks they might be. ]

The man that called himself Detlef is actually a wanted war criminal apostate named Anders; he destroyed a chantry, murdered several hundred people in doing so, and sparked the Mage Templar war in an irrevocable way. If your lie is hiding you much in the same that his did him- I would say that you ought to be honest. As you are not a danger as far as I can tell? I cannot comment one way or the other.

[motherfucking_ghost]

[Orlesian ladies move in mysterious ways. Or maybe just ladies in general. Tucker would sure as fuck agree.]

It's more like a lie of omission? My name is my name, and I haven't lied about anything else. It's not like people straight up ask if I'm, y'know, a person or whatever. So I'm not really lying to anyone's face. It's just in the...presentation. [With a short gesture to himself. His self. The meatbag body he found himself dropped into.]

[fleurdesel]

The truth of your identity isn't that of a war criminal that tore the continent apart. I think, perhaps, you are safe enough to keep it so long as you wish. How others may feel on the matter? I cannot say.

[motherfucking_ghost]

...Yeah. Good point. [The Director is a war criminal that tore a lot of people and teams and families apart, but he's just...collateral damage.] Fuck the motherfucker for kicking off a war and then pretending like he didn't have anything to do with it. And fuck him for playing his 'friends' like a fiddle.

[fleurdesel]

Again your way with words. [ Her smile is sharp edged if turned inward, the pain less for him and more for herself. ] You are not so terrible a friend, Church.

[motherfucking_ghost]

You'd...probably find some people disagreeing with you there. If my friends were here. Okay if one of them was here, but he's an asshole. It's kind of...nice? Ish? This whole fresh start thing.

[fleurdesel]

...Do I really want to know?

[motherfucking_ghost]

No. No you don't. Probably better to ignore half the things I say; pretty sure you figured out that one already. [He is capable of being jokingly self-depricating.]

[fleurdesel]

It does make understanding you less of an issue.