'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts

[dreadinquisitor]

WHO| Maxwell and you?
WHAT| Returning to the Capitol and it feels so... well. It has feels.
WHERE| District 8 and around the Tower
WHEN| After the start of the mini-arena
Notes/Warnings| Nothing really.



It had been weeks. The room had sat empty all that time, silent and still and untouched save for the occasional Avox, coming to clean. (As if they could wash away memories. As if ghosts could be discarded with the gathered dust.) Anyone who had been in the Capitol for even a short time knew that the longer a room was empty, the less likely it was that its occupant was going to return.

Smart coin was that Maxwell Trevelyan was long gone.

But then, one afternoon, without fanfare, the door opened and he stepped out, looking little different than he had the last time he'd left it. A little tired, a touch pale, but whole and alive.

That this was surprising, he didn't know. For him, the arena had just ended - in blood and fire, Dorian's scream, the scream of the thing from the trees still ringing quietly in his ears. He didn't know that so much time had passed. That he'd been missing for so long.

So he carried about his post-death business as he always would have done. Seeking out the chair by the grand, bay windows in the common room. Sitting with his eyes closed, face to sun. Silently chasing away the lingering chill of his grave.

~.~

Of course it didn't last. Ignorance might have been bliss, but it was also temporary, and before long the truth was revealed.

It was difficult for him to accept, to even know how to process. There was shock and a cold, heavy, kind of horror that sank and settled low in his gut. How close he had come-- how easily the Capitol wielded its power....

But there was one thing he could do. One thing he had to do.

Setting out, he went of search of those closest to him. To ease whatever concerns they might have had, as well as his own.

They were alright... weren't they?

Comments

[revocation]

Cullen had been keeping himself busy, especially since that week of dreams. When an idea formed in his head, he followed through on it, after all, and this particular plan required the cooperation of others to work properly.

So he'd been coming and going from the tribute tower regularly, and it was only on his return that afternoon that he spotted the familiar face, his eyebrows going up.

"Maxwell?" Well, it didn't hurt to check, right?

[dreadinquisitor]

Many Thedosians, Maxwell included, spent a great deal of time in the training room, and he'd been on his way there first, before trying to track everyone down on their individual floors. He was crossing from the elevator when he heard his name.

Turning, his eyes scanned-- and lighted on Cullen, and a relieved smile appeared, relaxing some of the tension out of his mouth.

"Last I checked," he said, exhaling a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

(It was easier to joke when good news was staring back at you.)

[revocation]

"Maker's breath, we all thought you were dead," Cullen blurts out with a huff. "What happened to you?"

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's small smile faltered, and faded slowly, tiredly.

"Apparently, I--," he started, but he couldn't quite get it out. (Faintly, he could smell wet earth. Taste copper.) "The arena ended some time ago, I'm told, but I've only just returned. The last thing I remember-- was my death."

[revocation]

Cullen stared at him a moment, his mind whirling. "So you - didn't return to Thedas?" he asked after a pause.

"They simply - delayed your... resurrection?"

[dreadinquisitor]

His expression saddened. Wishing he could say otherwise.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "If I did... I don't recall it."

[revocation]

"It's hardly your fault," Cullen said, waving his hand to brush the apology aside. "It's good, at least, to have you back, I suppose." That doesn't sound very enthusiastic, Commander.

"That is, well. Being alive is better than the alternative."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's eyebrows quirked, forehead wrinkling. His mouth twisted bemusedly, chuckling softly. "Would you like some time to think about, Cullen? I could leave and come back later."

[revocation]

Cullen barked out a short laugh. "Trust me, I'm overthinking everything else right now as it is. But I am sorry to say Dorian is no longer here. Or, is still missing, as the case may be."

[clotting]

As last time, Temple is waiting for Maxwell when he leaves the bedroom. The scene might be exactly the same as last time, if not for the fact that her son is not a peripheral ghost living through the rocking horse and the toys but a flesh and blood human, playing with an action figure on the floor as Temple leafs through a magazine. There's also a fondue fountain that spills bourbon and chocolate in the corner of the room.

The five year old rushes up to Maxwell, a wide grin on his face. He immediately grabs at Maxwell's clothes, as if to check if he's real.

"You're back!" he crows. Temple glances up, a pleasantly surprised expression on her face. "Pick me up!" Bailey cries.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell took a step back in surprise, caught off guard by the five-foot blur racing toward him, but he managed a small smile as the hands patted at him.

As far as welcomes went, it was better than the last time.

"I-- yes," he said, holding out a hand as if torn between fending the boy off and doing as he asked. He looked at the woman - he assumed to be mother or nanny - helplessly.

[clotting]

"Bailey," Temple hisses sharply. "Let him alone. He just got up."

Normally, she lets her child run just about wild, but she understands the shock of that first moment waking up from the Arena. She remembers hers clearly. There are some times - very very few times - where her experience as a Mentor overrides her desire to be the perfect Capitol mother to her child.

"Mommy," Bailey protests, but Temple gets up and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Maxwell." She holds her hand out to shake. "I'm Temple Stevens."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Later," Maxwell promised the boy, small smile sincere, even if his voice was still a bit weak. "You can come see me later."

It was true he had a soft spot for children, and he hadn't meant to get Bailey in trouble.

Turning to Temple, elegant handwritten notes floating up from the depths of memory, he nodded and took her hand. "The mentor. ...Thank you, on both counts."

[clotting]

"I want to see you now!" Bailey squeals, and Temple snaps her fingers and an Avox comes over and places its hand over Bailey's mouth. She shushes her boy and promises him a treat if he doesn't kick up a fuss.

"I prefer the term Staff. After all, it encompasses more than just Mentoring." It was not Temple's hand that wrote those notes, and thus the writing was perfect - her own is clumsy and inarticulate, good for signatures but crude for communication. She holds her hand out to shake.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's smile tipped and went sheepish as the boy tried to squeeze out from under the Avox's hands.

Sorry little man.

"Staff," he echoed to Temple, thinking it would be easier to remember than all the individual titles they had. He took her hand and shook it, grip warm despite the chill working sluggishly through his veins. "Sorry for the fuss. I didn't know I had such an eager fan."

[clotting]

"It's hardly your fault that I let him watch too much TV," she says, and her smile is warm and sweet and blithe. "Come, is there any way I can help you readjust? I've heard that the, ah, the resurrection process..."

She dismisses the Avox and her son with a wave of her hand. The Avox shuffles the boy away.

"I've heard it can be a bit of a shock. Not that the Arenas themselves aren't, but- well, I don't think that I should be preparing you for the next one just yet. I'm here to make your life a little easier for the moment."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell offered the boy one last little wave before he disappeared, then turned back Temple with a deep breath and a slow shake of his head.

"...No," he said, hand reaching up to knead the back of his neck. "I just need time, mostly. Just to sit and-- remember where all my limbs are."

His smile was handsomely wry. Then, suddenly bright as something occurred to him.

"But I have friends in the arena still. Could you tell me if I have anything left? Anything I can send them?"

[allyorfoe]

After her period of grief--Well, not period, perhaps, for she was still grieving, might always be grieving, but she's gotten past the inability to leave her room. Life still ticked on, and with the new rules, no matter how upset she was with the situation, money was still needed. For the first time in a long time she appreciates the sacrifices her father made after her mother passed away. How he went back to work almost immediately. She understands a lot better now, than when she was so young.

She's staying away from alcohol for a good while. After the last bender she went on, she's managed to control the urge to satiate her feelings with alcohol. At least until she knows that she can control it.

Without alcohol to solve her problems, and with no energy to divert into hitting things, she's been doing something new. She's been learning. With lessons from Merlin, she's been slowly making progress in this whole reading business. Maxwell will find her in her Suite's common area, sitting in a chair and reading a book. Not the usual site for Tabris to be a part of, but a lot of things have changed.

She doesn't seem to notice Maxwell, eyes intent on the words in front of her. Occasionally, she'll stop and squint, sounding out words that are too large, and frowning. Why did other people like doing this.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell understood grief. Mourning.

Even if he couldn't fully explain everything he'd felt, with so many different things tangled and confusing, knotted tight in his chest, he had recognized that. Had felt it, lingering at the edges of everything he did like a second shadow. Even as he'd been pulled toward Dorian, even as he'd felt....

But even he hadn't already known it (better than an old friend) he'd would have then. After his talk with Cullen. After the news that Dorian also hadn't returned from the arena. After learning that they didn't expect him too.

He wanted to drink. Wanted to shut himself away. Wanted... more than he knew was possible.

For that, he forced himself on. Drinking himself into a stupor could wait until after he'd seen the others.

Up to Ten he went, looking for Tabris, turning automatically toward her room before the sound of her voice, soft and careful, brought him back out to the common room.

"...Cyclical?" he offered gently after a moment, trying to smile, though it felt as hollow in his face as his chest felt empty.

[allyorfoe]

She doesn't jump up, not at first, too busy focused on the task at hand. She hears a voice saying a word she doesn't understand--what else is new? "What's that mea--" She almost has the question fully voiced when she realizes that she knows that voice, recognized it, and who it belonged to.

The book is all but thrown to the ground as she leaps up, wheeling around. One look at Max, just to make sure that she hasn't just begun imagining things. Then she scales the couch, and runs right at him, like an elf-shaped battering ram, flinging her arms around the stupid jerk who had gone and died and then had the gall to come back.

Her hug is tight and unyielding, and she only lets go once she feels that he's really there, that she hasn't just started hallucinating the dead. Once she does let go, she takes a step back, eyeing him carefully. "If all dead people looked like you, I would think people would have better opinions of the undead." Small pause. "Asshole."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell had just enough time to brace himself, slipping into a ready fighter's stance developed long before he'd arrived in Panem, before the Tabris-shaped blur was hitting him with more force than anything her size had any real right too. The move saved them from toppling to the floor, but he still staggered a few steps, a surprised half-curse popping free from him like a cork from a bottle.

"Maker's ass--"

The other half was - despite everything - a small, rough laugh. Emotion deepening it. Sadness, relief, and humor warring in his chest.

Steadying himself, his arms became a mirror of hers, holding her fast, comforting himself as much as her. Alive and real.

"You've rooted out my diabolical plan," he joked wryly when she pulled back. "And I was so certain I could take over the world with that one."

[allyorfoe]

She laughed at that, even as she clung tightly to him. It was loud and unapologetic laughter, laughing that Maxwell was here, laughing that Maxwell just swore and she can't remember him ever using the Maker's name in vain like that, and that he still had that sense of humor. Maybe it's just because so many people were lost that arena, because if Maxwell came back, maybe--

But no. She couldn't do that to herself.

She focuses on who is here, she focuses on Maxwell, giving him a wide grin. "Well, I might just let you do it anyway, as long as you put me in charge of something." The woman gave a quiet snicker, before shaking her head, and giving Maxwell another squeeze. A somber expression slowly took over, golden eyes looking intently at Maxwell. Not many people get a chance to speak like this to someone they thought they lost. There were so many other things to other people she never got to say.

She's not going to lose the second chance.

"...I missed you, Maxwell." She tells him, voice firm. "I'm so glad you're back."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Who'd of thought the great Hero of Ferelden could be so easily bought?" he replied. His smile was small, and strained around the edges, but there was a warmth in his eyes. He was just happy to see his friend. "I'm so disillusioned right now."

But then it faltered, dimming as she stared up at him. His expression sobering as the reality of the situation returned, like the intruding rays of a too early morning on a good sleep.

"I'm sorry I worried you. And kept you waiting."

[allyorfoe]

"You're just lucky that the archdemon couldn't speak, we might have struck a deal, and then Ferelden would be a speck of dust in the wind." She waved her hand vaguely around, a grin on her face. Maybe if the archdemon agreed to leave the elves alone. And let her keep Alistair. Nobody would've been surprised. Mutter about how elves couldn't do anything right, probably. While darkspawn chewed on them.

When he apologizes, she shakes her head, her grip on him tightening. And she stares at him intently, a smile on her face, but with wear and tear of her own, a sadness of things that she'd have to bare for the rest of her life.

"No. Don't be. I'm just glad that you came back. Not--" Her voice threatened to break, but Tabris was never one to allow herself to show weakness. She'd given herself a week of grieving, and she wouldn't allow herself to cry after that. Not in public, at least. "--Not everyone did."

[dreadinquisitor]

"I know," he murmured softly. The weight of an age beyond his 30 thirty years pulled heavily at his mouth, lengthening his frown. It deepened the lines around his eyes, dulled his gaze slightly as it went distant, recalling faces. Moments shared. "Cullen..."

He couldn't quite get the rest of the sentence out, the words a bitter sickness in the back of his throat. (Cullen told me. About Alistair. About Dorian. About all of them.) He squeezed her shoulders, trying to bring some small comfort to them both again.

"I'm so sorry, Tabris."