( it's as if a light switch has turned on behind anders' eyes. with it, he can do things he could never do before. he can feel things he was never meant to feel, see things that aren't his to see.
everything in his body cries out when he's wrenched to his feet, his voice along with them. all at once, fenris has him, and they're moving, and anders feels him as if he's feeling around a cloud, able to sense the world around him in a nebulous way without ever getting a proper grasp.
in this way, fenris has so much more form than he'd ever had before. it's like he's been taken from 2-D to 3-D. anders can't make sense of it. he can't even make sense of the analogy he used to try to make sense of it. )
...you're in pain...
( like anders is. the brands that line fenris' skin are singing out to him, along with other things. fenris is broadcasting so much. were he from this century, he'd compare himself to a newly installed satellite dish picking up signals where previously none existed. all as if it were his own, he feels fenris' annoyance with each step, and his determination to get this over with, and his discomfort— discomfort? what's the cause of that? is it anders' doing? if he could just dig deeper, feel more...
his brain feels like it's going to split in two, but he's placing himself into fenris' body, feeling what he's feeling. he gets something, then. )
...Wait, wait.
( it takes some time for him to stop, and lean against fenris while he peels off what's left of his coat. it's gross, and spotted with blood, and it has a few feathers sticking to it, but he hands it to fenris. )
For your feet. To cover... cover them. From the streets.
[ Fenris ignores Anders' observation, assuming it's obvious in the way he grunts with every little movement, breathing heavy. He's far more focused on getting back to the hotel, thinking of possible shortcuts for the way back that he learned trying to memorize this city. He moves fast enough they won't be out here forever but not so fast they'll both just collapse from pain and exhaustion.
When Anders tries to stop Fenris nearly continues to drag his ass down the block, his grunt is more frustrated in this moment than it is a response to the pain. ]
What are you—
[ His brows knit together in bafflement as Anders pulls off the last bit of his ruined coat and hands it over to him, bloody and torn. He doesn't understand where this is coming from, why he suddenly cares about his barefootedness, but he chalks it up to delirium. ]
How thoughtful, [ he drawls without taking the cloth, and he will begin to move whether the mage is ready or not. ] Worry not about my feet and more about your...everything.
[ He just wants to get back. It's late, they're both vulnerable, and this city is impossible to predict. ]
I'd worry more... if your feet weren't... weren't signing out to me. I—I hear them. They don't like these streets. They want them... gone...
( so, delirium sounds about right.
by now, his glow is so dull it's barely visible. if he'd had his healing, he'd be fine. he be able to fix himself, and whatever discomfort fenris is feeling. he could patch them up with a wave of his hand — literally — but that's not an option anymore. that thought makes him want to lie down and ask fenris to put him out of his misery, but he wouldn't give the elf so much satisfaction.
so he walks, and he saves his strength for putting one foot before the other. it's hard, but it's better to place his energy into walking than trying to focus on the flashes of vision he's perceiving. past and future, events that never happened and events that he'll never forget. it's maddening, and justice isn't even here to help quell the thoughts and keep them at bay. )
[ Fenris' response is merely a grunt, deciding he wasn't going to engage in this insane conversation any longer, even though he's not really wrong.
At least with Anders moving his feet even just a little, Fenris can get them back to the hotel faster. There are several moments along the way where he considers dropping him on someone's doorstep, but no one deserves that fate.
As Fenris gets them inside some of the staff give them concerned stares, but Fenris simply points out that he's drunk and stupid, so they leave them be. That was perhaps a little too easy, but less trouble for him is ideal. This time around he does fiddle with the lift until it gets them to where they need to go. It's another small battle to find Anders' room, search him for his key, and get inside, but he does it, and uses the remainder of his energy to drag this fool's stupid magical ass to his bed. The relieved sigh when Fenris finally sets him down, easing up the pressure against his markings, is palpable. Maker, what a pain in the ass. ]
( if only it could be so easy for fenris, because the moment anders is shucked into his bed, a hand clasps fenris around the wrist before he can get too far away. )
Don't go.
( maker, how pathetic he's become, and so quickly at that. since his death, anders has been on a fast-track to becoming someone he doesn't even recognize, someone who asks about the market board for a 'good time' like a common whore, and begs one of his greatest rivals for help [twice, now]. through it all, though, he believes he wants to survive. he isn't sure how deep that drive runs, but right now, he wants to fight through the pain and see the morning, for some reason or another. why? he doesn't know. but he knows if he spends his night here alone with no one to stop him from acting on his misery and self-pity, he may not live long enough to find out.
unfortunately, none of that comes out even half as coherent. )
[ As Fenris turns to leave, Anders grabs his wrist, causing him to hiss in pain, though it was more from surprise than anything. ]
You're not that easy to be rid of.
[ Here Fenris is, in a completely different land that makes little sense, and Anders still turned up. He doubts the mage will die this easily. Yet, despite his dry response, he doesn't try to leave. He does try to pull his hand away though. That hurts you asshole. ]
( the filter in his mind is gone, apparently, burned away by sour beers and bone-shattering pain. why would he bring up hawke now? why, why, why, why—
fenris' brands hurt, and anders can tell he hurts, somehow, so he lets go. his eyes are closed and his breathing his fitful, but he's still very much alive. )
[ More dramatics, at least that's what he thinks at first as he pulls his wrist back, then Anders drops that explosive poultice on him. He skips over the nonsense about owing him anything — he wants nothing, brows furrowing in confusion. He had come close to asking what Hawke did, he could tell it was something, but... ]
...He what?
[ Anders hadn't even wanted to believe that Hawke would hand Fenris over to his master, despite his claims that the man killed him. Naturally, he assumes Anders did something, but even if that were the case...what could he have possibly done for Hawke to kill him? They were disgustingly inseparable. ]
Why? How?
[ None of this makes sense, but he supposes that's been the theme since their arrival. ]
( who is fenris to ask a thing like that? to witness anders' crimes, stand by hawke's side, and then pretend to be blindsided at the mention of anders' betrayal. if he had the strength to sit up, he might reach out and strangle the damned elf, but he barely has the energy to open his eyes, let alone commit murder. )
You were there...
( ugh.
still, that last bit of emphasis seems to have zapped what little strength he has left, because he stops responding then, and his breath grows slower still. )
[ It's instinctive the way he bites back at Anders — the man makes it difficult not to snap. His arms cross as he scoffs. ]
I would be sure not to forget such an event, trust me.
[ He almost doesn't notice Anders' slowed breathing, because fuck him, but as he awaits a response or further explanation...he can tell something isn't right. A brow quirking, he leans over Anders, hesitating before reaching out to nudge him. ]
Mage?
[ If he dies AFTER he dragged his ass here he'll be furious. ]
( he was so close, but then he's being nudged, and he inhales sharply. he looks up to fenris like he's stolen his favorite cat and tossed her into the ocean. )
What? No, but.... but, hey, perhaps death would be a mercy compared to your mother henning, you doting... dote-y...Dote-Head.
( brand-new sentence that don't make a lick of sense for $500, alex.
anders tries his best to turn away, but the pain from his wings is too bad to making any sort of movement pleasant. he stays where he is instead. )
Either lie on the bed or lie on the floor; it matters little to me. Just don't leave.
( he says it like a demand rather than a pitiful request like that will restore some of his dignity. )
[ he mutters irritably, rolling his eyes and moving away so that he can get this sword off his back, placing it against the wall as he always does. He picks a spot nearby on the floor, sitting with his back against the wall and crossing his arms.
He doesn't intend on getting too comfortable. When Anders drifts off to sleep and seems in deep enough not to wake till morning, he'll slip out. Anders is lucky he even gets that courtesy. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
everything in his body cries out when he's wrenched to his feet, his voice along with them. all at once, fenris has him, and they're moving, and anders feels him as if he's feeling around a cloud, able to sense the world around him in a nebulous way without ever getting a proper grasp.
in this way, fenris has so much more form than he'd ever had before. it's like he's been taken from 2-D to 3-D. anders can't make sense of it. he can't even make sense of the analogy he used to try to make sense of it. )
...you're in pain...
( like anders is. the brands that line fenris' skin are singing out to him, along with other things. fenris is broadcasting so much. were he from this century, he'd compare himself to a newly installed satellite dish picking up signals where previously none existed. all as if it were his own, he feels fenris' annoyance with each step, and his determination to get this over with, and his discomfort— discomfort? what's the cause of that? is it anders' doing? if he could just dig deeper, feel more...
his brain feels like it's going to split in two, but he's placing himself into fenris' body, feeling what he's feeling. he gets something, then. )
...Wait, wait.
( it takes some time for him to stop, and lean against fenris while he peels off what's left of his coat. it's gross, and spotted with blood, and it has a few feathers sticking to it, but he hands it to fenris. )
For your feet. To cover... cover them. From the streets.
no subject
When Anders tries to stop Fenris nearly continues to drag his ass down the block, his grunt is more frustrated in this moment than it is a response to the pain. ]
What are you—
[ His brows knit together in bafflement as Anders pulls off the last bit of his ruined coat and hands it over to him, bloody and torn. He doesn't understand where this is coming from, why he suddenly cares about his barefootedness, but he chalks it up to delirium. ]
How thoughtful, [ he drawls without taking the cloth, and he will begin to move whether the mage is ready or not. ] Worry not about my feet and more about your...everything.
[ He just wants to get back. It's late, they're both vulnerable, and this city is impossible to predict. ]
no subject
( so, delirium sounds about right.
by now, his glow is so dull it's barely visible. if he'd had his healing, he'd be fine. he be able to fix himself, and whatever discomfort fenris is feeling. he could patch them up with a wave of his hand — literally — but that's not an option anymore. that thought makes him want to lie down and ask fenris to put him out of his misery, but he wouldn't give the elf so much satisfaction.
so he walks, and he saves his strength for putting one foot before the other. it's hard, but it's better to place his energy into walking than trying to focus on the flashes of vision he's perceiving. past and future, events that never happened and events that he'll never forget. it's maddening, and justice isn't even here to help quell the thoughts and keep them at bay. )
no subject
At least with Anders moving his feet even just a little, Fenris can get them back to the hotel faster. There are several moments along the way where he considers dropping him on someone's doorstep, but no one deserves that fate.
As Fenris gets them inside some of the staff give them concerned stares, but Fenris simply points out that he's drunk and stupid, so they leave them be. That was perhaps a little too easy, but less trouble for him is ideal. This time around he does fiddle with the lift until it gets them to where they need to go. It's another small battle to find Anders' room, search him for his key, and get inside, but he does it, and uses the remainder of his energy to drag this fool's stupid magical ass to his bed. The relieved sigh when Fenris finally sets him down, easing up the pressure against his markings, is palpable. Maker, what a pain in the ass. ]
no subject
Don't go.
( maker, how pathetic he's become, and so quickly at that. since his death, anders has been on a fast-track to becoming someone he doesn't even recognize, someone who asks about the market board for a 'good time' like a common whore, and begs one of his greatest rivals for help [twice, now]. through it all, though, he believes he wants to survive. he isn't sure how deep that drive runs, but right now, he wants to fight through the pain and see the morning, for some reason or another. why? he doesn't know. but he knows if he spends his night here alone with no one to stop him from acting on his misery and self-pity, he may not live long enough to find out.
unfortunately, none of that comes out even half as coherent. )
Please.
I'm nothing.
I'll... I'll die.
no subject
You're not that easy to be rid of.
[ Here Fenris is, in a completely different land that makes little sense, and Anders still turned up. He doubts the mage will die this easily. Yet, despite his dry response, he doesn't try to leave. He does try to pull his hand away though. That hurts you asshole. ]
no subject
( the filter in his mind is gone, apparently, burned away by sour beers and bone-shattering pain. why would he bring up hawke now? why, why, why, why—
fenris' brands hurt, and anders can tell he hurts, somehow, so he lets go. his eyes are closed and his breathing his fitful, but he's still very much alive. )
Don't.
I'll owe you.
Hawke killed me.
Can't be alone.
no subject
...He what?
[ Anders hadn't even wanted to believe that Hawke would hand Fenris over to his master, despite his claims that the man killed him. Naturally, he assumes Anders did something, but even if that were the case...what could he have possibly done for Hawke to kill him? They were disgustingly inseparable. ]
Why? How?
[ None of this makes sense, but he supposes that's been the theme since their arrival. ]
no subject
You were there...
( ugh.
still, that last bit of emphasis seems to have zapped what little strength he has left, because he stops responding then, and his breath grows slower still. )
no subject
[ It's instinctive the way he bites back at Anders — the man makes it difficult not to snap. His arms cross as he scoffs. ]
I would be sure not to forget such an event, trust me.
[ He almost doesn't notice Anders' slowed breathing, because fuck him, but as he awaits a response or further explanation...he can tell something isn't right. A brow quirking, he leans over Anders, hesitating before reaching out to nudge him. ]
Mage?
[ If he dies AFTER he dragged his ass here he'll be furious. ]
Is this sleep or death taking you?
no subject
What? No, but.... but, hey, perhaps death would be a mercy compared to your mother henning, you doting... dote-y...Dote-Head.
( brand-new sentence that don't make a lick of sense for $500, alex.
anders tries his best to turn away, but the pain from his wings is too bad to making any sort of movement pleasant. he stays where he is instead. )
Either lie on the bed or lie on the floor; it matters little to me. Just don't leave.
( he says it like a demand rather than a pitiful request like that will restore some of his dignity. )
no subject
[ he mutters irritably, rolling his eyes and moving away so that he can get this sword off his back, placing it against the wall as he always does. He picks a spot nearby on the floor, sitting with his back against the wall and crossing his arms.
He doesn't intend on getting too comfortable. When Anders drifts off to sleep and seems in deep enough not to wake till morning, he'll slip out. Anders is lucky he even gets that courtesy. ]