Can you be forgiven, when the cold grave has come?

[allyorfoe]

Who| Tabris and district 10 people, and Tabris and YOU.
What| Tabris adjusts to life after dying. Poorly.
Where| District 10 suite, the rooftop, and some shitty bar.
When| After her death in the arena.
Warnings/Notes| Petty tantrums, swearing, mentions of death and violence, probably really gross mushy fluff once Alistair gets involved.


I

She's alive. She was dead, but now she's alive. She guessed that Maxwell was right all along, and now she was in...the Capitol. She can remember dying, remember Bayard's corpse, remember tackling Nick, hitting him over and over, until that loud bang, the same that had been made when Bayard died--

It's overwhelming, and all it does is serve to make her angrier. Because, she is mad. She is so mad. When she arrives in the suite, she's fit to tied, and probably should have been, because all she feels is the rage coursing through her veins, and she wants to make sure that the people upstairs get a good show. That's what it's about, right? Putting on a show.

"DID YOU LIKE THAT?" She doesn't know where she should be directing her scream, so she shouts up at the ceiling, too white, too clean. Stomping around the suite, her presence, her rage takes up the entire room. "Was that fun? To watch him die? To watch a kid die? WELL!" She lashes out, kicking over a chair, watching it tumble across the room. "What about that! Is that funny?" Grabbing a vase, she hurls it at the floor, watching shards fly across the room. "Does this get your damned rocks off? Is this a good show?"

For a moment, she empathizes even more with mages, who have to worry about their emotions sending up flares for demonic possession. Right then, if a rage demon had offered, if anything had offered to take that boiling fury and turn her into something more, something with power, something that could destroy these people who had tormented her, who had tormented the people who had tried to protect, who had let a little boy get shot. She would have accepted. Death would have been welcome, if it would take this place down (of course, a single rage demon would never be able to do much, but Tabris would not realize that for a while yet).

She reaches for anything else that looks breakable. Feel free to encourage or tell her to get her shit together.



II

She's calmed down. Slightly. Walk it off, Warden. Walk it off. The only place that she can walk it off without having to see their damned demonic faces--Pink hair? Green skin? Even if they weren't demons, they were ugly--was up here. The wind blowing on her face, ruffling her hair into her eyes, was so much more calming, peaceful, than that hell hole of metal and white and unnatural. She walked to the edge, taking long, slow, deep breaths.

The city...it's massive. It's unbelievably big. And looking over it, she realizes what kind of bad guy she's dealing with. This villain is not a single person she can bring down, it's not an army that she can gather allies to defeat. This isn't the darkspawn, this is beyond every scope she could imagine. She might as well be facing down a whole country, with technology beyond her imagination. If there's any way to fight this, it's as far beyond Tabris as everything else in this world.

For the first time, she realizes that this is a situation that she has no hope of winning. For the first time, she feels...hopeless.

Her fingers grip the side of the rooftop, eyes darting over the city, and she voices her complaints to the wind.

"FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"


III

Okay, she's calm now, really. Or she's just really drunk. It's hard to tell, exactly, but it hadn't taken her long to find where the alcohol was kept. This was no simple tavern, but it was familiar. Some things never change, really. As she sipped her drink her eyes darted around the bar. Listening into conversations, shamelessly eavesdropping. But it was easy to figure out that she wasn't as comfortable as she acted. There was a wariness to her, and the way she drank, with a desperation to try to put everything behind her, tagged her pretty well as someone who had just spent the last month in the pits of the void.

At least the alcohol had improved. Refined. It had a good taste to it, and it decked you better than the shit that you'd normally find. Oh, Oghren, you would love it here. Unending fights and unending alcohol. She stared glumly at the glass in her hand, and chugged it in one go.

Then, proceeded to wince, and try really hard to pretend she wasn't having some paralyzing brain freeze, only made worse with the alcohol. Maker damn it all.

Comments

ii. i found my home; it's you.

[wardenings]

That scream, that voice; it's so familiar.

' Tabris... I saw you dead, you were shot, right in the chest-- ' He finds himself atop the roof, her voice drawing him to the source like a siren and her song. He dares not repeat anymore details, hazel eyes quivering. Has he truly lost it? Has the taint running through his veins finally driven him mad? Or perhaps, has this entire dystopian world been an illusion, a dream? Alistair wrings his hands in sheer panic, nerves and muscles pulled tight like tuned violin strings.

' By the Maker, I thought you were dead-- by the Maker, I thought I was alone again-- ' step, two steps, three steps were taken forward by the Warden, arms extended. If this truly was an evil illusion, then he would let it consume him, for this is sheer bliss. Solace, he thinks, he has found solace from this thirtieth-century hell in his elven lover.

His heart aches for her -- Maker, how long has it been since he last looked at her? Far too long, either way.

' Tabris, do you remember me? Please say you do-- please say you're you. '

[allyorfoe]

She doesn't turn around at first, recalling the birds, those blasted birds that had screamed in his voice, shrieked her name, plead for her help, but she could offer none. Had they decided to torment her even outside of the arena? She closed her eyes, tried to ignore it, but it kept talking, kept hammering into her soul, into her heart. Finally, she turned around, bent on killing this goddamn bird, even if she had to use her own hands--

If this was torment, they had done a very good job. He was perfect, as if crafted from memory, every scar, every dimple, every hair out of place. She stares at him like he was the one who had died and come back, a being who could not exist. The decision is made easily--Should this be a trap, it was flawless, and she'd accept it.

Never one to waste words when action would do, she ran full at the man, not bothering to slow down as she collided into him, arms wrapping tight around his chest. Tabris him to her as if she feared they would be dragged apart. His warmth, his smell, the feel of him against her, it was so familiar, it was so safe, after not just the arena, but so long traveling to the edges of the world and beyond alone. A small, dry sob escaped from where her face pressed into his chest.

After a few moments, she pulled away just enough to reach up, and cup his face, eyes trying to fight back tears as she studied it closely. Not a king, not another Alistair who wore his face and name but bore nothing else. "It's me," The elf whispered, voice cracking. Egotistical tiny rage machine she could be, but all those layers fell off for now, revealing the loving wife that only he could bring out. "It's me, Alistair. Maker's breath, I thought I'd never see you again. I thought--I thought if I did, you wouldn't be mine." Tied to Anora, tied to a crown, tied to a country, to a warden that bore her title but not her face. But here he was, using her name, calling for her, and her alone.

[wardenings]

She charged at him -- oh, how he missed hearing her steps against the ground, ready to slam him into the ground for one mistake or another -- full-force. With elf incoming, he bent forward, arms extended as she slammed into him, his face burying into her shoulder. Large, warm arms kept the girl locked against him, as if she would disappear again if he let her go.

He's silent as she speaks, letting harmonious voice fall on battle-born ears. Her presence calms him; oh, how stressed and on-edge he had been, more aggressive than usual. Now that she is here, however, now that she is back where she belongs, with him, he is calm. He is quiet. He is serene. She is the large gentle rock that reminds him he is loved and important and valid, and he is the valiant guardian that keeps her rage and her ego in check. It's what had made them fall for each other in their trials in Ferelden ( that, and perhaps their compatible humors-- seriously, anyone who can not punch him after the lamppost in winter bit is a keeper ), and it's what had given Alistair the drive to wed her.

Scarred fingers tangle into a pixie cut of brown hair, and he sighs, face and form relaxed. "Yours? Why would I not be yours? I didn't go through the years of hell known as the Blight just to end up marrying Anora -- there is no way in hell I would do that -- or taking a crown -- me? with a crown? were you all DRUNK? "

He pulls away, taking her face in his cheeks, running his thumbs over her cheekbones, a smile crossing his lips as he looked at her. The same look he always used -- when he kissed her, when he bestowed upon her a rose, when they went to their tent together, when he reminded her no matter how much this damn child looks like me, I will always be loyal to you-- , and most importantly, when she had agreed to be his wife. It was a look of sheer bliss; a look of finally being happy.

' I saw you, I saw you get shot... I thought you were gone, I thought I was alone. But... but Maker, here you are...! Am I dead? I'm dead, too. Aren't I? This is the end. '

[allyorfoe]

She laughs at that. At least his humor hadn't changed, had it. That was one reliable thing in all of this mess. Bad news and witty one liners. In that, he had certainly delivered. Tabris shakes her head, still chuckling, as she stared up at him. That look on his face, she had missed it. So dearly. "Some human made that decision, if it explains anything." She murmured with a wry look, fingers brushing against his cheeks.

Inside, she knew that this was bad. It was horrible, really. The worst thing that could happen to her here. She hadn't been attached to anyone, and so, her words had only affected her. Maybe that was why Lavellan had not been brought back, and she had? Why she had been brought back to find her husband waiting for her? Surely it wasn't a coincidence. They must have realized how to control her. Her greatest joy, but her greatest weakness. For what would she not do to protect this man?

But the dark thoughts could wait for later. She would enjoy this moment, for now.

"If we're both dead, and were brought to this Maker-damned place, I have a few words to say to him." She mumbled, "At least you should have gone off to his side, or whatever." Not that she didn't totally deserve a little gratitude from the Maker, for saving so many people. He's supposed to care about that, right? "They say...that when you die in the arena, you're brought back. So you can do it again. Once this arena is over, they'll just...put us in a new one." Her eyes were cast down, dark and angry. She wanted to say things, speak words of rebellion and anger, but she knew better. "...And they're listening. Watching us. Always." And now Alistair would know, too, lest he say something and they hurt him.

She looked up, and fear tinged the happiness in her eyes. But her hands moved to his shoulders, and she pulled him down, so she could press her lips to his. She didn't care if any damned mysterious Capitol people saw them. Not yet. Allow her this much happiness. "You'll never be alone, Alistair. No matter what, I'll always be here with you. I love you, you know."

II

[earthborn]

Shepard's had what you might call, a rough year. And, of that year, this past week has been particularly unwelcome. Hurt her all you like, she's happy to take it, but they had taken their wroth out on someone else this time; it hit that much harder. She found the air helped, not having a roof overhead helped. Funny how that worked, really-- it went counter to instinct, but there it was. The illusion of freedom to mask the intolerable leash, or some such poetic bullshit.

Of course, as the tablet propped up on her knees would attest, even up here you couldn't really escape it. She still had to know. Had to do her job, of watching.

"Nice," Shepard commented, when Tabris had seemed to run out of breath, "But you gotta project from your chest if you wanna improve your volume."

[allyorfoe]

The elf cracked a grin. Dry sarcasm, her weakness. Better than someone trying to scold her, or worse, comfort her. Not a day here and she'd figured out that there was plenty of material comforts to be found, but little for the soul. Or you know, alleviation from the knowledge that she would be forced into this death arena all over again in a few short weeks.

"I'll commit it to memory." She replied, wheeling around to face the strange woman. Eyes glide over her features--A human, of course it was a human, she was not just stuck in hell, but shemlen hell. As for her more...inhuman features, they were studied, but not commented on. "I'm getting a feeling like I'm gonna have a lot of opportunity for practice."

[earthborn]

"Well, I've been here three years, they haven't stop shitting on us yet. Hell, you wanna count the original Games in, it's been about a century. Fun times," you need a desert of wit to absorb all these tears, soak up all this blood. Even then, might not be enough to get by, "Tabris, right?"

Yeah, she watches the arena. What of it?

"I'm Commander Shepard. It's nice you made it back, not everybody does."

I, not in 10, but the Inquis does he wants

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell had seen her fall. Not as it had happened, but later, in one of the endless loops of death they seemed to be so fond of. The bright painted pair on the screen laughing about bets lost as their bloody ends were chained together, one after another.

He didn't know how long it took normally for them to brought back - they were still waiting for Dorian, one way or the other - but he set out to find her, just the same. By this point, he expected more silence, more stillness, another empty room and so was actually more relieved than anything when he entered the District 10 suite to the sound of breaking glass and thundering curses.

Easing around a corner, ready to duck - just in case, he surveyed the damage, wondering distantly what the escort for this floor was more Swann or Jason and what that would mean for Tabris.

"I'd say welcome to the Capitol, but it looks you've already made yourself at home," he joked humorlessly.

[allyorfoe]

She has a glass in her hand, and she spins around when she hears the voice, ready to hurl it in the general direction of whoever had come across her. But when she saw it was Maxwell, the glass slipped out of her hand, cracking and scattering more shards across the floor. He had died, just like she had. This really was happening. She had really come back. Or this was a really shitty afterlife.

For a few moments, she just glowered at him, because he wasn't close enough to be able to calm her with his presence, but certainly enough that she didn't want to lash out at him with the fury in her veins. She settled for slowly crushing the remnants of the glass under her shoe, careful to make sure none penetrated the outer sole.

"I feel all warm and welcomed already." She drawled out, kicking the crushed shards away, and contemplating finding something else to break. "I guess we have the answer to our question, huh? They really do bring us back for more nail biting action and fun." She looked up at the ceiling, and scowled. "Maker's breath, but I am glad they find lil ol' me a barrel of laughs."

[dreadinquisitor]

He held up his hands, palms out, as the glass was aimed at him, a bemused placating gesture. His own revival had been less dramatic, but he certainly understood the feeling. (More, now, even, the longer he waited.)

"I know I've never felt more wanted," he muttered, leaning a shoulder against the wall as Tabris' anger turned elsewhere.

(An Avox hovered on the edges of the common room, looking uncertain and uncomfortable, undoubtedly wanting to dive in and begin to clean -- he shook his head at her gently and she drifted back.)

"On the bright side, this does mean we'll have the chance to show them how much we appreciate it."

III

[burningdaylight]

Now there’s an expression her barstool-neighbour sure has seen before.

While some are here who drink to old memories, those glimmers of happiness, he’s willing to bet that more are here to forget, to wash the taste of blood and the Capitol propaganda bullshit out of their mouths and dullen the edge of unspent grief. At least for a few hours. Which is why he’s prepared for the possibility of being told off by her and just as prepared not to take it personally.

“That bad, huh?” There's the note of humour in it that doesn't reach his eyes while he watches her with a look of tired sympathy, a hand curled around a half-empty glass of beer. His voice feels raw -- not with talking, but with disuse since his return.

[allyorfoe]

"You look shittier than I do." Is the first comment out of her mouth. Shit. Self control was a hard thing to maintain when you're getting plastered, and in her case, that meant words left her mouth before she'd had a think through them. "...No offense..." She tacked on lamely.

A subject change might be in order, so she quickly ordered a new drink, then turned to him. Another tribute, she figured. His skin wasn't purple and his hair was the shape and order it ought to be. She waited a few moments, before she spoke. "Guy shot a kid. Then shot me when I tried t' kick his ass." Other people, she had learned, would probably know if they'd been keeping an eye out. Her death displayed like some kind of moving painting, for everyone to watch, over and over.

"He's just 12. That's what gets me." She mumbled. Ears everywhere, that was what she'd been warned, so she doesn't go on much further. Just takes another sip of her drink. "At least I went out drunk. 'S how I always imagined it."

[burningdaylight]

Luke can’t help huffing a laugh at her bluntness. “None taken,” he says with mildly cheery sarcasm and a wry half-grin, the first he has cracked in what feels like years but what’s only been little more than a week. She has a point and he’s not about to deny it. The Capitol has healed his knife-slitted body and forced life back into him but the process has caused him to revert again to the whippet-thin, desperately hungry survivor he was when he entered Panem, traces of old bruises shading his eyebrow and jaw. Seems like the past is never too far behind.

When the conversation swerves sharply into grim territory, his expression grows solemn and he has a sudden gnawing feeling in his gut that this is the same guy who gunned Jane down and left her choking on her own breath, on her own blood, snow soaking to red slush around her. He doesn’t have to have seen it to picture it vividly.

But maybe that man hadn’t been the only one out there with a gun.

Dull anger flares inside him and he shakes his head. He’s seen it and heard the experiences of others before, knows of the sort of survivors who attack indiscriminately. Robbing, raping, murdering. Young or old, man or woman, armed or unarmed -- no one’s safe. Not forever. Not in the world he left behind and not here, either.

“Some people’ll stop at nothin’ to get what they want.” His brow knits. “Don’ matter who gets killed, whether they’re a threat or not, whether they’re a man or a woman or a kid. An’ some people… they jus’ do it ‘cause they can an' know they can sleep at night.”

I

[walking_dead_walker]

Hearing the crashes and bangs, Kieren emerged from his room to see what was going on out there. Of course, he realized the answer before he even stepped out, having heard what she was yelling, and once he was out there, watching the woman search for something else to throw, he realized he had nothing to say. She was right, after all. All her anger and all her fury was over a very accurate assessment of the situation, and he couldn't blame her for any of it.

And so, not knowing what to say for the moment, his sad, dead eyes just watched her as he stood in silence.

[allyorfoe]

It took a while, and more damage to the suite, for her to notice the man. When she did, her first reaction was--Not pretty. She shrieked, a glass flying next to Kieren's head, as she stumbled back. "Wh--What, Maker and Andraste, you're an unsettling kinda guy." What was it, that was so unsettling, it was hard to say, exactly. His eyes? "Is this my comeback for the mess? Tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

She straightened up, eyeing him carefully. She didn't fear the man--She feared very little in general. But he sure looked sketchy. He didn't seem aggressive, though, so she didn't do anything, waiting to see what the man had to say. She was a real diplomatic sort, Tabris.

[walking_dead_walker]

Kieren jerked away as the glass smashed against the wall inches from his head.

"Yes," he said sarcastically, "My face is your comeback for the mess." He glanced down at the broken glass before looking back up at the stranger. "It's not. I just came out of my room when I heard all the noise. Couldn't care less about the mess. And...well...I don't like the people running this place any more than you do."

I

[needlebearer]

The shouting and crashing brings Arya from her room. She understands that rage all too well, of being so close and yet so powerless to save the ones she cares about. For a moment she's not in the Capitol - she's at the base of Baelor's statue at the Great Sept; she's watching the torture and death in Harrenhal; she's clinging to the Hound as the chaos of the Red Wedding unfurls around them. And before knows what she's doing, she's right in there with her, smashing anything she can get her hands on, not caring if she gets in trouble so long as she can take her own rage out on something.

[allyorfoe]

The kid--She was as young as Bayard, wasn't she? Tabris was never a great judge of ages, but she didn't look much different than him. There was some differences, though--This girl was a warrior. Of that, she had no doubt. No need for the knife lessons here. She didn't say anything at first, letting her join her, until the suite is a mess, and debris litters the floor. Feeling a little more better--Though slightly ashamed to let a child see her in such a state--she turns to the youth.

"...You needed that as much as me. If they truly wanted to help us, they'd give us more than each other to beat down." The elf drawled, hand on her hip. "I see I'm already on my way to being a bad influence! They should have known who they plucked out of the Deep Roads, for all the trouble my influence brings." Her smile, now that she felt a little better, was confident, sneering in the face of those who brought her here.

[needlebearer]

Arya kicks some debris out of her way, wandering over to the couch and seating herself with her legs crossed under her, taking a moment to answer while she regains her breath. "I went down to the training centre a lot when I first got back from the Arena, but taking it out on the dummy didn't help. I feel a bit better now."

II,

[shiftingurbulls]

By the way this woman was reacting...Ellis had to conclude that she too had been one of Nick's victims. There wasn't much left in the mechanic after seeing Nick shoot a child, no two: Bayard had come after Beth. But unlike many of the Tributes that seethed in understandable rage, El saw through the callous behavior and saw just how much his death had affected the gambler's drive to win. Those first few Tributes he'd killed: Jack Sparrow, Jane, Phillip, and Firo, he did it with his usual level of cockiness that came with Nick knowing where he stood. He could see the hesitation, the way he chugged along without thinking much...

But El figured that this woman needed less justification from him and more like a drink or two.

"It's best to unleash a clusterbomb of fucks."

[allyorfoe]

She doesn't turn at first, staring out at the city, but acknowledges him with a graceful snort. When she does turn, her lips are pulled in a smirk. "Forgive me, I didn't realize I stood before a master of hurling obscenities. Stand forth, good sir, and show the rabble how it's done." Despite her words dripping with sarcasm, she seems to be feeling a little better after her own outburst, and steps aside (though there's plenty of room either way, she wants to be theatrical), and waves in the general area of where she had been. "I'm sure anyone who is stuck here could use a little screaming themselves."

[shiftingurbulls]

"Don't mind if I do: I gotta lot to scream at," Ellis chuckled at the biting humor Tabris was displaying and took the invitation.

Out of that man's mouth came a string of not only fucks, but insults to a man's mother and parentage, promiscuity, and other interesting tidbits that would probably be bleeped by the Game Cameras post-production.

"Tha' felt good...but I'm sorry I barged in on ya, Miss."

II

[69problems]

It isn't unusual for Signless to find people on the rooftop after an arena. It's a good place to think and perhaps one of the only green and growing places one can visit that isn't also infested with Capitolites. He's certainly been spending his own share of time here just to get away from the crushing monotony of watching arena coverage -- recaps, now.

The shouting is new, though. Usually when people come here they come here to brood, not to scream. It's a reaction that, thinking on it, he's surprised he doesn't see more often.

"Anything in particular, or the world in general?"

[allyorfoe]

She thought about that for a bit, before she turned to the man--Stopping, at his appearance. She looked less surprised than most new people do when meeting trolls, not the total shock of an alien utterly foreign to her, but simply confusion. What a small qunari. Odd horns, but maybe that was just another variation that she hasn't seen yet. Was he a child? Was that normal for qunari children?

"Both, if you want to get technical." She replied, still irritable, but feeling a little better. "The world sucks, but there are plenty of little things I could nitpick about." She could probably write a book on everything about this that was utter, and total bullshit. "Though you've helped with one thing--All I've seen is humans. I thought I had died and was being punished by spending my life surrounded by nothing but shems."

[69problems]

At least beyond his height it was difficult to mistake him for a child. His coarse stubble and the lines on his face definitely said 'adult', somewhere between thirty and forty -- or whatever the equivalent for tiny gray not-Qunari was.

At her words he looked her over a little more closely -- she looked fairly humanoid to him, but perhaps she was a case like the hobbits where even the smallest difference could mark a big difference in species.

"Oh, no. There are certainly people that aren't human here, though there's comparatively less of us. I personally am a troll, though I've found that many other species think trolls don't look much like me at all." At least no one had asked recently if he lives under a bridge.

"If you'd like to nitpick, I'm willing to listen."