eleutheron: (29)
fenris ([personal profile] eleutheron) wrote in [community profile] overjoyed_logs2017-04-07 11:48 am

[open] if i wake up in your mind, i guess you're right

Where: Meshwork
When: Ch. 4
Summary: Dreams!!
Restrictions/Warnings: blood, child death, slavery, evil science


[ 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?


[ 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. ]


[ 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?

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