#hoodedrogue

@hooded-rogue​ asked: “You’d be amazed at what a man armed with a rock and a headache can do.” || DA:Inquisition Party Banter (accepting)

    “ I’d rather not find out, if I could avoid it. ” His voice was stiff and clipped as he replied, feeling quite on edge with the words. Sure, it wasn’t necessarily aimed at him, nor meant to be a threat, but Dorian knew the man’s general feelings towards people of his birth. And it wasn’t exactly good.

       Cassandra was not an apprehensive person by nature. She was particular in her decisions, putting as much certainty into each one as could be given. Zasha Trevelyan would make a fine Inquisitor, her advisors had all agreed. She was compassionate and driven, brave if perhaps naive....was she too naive? Surely she could make hard decisions when the time came.

Cassandra bit back an answering growl; if they went on like this, they’d start squabbling in their annoyance, and that was not conduct befitting of Seekers. Instead, she clamped down any response and just stared on into the crowd, trying to let her mind drift, as Asher suggested. Not too much--she needed to pay attention to the divine--but enough that she didn’t fall asleep on her feet.

Taking Asher to be as annoyed as she was with the situation, she was surprised by his question.

Asher: Hey wanna fight

Send 🎠 for one of my muse’s childhood memories         

Cassandra:

“No! I won’t go!” Vestalus stood at the base of the stairs, giving her that look that did not brook childish misbehavior from his charges.

“It was not an invitation, Cassandra. We are going to pay respects to your family and you will come with.” At the top of the stairs, Cassandra’s hands balled into fists, her small shoulders shaking.

“I told you I was never going back there,” she said, a wobble in her voice.

How could Vestalus forget? How at the end of Anthony’s funeral, Cassandra had wept and wailed that she was never setting foot in the Grand Necropolis again, how she had screamed that they were all lunatics, to parade about so, and how much she wished she and Anthony lived anywhere else? She had made such a scene Vestalus had to hustle her off to the carriage, past the stricken Mortalitasi, and the other Pentaghasts staring as if she had just desecrated the graves of half their lineage, so she could sob until she couldn’t breathe anymore in private.

“It will just be us, this time,” Vestalus said. “No one else from the family is coming.”

“I’m not going.”

“What about your parents? What about Anthony?”

“I’m not going!” Cassandra’s voice trembled, but held firm. It made no sense, to Vestalus–paying respects to the dead was their only remaining link to the departed. Cassandra, who had grieved so powerfully for each of her lost family members, should have taken comfort in it!

He sighed, and rubbing the space between his eyebrows.

“Cassandra, this is important,” he said. “They will want to see you.”

“They can’t want anything! And I don’t care! They’re gone and no amount of necromancy is going to change that! They’re dead, they’re all dead and they left me here and they can keep each other company!” She turned from the stairs and disappeared down the hall, the black hem of her dress billowing after her.

Vestalus sighed again. Perhaps he was too old for this. He left without fighting Cassandra further.

Vivienne:

She sat between Lenore’s knees on the stool, transcribing the short text she had been given to keep her busy. Lenore had tried to brush her hair before, but she had done it all wrong, so Mary, who had hair like Vivienne’s, had shown her how to do it properly to not tear it. Now, Mary had shown Lenore how to braid it, and so Lenore was carefully plaiting Vivienne’s hair into cornrows, a process that had taken much of the morning, with a bit of squirming from her charge.

“Almost done,” Lenore announced. Her voice had a soft, almost musical quality, and she rarely ever spoke sharply to Vivienne. “How are your sentences coming?”

“Mm.” Lenore tied off the last of Vivienne’s braids and picked up the hand mirror sitting on the bed beside her to pass it to the girl.

“There, have a look! What do you think? You have such lovely hair.” Vivienne examined her reflection, turning her face this way and that, pulling experimentally at the ends of her braids. Wordlessly, she handed the mirror back and looked back at Lenore.

“All done?”

“All done,” Lenore confirmed. “Come and sit for a moment.” She patted her leg, and Vivienne moved from the stool to the enchanter’s lap. “I used to have a baby, you know?” she said.

“Mhm. Sayaka told me,” Vivienne said.

“They took him away. He belongs to the Chantry now. But that’s why First Enchanter Tamika gave me you!” She wrapped her arms around the girl to squeeze her, and Vivienne smiled. “There aren’t many babies in the Circle, so I got lucky!”

“I’m not a baby,” Vivienne protested. “I’m six!”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry, you’re not a baby. You’re a big girl.” Lenore bounced her knee and Vivienne hopped down, spinning to face the enchanter.

“Can we play with the building blocks now?”

Asher only ever seemed half with it these days; she swore he spent more time in his own head than with the people around him. Sometimes, she was tempted to ask about it--about what exactly had happened since she had seen him last--but that seemed too heavy for them, and the delicate place they were in, so she said nothing, just accepted his distances. This time, he came back quickly, and seemed no more dolorous for the brief lapse.

If she hadn’t been glaring before, she was when she looked up after his remark on her letter. Whether that was at him, or merely in frustration that she was doing so poorly at composing the letter remained to be seen. It took her a moment to respond beyond that.

Lemony Snicket starters 

Cassandra and Asher had been sitting quietly at her table in the upstairs of the Herald’s Rest–Asher nursing a drink while Cassandra attempted to pen a reply to one of Vestalus’ letters. Cole had guilted her into actually responding, but as usual, the words came stilted and awkward, sounding more like a report for the Inquisitor than a familial letter. But Vestalus had at least attempted to raise her-surely, she thought with some anxiety, he could read between the lines.

Asher must have needed the rest, or he wouldn’t have been so patient sitting around while Cassandra offered no conversation. Things had been…odd, since his arrival at Skyhold, but she supposed they both had to get used to each other again. She wasn’t opposed to the company, in any case.

Her first impulse was to be annoyed he was disrupting her thoughts–scattered as they were–but when she looked up at him, wearing an expression as if he had just passed on some sage wisdom, she snorted.

It had been a year since Cassandra had set foot in a Seeker fortress. Longer, by a few days, technically. Seeing her old training stronghold appear on the horizon felt like a homecoming of sorts. As a soon-to-be-annointed Seeker of Truth, this was the closest thing to home she would ever have. As soon as she was able, she would write Uncle Vestalus to let him know she had returned from her vigil. She had sent him a message before her departure, but she had not gotten a response before she’d left.

There had been controversy about her age, just as there had been when she joined. Then, it had been grumbling and a few open complaints that she had been allowed to join so much older than the other recruits, simply because she was a Pentaghast. Now, it was because the Lord Seeker was letting her take her vigil so young. It had been two centuries since anyone Cassandra’s age had taken their vigil. In her effort to prove that the Seekers were not weaker for her admission at the age of twelve, Cassandra had pushed herself hard enough the Lord Seeker felt that at fifteen, she was ready to take her vigil.

It was not an easy process. A year without contact with another person was almost enough to drive a person mad, even one with as much preference for solitude as Cassandra. She thought often of Anthony, of her mother and father and what little she remembered of them, of her uncle in Nevarra. She meditated and fasted and it had all been worth it when the inspiration the Seekers spoke of touched her, filling her with faith and peace. All her struggles for the proceeding year seemed to melt away: each month of providing her own sustenance, each week of silence and isolation, each day of monotonous tasks and silent meditation. She would have gladly done it all again for the communion she received in reward; even now, weeks later, she felt a glow in her chest when she thought of it. Andraste had spoken to her, and it was glorious.

What powers she had been granted by this communion she couldn’t yet say--nothing had stood out to her so far. The older Seekers would know how to help her figure it out.

When she finally arrived and slid off her horse, she couldn’t stop a little smile from quirking her lips up as her feet hit the ground. She had done it. No one could question her youth or her worthiness again. If Uncle Vestalus had considered her declaration the impulsiveness of a child, now he would know how serious she had been.