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Hindi Sad Diamonds
Aug. 18th, 2016 11:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apurrstateWhen he woke up this morning, it was to an aching back and a cold hard cot stuffed away in the back of his master's home. The sun had barely turned the morning air blue and purple and already the streets were alive with merchants setting up shop for the day, Master Irving included.
Hours later, his life had turned upside down.
The chill of the evening was already setting in even with the sun dipping into the horizon, but Anders could feel it all too well against his bare skin and, what little clothing he was wearing, was hardly protecting him from the air. The sleeves of what could barely be called a shirt when it really only covered the top part of his chest and left his abdomen open to the air, were so sheer his arms were clearly visible in them. The long stretch of bare skin was only interrupted by the wrap artfully tied low around his hips, his legs encased in some sort of thin but stretchy material that showed off exactly how long they were. The clothes themselves were in rich shades of blue he never could have afforded for himself in all his life, but the most ostentatious part of the entire outfit were the strings of small pearls artistically string through his tied up hair.
He felt like a show animal and, he supposed, that was exactly what he'd become.
Anders tried not to stare at the opulence of the room he'd been left in and instead focused on poking into every nook and cranny to see if there might be a way to escape. As he searched, his mind drifted over his insane situation and questions of just how exactly he'd managed to end up here.
Being bought to be the palace's potion maker and healer seemed like a dream come true and the women who'd picked him up seemed nice enough and certainly beautiful enough to have come from the palace themselves. But then he'd been brought in through the back and put through what could only be called luxurious torture. They'd shoved him into the longest and most fragrant bath in a tub he would have sworn was as big as the entire hovel he'd just come from. Isabela and Merrill (as he'd come to learn) had stayed with him every step of the way, even as other servants came and went to help with various stages of his 'cleaning,' trimming his hair and nails and waxing him in a way he swore was actually a new torture technique used by the rich, all finished off by the two women dressing him up like he now was and dumping him in this room.
Isabela made it very clear very quickly their intent for bringing him here wasn't simply to make potions and heal ailments, he was meant to be a courtesan to none other than the Maharajah. He'd lost his breath in that moment. Few had even seen the man, much less knew much about him. His presence was more like that of a distant god to those in the town, affecting their lives but rarely visible. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so utterly terrifying if the two women hadn't filled his head with images of some large quiet brute with the sexual prowess of the very god citizens painted him to be. At least, that's how Isabela painted the picture. Marrill's side of things was much more vague, but tried to highlight the good things like how the lord Hawke had a very nice smile when he used it and had a lovely voice that was smooth as silk. He'd had to bite back the sarcastic retort about how that was sure to make him feel better when the time came.
On top of all of that, he knew well what was expected of a courtesan, he'd known plenty of women who dismissed the notion and many who longed for it and Anders knew he really wanted no part of it, he had no interest in 'satisfying' whatever lords or ladies the Maharajah decided he would 'lend' Anders to. He might be dressed and painted to be some show horse, but he wouldn't be treated like one.
Which was why he needed to find an escape route. Even if this first night couldn't be avoided, he would find a way out and finally gain the freedom he'd thought he'd been stepping into this morning. He should have known there'd be a catch.
The sound of the chamber's outer door opening had Anders scrambling away from a somewhat promising view of the balcony and the wall beside it to avoid his intentions being found out. He stood, heart pounding in his head and chest, in the middle of the grand room, eyes fixed on the doorway. This was it, he was only seconds from meeting a man rumored to have an iron fist and unflinching dedication to break whatever got in the country's way. He would surely be a terror of a man.
Hours later, his life had turned upside down.
The chill of the evening was already setting in even with the sun dipping into the horizon, but Anders could feel it all too well against his bare skin and, what little clothing he was wearing, was hardly protecting him from the air. The sleeves of what could barely be called a shirt when it really only covered the top part of his chest and left his abdomen open to the air, were so sheer his arms were clearly visible in them. The long stretch of bare skin was only interrupted by the wrap artfully tied low around his hips, his legs encased in some sort of thin but stretchy material that showed off exactly how long they were. The clothes themselves were in rich shades of blue he never could have afforded for himself in all his life, but the most ostentatious part of the entire outfit were the strings of small pearls artistically string through his tied up hair.
He felt like a show animal and, he supposed, that was exactly what he'd become.
Anders tried not to stare at the opulence of the room he'd been left in and instead focused on poking into every nook and cranny to see if there might be a way to escape. As he searched, his mind drifted over his insane situation and questions of just how exactly he'd managed to end up here.
Being bought to be the palace's potion maker and healer seemed like a dream come true and the women who'd picked him up seemed nice enough and certainly beautiful enough to have come from the palace themselves. But then he'd been brought in through the back and put through what could only be called luxurious torture. They'd shoved him into the longest and most fragrant bath in a tub he would have sworn was as big as the entire hovel he'd just come from. Isabela and Merrill (as he'd come to learn) had stayed with him every step of the way, even as other servants came and went to help with various stages of his 'cleaning,' trimming his hair and nails and waxing him in a way he swore was actually a new torture technique used by the rich, all finished off by the two women dressing him up like he now was and dumping him in this room.
Isabela made it very clear very quickly their intent for bringing him here wasn't simply to make potions and heal ailments, he was meant to be a courtesan to none other than the Maharajah. He'd lost his breath in that moment. Few had even seen the man, much less knew much about him. His presence was more like that of a distant god to those in the town, affecting their lives but rarely visible. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so utterly terrifying if the two women hadn't filled his head with images of some large quiet brute with the sexual prowess of the very god citizens painted him to be. At least, that's how Isabela painted the picture. Marrill's side of things was much more vague, but tried to highlight the good things like how the lord Hawke had a very nice smile when he used it and had a lovely voice that was smooth as silk. He'd had to bite back the sarcastic retort about how that was sure to make him feel better when the time came.
On top of all of that, he knew well what was expected of a courtesan, he'd known plenty of women who dismissed the notion and many who longed for it and Anders knew he really wanted no part of it, he had no interest in 'satisfying' whatever lords or ladies the Maharajah decided he would 'lend' Anders to. He might be dressed and painted to be some show horse, but he wouldn't be treated like one.
Which was why he needed to find an escape route. Even if this first night couldn't be avoided, he would find a way out and finally gain the freedom he'd thought he'd been stepping into this morning. He should have known there'd be a catch.
The sound of the chamber's outer door opening had Anders scrambling away from a somewhat promising view of the balcony and the wall beside it to avoid his intentions being found out. He stood, heart pounding in his head and chest, in the middle of the grand room, eyes fixed on the doorway. This was it, he was only seconds from meeting a man rumored to have an iron fist and unflinching dedication to break whatever got in the country's way. He would surely be a terror of a man.
Obligatory Coffee Shop/College/Modern AU
May. 27th, 2016 01:41 pmwolfehawke2am on a Saturday and Hawke's not alone in the Owl's Nest, the campus coffee shop nestled in the trees between the pristine steel and glass facade of the Wynne Medical College building and the Aequitarian research library. By it's location, Hawke not being alone at such a late hour as to be early isn't an odd thing in and of itself. The cafe is open 24/7 year round save for Satinalia and First Day, and it's the only one on campus with such hours, making it a favorite haunt for those who tend to keep equally long hours, like any student during finals, or art, theatre, and medical students all the time.
What's really odd isn't that Hawke isn't alone in the shop but more that there's only one other person there. Usually by this time the bars are closing up and Varric or Isabela or both come wavering in on unsteady feet, looking either for a place to sober up or just to animatedly recount the evening's exploits to their friend, but since the last time Isabela was in here there was almost a brawl and Hawke got docked a weeks pay over a toppled espresso machine, it's no wonder they'd steer clear. No, it would be more accurate to say that the odd thing is that there are only two people in the shop in the wee hours of the morning.
The other denizen - or rather, the only customer - is a hunched, incredibly tired looking man clearly too old to be an undergrad but by how much Hawke can only guess. Based on the bags under his eyes and the hollow of his cheeks, he'd have to guess at least a hundred. Aside from the obvious lack of care for his appearance, Hawke finds the man interesting, and not just because he's putting off making more whipped cream or cleaning or the other millions of things he's supposed to do when it's slow like this. He may be unkept with a days worth of stubble, but the flash of his amber eyes when he'd put in his order had caught Hawke's attention. The long fingers he'd handed over his student card with even moreso, freckled like his face and with pronounced knuckles. Hawke had made the drink quickly for him that first day he'd ordered, but since then the lanky upperclassman had come in nearly every evening the last week and a half and Hawke had gotten creative.
Anders, he'd found out easily since he'd had to write it on the orders, was graced with Hawke's poor artistic skill as he slowly mastered latte art. Shapes, flowers, and the occasional poorly constructed animal face featured prominently each time Hawke delivered Anders' drink, though never once had he received a comment. He has to wonder if it's a completely wasted effort considering Anders never seems to actually look at his drink before swallowing it. He seems like one of those who just needs the caffeine and doesn't savor it, though Hawke can't imagine savoring something with six shots of espresso in it. How he still looks so tired when consuming that much caffeine is a mystery.
Still, Hawke continues his quiet bid to get noticed, this time with a rudimentary cat face. It's a bit lopsided and the whiskers are askew but it's at least recognizable. Pleased with himself, Hawke brings the oversized mug over to the little table his only customer occupies and sets it down carefully with an air of triumph. "Here you are, sir. Six shot latte with light foam."
What's really odd isn't that Hawke isn't alone in the shop but more that there's only one other person there. Usually by this time the bars are closing up and Varric or Isabela or both come wavering in on unsteady feet, looking either for a place to sober up or just to animatedly recount the evening's exploits to their friend, but since the last time Isabela was in here there was almost a brawl and Hawke got docked a weeks pay over a toppled espresso machine, it's no wonder they'd steer clear. No, it would be more accurate to say that the odd thing is that there are only two people in the shop in the wee hours of the morning.
The other denizen - or rather, the only customer - is a hunched, incredibly tired looking man clearly too old to be an undergrad but by how much Hawke can only guess. Based on the bags under his eyes and the hollow of his cheeks, he'd have to guess at least a hundred. Aside from the obvious lack of care for his appearance, Hawke finds the man interesting, and not just because he's putting off making more whipped cream or cleaning or the other millions of things he's supposed to do when it's slow like this. He may be unkept with a days worth of stubble, but the flash of his amber eyes when he'd put in his order had caught Hawke's attention. The long fingers he'd handed over his student card with even moreso, freckled like his face and with pronounced knuckles. Hawke had made the drink quickly for him that first day he'd ordered, but since then the lanky upperclassman had come in nearly every evening the last week and a half and Hawke had gotten creative.
Anders, he'd found out easily since he'd had to write it on the orders, was graced with Hawke's poor artistic skill as he slowly mastered latte art. Shapes, flowers, and the occasional poorly constructed animal face featured prominently each time Hawke delivered Anders' drink, though never once had he received a comment. He has to wonder if it's a completely wasted effort considering Anders never seems to actually look at his drink before swallowing it. He seems like one of those who just needs the caffeine and doesn't savor it, though Hawke can't imagine savoring something with six shots of espresso in it. How he still looks so tired when consuming that much caffeine is a mystery.
Still, Hawke continues his quiet bid to get noticed, this time with a rudimentary cat face. It's a bit lopsided and the whiskers are askew but it's at least recognizable. Pleased with himself, Hawke brings the oversized mug over to the little table his only customer occupies and sets it down carefully with an air of triumph. "Here you are, sir. Six shot latte with light foam."
An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown
May. 10th, 2016 10:25 pmapurrstateThe crackle of the fire was the only sound in the camp and the silence surrounding it was deafening.
Their group was so small now, much smaller than it had been only a week ago. A week and everything had changed. That had been his plan, after all...but it had gotten out of hand in Kirkwall, the devastation of the fighting had been so much worse than he'd imagined. Still, he wouldn't change it. Looking around the fire, Hawke and Varric to one side, Merrill asleep at another and Aveline and Carver left in the city now days at their backs, he still wouldn't change it. Isabella long gone, Fenris dead...all he had to do was think back to the years when they were a larger group to know what was missing...and he still wouldn't change it.
It had to happen and while maybe part of him wished it didn't have to be him who carried out the act, he knew too, that he couldn't simply ask someone else to do what he wasn't willing to.
It should have ended for him that night, it was what he'd planned. Instead it didn't, his love had spared him and somehow made him see the next day...and the day after. Each new day Anders saw drew new surprise and a mixture of hope and defeat. Hope that maybe there'd be another day after this one as well, but defeat in knowing it couldn't possibly last.
He'd put his life in Adalwolfe's hands and it hadn't been ended, he'd said they'd need to run away from the city to remain together and, at the gates of Kirkwall, Hawke had said his goodbyes to long-time friend and brother and led the way out into the Free Marches. It would have to end at some point, this kind of luck didn't last.
Anders stood and quietly stepped away from the fire and the group's small camp. He wouldn't be able to find sleep anytime soon anyway. Hawke had slept apart from him (understandably so) and Anders found it hard to bare after years of feeling that warmth pressed in his arms. Yet he didn't ask and Hawke didn't offer and Anders continued not to sleep but for minutes at a time. He should be used to it, perhaps life in Hightown had softened him up too much. His few steps took him to the edge of the land, the drop off below leading straight into the ocean they were following for now. He leaned against a large rock set in the ground and gave a sigh.
What if he simply stepped off the ledge and fell to the waters below? That would be easier for his companions, wouldn't it? They could go back to their lives while the fires of his rebellion continued to burn across Thedas and the people he'd murdered could have their justice at last. What was he living for, anyway? The love of his life spared him for...some reason and didn't even banish him from his side and yet he barely looked at him. His friends wouldn't look at him. Even Justice seemed so muted as to almost be gone, like fulfilling Their goal had snuffed the spirit out. Only that faint hum in the back of his mind told him it wasn't true.
It would be easier...
His feet stayed planted where they were. He wouldn't take those extra steps. Perhaps there was still a part of him that was a coward afterall. His eyes left the surf and lifted to the starry sky instead
Their group was so small now, much smaller than it had been only a week ago. A week and everything had changed. That had been his plan, after all...but it had gotten out of hand in Kirkwall, the devastation of the fighting had been so much worse than he'd imagined. Still, he wouldn't change it. Looking around the fire, Hawke and Varric to one side, Merrill asleep at another and Aveline and Carver left in the city now days at their backs, he still wouldn't change it. Isabella long gone, Fenris dead...all he had to do was think back to the years when they were a larger group to know what was missing...and he still wouldn't change it.
It had to happen and while maybe part of him wished it didn't have to be him who carried out the act, he knew too, that he couldn't simply ask someone else to do what he wasn't willing to.
It should have ended for him that night, it was what he'd planned. Instead it didn't, his love had spared him and somehow made him see the next day...and the day after. Each new day Anders saw drew new surprise and a mixture of hope and defeat. Hope that maybe there'd be another day after this one as well, but defeat in knowing it couldn't possibly last.
He'd put his life in Adalwolfe's hands and it hadn't been ended, he'd said they'd need to run away from the city to remain together and, at the gates of Kirkwall, Hawke had said his goodbyes to long-time friend and brother and led the way out into the Free Marches. It would have to end at some point, this kind of luck didn't last.
Anders stood and quietly stepped away from the fire and the group's small camp. He wouldn't be able to find sleep anytime soon anyway. Hawke had slept apart from him (understandably so) and Anders found it hard to bare after years of feeling that warmth pressed in his arms. Yet he didn't ask and Hawke didn't offer and Anders continued not to sleep but for minutes at a time. He should be used to it, perhaps life in Hightown had softened him up too much. His few steps took him to the edge of the land, the drop off below leading straight into the ocean they were following for now. He leaned against a large rock set in the ground and gave a sigh.
What if he simply stepped off the ledge and fell to the waters below? That would be easier for his companions, wouldn't it? They could go back to their lives while the fires of his rebellion continued to burn across Thedas and the people he'd murdered could have their justice at last. What was he living for, anyway? The love of his life spared him for...some reason and didn't even banish him from his side and yet he barely looked at him. His friends wouldn't look at him. Even Justice seemed so muted as to almost be gone, like fulfilling Their goal had snuffed the spirit out. Only that faint hum in the back of his mind told him it wasn't true.
It would be easier...
His feet stayed planted where they were. He wouldn't take those extra steps. Perhaps there was still a part of him that was a coward afterall. His eyes left the surf and lifted to the starry sky instead
