thecapitol | (no subject)

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The first thing that Dorian did when he awoke was reflexively touch his chest, only to find the scarred over flesh was instead smooth and unbroken, just as it was when he had first arrived in the capitol. He just breathed, for a moment, staring up at the ceiling with his hand resting against his lungs, feeling the breath fill them and then slip away. After a moment he got up - found the clothes waiting for him, and dressed, before spending a few long minutes carefully looking over himself in the mirror. Every cut, every gash, every scar was gone. The hunger and the illness no longer hollowed his cheeks, the bags were gone from under his eyes. He carefully waxed his moustache and tousled his hair, looking at his reflection and feeling, not for the first time, older than he appeared.

When he stepped out his door, he nearly tripped over the small candle burning at his feet, but somehow managed to keep his dignity. He frowned, leaning down to pick it up.

"Exactly how long have I been gone?" He wondered aloud.

~~~

Later, when he could finally steal a moment of peace from his escort's overbearing gaze, Dorian escaped into the city. He made a beeline for a small, but up-class, bar - the kind that seemed to cater to people of more peculiar tastes than the usual. He needed a drink. Or, you know, ten.

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Dorian looked up at the voice, a smile coming to his lips as he blew the candle out. "I may need to be caught up on what 'all that' entailed. Last I checked vigils weren't a common feature for a couple days escapade in Death, so it must have been longer than that."

He set the candle back down next to the door, and turned to smile even wider at Maxwell. "You're looking well. Perhaps I won't have to kill you for dying after all."

"Longer than that, yes," he confirmed, but he didn't clarify.

Did it matter now? The man was back, and he had likely been just a little foolish in worry. (The strangeness of it, he'd tell himself later. Two men, one face, tangled up in his thoughts.) Maybe even more than a little.

"You still could," he offered, smile tugging at his lips. "But then I would be truly dead and then you would be angry all over again and what could we do then?"

"I have to admit, I'm feeling a touch more 'pleased to be alive' than 'murderous rage', so I think you get a pass," Dorian teased. He noticed the lack of detail, but he didn't press it. He assumed he'd hear it from Jason, soon enough.

"Whatever they use to heal us must be quite something - I don't have a scar on me. Well, save for my beauty ones from back home, of course." And he had quite a few of those, to be honest. Hanging out with the Inquisition meant he collected them, even with the healers.

"Magnanimous of you." He half-bowed, bending at the waist, head dipping smartly. "I shan't forget your mercy."

Straightening back up, his eyes moved over Dorian's face. Checking for himself, before quickly meeting his gaze again.

"Science, they insist," he said. "Personally, I'm just happy not to be an undead."

Which was what he'd pictured when they'd spoken of it. Unable to imagine how it could possibly work otherwise.

"I don't know, I can't imagine undeath is all that bad," He said - teasing and light and obviously sarcastic. Necromancers kind of had to get used to that particular line of jokes.

"But if I was capable of this sort of 'science' I imagine it would be rather easier to summon decent help."

He reached out, patting Maxwell's shoulder as if to make certain for himself that the man was healthy and whole.

"Everyone else? Are they-" He trailed off. All accounted for? Back in the Capitol? Still in the Arena...?

"Well, I suppose if I were being raised by you..."

He let the joke fall, the humor tasting strange - and not just because the mage's next question wasn't funny at all. (Too true, too much more than just teasing. He pushed it aside to deal with later.)

"Tabris and Bull fell shortly after we did. Bayard as well. Only Cullen remains." His lips pressed into a line as he took a long breath. "Josephine and Lavellan didn't return."

In another time, another place, he would have made a joke about being 'raised', but his humour disappeared with the news. His hand fell in time with his face.

"... You're certain?" He asked, his voice grave. "Not merely... delayed, as apparently I have been?"

The answer was clear even before he spoke. His head dipped, regret flashing across his face. Wishing he could say otherwise, but unable to.

"They're rooms have been cleared," he said quietly. "And there are new tributes in their place... as if they never were."

Except for those who remembered. Like the arena, gone - even from their very skin - but not forgotten.

He didn't know what to say to that, something close to bile rising in his throat, and he turned his face to glare at something unseen.

"... I see," he said eventually, stiffly. "How very ceremonious of them." Lavellen. He hadn't even had a chance to ask-- but no. Probably for the best. And Josie...

He took a hard breath and let it out through his nose.

"I'm sorry, Dorian."

He meant it. Maxwell had barely known either of them, having arrived just shortly before the arena, but Dorian had spent more time with them. Had known Josie for more than what they all merely remembered, and Lavellan.... He could guess what that had meant to the mage.

A connection, however small, to his own world. To his own Inquisitor.

"Is... is there anything I can do?"

He pushed that wave of grief away and forced a stilted smile that did not reach his eyes to his lips. "I don't suppose you have a good brandy? Beyond that, I think there's little any of us can do. There had to be some stakes, or who would bother to watch a death match without any death?" The sarcasm was sharp and dark and fairly bitter.

"...Not on me, I'm afraid." His mouth twisted with wry, dark humor, gesturing to the deep blue jacket he had on - the trousers made from the strange, though oddly comfortable, material. The pockets were limited and not nearly big enough to hide anything like that. "But I imagine we can dig some up, if we were to put our minds to it."

He paused a moment, then reached reach and rested a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Though, you should probably stop in with the others first. It -- has been a while. They'll want to see you."

Dorian nodded. "Yes. And I want to see them, if I'm honest." Part of him wanted to check, to make sure, that Maxwell was telling the truth. Not because he thought Maxwell was lying, but because he couldn't believe that he'd returned unscathed and Josephine hadn't--

A sadness washed over his face, quickly chased away. "Yes." Starting with those he'd seen fall long ago. "Cole? If he arrived here alone--"

"I'm told he returned." His mouth opened, closed, working up a small smile - trying to hide how the words really made him feel. "But he hasn't made himself known to me."

He understood the young man was even more human like, here, but he apparently was still quite good at hiding himself.

And Maxwell wasn't going to force his company on those who didn't want it.

His face fell, the words belying Maxwell's smile. If Cole was hiding from them...

"Alone here, for so long... I'll find him. I hope he's been eating, at the very least." The worry slips into his voice. Really, he's worried about all of them, including Maxwell, but you can't really just ask a person how they have been dealing with their own death.

"Adella spoke with him, I understand," he offered quickly, something sharp kicking in his chest as Dorian's face fell. Wanting without though to ease it. "--Perhaps you can start there, and she can help you."

He nodded, before sighing. "What I wouldn't give for a district to ourselves," he said wryly. "Thought I imagine that Cassandra is correct, and that they separate us on purpose."

"Walk with me? Perhaps we can search out the others."

He'd been ready leave him be, the knowledge that he had returned all he really needed, but after it was offered, he realized he wanted a few minutes more.

Just... to be certain.

He smiled, a bit more honest and nodded, turning to gesture down the hall.

"It would make things easier... but you would have to share the pleasure of spitting in Jason's tea."

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