It's a bright, sunshine-y morning some weeks after Kit's fortuitous extraction from the Deep Roads, and while his injured leg has made much progress, it still isn't fully healed. A week ago, this hadn't troubled him too much; but now, knowing that he'd committed to accompanying that weird Arcane Advisor on her quest of dubious purpose into the Kocari Wilds... maybe he's rethinking his choice to forego healing magic.
It's hard to point his finger on why, exactly, he goes looking for Vandelin to solve this particular problem for him. Might have something to do with the fact that out of all the mage healers and physickers who have seen to Kit's leg in one fashion or another, Vandelin was the only one who didn't argue with him when he said 'no' to magical healing.
A little asking around the library gets him pointed in the right general direction. Doing his best not to let his crutch clatter too loudly as he limp along, he peers into each range of stacks until he spots the elf's reedy, serious profile, and stops. He clears his throat, hoping to get his attention without having to disrupt any nearby researchers more than he already has.
It's hard to point his finger on why, exactly, he goes looking for Vandelin to solve this particular problem for him. Might have something to do with the fact that out of all the mage healers and physickers who have seen to Kit's leg in one fashion or another, Vandelin was the only one who didn't argue with him when he said 'no' to magical healing.
A little asking around the library gets him pointed in the right general direction. Doing his best not to let his crutch clatter too loudly as he limp along, he peers into each range of stacks until he spots the elf's reedy, serious profile, and stops. He clears his throat, hoping to get his attention without having to disrupt any nearby researchers more than he already has.
Having finally cajoled his way back into the librarians' good graces--or least, gotten them to let him back into the room at all--Vandelin's making up for lost research time. So absorbed in he in his reading that he doesn't actually notice Kit until that ahem.
When he does, he breaks into a smile, despite the mages in the vicinity now glowering at them (through no fault of Kit's at all; Vandelin just doesn't have any leeway left at all to be on anything but his best, quietest behavior. He does not care.)
"What's new, Kit?"
When he does, he breaks into a smile, despite the mages in the vicinity now glowering at them (through no fault of Kit's at all; Vandelin just doesn't have any leeway left at all to be on anything but his best, quietest behavior. He does not care.)
"What's new, Kit?"
Vandelin's smile is infectious, and Kit finds himself returning it immediately, before he notes the few sour looks that get thrown their direction. He blinks back at some of them in a decidedly 'idk you man the fuck is your problem?' kind of way, which succeeds in making some of them look away at least.
"You seem real popular here," he tells Vandelin dryly after he's taken a few limping steps nearer to his friend in the range of stacks. The shelves tower above the pair of them; Kit's left feeling like they're standing in some strange combination of a canyon and a warehouse.
A sudden twinge in his injured leg makes him grimace; a timely reminder of the purpose of his visit. "Actually," he admits, and looks as though he's summoning up a fair amount of courage to say his next words. "...I was hoping I might be able to--belatedly, that is--take you up on that offer of healing magic you made when we were in the Deep Roads." He tries to catch Vandelin's eye as he says so; it's pretty clear this is a big thing for him, and not something that he would have approached just anyone about.
"You seem real popular here," he tells Vandelin dryly after he's taken a few limping steps nearer to his friend in the range of stacks. The shelves tower above the pair of them; Kit's left feeling like they're standing in some strange combination of a canyon and a warehouse.
A sudden twinge in his injured leg makes him grimace; a timely reminder of the purpose of his visit. "Actually," he admits, and looks as though he's summoning up a fair amount of courage to say his next words. "...I was hoping I might be able to--belatedly, that is--take you up on that offer of healing magic you made when we were in the Deep Roads." He tries to catch Vandelin's eye as he says so; it's pretty clear this is a big thing for him, and not something that he would have approached just anyone about.
"They didn't like it when I tried to redecorate," he says blithely, and leaves the cryptic non-explanation at that. He can only hope Kit never gets the librarian's side of that story. Or the templar's.
He's all concern when it's clear Kit's having trouble getting this out--it seems so at odds with the breezy confidence he's seen from his new friend thus far, whether in the infirmary or at a card table with a pint in hand. And when Kit finally does make his request, Vandelin can't help but feel--crestfallen, in a way.
He knows what it means that Kit would ask him for this, after seeing him go ashen like the literal dead at the thought of it back in the Deep Roads, and knowing he's refused the well-trained attentions of every spirit healer in Kirkwall. He knows exactly what it must be costing Kit to swallow that fear and come to him now--and he can't help.
With lower stakes, he would try anyway, taking it as a personal challenge to his competence as a mage. But he won't risk botching a job on a man already terrified of magic in all its forms, a friend who's trusting him. Even Vandelin's ego has its limits. He breaks Kit's gaze, uncharacteristically apologetic.
"I wish I could," he says. "Truly, Kit, I do. But when I offered a temporary fix, I meant it would be temporary. Healing's not my field. It's...the diametric opposite of my field, to get technical. I know just enough to get someone back on their feet for a few minutes at a time when the situation needs desperate measures; it's what I learned on the fly during the war. It's not going to do you any good here and now."
He's all concern when it's clear Kit's having trouble getting this out--it seems so at odds with the breezy confidence he's seen from his new friend thus far, whether in the infirmary or at a card table with a pint in hand. And when Kit finally does make his request, Vandelin can't help but feel--crestfallen, in a way.
He knows what it means that Kit would ask him for this, after seeing him go ashen like the literal dead at the thought of it back in the Deep Roads, and knowing he's refused the well-trained attentions of every spirit healer in Kirkwall. He knows exactly what it must be costing Kit to swallow that fear and come to him now--and he can't help.
With lower stakes, he would try anyway, taking it as a personal challenge to his competence as a mage. But he won't risk botching a job on a man already terrified of magic in all its forms, a friend who's trusting him. Even Vandelin's ego has its limits. He breaks Kit's gaze, uncharacteristically apologetic.
"I wish I could," he says. "Truly, Kit, I do. But when I offered a temporary fix, I meant it would be temporary. Healing's not my field. It's...the diametric opposite of my field, to get technical. I know just enough to get someone back on their feet for a few minutes at a time when the situation needs desperate measures; it's what I learned on the fly during the war. It's not going to do you any good here and now."
"They didn't like it when I tried to redecorate."
Kit raises his eyebrows. There's definitely a story there, but he's going to have to wait to hear the details of it until another time, after he's had his leg dealt with--a task which will, it seems, need to be undertaken by a different mage. Kit exhales slowly, his expression a strange blend of both relief and disappointment; like hearing that a much needed but frightening surgery has been postponed for another day.
"It's all right," he's quick to say, and to offer up one of his rather trademark lopsided grins in an expression of reassurance. Already, he's waving off the last of Vandelin's apologies, chagrined for having approached him about the issue at all. "Really, it's--you know, it's not even that bad anymore, and I haven't needed to take any elfroot for the pain in days." That's a bit of a fib, but as far as white lies go, he thinks it's a tolerable one. Maybe it'll even be true in time for him to take up his axes and venture into the Kocari Wilds in a few weeks.
He starts to take a step back towards the end of the range. "Don't worry about it," he says again. "I'll catch up with you some other time, when you're not studying." Curious, he looks to the titles of the books that Vandelin is perusing, trying to glean some idea of just what his new friend is researching.
Kit raises his eyebrows. There's definitely a story there, but he's going to have to wait to hear the details of it until another time, after he's had his leg dealt with--a task which will, it seems, need to be undertaken by a different mage. Kit exhales slowly, his expression a strange blend of both relief and disappointment; like hearing that a much needed but frightening surgery has been postponed for another day.
"It's all right," he's quick to say, and to offer up one of his rather trademark lopsided grins in an expression of reassurance. Already, he's waving off the last of Vandelin's apologies, chagrined for having approached him about the issue at all. "Really, it's--you know, it's not even that bad anymore, and I haven't needed to take any elfroot for the pain in days." That's a bit of a fib, but as far as white lies go, he thinks it's a tolerable one. Maybe it'll even be true in time for him to take up his axes and venture into the Kocari Wilds in a few weeks.
He starts to take a step back towards the end of the range. "Don't worry about it," he says again. "I'll catch up with you some other time, when you're not studying." Curious, he looks to the titles of the books that Vandelin is perusing, trying to glean some idea of just what his new friend is researching.
No, no, no. Vandelin's not about to let Kit get away with leaving his leg untended just because he can't be the one to do the tending--and he'd be even more adamant about getting it healed up better if he knew Kit had plans to set out again on a dangerous mission for which he can't afford to be at anything less than a hundred percent.
"You're still limping," he points out, not even raising the issue of the crutch, "and the studying can wait." The books are a hodgepodge of texts about the Veil, a slow attempt to catch up enough to make himself useful to the rift project, but that's certainly nothing as time-sensitive as all that.
Pausing just a moment, as long as he can persuade Kit not to hightail it just yet, he weighs his options. There's one other person here, just one, whom he'd trust to heal Kit and put him at ease while doing it--but it's best if he doesn't know where the referral's come from.
"My cousin dabbles more in healing than I do," he says. "Nothing with spirits, not that kind--just basic, restorative energy. The kind that makes plants grow."And grow, and grow. But let's not think too hard about the scary forest.
"He's a great guy. I promise you, you could trust him with your life. I'm not sure where you can usually find him; he's new here, but, ah, if you follow the locator glyphs he's left around..."
"You're still limping," he points out, not even raising the issue of the crutch, "and the studying can wait." The books are a hodgepodge of texts about the Veil, a slow attempt to catch up enough to make himself useful to the rift project, but that's certainly nothing as time-sensitive as all that.
Pausing just a moment, as long as he can persuade Kit not to hightail it just yet, he weighs his options. There's one other person here, just one, whom he'd trust to heal Kit and put him at ease while doing it--but it's best if he doesn't know where the referral's come from.
"My cousin dabbles more in healing than I do," he says. "Nothing with spirits, not that kind--just basic, restorative energy. The kind that makes plants grow."
"He's a great guy. I promise you, you could trust him with your life. I'm not sure where you can usually find him; he's new here, but, ah, if you follow the locator glyphs he's left around..."
"...he's new here, but, ah, if you follow the locator glyphs he's left around..."
Kit breaks into a surprised smile. "Myr's your cousin?" he asks, clearly familiar with this mystery mage already. "Yeah, I know him--found him getting into some low key mischief in Lowtown, so helped him out of it. Seems like a nice guy." He shakes his head, marvelling a bit. "This city is smaller than it looks."
Smaller, and filled with unexpected mysteries, and kindnesses. He's taken aback by just how aware Vandelin is of his discomfort around magic, and takes a sudden interest in the book titles just beyond his friend's shoulder; in the Deep Roads, he had hoped that he had masked it better than this. When he looks back to find Vandelin looking at him so earnestly, the guilt in his gut gives a painful wrench.
"Well," he starts, searching for the right words--which normally come so easy to him--then puts on another disarming smile. "Well--if I follow the glyphs, I should be able to find him, no problem."
Kit breaks into a surprised smile. "Myr's your cousin?" he asks, clearly familiar with this mystery mage already. "Yeah, I know him--found him getting into some low key mischief in Lowtown, so helped him out of it. Seems like a nice guy." He shakes his head, marvelling a bit. "This city is smaller than it looks."
Smaller, and filled with unexpected mysteries, and kindnesses. He's taken aback by just how aware Vandelin is of his discomfort around magic, and takes a sudden interest in the book titles just beyond his friend's shoulder; in the Deep Roads, he had hoped that he had masked it better than this. When he looks back to find Vandelin looking at him so earnestly, the guilt in his gut gives a painful wrench.
"Well," he starts, searching for the right words--which normally come so easy to him--then puts on another disarming smile. "Well--if I follow the glyphs, I should be able to find him, no problem."
Something about that exhalation and its accompanying expression had struck a chord with Vandelin, reminding him of the way Kit had blanched the last time he was offered magical healing. It's a lifelong, well-practiced habit, quietly and carefully analyzing his conversation partners for any sign of discomfort or weakness. He'd just like to argue that it can be used to help as easily as harm.
"You've met him?" He sounds, at first, pleased about this unexpected development--and then, wondering when this meeting took place and what his cousin might potentially have said about him, slightly alarmed. Whether Vandelin can justify his own wartime actions or not, Myrobalan can paint a rather different picture of him than he wants a guy like Kit to see, and Van doesn't trust anymore that Myr won't do just that if given the chance.
"It can't hurt for me to tag along," he says, though in actuality, it very much could. "Not that I'm suggesting you can't follow a trail of glowing wall markers, but, you know. The more the merrier."
"You've met him?" He sounds, at first, pleased about this unexpected development--and then, wondering when this meeting took place and what his cousin might potentially have said about him, slightly alarmed. Whether Vandelin can justify his own wartime actions or not, Myrobalan can paint a rather different picture of him than he wants a guy like Kit to see, and Van doesn't trust anymore that Myr won't do just that if given the chance.
"It can't hurt for me to tag along," he says, though in actuality, it very much could. "Not that I'm suggesting you can't follow a trail of glowing wall markers, but, you know. The more the merrier."
Edited 2017-08-02 02:04 (UTC)
"The more the merrier."
It's a complete misinterpretation of Vandelin's reasons for wanting to join Kit, but nevertheless, he finds himself smiling again, the expression warming his eyes. "Well, I don't mind the company," he replies. A little bold, holding his gaze like that for just half a second, before he clears his throat and shifts some of his weight back onto his crutch.
It's a complete misinterpretation of Vandelin's reasons for wanting to join Kit, but nevertheless, he finds himself smiling again, the expression warming his eyes. "Well, I don't mind the company," he replies. A little bold, holding his gaze like that for just half a second, before he clears his throat and shifts some of his weight back onto his crutch.
For all Vandelin's habit of reading all manner of deep and dire things into the slightest pause or glance, it does, at least, go both ways sometimes. He needs no encouragement to latch onto that lingering look, and a slow smile spreads over his face in return. Perhaps he'd been too quick after all to write off the potential for something.
He can (and will) worry about Myr's reaction once they meet up, but for now, there's no way he isn't coming with.
"Always happy to provide." He shuts his book with finality. "I'll see what I can do, then."
He can (and will) worry about Myr's reaction once they meet up, but for now, there's no way he isn't coming with.
"Always happy to provide." He shuts his book with finality. "I'll see what I can do, then."
He likes the smile. The smile is promising.
(It simultaneously starts to trigger the impulse in him to put a stop to this--what is he thinking, flirting like this, who does he think he is--but at least for the moment, he is able to wrangle that self-destructive thought into submission.)
"Lead the way, then," he invites, then follows in Vandelin's steps as they depart together.
(It simultaneously starts to trigger the impulse in him to put a stop to this--what is he thinking, flirting like this, who does he think he is--but at least for the moment, he is able to wrangle that self-destructive thought into submission.)
"Lead the way, then," he invites, then follows in Vandelin's steps as they depart together.
Life in a prison cell is stifling and demoralizing, but at least at night as he sleeps, Atticus can escape it for a little while. In the Fade, he is free, and the entirety of it is a canvas spread out before his fingers.
He passes some time in his own dreams, making waterfalls from starlight and islands of gemstones, but the satisfaction he derives from this simple bit of alteration doesn't ease his restlessness or agitation. The need in him draws spirits closer, but the whispered offers they make him don't tempt or tantalize; he is old hat at their game, and casts them away with a spell that sends them retreating into the ether.
With a gesture, he shrouds himself, and steps through the Veil, into the dreamscape of a certain elven enchanter.
He passes some time in his own dreams, making waterfalls from starlight and islands of gemstones, but the satisfaction he derives from this simple bit of alteration doesn't ease his restlessness or agitation. The need in him draws spirits closer, but the whispered offers they make him don't tempt or tantalize; he is old hat at their game, and casts them away with a spell that sends them retreating into the ether.
With a gesture, he shrouds himself, and steps through the Veil, into the dreamscape of a certain elven enchanter.
just...a general cw here for eye gore, I'm so sorry
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misdirection_hex
2017-08-13 09:21 am (UTC)(link)
Vandelin has dreamt more often about the fall of Hasmal Circle in the past two weeks than he has for the past two years.
The confusion and chaos of the battle had figured prominently in his nightmares for months after his and his fellow rebels had escaped--but there had been worse awaiting them on the long, hostile road to Redcliffe Village, and his dreams of the uprising had gradually been pushed out altogether by darker, bloodier dreams of the fallen throughout the Hinterlands. His mind, determined to torment him, had learned to do far better than reminding him of the defending templars and loyalists all collapsing in magical sleep while he'd ushered the rebels frantically out through the gates--even as he'd looked back at his cousin's prone body on the stone floor, prepared never to lay eyes on him again.
He dreams of empty, hollow eye sockets now, streaming with blood. He dreams of Myr's voice rending the air with bestial screams. Tonight, he dreams himself into a Circle tower where every door and gate is triple-locked, where none of the templars have eyes to track him with, but every one somehow holds his phylactery in hand. He has nothing but his staff and its bladed end, but he knows from experience now that a lock is easier melted off than picked.
He sets to work.
The confusion and chaos of the battle had figured prominently in his nightmares for months after his and his fellow rebels had escaped--but there had been worse awaiting them on the long, hostile road to Redcliffe Village, and his dreams of the uprising had gradually been pushed out altogether by darker, bloodier dreams of the fallen throughout the Hinterlands. His mind, determined to torment him, had learned to do far better than reminding him of the defending templars and loyalists all collapsing in magical sleep while he'd ushered the rebels frantically out through the gates--even as he'd looked back at his cousin's prone body on the stone floor, prepared never to lay eyes on him again.
He dreams of empty, hollow eye sockets now, streaming with blood. He dreams of Myr's voice rending the air with bestial screams. Tonight, he dreams himself into a Circle tower where every door and gate is triple-locked, where none of the templars have eyes to track him with, but every one somehow holds his phylactery in hand. He has nothing but his staff and its bladed end, but he knows from experience now that a lock is easier melted off than picked.
He sets to work.
This is a nightmare of imminent death; the executioner's blade is not against Vandelin's neck yet, but it is only a matter of time before it catches up to him, strikes him down, and his blood mingles with the rivers of it that flood the corridor.
Were the stone floors slick with blood before Atticus stepped across the threshold into Vandelin's mind? It is there now.
Should Vandelin notice it--and should he turn around to follow the trail to its point of origin--he'd be confronted with a bloody spectacle: a templar soldier impaled through the chest with a wooden pike. The force of the blow was powerful enough to embed the pike itself in the stone of the wall, which now begins to crumble as though that strike alone was enough to shake this oppressive tower down to its very foundations.
That is when the lock that Vandelin had been about to melt from the door suddenly drops to the bloodied floor; the door groans as though struggling to bear some tremendous weight.
Were the stone floors slick with blood before Atticus stepped across the threshold into Vandelin's mind? It is there now.
Should Vandelin notice it--and should he turn around to follow the trail to its point of origin--he'd be confronted with a bloody spectacle: a templar soldier impaled through the chest with a wooden pike. The force of the blow was powerful enough to embed the pike itself in the stone of the wall, which now begins to crumble as though that strike alone was enough to shake this oppressive tower down to its very foundations.
That is when the lock that Vandelin had been about to melt from the door suddenly drops to the bloodied floor; the door groans as though struggling to bear some tremendous weight.
crystal, several days after Anders' AMA, late afternoon;
faithlikeaseed
2017-08-16 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[His tone is composed, even and cheerless.]
Van. Got a moment to talk?
Van. Got a moment to talk?
[That isn't a tone he associates with anything good, coming from Myr. Neutral though it may sound, Van knows when it's meant to cover something that's roiling under the surface. He can only hope it's not his own fault, whatever the topic of discussion is.]
I can make time. What's going on?
I can make time. What's going on?
Thanks. [That sounds earnest as ever, at least.]
I spoke with Anders.
I--need to know how well-regarded he is here. In the Inquisition. [This is the kind of thing Vandelin has an instinct for and Myr doesn't. Politics are not the younger mage's bent.
But what he'd heard so far had not been encouraging. At all.]
I spoke with Anders.
I--need to know how well-regarded he is here. In the Inquisition. [This is the kind of thing Vandelin has an instinct for and Myr doesn't. Politics are not the younger mage's bent.
But what he'd heard so far had not been encouraging. At all.]
[The only answer Myr gets, for several moments, is the audible thump of Vandelin flinging himself dramatically onto the nearest thing he can sit on. For Myr's sake, he omits his usual blasphemous oath about Andraste's private parts and their state of conflagration. It sounds like he's had a hard enough time of it already, and irreverent jokes about anything Andraste-related going up in flames would be rather more tasteless than usual under the circumstances.]
Oh, boy.
[He exhales, very slowly. For all he likes to be in tune with the politics of a group, the connections everyone has--he's still too new here to have anywhere near the expertise he pretends to, and he's not making the headway he thought he would besides. He doesn't know how to answer that. And Myr does deserve a truthful answer.]
I can't speak for the entire Inquisition. But among the mages... [He rubs at the bridge of his nose.] I think you're going to be an outlier.
I've only met him the once, myself. And I didn't know it was him until long after the fact. He's got a clinic-- [Perhaps it's best not to say where.] He fixed a bad head injury I had without asking a thing, and it wasn't just mages he was treating. He gives reading lessons to anyone who asks, free of charge. I don't know if he does it all under his own name or not. Some of it, it looks like he does.
I can't tell you what people think about what he did to the Chantry. I don't know. I'm only telling you what I know about his work for the Inquisition.
Oh, boy.
[He exhales, very slowly. For all he likes to be in tune with the politics of a group, the connections everyone has--he's still too new here to have anywhere near the expertise he pretends to, and he's not making the headway he thought he would besides. He doesn't know how to answer that. And Myr does deserve a truthful answer.]
I can't speak for the entire Inquisition. But among the mages... [He rubs at the bridge of his nose.] I think you're going to be an outlier.
I've only met him the once, myself. And I didn't know it was him until long after the fact. He's got a clinic-- [Perhaps it's best not to say where.] He fixed a bad head injury I had without asking a thing, and it wasn't just mages he was treating. He gives reading lessons to anyone who asks, free of charge. I don't know if he does it all under his own name or not. Some of it, it looks like he does.
I can't tell you what people think about what he did to the Chantry. I don't know. I'm only telling you what I know about his work for the Inquisition.
Edited 2017-08-17 02:38 (UTC)
['I think you're going to be an outlier.'
That warrants a small, painful laugh though Myr is otherwise dead silent as his cousin speaks, taking all of this in and filing it away for when he can think about it with a clearer head. It helps--and stings--that it accords with his own assessment of the situation; perhaps he's not so bad at reading an organization's mood after all, or perhaps...]
Right. So. He's enough under their aegis that he expects not to be meddled with.
[And it's clear from his tone--a little lost, a little hurt, even--that Myr doesn't know what to do with that.]
What do you think about all of this?
That warrants a small, painful laugh though Myr is otherwise dead silent as his cousin speaks, taking all of this in and filing it away for when he can think about it with a clearer head. It helps--and stings--that it accords with his own assessment of the situation; perhaps he's not so bad at reading an organization's mood after all, or perhaps...]
Right. So. He's enough under their aegis that he expects not to be meddled with.
[And it's clear from his tone--a little lost, a little hurt, even--that Myr doesn't know what to do with that.]
What do you think about all of this?
Tell me you're not going to meddle with him. Or that you haven't already.
[Van usually does his best to keep his thoughts from being audible from his tone, but that so rarely works on Myr anyway, and right now, he needs his cousin to know that he's speaking from concern about Myr's safety, not Anders'.]
I don't think anything he's doing for the Inquisition outweighs the political liability of having him around. Especially back in fucking Kirkwall. They could at least have left him at some other base. There's nothing about any of this that makes sense. But the powers that be are going to do what they're going to do. We're just fresh recruits.
[Van usually does his best to keep his thoughts from being audible from his tone, but that so rarely works on Myr anyway, and right now, he needs his cousin to know that he's speaking from concern about Myr's safety, not Anders'.]
I don't think anything he's doing for the Inquisition outweighs the political liability of having him around. Especially back in fucking Kirkwall. They could at least have left him at some other base. There's nothing about any of this that makes sense. But the powers that be are going to do what they're going to do. We're just fresh recruits.
[It isn't as if he hasn't ever heard Van sound concerned for him before--but it's rare enough he's always taken aback when it does happen. Which is good, in a way, as it gives him space to think about just what the hell it is he's doing that's worried his cousin so much.]
Not unless asking him what his motives were is "meddling". No--just wanted to know how much shit I'm liable to be in for not thinking he did us a favor.
[It won't stop him from speaking out. But it will let him prepare for the consequences of doing so.
Hopefully this time they won't cost him anything so valuable as his eyes.]
...Right, well, there's the pretty opportunity to show how much they've rehabilitated a mass murderer, I suppose. [He tries for some kind of humor. Not working.] It's--fuck.
He's such a zealot, Van. It breaks my heart to listen to him--to think of what they were doing here, and seven years without a response from anyone who could stop it--but it narrowed him so much, you can hear it, and--I--
[He trails off into flustered, miserable silence.]
Not unless asking him what his motives were is "meddling". No--just wanted to know how much shit I'm liable to be in for not thinking he did us a favor.
[It won't stop him from speaking out. But it will let him prepare for the consequences of doing so.
Hopefully this time they won't cost him anything so valuable as his eyes.]
...Right, well, there's the pretty opportunity to show how much they've rehabilitated a mass murderer, I suppose. [He tries for some kind of humor. Not working.] It's--fuck.
He's such a zealot, Van. It breaks my heart to listen to him--to think of what they were doing here, and seven years without a response from anyone who could stop it--but it narrowed him so much, you can hear it, and--I--
[He trails off into flustered, miserable silence.]
You can think anything you like. You can even say it out loud, to whomever you want. Nobody's going to shut it down around here. [The Inquisition doesn't forbid us from talking without armed sentries, or disband our discussion groups outright, he doesn't say. But he doesn't think he needs to.
His eyebrows arch to his hairline when Myr, for once, is the one to make a too-soon sort of a joke, but he doesn't comment--he knows it'll be taken back, or something like, quickly enough.
He hasn't spoken to Anders, at least not in any capacity he can remember well. Myr honestly knows the man considerably better. But--he'll believe that, even from a loyalist's perspective.]
I told you it was bad in Kirkwall. [It's not a moment for 'I told you so,' but for Vandelin, every moment is an 'I told you so' moment. Still, he doesn't mean it like that, not exactly.]
Look. If there's one thing the rebellion's given us--one thing even you have to admit--it's the chance to talk to people from other Circles without interference. We've all been shaped by our own, but--they weren't all the Gallows, so tell people that if you want. Tell them what Hasmal was like for you. Tell him that, if it's not just going to upset you more. He might not listen, but who knows. Someone will.
His eyebrows arch to his hairline when Myr, for once, is the one to make a too-soon sort of a joke, but he doesn't comment--he knows it'll be taken back, or something like, quickly enough.
He hasn't spoken to Anders, at least not in any capacity he can remember well. Myr honestly knows the man considerably better. But--he'll believe that, even from a loyalist's perspective.]
I told you it was bad in Kirkwall. [It's not a moment for 'I told you so,' but for Vandelin, every moment is an 'I told you so' moment. Still, he doesn't mean it like that, not exactly.]
Look. If there's one thing the rebellion's given us--one thing even you have to admit--it's the chance to talk to people from other Circles without interference. We've all been shaped by our own, but--they weren't all the Gallows, so tell people that if you want. Tell them what Hasmal was like for you. Tell him that, if it's not just going to upset you more. He might not listen, but who knows. Someone will.
No one shut me down back home. There were still consequences.
[He knows exactly what didn't get said there, and some part of him resents it. Damn it, this isn't what he needs right now.
But that's on him for going to Van for help, and really, who else could he trust at all with this? The only other person he's got any kind of rapport with seems to agree completely with his assessment of Anders and, ergo, is prone to the same biases and blind spots he'd have. But traveling to the far opposite end of the spectrum to get a contrasting view only lands him with a lapful of different biases and blind spots he's got to sort through.
To say nothing of Vandelin's propensity to jump on every opportunity presented to remind Myr of his own failures of knowledge. Which see.
All the emotion drains out of his tone.] You told me.
I hadn't planned to do otherwise. [It's good advice and he has no doubt it's kindly meant, but for the embedded lacerating barb.] I'm glad of what I had, Van. Even if it was unique.
[And now it's gone, and he can't have it back, and there's something out there in the Fade that despises him for even dreaming about it, and--
He swallows, hard.]
Thanks. Think I've got what I need, now.
[He knows exactly what didn't get said there, and some part of him resents it. Damn it, this isn't what he needs right now.
But that's on him for going to Van for help, and really, who else could he trust at all with this? The only other person he's got any kind of rapport with seems to agree completely with his assessment of Anders and, ergo, is prone to the same biases and blind spots he'd have. But traveling to the far opposite end of the spectrum to get a contrasting view only lands him with a lapful of different biases and blind spots he's got to sort through.
To say nothing of Vandelin's propensity to jump on every opportunity presented to remind Myr of his own failures of knowledge. Which see.
All the emotion drains out of his tone.] You told me.
I hadn't planned to do otherwise. [It's good advice and he has no doubt it's kindly meant, but for the embedded lacerating barb.] I'm glad of what I had, Van. Even if it was unique.
[And now it's gone, and he can't have it back, and there's something out there in the Fade that despises him for even dreaming about it, and--
He swallows, hard.]
Thanks. Think I've got what I need, now.
No, you don't. [Vandelin never learns, not quickly enough. Myr might be the steadfast traditionalist of the pair of them, but when it comes down to it, he's always been the quicker one to adapt to change, even if Vandelin's the one agitating for it. Van's sworn to himself he would try harder to compromise, to sympathize without trying to rebut, but when push comes to shove, it always ends up like this. He sighs.]
I'm sorry. That was...unnecessary.
But I don't know what you wanted me to tell you. I can't make people think any differently about Anders. And I'm telling you that if you're glad about what you had back home--
[The word reveals more than he meant to, more than he even realizes, for all his usual eagle-sharp attention to every minute detail of word connotation.]
Tell people why. Explain it to them. Make them listen. Something is going to have to be done about the Circles eventually, and if they have to be rebuilt in some capacity--even a voluntary one--we can take what was important to you about them and use it. It doesn't all have to be so...past-tense.
I'm sorry. That was...unnecessary.
But I don't know what you wanted me to tell you. I can't make people think any differently about Anders. And I'm telling you that if you're glad about what you had back home--
[The word reveals more than he meant to, more than he even realizes, for all his usual eagle-sharp attention to every minute detail of word connotation.]
Tell people why. Explain it to them. Make them listen. Something is going to have to be done about the Circles eventually, and if they have to be rebuilt in some capacity--even a voluntary one--we can take what was important to you about them and use it. It doesn't all have to be so...past-tense.
Edited 2017-08-17 06:42 (UTC)
[There's a long silent pause here where he seriously, thoroughly considers throwing his sending crystal across the room.
But they might be fragile and he's not sure he'll get another one if he confesses to having broken it deliberately because he couldn't handle his cousin backtalking him.
...And...besides, Van apologized. So there's that.]
It was. But--apology accepted.
[He's going to hold on to that, cling to it tight and remind himself that what Van does he does because he cares too much, not too little. That way he might get through this.]
I wanted--facts, that's all. Reasoned speculation if you had it. Some kind of map for what I've gotten into here. [Maybe if he's direct about it this won't happen in the future. Maybe. He hopes.] Not the rest of this that we've beaten to death before.
[Breathe in, breathe out. He heard that "home" and he lets it go because now isn't the time to go after Vandelin's vulnerabilities instead of the weaknesses in his arguments.] "If they have to be."
Who's "we," Van? Who gets a voice in this and when? D'you intend to hear us out about this before you install us back in our voluntary Circles or just check in on how we're finding the accommodations after all's said and done?
But they might be fragile and he's not sure he'll get another one if he confesses to having broken it deliberately because he couldn't handle his cousin backtalking him.
...And...besides, Van apologized. So there's that.]
It was. But--apology accepted.
[He's going to hold on to that, cling to it tight and remind himself that what Van does he does because he cares too much, not too little. That way he might get through this.]
I wanted--facts, that's all. Reasoned speculation if you had it. Some kind of map for what I've gotten into here. [Maybe if he's direct about it this won't happen in the future. Maybe. He hopes.] Not the rest of this that we've beaten to death before.
[Breathe in, breathe out. He heard that "home" and he lets it go because now isn't the time to go after Vandelin's vulnerabilities instead of the weaknesses in his arguments.] "If they have to be."
Who's "we," Van? Who gets a voice in this and when? D'you intend to hear us out about this before you install us back in our voluntary Circles or just check in on how we're finding the accommodations after all's said and done?
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