❂R E D E M P T I O N

【After careful consideration and taking in the events that transpired today, I’m sad to say that I am going to be dropping this blog. I understand ignorance about certain things because I too, was quite ignorant about these issues myself at one point but I’m very disappointed with how things were worded and handled and to put it blunty, I just don’t feel comfortable here anymore. I understand I didn’t get to do much with this blog and I’m sorry to the people that I was threading with. I’m not deleting this blog because I might reuse it for something else and/or make it indie, so feel free to unfollow if you’re not down for that.

To celebrate its release, we thought we’d share something special not found in the book: twin short stories penned by Joanna Berry, a BioWare writer and the creator of Corypheus’s favored followers: Samson and Calpernia.

All he has tried to do was throw in a few clothes, and finish for the night. Alas, that didn’t go as planned. It just would not fill up completely, leaving him irritated. Eventually, he had just settled on fixing it himself. But, that didn’t go well either, as despite all the logs and manuals he had laying around did not help. That, or he was way too tired to actually be able to read anything. In the process, he might of have broken it even more. People did call him the best at breaking things, after all. Giving up on the machine and making a mental note to ask somebody to come help, he went to bed. And just use the laundromat tomorrow instead.

Now, he was here.  He looked at the other man, noticing his statement, and at his hands. And then back at the man. And to his hands again. Oh, was he right. Instead of the detergent he had meant to bring, it held dish soap. Embarrassing wasn’t even a good enough word the moment. Chrom let go of the bottle, having it drop into the basket as he groaned. He dragged one of his hands along his face and looked back at him. Yup, he was still staring. He then took the other hand and almost blushing a little, dragged it through his blue hair. He was also wondering about that, wasn’t he? Maybe it was time for a change back to blonde. Or maybe a brown? Then he smiled a little- a sort of afraid, sort of ashamed grin- appeared on his lips.

“Huh! Seems like you’re correct. I swear I had picked up the laundry detergent instead of…this.” Next he shuffled around in the basket, looking for the soaps he had brung. None of them where the detergent he needed. He turned again to the man.

    It was then did Samson really take in the other’s appearance. Besides the hair--which for some reason still caught his attention despite the fact that his own sense of style wasn’t exactly “run of the mill”--he just had an overall disheveled and out of place look about him. Perhaps the male was just tired this morning, albeit tired enough to make such a silly mistake.

    He laughed, giving a shrug.  ❝I suppose you could use that. If you don’t mind your clothes coming out like nazhdachnaya bumaga.❞  Letting out a chuckle at his own joke, he nudged the other in the side with his elbow, not knowing whether or not the joke went completely over his head or not. It slips his mind that perhaps not everyone he speaks to knows Russian, but things happen when he gets caught up in the moment. 

Other joys included common visits to the Hanged Man, a cafe in Paralia. He had friends there and they provided most of his motivation. Not that the food or drinks wasn’t good of course; they just were not most important to him.

Even with university keeping him busy, the student decided he needed a source of extra income. Therefore he applied to a library in Paralia because it seemed to be the quieter option than in Kairos, where cars would likely pass all the time.

Samson (as everyone in the cafe called him) was a lot older than him, and he never actually saw the Russian outside there.

There were no dark secrets that the student was hiding, but he still valued his privacy. Even on social media he declined to share too much; a mixture of paranoia and his own nature.

At this point, his shift had already reached the halfway point. The librarian had left him to his own work, which at this point simply included sorting books on the shelves probably. Some people made a real mess of it. Even without their advice, he did like everything to be neat and tidy.

Seeing the tall man here was a surprise, but that quickly turned to frustration when he opened his mouth. God’s sake, please don’t tell him Samson was looking for Fifty Shades of Grey or something similar.

He preferred smut-less romantic novels, thank you very much.

The elbow was shrugged off, although he could not help but roll his eyes.

“First of all, I’ll ask you to lower your voice. This is a library after all.”

Even with how large the man was, Daylen would still expect him to follow the rules. They were put in place for a reason.

“Secondly, this library does not have such a section. There are… ahem, seedier places in this city…” He makes sure to say this very quietly. Daylen has not visited any of them, but he would rather not yell such a thing in public.

(Well, maybe a little.)

     Whistling to himself, he acted as though he were merely browsing the shelves, idly picking up a random book and flipping it open. It was something about the ‘history of the lost whatever and blah blah blah’; it didn’t hold his interest for long, as he slammed it shut a moment later and placed back on the shelf, yet not in the same place that he retrieved it before. He then lazily slung a heavy arm around the other’s lithe shoulders, leaning close slightly, taking on a teasing tone.

    ❝Come on, D,❞, as he so “affectionately” refers to Daylen, ❝You mean to tell me you sit around here for hours on end, surrounded by all this literature, and you guys don’t carry one little steamy book?❞ With a ‘tsk’ and a disapproving shake of the head, he let his arm drop from Daylen’s shoulders, playfully clapping him on the back before shoving his hands in his own pockets.

    “Oh..”

     It seemed almost funny – how such odd occurrences appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Stuck in the heat of the moment, however, he found himself floundering, unsure of what his priority should be at such a time. What could the man have been doing? That cut looked bad, too, the way the blood just dripped down his arm— Head amuck with different ideas, he happened to overlook the feeling that he might’ve seen this man before..

    “Ah–” patting his pockets, the young man managed to pull out his ID, finally getting a better grasp on the situation as he flashed it to the stranger. “Sir – I’m going to have to take you in for questioning.” Seidou found himself painfully aware of how little experience he actually had out in the field. Nevertheless, at least he could use this chance as an opportunity to finally use the education he’d received. Stuffing his ID back into his pocket, he stepped closer. 

Well, at least now he vaguely remembers where he might have seen the kid from.

    Regardless, he quickly drags a free hand through his hair in frustration, and slowly, slowly climbs off the roof of his van down onto the hood, and then hops off the vehicle. He then does as he’s instructed, slowly setting the knife down onto the cool concrete with an audible ‘clink’. As much as he enjoys risk, it’s too early in the week for him to run the risk of getting shot.

     He couldn’t remember anything aside from the van since he’d been stumbling around half-consciously after the matter and passed out immediately upon returning home, but it still wasn’t cool that he’d nearly been roadkill. For all he knew he could have waved it off and said he was fine, been too concussed to care, or told the culprit off.

    Pushing the door to the bar open, he nudged his shades up so they’d catch the glint off the overhead lights, the red tassels of his hat swishing as he approached the counter and leaned forward, whipping out a notepad and pen to jot down a message and display it to the man he believed was responsible. 

    He’s had a few...”close ones” in the past, to put it lightly. Almost ran a few stop signs, almost ran a few red lights. but it’s not like he’s ever came had a collision with another person or vehicle. Well, that was an “almost” too. It was late at night, The Hanged Man that night was packed, and he was exhausted and ready to call it a day. He couldn't really see the stranger’s form, but they had stepped off the curb right as Samson was turning, and luckily he had slammed on the brakes just quick enough to not send them flying across the pavement. 

    They did, however, get bumped and knocked over; the other seemed (understandably) stunned, though it was hard to see the exact expression on their face in the darkness. And then they just got up, dusted themselves off, and wandered off to wherever, leaving Samson to be utterly floored and ready to forget about the whole incident.

   And he did, until he saw the vaguely familiar figure step into the building the next day, walk right up to the counter, pull out a notepad of some kind, and write something to him. He would have laughed at the inquiry right then, if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't trust himself to keep his voice down. So instead, he settled for an amused smirk.

     She took her time getting up, humming as she showered, brushing her hair and then slipping a t-shirt on.  The fact that the shirt didn’t fit meant it was more than likely not her own, but so many clothes were shared between the three that  Merrill hardly spared it a second thought.

     And so it was in nothing but her underwear and an oversized shirt that she walked into the living room, still humming softly, and still thinking she was alone in the house.  Halfway through, she noticed a figure on the couch.  Assuming it was Zevran or Marian, Merrill turned to wake them and send them to bed, but found instead a stranger.

   Shit, he wasn’t about to pass up a free offer for a warm place to sleep and free food.

   However, how could have lived without being woken up at the ass crack of dawn (anything before than 11am is way too early for him) by a frantic onslaught of small hands and a deafening cry of confusion that pierced the heavens above and made whatever was up there cringe. He guesses Zevran must have conveniently forgotten to inform this small,angry girl in a t-shirt that was 2 sizes too big of his arrival.