sixthiterationlogs | one | Dorian and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

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one | Dorian and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

WHO: Dorian Pavus
WHERE: Fountain Park
WHEN: 29th
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None as of yet. Will update.

Fountain
Dreaming of drowning wasn't uncommon, especially when one was facing an ever-increasing threat with nothing less than the fate of the world hanging in the balance. One could almost say it was expected, even, given the vast pressure all of the Inquisition was under, but it wasn't merely a dream, was it? Even when they'd physically walked the Fade, it was less real than-

Fasta vass! The water burned his eyes as he kicked toward the surface, or at least what he hoped was the surface, as it was far lighter there than behind. He gasped in a relieved breath as he broke free of the water, hands instinctively finding the edge of the fountain and pulling himself free. Having grown up in a port city had its uses, it seemed. The meager clothing he was in clung to his drenched form as he simply took a seat on the edge of the fountain and pulled the weight from his shoulders...a pack it would seem. Then a breeze blew through the square and a deep shiver rippled through his body. The water didn't stay long in his oiled hair, but it ran freezing troughs down his back, forcing him to his feet, the squelch of his water-logged feet in some of the most atrocious boots he'd ever seen pulling a groan from the Tevinter mage. He turned his attention to the pack he'd removed, one thoroughly unfamiliar and certainly not something he'd choose, trying to shake a strange almost hollow feeling that was flooding his limbs. He felt hollow, listless.

Perhaps this was all a terrible nightmare, he'd awaken in his freezing room in Skyhold to the realization his fire had burned too low. That would explain the chill, but that didn't quite feel right. For one, he'd never dreamed this vividly, and even in his nightmares...this was all far too...mundane. Don't mind the dripping man in violet scrubs with the fancy mustache and the moistened but clearly quite stylish hair. He's just going to systematically remove all the items in his pack on a nearby bench until he finds-

"Maker's Breath, a coat!" He wastes no time sliding into that, at least. It wasn't much, but it did something. One step at a time. Marginally warmer, but no closer to answers, he begins to repack that bag he's been provided, though his olive eyes look around regularly, alert to anyone approaching. Something still doesn't feel right, after all, and that hollow, missing feeling was beginning to breed unease.

Inn (South Village) | A bit later
Very few answers to his multitude of questions having made sense, Dorian would like nothing more than to find this library others have mentioned and ready every bit of literature it provided until some clue connected to some other one and so on in the same fashion until the who affair made sense. That adventure, however, would be for another day. His mind was still reeling from the foreignness of it all, and the numb shock of learning his magic was held at bay from him still left his nerves raw. He felt powerless (as he was), exposed, vulnerable and weak. It was unacceptable that whoever or whatever had pulled him here had such a hold over his wellbeing.

Following some sort of routine seemed best as he found a vacant room in the inn, changed into a dry pair of those strange pieces of clothing, violet in color, he'd been provided in the waterproof sack, and made his way down to the common room to dry the rest beside the fire. The slight shake of his hands as he worked, the tenseness in his shoulders, could almost be mistaken as a fault of the chill in the air if it weren't for the way he looked about, jumped at shadows or unexpected sounds. Perhaps the weather had a hand in it, but more than that...Dorian was afraid. Even at his most secluded, hiding for weeks in the Hinterlands hoping for some opportunity to subvert the efforts of his former mentor who'd seemed to have fallen off the proverbial wagon, he'd had his magic with him.

He was dealing with powers beyond his understanding. That was unacceptable, and he didn't have a way to protect himself from them if it were necessary. It was possible the library would provide more answers, and he'd have them, but tonight, he was just hoping to find enough peace of mind to relax a bit, and he'd welcome a friendly face to ward away the gloom, or at least a bit of the fear.

No. Not fear. It's the cold, by the Maker. Just the cold.

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Hawke kept showing up at the fountain day after day, and she must have great timing because this is not the first time she sees someone crawling out of it. She's a fair distance though, and she's leisurely walking since the person doesn't appear to be in pain or crying out. It's the mustache that really clues her in. There could be a lot of people who look like him, arguably, but no one with the mustache that Varric told her all about. She teased him about his fascination with the good looks of his friend, and how he did it all on purpose. And here's another Inquisition member that isn't Varric. Ah, well.

She's casual as she walks closer now that he has a coat on, not sneaking up or anything. Her own hair is up and out of the way, no longer in her yellow scrubs since it seems impractical now that she's getting ready to go on a hunt. She's in black instead, plain and simple. She's hardly the towering Champion people speak of thanks to legend, although she is recognizable on the spot for people who know what they're looking for. Hawke alive and in the flesh, no longer in the Fade.

"Uh oh, better dry off that mustache before it starts splitting at the ends." Her smile is cheerful.

He puffs at the accusation, even though he doesn't immediately recognize the woman making it. He does smooth his hands over his mustache and curls the ends, though it's more for show than any sort of actual concern. It's well oiled, after all. A bit of water isn't going to disturb it. He turns afterward, and pauses, staring. The last time he saw her, she was turning against the largest demon he'd ever seen, distracting it to enable their escape from the...Fade. Perhaps this was all an elaborate dream.

That seemed unlikely, though. His expression softened slightly, perhaps because the sparse clothing in which he'd found himself was starting to dry a bit.

"If a brief dip in a freezing fountain was enough to damage my facial hair, I'd have to rethink my entire facade, Hawke." And yet, it's a comfort to know she's here, that something here was familiar midst all this madness.

Hawke could have done the ta-da I'm alive thing, but acting like nothing is wrong is basically her way of coping with everything. Joking about it or in denial about it. "That's freezing? Oh you sweet Tevinter soul." He might not be one of hers, but he is, extendedly. Their adventures only briefly coincided, but Hawke has an unusual knack for counting people as 'hers' regardless of whether they're actually friends. It's how she made all her others. She just thought 'mine' at them for long enough they became part of the same crew. And it's better than being alone.

"I'm fairly certain this is only going to get worse. Weather wise. But neither of us are dead! That's something. I have low standards." She realizes around that time that things are in fact going to be worse, because she kept thinking if Bethany came through there, she'd be devastated to lose her magic. And Bethany wasn't even close to experienced the way Dorian is. Hawke's concern shows, the emotion crossing her face like a ripple. She shakes it off. "Let's get to the inn, it's warm and there's food. Also Bull's around here somewhere. He might spot us there if we wait." And maybe she won't have to tell him!

"There are two words I never thought to hear a Southerner utter in the same breath." 'Sweet Tevinter' indeed. Members of the Inquisition spat at his feet as he passed, muttered insults behind his back, or to his face whenever they were beyond the earshot of the Inquisitor. Still, he smiles even as he pulls that peacoat closer about himself.

"Please, Hawke. I'm too pretty to die, and you," he moves his gaze over her form, a teasing sort of smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "are far too stubborn, at least if half the tales Varric spins are true."

No, no, Hawke. There's no need to be concerned about the Tevinter altus. He can take care of himself just fine, thank you very much, even if there is a nagging wrongness hanging about he can't quite put his finger on. He hasn't tried to summon his magic, though the loss of his staff is something he's painfully noting. "Food and warmth, you say?" And there's the momentary smile at the knowledge that the Bull is present, though it's quickly hidden by a turn as he retrieves his pack. No, no. There's no cause for excitement or comfort at the Bull's presence. Whatever is going on between you two is a lot, yes, but nothing...nothing like that. "Do lead on."

"Never, ever believe half of what Varric says," Hawke says on a laugh. She's the last person to pull such bigotry on anyone. After everything she's been through, after all her mistakes, she's not about to judge another person. Tease them, absolutely, make jokes about an entire area, of course, but judge? No, she'll leave that for Meredith. Alllll for Meredith. Her warmth is genuine and so is the rest of her. Varric made her into a legend, but it's because he knew the true person. And exactly how to make her roll her eyes the hardest.

"You should have read his letters about you lot. I swear he falls in love with everyone in his own writer-driven way." They did have excellent stories after all. No she's not falling apart without him after they only had a short reunion and then she died. That's far too sad to dwell on.

Hawke gestures for him to follow and walks toward the main village. "So there's a lot of buildings, some for living in, a library I think, the inn has a kitchen and rooms, it's basic conditions of a small type of village, but not terrible." It's relatively clean, that's the good part, and for now not as deathly. She's been here long enough to know her way around, and she leads him right to the inn, opening the door and dramatically bowing as she holds it open. It is dry and warm in there, at least. "There's a storeroom with a lot of knick knacks, it's where I got my knives. I suppose it's all open season there." No one stopped her. She gestures toward the village census and village events "There's a load of information in there. Gave me a damned headache."

"I do work with him, you know. I am aware." Even not knowing Varric's love of a good story or the fact that he's a published author with several works in circulation, it was impossible to meet the dwarf and not learn quickly his words are at the very least 60% filigree. It actually touches the pit of his stomach with a hint of homesickness to think on it too long. Well, there's something unexpected: missing the dwarf.

He was glad of the topic shift, speaking of Varric's opinion gave him something tangible to focus on rather than overwhelming himself with his current predicament. He'd adjust, and rather quickly of course, but he'd seek his own answers more than drinking up someone else's. Still, perspective was wonderful. "I shudder to think what he may have said of me." And yet, his tone suggested he was asking.

He followed her explanation with his eyes, turning his head to regard one location or another, and followed her dramatic entry into the inn with a roll of his eyes. It was a quaint place made more acceptable by the warmth and the dryness. The hunger for information flashed across his gaze as his eyes fell upon the census and the logs, noting their location for later, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "If a census gave you a headache, Hawke, you should read more often." Granted, he'd also been raised to be a politician. Maybe he was conditioned.

Still, looking around at the alien surroundings, noting the great hearth in the inn, the tables, and chairs, he frowned, looking back to her.

"Where is 'here', precisely? It's...rather unfamiliar."

"All true things. Varric doesn't lie to me." She's confident of that. In the early days, yes, they barely knew each other then, and they both were born liars. But at a point, they bonded so tightly that nothing could touch it. He lied about her and for her, but never to her. "Outside of lies of omission, of course, they don't count." Hawke smiles at that. Everyone still deserves their secrets. "He said you were handsome and complicated." And some other details she was omitting because that wasn't lying, and Varric's observations were usually personal and a little too on the nose. Dorian didn't know her yet. It's better to keep it casual.

"Blah, reading." Hawke lacks the patience for studying. Her intelligence is in wit and instinct, and that's about all she feels she needs at the moment. She moves into the kitchen for a moment and comes back with water for him and some bread to nibble on for her. "In my defense, you go ahead and read it and try not to get a headache. This place is mad. We're used to monsters, yes, but ...." Perhaps she read more than she plans on admitting to. "So here's the fun thing, they all thought they were hallucinating. They called it a simulation, but it felt real at the time, and then they woke up here. With all those bizarre tubes down in the ground." None of which made any sense to her. She has a feeling there was a culture difference she isn't fully prepared for. "So it's a bit of a mindfuck. They're all wondering if we're real or fake."

Hawke doesn't have any insight into that. She feels real. That'll have to be enough. "Far as I know, we're not anywhere near home. We're not on the same plane. We're somewhere else completely."

It was almost an unconscious gesture, the slight puffing at the compliment, the gentle and slightly narcissistic smile that teased the corners of his lips at the description. "Well, I am handsome." And while he didn't allow the curiosity to play across his face, he did wonder what Varric may have omitted about him. There were several things he could think of, and hope for, but he was almost hesitant to ask. Besides, there were far more pressing matters than one dwarf's opinion of a Tevinter mage.

"To err on the side of caution and feeling, I'm going to assume we're all real until proven otherwise." And yet the altus didn't sound particularly nonplussed by the concept of another option. It wasn't to say the idea of being a fabrication, however ludicrous a suggestion as that was, didn't bother him, but that evidence and discovery were far more important to him that getting all out of sorts about a possibility.

"We'll see what this information tells me." He nods his thanks at the water and has a seat by the fire. With the comforting glow close by he can think more clearly. "And that is unsurprising. They've...somehow distanced me from my body's own ability to pool mana from the Fade, and yet, unlike Tranquility, I am still in full possession of my emotions. The Fade is nearby, but not directly accessible. Perhaps...we're simply too far away for a mage to touch it."

Hawke isn't about to warn him that Varric rarely likes to her of omission either. In letters, absolutely, because who knows what eyes might see it. It's when the nicknames he came up with really came in handy. But when they caught up in person, he told her most of what he knew. She still prefers making her own mind up on people though. She grins at him. "But not complicated? Don't tell me you're secretly a simple innocent thing, what would be the fun in that?" She does agree he's handsome, no doubt about that, but she also doesn't have to confirm it.

She is quiet, uncharacteristically, when he talks about his powers. It does seem like he's figured out he doesn't have them, but confirming solidly one way or the other seems an intense choice. Still. Hawke sighs and has a seat across from him. "They took everyone's powers away, Dorian. Whoever it is that has us here, still no answers on that. No one has their original powers. And I don't think they've gotten them back." And it's been years, so that's saying something. She's saying it as kindly as she can, because she knows the mages in her life would be devastated by something so drastic.

"It is written that some people displayed new abilities here that they never had before, but I haven't seen any myself." But there was some hope? Maybe? "There's also this machine that gives people powers, but sometimes it's broken I guess, or it doesn't really do what someone expects." Still, at least he now knows there's two vague options that don't make him completely powerless. Just ... not ideal ones.

"that should be assumed, Hawke. Everyone is far more complicated than they seem." At least in his experience, that was the way of it. Besides, while he wouldn't be comforted by the idea of just anyone knowing his secrets, much to his chagrin, he trusted the dwarf, who in turn trusted Hawke implicitly. By extension, so did Dorian.

Dorian was one of the most talented mages of his generation and he had the accomplishments and good school marks to prove it. To so easily have his most prized ability taken from him...he felt beyond useless. He felt like a failure more keenly than he ever had before. He scoffed her explanation, though not in any sort of pointed way. He saw her tales of abilities beyond the mundane for what it was: an attempt at comfort.

"Oh, good. Maybe I'll be spontaneously granted the ability and creative affinity for stained glass production. This place could use more color, after all."

"Not everyone. I've met a few people who are exactly what they seem. My uncle Gamlen for example. As difficult as he appears right away." She doesn't know she'd go so far as to say simple, but he also doesn't have many intricacies underneath it all. Hawke's dealt with others that way, and sometimes it's better, to know up front who someone is. "But point made. No one who has an interest in world saving can be. That's a tall order for all." Hawke's only contribution to world saving is how she died. Kirkwall was difficult enough.

She's not great with the comfort; she's great with the funny commentary. This isn't one of those moments. While she cannot entirely fathom what a loss of something like that would be, her sympathy is at least honest. It's not the first time she's been the bearer of bad tidings, and for someone else she might have tried to joke about it. They don't know each other that well, but beyond that, this is a major blow. Even if they get more powers, like she said, they aren't his. Part of his identity is stripped away. There's no way to comfort that fully.

"Glass is what you'd go for? I was thinking colorful furniture. Comfier chairs. A table to play cards at. Of course I'd end up making this into a new pub, rather than what you'd likely to drape it in all fancily."

"I like to think many of us are participating out of sheer obstinacy." Which was a least partially true of Dorian. "And there are always exceptions to every rule, I believe. Except for that one, of course."

It was as though a piece of himself were missing, one he'd never fully recover, and the thought of that alone was terrifying enough to avoid the thought process entirely. It would instead be explored later, in solitude, where he could properly fall to pieces away from prying eyes.

He instead shakes his head at her assessment. "There is something to be said for a cozy tavern rather than a wine hall filled with pomp and circumstance."

Hawke laughs. "Now that I agree with completely. Even the most sweet tempered or passive of people can dig their heels in when they want to. I admit freely I'm the same. Obstinate that is, not sweet tempered." She is under no illusions. She's a pain in the arse. She more often than not reacted negatively to orders or pushing from people in authority. She is much better with people who are her equal or lower in standing. Her aggressive dislike of Meredith was well known in Kirkwall.

She smiles at Dorian genuinely. So not as much of a snob as she expected. Not that she actually minds snobs in the least. They have good taste. Her mother was one in many ways. Nobility was difficult to outlast. "I don't like wine. It makes me sleepy. Give me ale or rum any day." She misses the Hanged Man desperately. It flutters in her stomach now, that longing for a simpler time. Alas.

"Bull lives not too far from here, I'll take you there if you want, once you adjust a bit. I'm certain he'll happy to see one of his own people here. I'm not certain how long he's been here, but long enough to settle in." Hawke's glad they had a chance to talk and get a measure for each other. Varric assured her in letters she would like him a great deal, and she agreed after only a few moments of chatting. "He told me you lot managed to bring the bastard down, which makes what happened well worth it." Her own death, she means.

"Wine makes me happy, and consoles me in the darkest of times." He breaks that somber note with a smile, though. "And so, more for me, then." That wasn't to say ale or rum didn't have their places. He even enjoyed both in kind, but wine had a way of warming him that the others lacked. He did admit, at least to himself, that may have been due to an ongoing bout of homesickness, but no one else needs know about that.

Something akin to happiness swelled in his chest as the knowledge of Bull's residence was revealed and that he shoved down right quickly. That the lummox's presence would make him happy? Ridiculous.

"Oh, if he's about, I'm sure I'll run into him eventually. He has a habit of being obvious. A horrid quality to be found in a spy, truly." And there was an underlying fondness in that overly-critical assessment that suggested he was rather glad at the news. He had other news to smile over, after all. "Naturally. Corypheus cannot be suffered to live, if one can call his existence living, that is. He's a noxious stain on my homeland's otherwise perfectly tarnished reputation, after all."

She understands all too well brushing something serious off with a non-serious remark. It might very well be her greatest skill, so she has no trouble going with it. "That's if you can find any here. These bastards put us into a situation like this without providing copious amounts of liquor to counteract it. So very cruel." Hawke hadn't wanted to drink herself unconscious yet, but she might change her mind on that eventually. There was time.

A smile curls at Hawke's lips, perhaps tinged with a little mischief, as Dorian talks about Bull. Hmmmm. If that was a thing, it wasn't one Varric actually told her about. Salacious details were her favorite, how dare he! "He's in this three bedroom house, red brick and white trim. I'm fairly certain he comes here for lunch too, so I suppose if you just happened to be looking for him, it wouldn't be that difficult." She's teasing. Even if she's off about this, it's still good-natured ribbing. He seems unlikely to be openly affectionate with any of his companions, unlike Hawke, who hangs off them every chance she gets.

"I really should have known he was one of those stubborn bastards who could find a way to live. He did the evil monologuing so well." Hawke blames herself enough for it that she chose to die, but she did kill him the first time. It simply didn't take. That reminds her though, of something she hadn't asked Bull. "Did the Wardens attempt to rebuild and make it work? If my last request was ignored, I am going to find a way to haunt their arses."

"The lummox is difficult to miss in any regard. If he's about, though, he is welcome to find me. I am also rather difficult to miss." His lips curled in a self-appraising smirk. Rather confident, this Dorian.

"To be fair, in his memory, Tevinter ruled the known world. Quite the blow to the ego to awaken to a world who hates and despises your homeland." And of course, by his tone, he's disgusted by the entire affair. "They are our allies, Hawke. The Inquisitor would hear of nothing else."

Hawke just laughed. "Oh that's how you like to play it. I see. I am certain he will be delighted to see you. After all, he almost seemed pleased to see me, and he barely knows me." She was pleased to see him too. They had a delightful chat. She could see why her dwarf liked them both now. "And his people despise me, so I was slightly concerned I'd have another Qun fight on my hands." The last one she survived with great difficulty.

"Well of course, if anyone woke up to that they'd be cranky, but going from cranky to I will take over the world!" Said in a dramatic tone, fist in the air, before she broke it with a smile. "Bit dramatic." To say the least. She was openly relieved at the reassurance that the Wardens kept their word. She usually expected the worst. It was nice to occasionally be surprised. "It was worth it, then."

Yes, Hawke, that is precisely how he likes to play it, and it will stay that way for the foreseeable future if he has anything to say about it. That being said, he does nod in agreement. "The Iron Bull is odd for his people in many regards. You do realize the Qunari and Tevinter have been at war for the past three hundred years, don't you?"

He chuckles, rolling his shoulder in a shrug. "This creature was, at one time, a man who devised a way to breach the Veil and walk the Fade physically. He's slightly ambitious." But his expression softens slightly as she continues. "Yes, I suppose it was, Hawke."

"What? Why didn't anyone tell me?! I'm always the last to know about three hundred year old wars." Yes she is a sarcastic bitch and no she isn't sorry about it. Hawke is convinced she's in good company on that particular fact. "That being said, Varric's fond of him, and that would make him the one and only Qunari I can say that of. He's much slower to like people than I am, I fall in platonic love at first sight regularly." Hawke doesn't like everyone, but when she does feel engaged with someone on a friendly level, she tends to bond quickly.

Hawke chuckles. "I don't know why people want to rule the world anyway. It sounds like so much work. I had to put up with one city, I wasn't even running it at the time but I had to be engaged, and that was terribly exhausting." And awful really. Yuck. Hawke's smile is touched with sadness, waving a hand as if waving off her death and the grief therein. That's something Future Hawke might have to feel. "I knew I wasn't meant to live long. I could've chosen a safer path, but it would've been boring."

"Well, we don't precisely have any allies we can call upon for aid, now do we?" He chuckles at that, shaking his head. "It's a point of national pride, after all, going it alone." He rolled his shoulder in a shrug, though. "That being said, The Iron Bull serves as one of the few practicing Qunari I've ever met, even if he has since abandoned his beliefs for individuality. I believe him to be...singular at any rate, and...I'm pleased to have met him." And that will, most likely, be the most description of feeling he's going to provide on the matter at the moment.

He smiles at her story, though, a hint of sadness. Oh, he wouldn't have minded counting himself among Hawke's companions, he thinks. No, most certainly not. "Well, you've certainly seen to it life at your side is never boring, Hawke. I'm honored to have met you."

Hawke smiles at him. "Good thing that you were more comfortable with allies. There'd be no winning against Corypheus if you lot tried that route. Although I wish I could believe it wouldn't take a world ending threat to make people work together." But she doesn't believe it, because people were hot messes even if they seemed like they weren't. "So you are able to work well with others and he's able to be more independent, what a perfect way to meet in the middle." The problem with being befriended by Hawke (whether you like it or not) is she always finds reasons to tease. She puts up her hands. "I'll stop, it's just fun, I can't help it."

Her eyes widen slightly at the sincerity and she's honestly touched by it. This is typically the time when she would say something to laugh and change the subject, because she's never been good at taking compliments for all her airy confidence. "That's terribly sweet and it hurts me not to awkwardly dance my way out of feeling things about it, so I'm just going to thank you."

He chuckles, a playful if slightly sardonic sound, and he waves his hand dismissively at the lot of it.

"Maker's name, please do. All of this is thoroughly maudlin. I say we return to jesting at one another's expense posthaste lest we bond or something similarly sickening."

The curl of his lip suggests he's teasing as well, of course.

"Ew, bonding, that implies caring and who wants that? That's borderline offensive!" Hawk laughs, her dark eyes dancing. "Alright how about I throw jokes at you until I get you to laugh?" She is dedicated.

[Maybe wrap on this too! More to come!]

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one | Dorian and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

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