fenris (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eleutheron) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
overjoyed_logs2017-04-07 11:48 am
eleutheron) wrote in overjoyed_logs2017-04-07 11:48 am
Entry tags:
[open] if i wake up in your mind, i guess you're right
Who: Fenris, perhaps you EVEN THO I AM INEXPRESSIBLY LATE
Where: Meshwork
When: Ch. 4
Summary: Dreams!!
Restrictions/Warnings: blood, child death, slavery, evil science
I. CANON MEMORY: DANARIUS'S MANSION
[ It's a party. The mansion is spacious and elegantly appointed, with spotless black marble floors and a ceiling painted to look like the sky at twilight. The ivory columns are intricately carved with grotesque, draconic figures; these are both stylish and intimidating.
(Of course, in Tevinter, intimidation is always in fashion.)
The guests mill about, drinking wine, talking, laughing. Servants--slaves--weave between them, refreshing drinks, offering food, and keeping their eyes low. A particularly well-dressed man holds court in the center of the foyer; his robes are heavy and fine, dyed in vibrant reds and woven with shimmering gold. He has the look of an aging lion, grand and fierce. He's holding a little boy by the shoulder, though whatever he's saying is indistinct. The boy shifts, looking nervous. The magister has a ritual knife in his other hand, polished to a wicked gleam.
Fenris is near you, a bottle of wine in one hand. He wears an iron collar around his throat and chains on his wrists and ankles; these clank together as he leans to serve you. The wine splashes into your glass as the child cries out suddenly. There's a soft, wet thump on the marble floor, followed by a tangible swell of power, of magic. The starry ceiling begins to swirl and twist, the stars come alive, shaping themselves into various constellations. The well-dressed man lifts his bloodied hand towards it, his body limned with crimson light, and he laughs.
Fenris stares at you, his expression inscrutable. His voice is toneless. ]
Enjoying yourself?
II. CANON MEMORY: HAWKE ESTATE
[ He's tapping his bare foot against the plush carpet, agitation shot through his every nerve. He's waiting for her, waiting for you. He's half-angry, half-ashamed, and it's taking all of his willpower not to just get up and bolt. He knows he shouldn't, can't run from this. He owes her more than that. He owes her just about everything.
When she--you--finally walk in, he jumps up. He's apologizing for himself, something he does often in these dreams. For his temper, his bitterness, his sullen attitude. Fenris knows only a little of himself, but he knows it well.
He says what he has to say. How he tries to fight the hatred that eats at him, the poison he's been fed his whole life. How he doesn't want it, but he still can't seem to spit it out. He's sorry. He shouldn't take it out on you. But he does anyway--and somehow you both know that he'll probably do it again.
He's turning to go, but you reach out, grabbing him by the arm. His tattoos flash, brilliant blue-white, and he starts like a frightened animal. The fear is a split-second reaction, mutating quickly to aggression; he shoves you against the wall, slams his hands on either side of your head.
It's a pregnant moment, and his mouth is close. ]
III. IMPLANTED MEMORY: THE COMPANY
[ It's a lab, buried somewhere in the bowels of a sprawling Company campus. Fenris is laid out on a table, his skin newly carved, bleeding and groaning. His green eyes are dull, milky, and he's having trouble forming coherent sentences. He stares up at the scientists and doctors clustered around him, shivering with pain, confused. He doesn't know where he is or what's happened to him. He doesn't know why he's here.
The other doctors murmur to each other. They seem pleased. Whatever they did, it was a success. The circuitry cut into Fenris's skin glows in time with his pulse; the shimmering lines flow with his veins like pale blood. Fenris grips the sheet draped over his legs and struggles to sit up. ]
What is this?
[ He sounds desperate, miserable. The scientists cluck their tongues. He stares at the lot of them, at you. ]
Can you tell me? Can you tell me anything?
[ He touches his face, his expression searching. He bites his lower lip. ]
Can you tell me my name?
Where: Meshwork
When: Ch. 4
Summary: Dreams!!
Restrictions/Warnings: blood, child death, slavery, evil science
I. CANON MEMORY: DANARIUS'S MANSION
[ It's a party. The mansion is spacious and elegantly appointed, with spotless black marble floors and a ceiling painted to look like the sky at twilight. The ivory columns are intricately carved with grotesque, draconic figures; these are both stylish and intimidating.
(Of course, in Tevinter, intimidation is always in fashion.)
The guests mill about, drinking wine, talking, laughing. Servants--slaves--weave between them, refreshing drinks, offering food, and keeping their eyes low. A particularly well-dressed man holds court in the center of the foyer; his robes are heavy and fine, dyed in vibrant reds and woven with shimmering gold. He has the look of an aging lion, grand and fierce. He's holding a little boy by the shoulder, though whatever he's saying is indistinct. The boy shifts, looking nervous. The magister has a ritual knife in his other hand, polished to a wicked gleam.
Fenris is near you, a bottle of wine in one hand. He wears an iron collar around his throat and chains on his wrists and ankles; these clank together as he leans to serve you. The wine splashes into your glass as the child cries out suddenly. There's a soft, wet thump on the marble floor, followed by a tangible swell of power, of magic. The starry ceiling begins to swirl and twist, the stars come alive, shaping themselves into various constellations. The well-dressed man lifts his bloodied hand towards it, his body limned with crimson light, and he laughs.
Fenris stares at you, his expression inscrutable. His voice is toneless. ]
Enjoying yourself?
II. CANON MEMORY: HAWKE ESTATE
[ He's tapping his bare foot against the plush carpet, agitation shot through his every nerve. He's waiting for her, waiting for you. He's half-angry, half-ashamed, and it's taking all of his willpower not to just get up and bolt. He knows he shouldn't, can't run from this. He owes her more than that. He owes her just about everything.
When she--you--finally walk in, he jumps up. He's apologizing for himself, something he does often in these dreams. For his temper, his bitterness, his sullen attitude. Fenris knows only a little of himself, but he knows it well.
He says what he has to say. How he tries to fight the hatred that eats at him, the poison he's been fed his whole life. How he doesn't want it, but he still can't seem to spit it out. He's sorry. He shouldn't take it out on you. But he does anyway--and somehow you both know that he'll probably do it again.
He's turning to go, but you reach out, grabbing him by the arm. His tattoos flash, brilliant blue-white, and he starts like a frightened animal. The fear is a split-second reaction, mutating quickly to aggression; he shoves you against the wall, slams his hands on either side of your head.
It's a pregnant moment, and his mouth is close. ]
III. IMPLANTED MEMORY: THE COMPANY
[ It's a lab, buried somewhere in the bowels of a sprawling Company campus. Fenris is laid out on a table, his skin newly carved, bleeding and groaning. His green eyes are dull, milky, and he's having trouble forming coherent sentences. He stares up at the scientists and doctors clustered around him, shivering with pain, confused. He doesn't know where he is or what's happened to him. He doesn't know why he's here.
The other doctors murmur to each other. They seem pleased. Whatever they did, it was a success. The circuitry cut into Fenris's skin glows in time with his pulse; the shimmering lines flow with his veins like pale blood. Fenris grips the sheet draped over his legs and struggles to sit up. ]
What is this?
[ He sounds desperate, miserable. The scientists cluck their tongues. He stares at the lot of them, at you. ]
Can you tell me? Can you tell me anything?
[ He touches his face, his expression searching. He bites his lower lip. ]
Can you tell me my name?
III! Can't smalltext due to screen reader but you don't need to match me <3
Mainly because he had no idea. He was here and there had to be a reason for it, but he hadn't the vaguest idea what it could be. Still, the other scientists appeared happy...Ryner wasn't, as far as he could tell. The circuitry looked far too familiar for him to find any joy in it.
But he could look at the charts, at least. So much information he couldn't parse, medical jargon and technological terms he'd never seen. But the name was there. That had to count for something.
"It says here that your name is Fenris. Do you remember anything?"
He didn't expect so, but it never hurt to ask, and he figured it was only polite. Then he looked at the other scientists a little angrily. "Can we get him some food and water, or maybe a blanket?"
no worries!!
Fenris rubs his face as he struggles to stay upright. Pain shoots through every nerve. He holds out one arm, staring in horror at the designs dug into his skin, the glowing veins of circuitry.
As one of the attendants scurries to comply with Ryner's request--taking him for someone of authority--Fenris mutters.
"No. I don't remember anything. Before this moment, I recall only ..."
He turns his palm over, curls his fingers into a fist. He winces. "Darkness."
no subject
Ryner pulled up his sleeve to show the imprint on his arm that marked him as one of the experiments himself. It was similar to Fenris', although much older and therefore less intricate and clean.
"You should probably sit down, you won't be too steady for awhile. Food should help, but rest is the main thing. It'll work itself out."
Well. Not entirely, but at least the body would adjust. Mostly.
"Darkness?"
He was sympathetic, but that sounded like it might mean something had gone wrong with the installation...
II
And there is Fenris and she isn't surprised at all to see him. She wonders how long he's been here. He could've just met her outside, she was only with... someone. Someone she can't place? Maybe she's thinking of earlier. No, he's speaking now and again she can't shake the feeling she's heard this all before. She tries to interject, ]
Fenris --
[ But it doesn't quite work and now she's feeling a little embarrassed. Does he want to tell her these things? Is he doing this on purpose? None of it matters, she wants to say, when the two of them could be so happy together regardless. She understands his hate, thinks it justified but it doesn't need to consume him. Not like this.
But then again, what does Hawke know? She barely knows the man, isn't sure why he's talking to her like this or where they are. Her priorities are warrants and Hokk, not... elves? Not love, as absurd it is to think.
He moves to leave and she isn't sure what makes her grab for him, makes her pull back but suddenly their positions are both familiar and unfamiliar. A shocked expression and wide eyes stare right at Fenris in response. Her heart pounds in her chest and her gaze drops to his mouth but, no. This isn't right. Or... is it? It certainly feels like something that should be done.
When she speaks, her voice is low and quiet, tone soft and affectionate despite her urge to be neutral here. ]
Fenris... I'm not sure this is the route you want to take.
no subject
But not right now. His veins crackle with the electricity of the moment, his agitation begs for release. He cups her chin with one hand.
In this world, he's loved her for years. ]
Tell me to go, and I will.