#lichteeth

@lichteeth​ said: “ they’ll shame you, blame you, pretend to even hate you. “ saren @ shep maybe?? // MEME.

❝Is that what you think the Council did to you?❞ She finds herself asking why she’s here. Why, out of all the people in the galaxy, the one she hunted across it just to stop him is the one she ends up talking to. The one she’s hoping can illuminate to the path they’re all on. But that’s not an answer Shepard can easily find, and as she stares down at Saren in his sterile & cramped cell, she can’t help but think how much smaller he looks than when they faced off. She starts to wonder if this is the possible future that awaits her. One where one’s service becomes twisted along the way to the point that the powers that be would rather lock you away and throw away the key than find a solution. It’s easier to foist blame on Saren than acknowledge the threat still left unchecked, waiting and persistent beyond the horizon. 

        There’s the swipe of her hands down the front of her skirt as she sees the approaching stranger clip clopping along the road. Drying sweat riddled palms before she steps closer to the pathway and throws a hand up, a gesture she had hoped would catch his attention. Blasted damnation, she was half afraid that she would have to resort to unsavory means to survive the night. And the Good Lord knows that Leliana knew plenty well the lengths she would go if she was pressed. Perhaps the kindness of a wandering soul could help her find her horse, or at the very least - help her find her bearings that could point the Sister into the right direction. “Sir, hello, good sir! If I could trouble you for a moment of your time! It seems my horse went and decided to take flight after a bit of a spook. I would appreciate it immensely if you could help me find her, or perhaps let me tag along to the nearest town so I may at least figure out where I am.”

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 | Accepting!

@lichteeth​ said:  ❛ death, dust, party, repeat. ❜ from handsome frickin' jack

It wasn’t too awful far from the truth, Xigbar had to admit. Jack might be an insufferable twat in most instances during their various interactions, certainly---the whole bandit genocide thing was really a few steps too far into the Total Annihilation Zone for Xigbar’s personal tastes---but, when hyped up on enough space dust, and leaning back far enough into the comfort of a plush armchair, even that handsome asshole could spit philosophical jazz just as contemplatively as the next basic human existentialist tool. And Xigbar, in the entirety of his time, had seen plenty of those.

But, then again, he could admit when he himself was elbow-deep---no, most definitely approaching shoulder-deep---under that hazy sort of influence, his internal mechanisms working to expel the toxins from his endoskeletal structure---and so, why not another bump? Hard and longer than necessary---and most definitely a tad clumsily at this point. The back of his gloved hand pressing against the stiff columella of his nose in response to the sharp sensation before his backside settled again backwards, down into his seat, mind rising into the throbbing bass beat, eye absorbing the blacklit coloration of the scenery with a renewed appreciation, along with the beauty of the graceful, scantily-clad dancers not even within arms’ reach, the overall image reverberating and undulating and swaying satisfyingly in time with his quickening pulse.

“A good question.” Thane mulls to himself with a low hum that reverberates in the throat. A disappointing finding, one that may not sit well with their Commander to be sure. Surface appearances painted his cooperation with Garrus to be straightforward, optimal since both hold firsthand knowledge and experience with conducting operations on the Citadel; a former C-Sec officer that knows the inner workings and procedures of other officers; an assassin familiarized with subsequently avoiding those officers’ attentions and staying a step ahead.

How ironic, that it appears someone else was one step ahead of them. Thane follows an invisible thread of clues through the carnage, the bodies ( vacant of breath, of life, but still warm ) stepping with deliberate consideration as hands clasp behind his back. 

& SHE GREETS.  acknowledges the elf whom holds an acquaintance with the champion seeking to repair their missteps.  ( lady spymaster leliana keeps adaar abreast of it all. )  wonders if he is here to speak with them, if word has gotten out.  a mental note to CONSULT with ser varric once all is said & done —— these are his people.

❛ i assume you seek the champion. ❜ 

But by the time Atlas is stable enough that he can start writing up full-time employment contracts, there’s no question that their name ends up on one of them. It makes him wonder, though: when did they become so settled? When he’d first started hiring them on for jobs, they'd barely spoken, Rhys’ fumbling excuses for conversation barely making it out of his mouth before the door closed.

Things have changed; Zer0′s absence is now almost unheard of, rather than the norm. Other things haven’t; he still knows next to nothing about them... and his poetry hasn’t improved much, either. 

“Gah!”

Another thing that hasn’t changed: the assassin’s ability to materialize from nowhere and give his nervous system a sharp jolt. Even that's becoming pleasantly normal, though--and he even smiles as he quickly sets his cup down, glancing and patting around to make sure his coffee hasn’t spilled on anything vital.

“I-I mean, uh--heh--hey, man. You... you know you could just walk up, right?” They’ve had this conversation a good few thousand times now. He knows the answer. “So, uh... you pick out an apartment in the city yet? O-or is that... not... a thing... you...?”