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. '

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]

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.

[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."

[allyorfoe]

"I'm used to people shitting on me. Usually they have the courtesy to explain why." She leans against the wall, fingers still gripping the stone. "Or they offer to pay me, at least." She gave the other woman a wry smile. Graceful, poised, and with a clean tongue and mind. That's the mark of a lady, right?

"Tabris, that's me. I could roll out all my titles, if you wanted, but you seem to have an idea of what's up." Not that it took much to get her to do it anyway. She'd earned those fucking titles.

"Nice t' meet you, Commander. I was told that. Spent most of the arena puzzling out if it was bullshit or not. Guess I got to find out the hard way, huh?" She glances over her arms, plenty of scars, but none new. Nothing new. Like the last arena hadn't even happened. "Maker, and I thought the Chantry couldn't hate me worse, this is some next level bullshit, you know that?"

[earthborn]

"Oh, you're gettin' paid," That's a laugh, if you like it, although you could be forgiven for mistaking the sound Shepard made for something less complimentary, "A nice little packet for every body you drop. But they'll throw you a line of credit until then-- not that it matters. They couldn't let us starve even if they wanted to."

Dumpsters full of food thrown out for being too ugly, free food in half a hundred parties, every night, and that was before you even got to picking things out from the fridge. These people had too much fucking money.

"It's probably better if we leave all the titles out of it. Gets kinda pretentious," Commander, she'd said, and it made Shepard smile. Damn, it was nice not to have to ask, "I can answer any questions you've got. But, for starters, I should let you know, I've got a formal alliance with the Inquisition. I'm not really sure what that means with two so-called Inquisitors on the table, but I honor my agreements, so."

[allyorfoe]

"Lovely." She drawled, though it was nice to know, at least, she wouldn't be left out in the cold with no money. Still dependent on the assholes making her dance to their murderous tune, but. At least she had some ability to buy things she wanted. "I think I'm going to get a dog, first. Do they have war hounds here? Rude of them to not bring mine with me."

Any questions, huh. She leaned back, and thought on this. Sure, she had a hundred questions, but battering Maxwell and Cullen hadn't gotten her too far, and this woman actually knew what she was talking about, not just some rumors and confusion. She snorted when Shepard mentioned the Inquisition, a not entirely pleasant smile on her face. "Neither of them are the one from my world, either. We got an elf to mop up the mess, our world knows better than to throw men who can't lead onto a throne, because he happens to be the consequence of some king who can't keep it in his pants. Know better than to let fuckin' shems do an elf's job--no offense." She paused, and scratched her cheek. "And you probably don't give a shit about all my little issues with them. Tell you what, though, I see a human claiming to have my job? I'm pitching her over the roof."

Tabris shook her head, not nearly as sorry as she should be about declaring she'd kill whoever else tried to claim the title of Hero of Ferelden. "I shouldn't give them ideas. Which gracefully brings me to my first question. They said the whole arena, they could...see us. Everything we do. Is that here, too? Is there any kind of privacy in this place?" The idea of being monitored in the arena 24/7 drove her up the wall, and the idea of being watched even here...Ugh.

[earthborn]

"Okay, wait, I know some of that was pretty important, but-- a dog?" Just when you think you've heard it all: this shit, "Look, that's just... Actually, y'know what, nevermind."

We don't need to confront people on the deeply flawed notion of pets, right now. There are bigger problems here. Like what the hell was a Shem?

"To answer your question, yeah, they can see the entire arena. And the security people, at least, can see us right now. It's kind of like, uh..." She ran her hand through her hair, trying to find the words. No one had ever trained her for this! It wasn't in Jane's job description to explain antiquated twentieth-century tech to someone from a world that never invented transistors, let alone mass field engines, "I can't think of a less creepy way to say disembodied eyes, but since as far as I can tell you people don't have cameras, Just...There's no privacy. To be safe, always assume you're being listened to, and watched."

[allyorfoe]

"...It's a Ferelden thing." Is the only explanation she gives, which doesn't explain anything to Shepard, really. "We like dogs."

Tabris looked around, squinting, as if expecting to spot some kind of weird eyeballs staring at her. None were seen, but she figured there was no reason to lie about this. She didn't understand how, but she could understand the main point--No privacy. "Even in our rooms? In our bathrooms?" She questioned, lip curling. She still had bruises from trying to figure out how the strange...cleaning...water thing worked. Every time water spat out at her, she'd shrieked and nearly toppled over. Embarrassing, even more so if some leering asshole had been watching.

"Piss on a stick, this is a mess. I've been kidnapped before, woke up in a dungeon without my armor or weapons, that wasn't a big deal. I got out and killed everything until I got my stuff back and left. I thought this would be similar. But it's not." She rubbed her forehead, frowning. "Next question--The people who don't come back. Is it clear why? Did they say the wrong things?"

[earthborn]

"Not even in the bathrooms, most places."

There were exceptions. Blind spots. But she couldn't say that-- certainly couldn't point them out. People had been arrested, even tortured for shit like that. Shepard had been one of them. Of course, there wasn't time to wax grim on that count, with Tabris asking shit like that.

"We don't really know," Now she was looking down at the tablet in her hands, some sleek, useless thing with barely the functionality of an antique datapad, and twice as ugly. It's weight made a shitty distraction, "I have a few theories. Sometimes, I think it's because they're not entertaining enough anymore. Sometimes, it's like they're trying to punish the ones they leave behind. Sometimes, it's just random-- you mentioned the elf inquisitor. Lavellan, right?"

Shepard remembered Lavellan. They'd never spoken, but she'd seen the woman, known her for an ally, in theory if not in practice.

"Never came back from the cornucopia. Guess they just didn't like her attitude."

[allyorfoe]

The reaction to hearing about Lavellan is odd. She never met the woman, only got a letter from her people, sent a hasty letter back--But Tabris gripped the edge, fingers digging into the stone. She glanced away, a look on her face. "Of course she didn't. Of course they didn't." She mumbled. Lavellan. A Dalish. A Dalish proclaimed as the Maker-damned Herald of Andraste. She could just pray that the death had been quick, that her spirit was free to walk with the Creators. Or better yet, she'd been put back where she belonged, in a world that needed a leader, and a world that needed to see an elf leading. "At least some things don't change. It's almost comforting."

She found it odd to imagine they'd bothered to keep herself around, when she had attitude issues of her own. Maybe she was entertaining. The idea soured her. She had no more urge to be entertaining than she did to participate in this at all.

There were more questions, but she didn't want to ask them if she was being monitored. Well, except one.

"I suppose this is the least serious question you've been asked, but. I need to know. Why do these people look so...like jesters in the court of a king with poor eyes. I had a mirror in my room, are the tributes the only ones given them?"

[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. '

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 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."

[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."

[allyorfoe]

"I'm all aflutter. How will I ever be able to thank the Capitol for being so kind, and generous?" She sneered, but talking helped, and the more they spoke, the more she relaxed. She knocked a chair over, anyway, just because she felt particularly spiteful, but the chair would survive to another day.

"So, this is it. We spend our days fighting to the death, being revived, and doing it all over again." She stared out the windows of the suite. What stopped someone from just throwing a chair through them, and either jumping, or pitching someone else? Not that she would do that, she knew enough to understand that there were certain limits. For now.

"Why do they bother? If they can pluck people out of wherever they want, they seem to have unlimited people. So why bring us back? Why make us do it over and over?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"You know, I asked the same thing? Surely they could find people out there who want to be here, or at the very least, wouldn't mind as much. It could only be easier on them...."

He shook his head, mouth pressing thin as he pushed a breath out through his nose.

"But here we are, again." His gaze darkened, the humor, however dry disappearing, and the line of his lips turned down at the corners. "Some of us."

[allyorfoe]

"I'm sure that they have only the best in mind, in their righteous consideration." She drawls, though stops, when she notes his gaze. She makes her way over the wreckage she'd created, to come face him. She frowns, looking him over, then recalling what he had said, about how some don't come back. Quietly, she reaches up, clasping his shoulder.

"...What's the score." Voice soft and quiet, trying to show some kind of consolation. Wondering who had returned, and who hadn't. She wasn't sure of Max's relationships, which ones would so clearly effect him.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Two. ...We've lost two, for certain. And a third--"

And the weight of it on him was clear. The words were low, and his chin dropped as he shook his head again.

He blamed himself for not being there, for not doing more. Even they hadn't been his, even if they hadn't remembered him. They had deserved better.

"Josephine and Lavellan didn't return after they fell at the Cornucopia. And Dorian..." A muscle twitched beneath her hand - and Dorian. "They say there's still a chance he'll return, but as I understand it, it's less likely the longer it takes."

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]

So, that's how that was. She had a mental note to be slightly less of an ass to Dorian if he did show up. If Maxwell cared for him, he couldn't be that bad. But she nodded in understanding, squeezing his shoulder. Her look did fall when she heard about Lavellan, though. "Typical. Kill the elf and don't bring her back. Maybe they have a status quo." She mumbled, more to herself, than Maxwell. Bitterness from a life time of ill treatment didn't go away, ever, really.

But he wasn't here to hear her tirade against shems. She gave him an encouraging smile, releasing the shoulder to give him a reassuring pat. "There's nothing we can do now. We just have to wait. But hey...Maybe when we die for real, we pass back to where we belong. That'd be nice, huh?"

[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."

[dreadinquisitor]

If she'd mentioned it aloud, he might have tried to explain it, how it strange it all was, but she didn't. So he merely nodded.

"We can only hope," he said. "They certain deserve it."

Deserved better than to be toys, used and thrown away.

He wasn't sure he believed it, the way so many of the other tributes talked, but there was no harm in hoping they'd found something better. Either back home where they belonged, or at the Maker's side.

Looking back up, he met her gaze. "Though I am sorry you didn't get to meet Lavellan. She seemed like a good woman. I think you would have liked her."