#sinnersmarch

@sinnersmarch asked: "i'm tired, that's all." -- [rhorie @ dorian]

“You don’t collapse from just being tired.” Sure, he could’ve been exhausted, but something told Dorian that there was more to this. The cagey way Rhorie had been acting, the avoiding of the subject–and of him in general–was enough to tell him there was.

“Talk to me, please.” Frustration dropping into something softer at that last ‘please’, he moved to reach for him again before hesitating. What if it was something he didn’t want to know? What if it was something that would break them?

Wrath wasn't the easiest place to track down a target in the middle of the summer. The place was hot year 'round and with how fast this guy had been speeding through the small town, Moxxie wondered if he was going to be able to keep up at this rate. He had to guess that this was a drug dealer or something sketchy. Blitz and Moxxie hadn't been given much info from their client under the table. But now that he had to wait almost an hour outside of the old-fashion saloon he was wishing he at least knew if it was worth it. He may as well go across the street and check into the hotel at this rate. The guy might not step outside until tomorrow morning. He took the moment to make sure the safety on his gun was on and it was well concealed where he stood in the shadows.

That was when the doors to the saloon opened and his target stepped outside. His attention perked up again but there were still too many people outside for him to just shoot, at least by his judgment. So he waited. Not like anyone else was going to try to kill the inebriated imp.

For once, he is not in the hotel but instead back home. Father is not here, it is just the prince and the staff that keep the place running despite the lack of the royal family. Hands tucked into pockets, expression pulled tight, he walks the seemingly endless halls as they loom over him, the eyes of paintings staring intensely downward.

This place is full of both wonderful and awful memories. Memories of his childhood and memories of his father and sister's sadness and depression, it makes him pull his wings tighter against his back, teeth clenching behind his lips. Things were, apparently, not the same after Mom left.

Not that he knows, he was only three when she left. All he remembers is her voice, her singing. Even her appearance was provided to him by paintings, not his own mind... terrible. As if in mockery, his wandering thoughts cause him to take the hall that leads toward Lilith's personal music room, which has long seen use these last seven years.

"Tch... This is stupid... I should go back."

But he keeps walking. Grand, ornate and pointless... that's what the door is. A shove is all it takes to get it open, swinging inward with an aching squeak, revealing a room just as adorned as the door. The young Prince ignores it, moving through and directly to the piano. It was already open, his fingers brushing over the dusty keys. It's without thought he sits down on the seat, a frown pulling at his lips.

@sinnersmarch asked: "the wound will heal but you'll have a scar." -- [solas @ fiore]

Rolling over onto her stomach as the light of magic from his palms dimmed, Fiore’s throat burned. The urge to cough bubbling up until it wasn’t able to be resisted and deep chest rattling coughs curled her frame into the dirt. With coughing came blood–residual from the injury spilling from her lungs and throat until she gagged and vomited. The ugly side of healing magic.

Finally she pushed herself up. Arms shaking as she sat there bare breasted and panting, the worst of it over and she lucky to be alive. Well, perhaps not lucky. Perhaps just alive by the sheer refusal of the man beside her to let go of her–to lose her.

His hand found her back, fingers tracing tattoos laid in golden ink–a farce of exoticism she was forced to wear. A disconnected design meant to seem like an homage to her watered down Dalish ancestry–any true Dalish would know what it was if they saw it. And though Solas claimed not to be Dalish, he’d known what it was as well. Even before he’d seen the name scribed on the nape of her neck, he’d known.

His fingers found that name, smoothed it over like it was nothing and hooked around her shoulder to pull her into him. Fiore let him move her, let him gather her up into his arms and pull the remnants of her armor over her before wrapping her in his own cloak. Bull offered to take her and she heard him refuse as she sank deeper against him–breathing him in and feeling her consciousness start to fade.

But now, as she stood there, trembling in her skin with lips pressed to his, she could feel the prickle of it along her skin. Urging her forward. Urging him back. As contradictory as the mix of emotions inside her.

Fear. Elation. Anticipation. What came next? What would he do? What would he say? Would this be the end or a new beginning?

Fade green eyes flickered open to meet his gaze when she pulled back. Lower lip catching between her teeth as everything inside her screamed to run. To flee. To never come back. She stayed where she was, though, because she was sure if she let go of the desk, her legs would fail her entirely.

"<I'm sorry>"

@defiedfate asked: “i knocked.” – [viktor @ jinx]

Goggles shoved up into streaked blue hair, she swiveled in her chair as he turned off her music. He was such a party pooper.

It wasn’t until he’d stood outside the familiar little house within whose walls the love of his life slept sound–had he worried? Had he missed him?–that he paused. Not until then had the fog faded and the reality of what he was bled into the periphery. Not until he looked down at his fingers in the pale window light to see the metal glinting up at him did the fear set in.

Would Varian want to see him like this? Would he want him at all after all this time? They’d parted on a fight, did he think that Ezra had just walked away? Had he gone to his mother’s house? Had he even BEEN missing? What if none of them had missed him? Did he want to be missed?

Did he want to be this for them?

He’d walked away. Walked his way back to the house of his mother–the most popular brothel in the city–and just like before, stood outside in the dark unable to go in. Unable to reach for the door and instead ducked into an alley to watch patrons leaving. Half wondering if each face that came to the door was a new girl or was it his mother with her ever changing visage?

For three days he wandered back and forth between the two destinations, always unable to gather what courage might’ve been necessary to knock. No fortitude to see the lack or recognition in those he loved’s eyes as they looked upon the face of a stranger. Of a thing.

Still, he stayed. Spending his nights in the alley behind his mother’s establishment until one night the sound of something crashing across the way caught his attention.

He didn’t move at first, watching and waiting until the figure stepped into the moonlight enough to glance up and down the street. A sea green tiefling with bright, curious eyes, a mop of green hair and horns that stood tall and straight just like her father’s. His, once upon a time, sister–Vesta Glaive–presumably sneaking out and setting off down the street. And he moved before he could think better of it.

Falling in step behind her silently, shifting around her frame when she looked behind her at the feeling of not being alone. Shifting silent again when she turned back to her path and setting off again, this time a little faster. Only then did he announce his presence as only a would-be older brother could.

“Where are we going?” Whispered loudly to her as he all but materialized in step with her.

It’d been about her family coming to Sinsmas, something his mother Lin had been against for a number of reasons and it was up to him to try and make her understand. Lin meant well, loved Lea as much as she had Dez like she was one of her own but Lea’s family was another matter–especially with Sallie bringing that rattler of hers along with her.

It was something of an open secret that he was responsible for the deaths of Lea’s older brothers–not the only one responsible, but the easiest for people to whisper about–for what they’d done to Sallie. Hell, Ray’d likely have killed them again after some of the stories Lea had told him. But their father maintained the victim mentality–dead set that his sons didn’t deserve what had come their way–something that pissed off frustrated both of his parents but especially Lin.

Lin had been the one that had taken care of Sallie that night. Had been the one to bathe her and help her get changed. Had been the one to watch her slip into some distant corner of herself as she’d waited for her sense of safety to come back. Lin had more cause than most to hate those boys, dead or alive, so to have their father trying to maintain the tragedy of them going missing–well, it didn’t sit right with her.

Ray didn’t want Lea’s family there either, but his reasoning was a little less centered around his sister and more centered around Lea herself. Ain’t a secret that Lea was the family punching bag. Broken ribs and broken arms and probably worse given the rumors; there was a reason his mother insisted she move into Sallie’s old room even before she and Ray had started going together.

He understands her frustration–feeling left out–but he couldn’t compromise on this. Not when her safety was on the line. So, when she starts her storm away, he grabs her. Pulls her back against him wraps her up tight with a heavy sigh.