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Come here for musebox stuff, PSLs, or post-captcha meme continuation. Put the verse or PSL or whatever in the subject line plz.
Hit this up if you know me and have an idea. Hit me up if you don't know me, we've never interacted IC or OOC, and you have an idea. Hit this up for any and all reasons. I welcome everything.
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It's a wound he'll never stop picking at, a hurt that doesn't go away, and saying the words aloud makes it that much more real.
So he doesn't say any more, only tilting his head in a slight, barely-there gesture of acknowledgement when Varric offers the obligatory condolences. At least in this case, the sympathy there feels genuine.
Though it's little consolation, really.
It's only when Varric speaks up again that a little bit of life is breathed back into Anders' listless expression - though it's in the form of a spark of affront. ]
I never thought it was. Karl and I didn't speak of it often, but we both knew without at doubt we'd never want to live that way - with our minds sundered, no will of our own.
What I did for him was what I hope he'd have had the strength to do for me, had our positions been reversed. What I hope you or one of the others will, should I ever wind up with the same brand.
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Anders as a Tranquil. Varric never really feared it - not when he apparently has an angry glowing Tranquility cure crammed up his keister - but the thought still brings a shudder. When the mage invokes him or "one of the others" he looks up again.]
Of course, Anders. [Solemn.]
You're right, [not just about Karl] but that didn't stop it from being the single worst moment of my life.
[And he's had some doozies.]
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[ Nothing has changed that for him, and Anders has no shortage of unpleasantness behind him, either.
But there's little more to say to that, and he lapses into pensive silence again, looking out across the room but not seeing any of it. There are some things you don't walk away from, never really. That's just the simple truth of it. ]
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Once the wine buzzes in his fingers and he's refilled Blondie's cup at least once, he speaks.]
So, Blondie, how's that manifesto of yours coming along?
[He's never asked before.]
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The silence is definitely preferable, when he hears Varric speak again. Anders pauses with his mug halfway to his mouth, again, and sets it down without taking a drink, instantly wary.
No one asks, really. And when they do bring it up, it's never really because they want to know. ]
It's... fine, I suppose. Listen, you don't have to feign an interest. I know the plight of mages hardly bothers you.
i super hope this is coherent
[He says peevishly. His usual, easy, languid manner has abandoned him tonight.]
You think anyone can grow up in Kirkwall without losing a few friends to the Gallows?
[But... but. But Kirkwall is also a city rife with blood magic, and Varric has spent his whole life hearing, seeing, and feeling the horror of that. The average Kirkwaller sees more blood magic than the average non-Kirkwall Templar. So there was always that clouding the issue. And the issue of how to do anything about it without bringing down the whole damn world around their ears, or causing an Exalted March so furious it makes the Dales look like a friendly disagreement.
He had his own shit to deal with. He never understood Anders's single-minded hatred, or his inability to simply relax and enjoy his freedom. They've had plenty of conversations to that effect.]
It's... listen. If what happened to Bartrand had been somebody's fault, done on purpose? I'd- I don't even want to think about what I'd do. It wouldn't be pretty.
[It's a glimpse into the why of Anders. A sudden, sharp shock of empathy for the man's unwavering crusade. Varric always understood the plight and the injustice of it, he just didn't have this connection- this insight that could outweigh the powerful allure of the status quo.]
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He doesn't want to argue; this is neither the time nor the place for it. But he still has to bite back another bitter remark.
It's not about placing blame, or having some personal stake. It's so much more than that. But— ]
It's... fine, Varric.
[ Anders straightens the sleeves of his coat, sitting back in his chair and not managing to look less sullen than he imagines he does. ]
Why not just read it, sometime, if you really want to know how it's going?
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Alright, bring it over next Wicked Grace night.
[He reaches for Anders's mug and slides some water down Blondie's way instead. If the mage isn't gonna drink it, then Varric can give that ale a good home.]
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[ Equally as halfhearted.
He shakes his head when Varric passes the water his way, as well. ]
I should probably get going, soon. Any later, and it'll be safer to wait until dawn before trying to walk back to Darktown.
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[That wasn't halfhearted. He really did want to see the manifesto- even felt a bit shitty for never having asked about it before.
His movements were halfhearted: taking the mug, moving the water. Anything involving physical motion. That was halfhearted. But the words? No.]
Stay safe, Blondie. Thanks for- you know.
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[ It's almost a wan smile on his lips, as he finishes setting himself to rights again and nods, taking up his staff and heading for the door. He doesn't relish the long walk back to the clinic, but at least the fresh air might help clear his head. ]