thehometree | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

| characters | Fenris & Open

| date/time | Evening, April 19th

| location | Entrance

| rating | Some warnings of scars and abuse.

| summary | Fenris does not approve of this place.

The wooden floor of the tree was hard, the wall uneven and rough. Yet he still leaned to it, his lkarge green eyes following the bright light in the middle of the room as if it could give him any answers. He was tensed, uncomfortable all the way down to his core, and there had been no lies to avoid, no battle to fight.

Just a ray of light... and that gem.

Wings. A dream to some, an enhancement worthy of a magister, to conquer the skies the sky itself. Not to him. To Fenris, it was nothing but a joke, a cruel reminder from someone with lousy humor. He had been so disgusted, seething in silence at the mockery of those markings. There might be no lyrium in them, but the pattern was a perfect match.

You're still flawed, scarred, branded.

Anger was easy. Rage was comfortable to turn to, and he had sent the gem flying towards the wall of the room, hoping it would shatter; maybe release the illusion from his mind. It proved quite impossible, however, and it didn't matter how many times he threw the gem away. It somehow returned to him again, and it was more than a little disconcerting.

It made his skin crawl.

Whoever put him here weren't showing themselves, which had the elf even more on edge. He didn't like being alone. Not any more. Hawke had already been gone for a long time, and he didn't want to be trapped in this illusion when the mage came back.

He wanted to be free.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Looking up, the elf frowns again. There was no way he could reach that other floor from the entrance.]

That's not going to help me down here. I'm not using these wings.

Fair enough, [ he says, genially. ] in which case, there's other floors upstairs and out towards the meadow, if y'like.

You don't happen to have a rope, then?

[Honestly, all those promises required him to scale the floors.]

Sure I do. Hold on, I'll fetch it.

[ He disappears behind one of the doors, and then comes out carrying a thick rope, and hands it to Fenris. ]

Edited (eep) 2015-04-20 23:43 (UTC)

[Okay. A rope.

It was still one hell of a climb to the next floor... but he got what he asked for. What was the rope made of, anyway? Grass?

Was he really that tiny?]

Is this even gonna hold?

It better, or my middle name ain't Buchanan.

[ He eyes Fenris' lithe, quick movements. Definitely some kind of fighter. ]

If the stone ain't touching your skin, you won't have the wings, but there's no other real way to get around.

[He shouldn't be listening to unknown men with quite possible ulterior motives that could probably break his neck with a quick cut of this rope.

...but he also couldn't stay down here.

Grasping the rope, Fenris made a loop around one foot and then corrected his two-handed sword before he started to climb. It took him a moment, but he finally reached the next floor, arms straining from the pull.

He might be used to swinging a sword almost the size of him, but the damn thing wasn't as heavy.]

[ his only ulterior motive is friendship. it's that bad. ]

You can keep it if y'like. I've got more.

[Horrible.]

You must have been busy.

[To make a lot of rope, that it. Still, it could be useful, even if carting around this much rope would be a challenge.

Anything to not use those wings.]

...thank you.

Edited 2015-04-21 00:45 (UTC)

[ He flashes Fenris a bright smile. ]

No problem. Name's Barnes. Jim. Welcome to magic tree, no exit yet. We're workin' on that.

[Smiles shouldn't make him tense again. It was stupid; unneeded.]

Typical.

[Of course there was no way to leave, that was the point of it, wasn't it? Still, he regards the man again with distrust. The elf has the demeanor of a hunted man, someone that woke at night in fear.

It was hard to ignore it right now, even though he had come so far.]

...Fenris.

[ Something he recognises, only after years of war, though it's amplified in the elf a hundred times. No wariness shows, but he mutes himself down to faint warmth instead, a steady and constant presence. ]

Nice t'meet you, Fenris. Where're you from?

[At another time, he would be grateful for such a presence. It would remind him of Hawke.

For now, it was mostly unnoticed, the new place affecting him too much.]

Kirkwall.

[Safe enough. Plenty of people came from Kirkwall, and it had been true. This man's clothing wasn't familiar, however. Antivan?]

[ Doesn't matter; he won't stop. Surprisingly for someone who serves as a voice of reason, he can have as little a sense of self-preservation as Steve Rogers. ]

Sorry, never heard of it. I'm from Brooklyn, New York. [ he nods to the sword ] Which war?

[Brooklyn, New York. Not anything he had ever heard of, not even among Danarius' colleagues. It was just confusing him even more.

The mention of his sword, however, makes the white-haired elf reach up to touch the hilt of it.]

It's for protection. Not... not a war.

[Just his own personal one.]

[ Fenris might as well have run him through for what he feels at that, and his expression softens, mouth quirking downwards in sympathy. ]

Against what, if I can ask?

[That was such an odd question that it makes the elf pause.]

Enemies.

[Well, obviously.]

Bandits, mercenaries, demons... slavers.

[ Enemies, he says, like he divides the world with such clarity. Bucky's jaw sets, icy anger flickers at the word slavers, and then he pushes it back down. This isn't his to fight, much as he would in a heartbeat. What's here is a person marred by that conflict. ]

There's none of 'em here, [ he says, firmly. ] and if there are they won't be around long.

There are always some kind of enemies. I've...

[Why is he even talking about this?]

I've been killing slavers to protect the refugees back home. That's why it is with me.

[It was always with him. He rarely even took off the armor now when Hawke wasn't home.]

[ He makes a noise of agreement. ]

There's always some kinda war goin' on.

[ Killing doesn't bother him, and doing it in self-defence or to survive barely gets him to blink. Instead, he straightens. ]

Hey, are you hungry?

This place has left me without an appetite.

[That's a 'no'.]

[ He smiles wryly. ]

Well, if you want - anytime - you can come by that room, [ he gestures ] I live there. I've got leftovers, usually.

[A nice offer, yet he still manages to look suspicious.]

I do not need your charity.

[A brief pause, and he sighs.]

...that was unworthy of me. I apologize.

[ He shakes his head. ]

Don't worry about it. You fought a long time. It's safe here for now.

[ He wishes someone had said this to him, the first day out of the War, and so he hands it forward to Fenris. ]

['That's what we all say', we wanted to throw back to the man. 'I'm free, yet the battles never end.' He'd ran by Hawke's side, he'd fought with him, for him even long after Kirkwall.

Then he had been alone, watching a hole in the sky far in the distance and knowing the damn mage was there, risking his life again. Without him.

'I'll only be gone a few weeks, Varric needs me. No, stay here. There's a lot of red lyrium there, and I don't want you infected.'

'Write to me, Fenris. I'll be back soon.'

Fights never ended. He would have to accept that.

Slowly, slowly, his stance became a little less agitated, less defensive.]