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

[burningdaylight]

Swallowing a mouthful of beer, he glances over his shoulder with boyish-curiosity-turning-incredulity as she slips off her stool and works her magic of a different sort. She really didn't have to go through the trouble. Really. But between the coy wink and her sidling close and cozying up to some Capitolite soaking up her presence with ingratiating admiration, he's pretty sure 'trouble' isn't the right word for it. She's radiating a Jane-like satisfaction when she returns and, for a while, all he can do is stare at the coin she passes along as if he hasn't a clue what to do with it.

"Wow." He says to himself, flatly surprised.

The show goes on, though, silly as it is. And he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater a little, his hands calloused and etched with little cuts around the knuckles from everyday wear and tear. "A'right, well, it's all about knowin' how to hide the coin from the person you're thinkin' a' pullin' this trick on... an' since you already know I got one on me, there goes, like, all a' the magic."

He chuffs a small laugh, shaking his head. This is the last thing he expected to be doing at a bar. "The idea is that you wanna go up to somebody an' make 'em think you're pullin' a coin from behind their ear. So what you're gonna do is palm it, jus' like this." He bares his palm, demonstrating the ways the coin can be kept: pinched lightly in the web between his thumb and the side of his hand or resting it at the base of his middle and ring fingers. He then turns his hand, revealing how relaxed and inconspicuous his grip on the coin appears from the other side. "Y'jus' wanna act as natural as possible. Keep your hands loose at your sides an' make eye contact. That way, people'll ain't gonna be lookin' down. Then, when you're close enough --"

Reaching towards her ear with his coin-hand, he pretends to pluck it from behind her ear, mindful not to touch her.

"--'magic'. That's all there is to it."

[allyorfoe]

For all that Tabris is aware of the coin, she is new to the slight of hand, and watches him with rapt attention. Even as he explained it, she looked surprised at just how effective it was, as his hand pulled away the coin. She'd seen him do it, but there is novelty to it, and she can imagine for someone who had no idea how it worked, it would only be more fascinating.

"That's incredible--I mean, that anyone thought of it, at all. That someone could pull that off." She told him earnestly, looking, at the least, amused. "You should try that on some of the people where I'm from. Maybe not Cullen--Uh. Blond, kinda wavy hair, kinda a giant grouch. But the rest, maybe." She sipped her drink, and as she felt that fuzziness rush to her head, decided that this would definitely be her last one for the night, if she wanted to pretend to have her wits about her.

"You know the messed up part...We have magic, and we're afraid of it. People are terrified of mages. Even I was pretty unnerved at first. I'd never seen one. We lock them up in towers, tell everyone it's for their own good..." She mumbled, staring at her drink. "...Sorry. I'm just babbling now, aren't I? I could probably just spend the whole night complaining about my world. I mean--this is worse, but." A small sip of her drink. "The alcohol is better."

[burningdaylight]

It takes a certain level of drunkenness to be that impressed with his demonstration or so he's convinced. He lets out a soft, dismissive noise somewhere between a snort and a soft scoff, a barely-there smile on his lips as he sets the coin onto the counter between them.

“S’all yours." He slides it her way. "Knock yerself out.”

The vague amusement in his expression drains from his face all too soon, though, as she talks of moral panic and persecution and control, bringing to mind witch trials centuries ago. He already has opinions on the matter, his brow knitting – but he knows he can’t judge, at least not fairly, without knowing the the story in full. And he’s not sure he’s ready to take it on anymore than she seems ready to tell her side of it. He looks to her half-expectantly before considering what’s left in his own glass, lips pursed.

But, hey. He can't complain about the alcohol either. It’s rare when one could find a drop back home – and it’s just as well knowing the havoc a swig too many could wreak on one’s judgment. There was a reason why Bill had kept it locked away in the armory, after all.

[allyorfoe]

She takes the coin, turning it over in her hands, staring at it. Not the gold that she's used to, but hey. She slips it into a pocket, and grins at him, shrugging. "Another drink and you might get your wish." She told him, snorting into her drink like a mature, rational, and sober person. Or not.

But she soured the conversation with her angry bitterness at her world, at the injustices of it, at the unfairness and the corruption of power. Just wait until she really gets started, Luke. When he has no reply, she knows that he really doesn't want to get into it, and she can't blame him.

She leans in, putting a hand on his arm, too close and a little too friendly. There's a smile playing across her lips, as she tries very valiantly to focus on him. "What about you. Is your world a void-damned grease stain, too? What's it like being here? I complain, but, goddamn, that was my void-damned grease stain. And I was famous."

[burningdaylight]

His arm flexes subtly under her fingers. Then relaxes.

It hasn’t been since Jane had found him at the Crowning and reached for him, surer than he was and achingly needy in her own way, that he’s been touched like this. That his presence’s been quietly acknowledged – commanded - in a show of solidarity and support.

But this isn’t Jane.

His gaze flits from her hand to her smile, a softer, more vulnerable shade of surprise flickering across his face before caution surfaces in its place, subtly sharpening the lines of his body. He can’t take his eyes off her. He doesn’t feel he should. Between smelling the booze rolling heavy off her breath and her question cutting too close to the bone tonight, he feels the beer-loosened knots in his body pulling tighter again.

“Revas…” He begins, his voice low - and too unsure for it to be a warning. A sigh slips from him and he shakes his head. Anything said here, would she even remember it anyway?

“Look. It don’ matter.” He holds her gaze evenly. "…I figure it’s the same way here for me as it is for most everybody else, anyway.”

[allyorfoe]

Tabris may be drunk (though she would insist she was merely buzzed), but she's not stupid, and she may be pushy, but she's not an asshole. When he doesn't seem real pleased with her hand, it's withdrawn. Her nose wrinkles just slightly, had she gotten ugly. Or old. Oh god she must be too old. Men used to fall around her. Now she must have wrinkles. Only a matter of time before she started finding grey hairs.

It was kind of weird, hearing someone use her first name. No one ever used it. But it tickles her fancy at that moment. Why didn't anyone like her first name. Her mother gave it to her.

"The worlds are different." She murmured, running a finger around the rim of her drink. "Although, if you mean that you hate being here, yeah, haven't run into anyone who's real thrilled about the situation. I don't know who would be. Maybe if I could just stay in the bar for the rest of my life." She snorts, and takes a long drink. Who knew she'd turn into Oghren when she grew up.

[burningdaylight]

Building a life around the bar counter wouldn’t fly with the peacekeepers, of course. But he lets her entertain the idea for a while, the wary edge to his gaze softening as the polite distance between them is reestablished. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have given much thought to the casual touch of a pretty woman he didn't know. He remembers he’d have smiled easily, laughed a little, relishing in the playfulness of it. But those carefree times can’t come back. He rests a hand over his arm, smoothing his fingers over it with a slow thoughtfulness as if she’s left him with an old, tingling scar. He blinks at his glass. There's still a sip-worth of beer left and he reaches for it, swirling it around before tilting his head back, polishing it off. It goes down tasteless, sloshing around some cold, empty place inside him.

"Well, either way, you might wanna have yourself a glass a’ water before mornin'." There's a sort of quiet finality to the way he sets his glass down onto the counter, though he doesn't leave yet. Just pauses a moment, offering her another considering look.

[allyorfoe]

The flirtatious mood has left her once politely turned down, but in its place a bitter, gloomy mood settles in. She slowly turns to him as he gives advice that is genuinely helpful, but not wanted. No, what she wants is to feel like death. She wants to die and stay dead, and if she can't do that, than she's going to mimic death as best as she can. But even with alcohol and a suddenly depressive mood swing, she knows better than to lay that on him. He'd appreciate it even less than her hand.

Instead, she sits up, leans forward, and presses her face onto the bar. The smooth wood is grounding, and she considers screaming, but she really doesn't want to get hauled off by the peacekeepers.

"I want my dog." She says, finally, after a few minutes of pressing her face into the bar. "I miss my dog. He walked me home when I drank too much." This was not at all relevant to water, but whatever. Mabari were more important than water to any Ferelden.

[burningdaylight]

“Hey…” A crease forms between his brows. “You a’right?”

She’s not. No one is. And it doesn’t feel right to step away from the counter without considering what he suspects isn’t even a request after she has slumped to rest her forehead against the bar and remains like that for a long time. Her words hang heavy in the air, the longing in them making something clench fiercely in his gut.

“M’headin’ on back,” He husks, after a while, “so I can take you back to your floor. ...If you want.” He might not have the reassuring presence of her dog, but he’s about as guileless as one.

[allyorfoe]

She doesn't respond to his first question, because it's hilariously obvious that she isn't okay. Who could possibly be okay, here. The least they could have done was given Tabris her warhound. As much of a friend as a pet, as much fighting companion as a friend, while the dog who had journeyed Thedas with her when she was nothing but a city elf with tainted blood and a heavy burden had retired after a life well led, one of his children had bonded to her, and Puppy Junior was as smart and as brave as his sire.

She moved her face slowly at his offer, so she could look at him. "I'd tell you that you seemed as smart as my dog, but you don't have mabari, do you? It sounds like an insult if you don't. Mabari are as smart as humans--Smarter, sometimes." Slowly, she sits up, rubbing the indent on her face from the bar. She was rambling, but focusing on something positive seemed to help, a little. There was a definite tinge of sadness to her voice, but it was certainly better than her face planting.

"If you want." She finally replied to his offer, sliding off the barstool, and wobbling slightly. "It looks worse than it is. I've fought darkspawn like this before! A whole ogre." She assured him, holding onto the bar. "...I'm serious about the mabari. Puppy did a puzzle for me, once. I couldn't figure it out and he just...stepped on all the right parts. They don't make them like that anywhere else."

tw: animal death

[burningdaylight]

Luke follows suit and slides off his stool, trying to gauge whether she’d need to lean on him for support as he takes a step towards her. As a legend and ogre-slayer she might be too proud to ask and he's not inclined to push, either -- so he'll watch from the corner of his eye and ready his beer-blunted reflexes in the event that the situation calls for his speedy intervention. He pushes through the door with a snort, holding it open unthinkingly. "Man, if my dog had been that bright, she could a' saved me a lot a' time an' grief with all them papers."

Dixie had been perceptive in other ways, knowing when to rush at him and slather his face with kisses and when to quietly rest her head on his thigh and offer him her grounding presence, quirking her brows and looking up with those droopy, soulful eyes as if she had understood the complications of student loans and family discord and the human heart. He hadn't been ready to say goodbye to her; wouldn't have been even with all the time in the world to work up to it. He couldn't be while watching the slowing heave of her sides. While smoothing a hand over matted fur and feeling the sharp, unforgiving jut of her ribs behind his fingers, desperately wanting her to know, while cold and hungry and so far from home, that she was always loved. Wanting the glowing warmth of it to be the last thing she remembered before she slipped away and joined mom and dad, leaving him behind.

At least he had had the chance to say goodbye. Fewer than ever have that luxury now.

"She was a real sweetheart."

[allyorfoe]

"My dog never did any writing for me. He'd probably be better at it. At least we were on the same level of literacy." She openly admitted her own illiteracy as she follows him through the door. She manages to stay more or less upright, but she does reach out to lean a hand against him as she steps out through the door. She stops when she touches him to get some balance, making sure it's okay.

"Maybe Wynne should've taught him, too..." She muttered, looking around the city, too bright and too loud. What a bunch of assholes. And sure enough, she had no idea what direction she was supposed to go in. "Dogs are so great, aren't they? They just want to make you happy. It's so...innocent. The only ulterior motives they have are trying to get treats." She told him grimly, staring around at the street.

"Can we get dogs. I'm going to buy a dog." She stopped, then straightened, turning around. "Right now." As if determined to buy a dog right that moment, she started walking down the street.

[burningdaylight]

That she’s illiterate is a fact met with raised brows in mild surprise, not at the admission itself so much as at how readily it’s shared. But booze always does have that unwinding effect. Not everyone is afforded the same opportunities, back home or in any world, and who knew what access to education and schooling looked like where she was from. Thankfully, there'd always be the chance for her to learn with the resources at her disposal. The Capitol was good for a few things every now and again.

He lets her use him to steady herself, feeling her hand press into his shoulder and not having long to process it when she then seemingly makes her mind to go pet-shopping on a puppy-like impulse. He blinks at her helplessly.

“You serious?”

On second thought, don't answer that. He can’t help but imagine an excitable dog straining at a leash in her hands a little too forcefully, causing her to stumble and faceplant the concrete. Anything bigger might drag her halfway across the pavement and take her skin off with it.

[allyorfoe]

Illiterate isn't quite right, not anymore, though Tabris doesn't seem interesting in divulging the whole story. She was taught by Wynne, long ago, though she insisted that old dogs couldn't learn new tricks. Her literacy was nothing fantastic--What you would expect of someone taught their letters at age 20, and had little time for practice or training. Alistair helped, of course, being literate, but he wasn't much good at the actual teaching, like Wynne had been.

She looks dead serious about her urge to get a dog, though she hesitates when Luke brings it up. She seems to be mulling it over, until she turns back around, returning to Luke's side.

"I'd make a bad first impression like this." She informs him, as though contemplating a job interview rather than a pet. "You should meet a dog first at your best. A dog isn't going to want to bond with you when you're a hot mess." She thought for a moment, than turned to him, patting his cheek. Sorry, Luke. "Just like you must think I'm a hot mess! Well, you know what, I am. I'm a fucking mess, but I'm hot as hell. But I can't do that to a poor dog."

Her rambling is disjointed, slightly, stating things as they pop into her mind. It's too late and there's too much alcohol for her to make much sense anymore.

[burningdaylight]

But she can to another person.

He’s been to so many beer-laden parties at the houses of friends-of-his-friends he barely knew - weaving in and out of loud, sweaty, hormone-drenched crowds while music throbbed in his gut and he drank himself stupid with the rest - that nothing about hot messes is unfamiliar. He had been lucky enough to squeeze in a great deal of fun in before the world’s end.

It’s her touch that gets to him; or what touch like this has become over the years. More condescending than playful and more threatening than harmless. He instinctively edges away very slightly, body humming with expectation while he slants her a sideways look, tense and watchful. The last person to have touched his face had tattooed his knuckles to his skin after all, meaning to beat him into the floor. And he had gotten close.

It lasts only a half-second, but that’s half a second too long - and there’s a tension in his jaw when he turns, shifting his gaze to the Tribute tower. “C’mon.” He says lowly, moving on.