Revas Tabris (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allyorfoe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-03-13 09:27 pm
allyorfoe) wrote in thecapitol2015-03-13 09:27 pm
Can you be forgiven, when the cold grave has come?
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.
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.
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.
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!"
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.
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...
She glanced over Arya again, a smile slowly coming to her face. She crosses her legs neatly, leaning forward. "You know, in the arena, I was with a young man, about your name. His name's Bayard, and he didn't know much about fighting. I've been training him, but maybe he'd like training more with a person his own age? Even if you're not a warrior yet, I bet you could give him a little help." And seeing more women fighting would be good for him, besides. Get that odd notion out of his head that women weren't fighters unless sorely pressed.
And he needed to have friends his own age. Couldn't hang out with adults his whole time here.
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