apothecary ;

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hi. it’s been a minute.

so i’ve been trying to just come on here and write or even just be present for a while now, but i am feeling really bogged down lately. my grandmother is very sickly, she’s been in the hospital now for several days and is moving to a full time care facility with the idea that she will potentially be there for the remainder of her life. which, based on how the doctors speak about it, that’s not long off now.

needless to say i have a lot of things on my mind and my plate; on top of my grandmother’s failing health, there’s a few other things going on. the owner of my work’s building is selling, and so we have to move to a new facility that isn’t retrofitted for some of the services we offer. on top of that, schedules are changing and i might be losing hours (though if i lose a whole shift, i will quit on the spot, i’ve already told one of my assistant managers i will), so that’s got me incredibly stressed out. i currently live at home and don’t pay rent, but i have two dogs, one of which gets a surgery next month, and i really cannot afford a pay cut right now, in any way, shape or form. if i got sick, i wouldn’t be able to take time off (i had pneumonia over the holidays in december and STILL had to work). 

aside from RL stuff getting me down, i also just... don’t wanna be here? lol. i have this desire/need for a creative outlet, mostly i really do wanna rp. but i don’t think i’m in love with the character (adan) enough to want to keep coming back. he was fun for a few weeks, but picking up his character had been impulsive, and now i’m left feeling detached because i wasn’t as excited for him as i originally thought. i’ve thought about making a new blog, but the idea of making a carrd, making images, writing a biography... it just feels so god damn exhausting, especially because of everything else going on. 

so basically i’m just not sure i’m going to come back. please feel free to unfollow. at this point, idk what i’m gonna do. i have a few old characters i might bring back because that would be easy to do, and it would get me to the point of writing, which is what i want. but truth be told i just don’t know if that will help. i’ll have to test the waters, see how i feel. 

Haven. It wasn’t any place he had ever visited in all his time living in Ferelden. Not that he had even known about it until well after the news of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the events leading up to it during the fifth blight got out. The Hero themselves had discovered it after all, and discoveries of that magnitude had a tendency to spread wide and fast. By the time the news had reached him all the way in Kirkwall, it mattered little. There had been too much else on his mind to take much stock in the things he heard.

Being here now, however, well, Wyatt did not know what to make of it. Any of it. His predicament especially did not settle well and left him with a new churning in his gut. All chances of anonymity had gone out the window rather shortly after his arrival - they knew precisely who he was - rather who else he was beyond their so-called “Herald of Andraste”. It was a lofty title, far greater than Champion of Kirkwall had ever been and it was, quite frankly, ill-fitting. 

The apothecary’s cabin was a short distance from his own, or what he assumed were his own quarters, for they contained no personal touches of his or any clear indication they belonged to him beyond the fact it was the place he had woken up. 

His feet carried him unbidden to what was effectively the only real infirm in this makeshift village, and as he crept in, his eyes darted to and fro at the scene that awaited him. Books, pages, you name it littered the space around them and the look of frustration on the man’s face matched the chaos within.

Wyatt had been about to ask what happened, when he - Adan - spoke first. “Hawke, please. I really don’t know about all this Herald business. And, well, I’m now wondering if I should ask you the same question. I came to offer my thanks for treatment, but - ?” He gestured vaguely at the mess laying at his feet, a laugh on his lips. What was it with these healer types and their manic frenzies? Though, for all of Anders’ messes, Hawke could never recall the study in the manor ever looking quite like this.

𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 anything, it was not patient. It was why his bedside manner as a healer had been so piss-poor; something his sister had balked about often. You can’t talk to people like that, she would say, tutting softly as she took over his place at a patient’s side. She had had the soft demeanor, the compassion. Adan was callous and rough around the edges, annoyed at the drop of a hat and constantly bothered by requests that would see no benefit for him. He was a terrible healer. 

And yet here he was, working hand in hand with mages who’s healing magic was more beneficial, should the patient be receptive to the idea of magic healing them. Perhaps that was why he still had a job - because there were people so prejudiced enough that the idea of magic being the source of their relief was unfathomable. Little did they know, Adan was a mage. Just, not the kind that could use magic to stitch wounds and mend broken bones with the wave of his hand.

Turning to face the man - seeing as he was speaking (practically visiting) and not just promptly leaving like most did - Adan breathes in slowly and deeply before letting the breath slowly trickle out of his nose. Busy was an understatement to describe what he was currently doing, but he was going to do his best to not let that show. Sometimes, people who nearly died just needed to talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that’s what this was?

The apothecary’s eyes do not follow the man’s gaze, Adan’s own gaze now locked on Hawke’s as if waiting for the sentence to finish. He comes to thank Adan for saving his life and yet here he is - insulting the state of his working space. Eyes narrow ever-so-slightly as he listens to the other man speak, trying to think of what his sister would say. She was so much better at these things. He knows what he wants to say, but it was best to keep those things to himself.

you can like a shitty, morally questionable character in shows, movies and games without condoning their actions or motives. you can enjoy their content without agreeing with the things they’ve done. just because you like a character, vibe with their aesthetic, or find them more enjoyable than the other characters around them does not mean YOU YOURSELF are a bad person.

nobody wants to rp with villains or evil characters because the only thing they can come up with is how their “morally good” character wants to fight them, or beat them. nobody knows how to interact with mean, bad guys without getting offended they had the audacity to talk shit. 

Her expression morphs into one that will accept nothing but his absolute best – her brow furrows as she sits up a little straighter on the makeshift cot. It’s fear, simply put. ❝ Aha! You ‘ave got to be joking. ❞ Her words are tinged with a subtle threat, fists balled. Laera twists to look at the cut on her leg; sure, it could get infected, but that’s why she was being treated by the healer. However, even in that regard, he wasn’t very good at healing. ❝ Fat lot o’ luck you are, then. ❞

She watches him, carefully, her teeth clenched behind a closed mouth. ❝ Give me that, then. I’ve had to bandage worse than a nasty cut here and there. ❞ By no means does she expect anything more from him – this in particular seems out of his expertise. ❝ Unfortunately, I ‘ave some place to be, ser. I can’t lie around on a cot waiting for the rot to take me… ❞

𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 unravel a small bunch of bandage, he looks up at her slowly from the task his hands are performing. If she would rather bleed than be treated, then that could be arranged - but he surely wasn’t going to waste his own bandages on someone who wouldn’t even appreciate what he was trying to do. Shifting away from her and taking his things with him, he stands, moving towards a table. Let her sit in her self pity for a moment longer. Adan cared very little if she had places to be or if she was the Queen of Antiva. 

❝ I honestly do not care where you need to be, ❞ he admits as he goes about shuffling through the over-stacked table; items piled high and precarious, a strong breeze could knock it over. He turns over a small vial in his hand, popping the cork to give it a sniff before setting it down next to his bandages, ❝ However, if you cared at all, you’d be quiet and let me work with what I have, instead of assuming you could do a better job, ❞ he points towards her leg, ❝ and you won’t have to wait long for the rot to take you, it’s already badly infected. Can’t you smell that? ❞ He makes a face as he looks over at her before going back to what he was doing. 

Bethany finds herself following his gaze, wondering not for the first time what a person of medicine sees when he looks over the magical not-wound implanted in her palm. It gleams like a metaphysical scar, sometimes difficult to look at; tugging at the part of her attuned to the fade with an urgency she cannot quite explain. At other times it feels like the energy wishes to leave her body but is unable to, rooted there. As it stands, she is for all intents and purposes physically healthy, and potions can only do so much.

“I’m fine. It just stings sometimes, but I’ve had worse.” The mage raises her hand and flexes her fingers, working out a small cramp from holding it in that position. It is not entirely untrue; these days it bothers her far less than it did immediately after the explosion when the energies were more volatile – and when she’d been close to death, apparently. The Bethany of old would have left her statement at that, not wanting to worry anyone or be a bother. But here she knows there is much more at stake than her fear of being burdensome. “When I seal a rift it tingles all the way up my arm and takes a while to shake it off. Have you got anything that could help with that? Something that could numb it a bit perhaps?”

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 the way she flexes her hand, making note that perhaps it caused discomfort from simple actions, like splaying ones fingers or clenching a fist. Teeth chew thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment before eyes snap back to her face, his mind catching up to what she had just said. Tingling, numbness, rifts. Could he fix that? He would have to try - because what use would he be if he didn’t? They’d replace him the moment they had found someone better suited, or at least someone who promised more results; not necessarily better ones.

A hand rises to rub at the side of his jaw for a moment while he thinks, a hum in the back of his throat before he takes a few steps towards a far wall, covered in shelves that housed many things; herbs, jars, glass vials and rolled parchment. Fingers flitted over a few of the objects, twisting jars to read labels and shaking vials to make the liquid inside dance and swirl. It takes a moment before he finds a small, squat jar that housed a greyish oil. ❝ This, ❞ he says and unscrews the lid, tossing it lightly onto a nearby table, ❝ should do the trick. Not too numb, we don’t need you losing feeling in your arm completely, but it should take the edge off. ❞

@bladewarde​ said : ❝  it pains me you should think every compliment a mockery. ❞

𝐀 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 crosses his features, somewhere between a cringe, a grimace and a snarl, ❝ And is it not? You wield sarcasm as well as a blade, but even then I cannot tell if you’re trying to be subtle or blunt. ❞ The words sound like they are nothing but anger, yet there is a edge to them that bleeds a little like pain, hurt. Sorrow.

Back turned and hands pressed against his desk, he tries to ground himself and not allow his emotions to get the better of him. But it felt so... snarky. He can’t help but read into it as such, after all, he had never been the one receiving praise. It had always been his sister, or someone around him. Adan was simply the one that got things done, and people would clap him on the back and move on with it. There was no gratefulness, just expectation.

@shieldtheself said : ❝ is it awful that i'm enjoying it? ❞

𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒 at the corner of Adan’s mouth, eyes watching the scene before them play out. News had spread almost immediately that Varric had actually known the location of Hawke this entire time - he just failed to mention it to Cassandra every single time she asked. He’d gotten cornered (again) at the Herald’s Rest, hands raised up as she shouts about it, her cheeks flushed and her words a little slurred. Had she been drinking?