Anders (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
circlejerked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-03-16 09:58 pm
circlejerked) wrote in entrancelogs2016-03-16 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
the ground shakes and valor wakes
Who: Anders (circlejerked) and Carver Hawke (shitloaf).
Where: Kitchen.
When: March 16th.
Rating: PG-13 for these two being in a room together? Maybe? Sort of? We'll see.
Summary: It's a small world and people are bound to run into each other. No tiny fluffballs or kitchens were harmed in the making of this reunion between Anders and Carver (hopefully).
The Story:
[In Wonderland, an everyday thing like lunch is an adventure where one never quite knows what they're going to find. At least once a week, sometimes more, Anders makes a point to spin the wheel of chance and see what sort of new cuisine the dining room or the kitchen can produce. Squid and cold meats on sticks, pasta and pine nut salads, bread puddings, gingerbread houses, lilac jellies, pickled soups, hamburgers (delicious, for the record!)... The list goes on and on.
Never, ever did Anders think he'd lay eyes on so much new and exotic food, let alone get the chance to try it. It puts the Circle's uninspired menu to shame a thousand times over. Sometimes, though, familiar tastes are best. Sometimes he craves a taste of the old and the simple--stews, songs, hard bread, sunrises that stretch across the sky like roll of unspooled velvet.
Home.
For him, the comfort of home is in the warm sweetness of a honey bun, and that's the very same smell that fills the kitchen now. Anyone wanting to pay the kitchen a visit will find Anders lounging against a counter, biting into a perfectly round bun that releases a trickle of honey filling. Still heaven on the tongue even after all these years.
Being here isn't so bad when he can eat anything he pleases whenever he wants.]
circlejerked) and Carver Hawke (shitloaf).Where: Kitchen.
When: March 16th.
Rating: PG-13 for these two being in a room together? Maybe? Sort of? We'll see.
Summary: It's a small world and people are bound to run into each other. No tiny fluffballs or kitchens were harmed in the making of this reunion between Anders and Carver (hopefully).
The Story:
[In Wonderland, an everyday thing like lunch is an adventure where one never quite knows what they're going to find. At least once a week, sometimes more, Anders makes a point to spin the wheel of chance and see what sort of new cuisine the dining room or the kitchen can produce. Squid and cold meats on sticks, pasta and pine nut salads, bread puddings, gingerbread houses, lilac jellies, pickled soups, hamburgers (delicious, for the record!)... The list goes on and on.
Never, ever did Anders think he'd lay eyes on so much new and exotic food, let alone get the chance to try it. It puts the Circle's uninspired menu to shame a thousand times over. Sometimes, though, familiar tastes are best. Sometimes he craves a taste of the old and the simple--stews, songs, hard bread, sunrises that stretch across the sky like roll of unspooled velvet.
Home.
For him, the comfort of home is in the warm sweetness of a honey bun, and that's the very same smell that fills the kitchen now. Anyone wanting to pay the kitchen a visit will find Anders lounging against a counter, biting into a perfectly round bun that releases a trickle of honey filling. Still heaven on the tongue even after all these years.
Being here isn't so bad when he can eat anything he pleases whenever he wants.]
no subject
Well, he doesn't know the right word for it. Frustrating is working pretty well. But, there's not really much time when Carver isn't actually frustrated. So, not too much new on that end.
He's been wandering around listlessly for most of the day, looking in here and there to see what's actually going on. Then, upon realizing he doesn't know much of anything at all, moves on to the next thing. Eventually, Bethy chewing on his hair and a rumbling of his own stomach lead him toward the kitchen. Truthfully, he's still a bit wary (not afraid, you shut your mouth) in wanting to ask the magical wardrobe for consumables. It's proper caution! Nothing more, nothing less. For all he knows it could poison him or the dog and the last thing he needs is the death of another Bethy on his hands.
Of course, just as he rounds into the kitchen with his hands hovering up and around the back of his head to scoop Bethy out of the hood of the sweater he wears, he sees him. Anders. Granted, it's a less fury filled him than it would be if he'd come across the man claiming to be his brother. But, it's still something that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Carver's hands drop to his sides and he doesn't wince as Bethy scratches the back of his neck. Instead he just stares boldly and blankly at Anders there and has the half delirious thought to shove the—albeit delicious looking—honeybun right in his stupid, smug face.
He doesn't, though.
Small mercies. ]
I imagine you're pleased as pie to be in this place full of magic.
no subject
All of a sudden, the bit of bread in his mouth lumps on his tongue like sour dough. You can't dislike someone you don't know--unless that someone dislikes mages for the same reason, in which case it's evening the score--but Carver is no templar. He does, however, carry the feeling of an execution squad, and that Anders dislikes. He'd never been partial to uncertainty when it comes to his own life and where he stands in it.]
Places full of magic tend to be the worst kind to frequent.
[An absent correction like it couldn't matter less to him. Carver has the look of a bull acquiring a target--he doesn't need Anders waving a red cape to help him charge. The future of Thedas, it seems, has done that already.
Straightening up, he does his best imitation of indifference, which sits ill with the part of him near-bursting with questions he barely knows how to articulate. Standing here now, just the two of them, only the one comes to mind, coaxed along by Carver's blunt manner.]
So... I guess we should get the formalities out of the way since we didn't get a chance to earlier. Just one thing--was it you, then?
no subject
So, it's not magic that has his lips curling, it's just Anders' general presence.
Something undoubtedly scathing sits on his tongue but is never given voice. That question stills him and Carver looks genuinely confused. It's possible he's done something, but he has the distinct feeling whatever he'd think isn't what Anders means. But, just because it's caught him slightly off guard doesn't mean he's going to let his guard down properly.
So, he crosses his arms over his chest and just levels Anders with a harsh glare. ]
Was what me?
no subject
[He's betting Carver knows a great deal more than he's said, in truth. He's one of the people from this looming, unfathomable future with stories as long as the Chant about how Thedas falls to pieces in the next decade--and he, like the others, seems to have the beginning, middle, and ending of Anders' story in his back pocket, stashed like a crumpled piece of parchment to pull out and read from at will.
Anders sets the uneaten portion of his bun aside. The words are too morbid to say, but he does the next best thing, bringing his hand up to draw a line across his throat in the universal gesture of "dead mage."]
An elf helpfully informed me someone with the name Hawke, you know... ah, does me in.
[Not even Anders can pretend what he's asking doesn't curdle his stomach, and he hesitates on the words. It's surreal to live with your possible murderer and wonder if they do, in fact, kill you in the future. But he needs to be sure so he knows who to watch out for in Wonderland.
Plenty of people want him dead, but it's not usually like this.]
no subject
But, that all changes in almost an instant when Anders finally gets it out.
Because Carver is Carver, the surprise isn't hidden and paints itself across his features. Thankfully, it quickly morphs into grand offense and he recoils as if he's been slapped. ]
What? Are you mad?! [ He holds up a hand to stay whatever answer might come out of his stupid mouth. ] No, I know you are.
[ That same hand pushes back through his hair and he exhales a harsh breath. ]
No, you sodding idiot, it wasn't me. [ Somehow, he's still really offended over the insinuation. More so over the fact he's getting blamed for something his sister did and not him. ] You think I'd want to be in the same space as someone I killed and wouldn't try to do it all over again?
[ Clearly, that's the Carver Logic. ]
It was my sister [ and he spits that word out like it's poison all its own ] who did it. Not me.
no subject
Oh, well, that's a relief. And here I was worried things would get awkward between us.
[Despite the sarcasm, tension eases from Anders' shoulders, and he manages a blithe smile. The way Carver gets his smallclothes in a wad, you'd think he was the one contemplating his own death and dismemberment at the hands of the Hawke family, not the other way around, but the answer is a relief, kind of.
At least he doesn't have to consider that he was done in by a man with a fetish for pocket dogs.]
Putting it that way, you're right, I don't know how anyone could doubt your sunny disposition and goodwill toward all men. [So sweet! So definitely not boiling over with suppressed anger!] I appreciate the passionate denial, though I don't suppose that had anything to do with not wanting me dead...?
[A guy can hope, can't he?]
no subject
What he can't stand is that he wasn't sorry for what he'd done. At least, that's the story he's heard repeated more than once. And it isn't as if he didn't know Anders to believe it was true enough. Carver was never one to continuously leap to the defense of mages, but Anders was the sort to make anyone hate them. Seems he's still doing quite a good job of it right now.
Still simmering hurt feelings linger too closely under the surface, burning their way through his veins and need an outlet once again. He scowls and against his better judgement, takes several menacing steps closer. ]
I never cared much what happened to you one way or the other. Because you never cared about anyone but yourself and your absolute shit ideas. After what you did, you deserved it. But, what would have been a far better punishment for you would have been to let you live and force you to face everything and clean up the colossal fucking mess you started.
no subject
[For a split second, Carver's sudden approach makes Anders think of his staff, resting against his chest of drawers where he'd left it in his room, but he holds his ground and waves Carver back instead of flinching, grateful all the same for a counter to put between them.
The hot emotion in the other man's face carries no small amount of spite, but after Carver's display of surprise at Anders' question, he doesn't think Carver means him harm--not him, exactly. To bring to justice a memory of another him, maybe. Ironic, considering Justice is the only spirit Anders would risk becoming a bona fide abomination for.
Mentally distancing himself from that other him helps soften the blow. He needs that distance. His selfishness deserves the ultimate punishment? Nobody wants to hear the best parts of themselves still aren't worth the air they breath, but he has to remember he and the others from Thedas are coming from completely different contexts.
Someone has to keep a clear head.]
You weren't a fan of whoever you knew, I get it. I'm not trying to convince your anger isn't justified, but you've been here long enough to understand what this place is capable of. I'm not that person. I don't know what he did or what happened to make him that way, but it doesn't sound like me in the slightest.
[Except maybe for the selfish part, but never to the extreme of endangering other people for the sake of protecting himself.
Blowing out a breath, Anders does his best to go against instinct and reach for diplomacy over teasing, making a concentrated effort to stay level. Carver's reacting; he needs to be proactive. If he doesn't, he gets the feeling he's going to be waiting a long time for Carver to get the message on his own, and that's time he can't afford to lose fighting about it.]
This is a nexus point for people from all sorts of circumstances. It's the year 9:31. I just became a Warden--to everyone's surprise, including my own, I might add. I'm not the Anders from your world. You can curse my name up and down the mansion of you want, but I'm trying to help everyone get out of here. I'd prefer to do that knowing I don't have to watch my back.
[And if that's too much to ask, he'd rather know that, too. He can keep clear of the other Thedosians just as well, though it's not ideal in this small space.]
no subject
And he's getting right Maker damned tired of that being an excuse.
Carver comes over to the counter, his hands pressing heavily against it for balance. He doesn't yell—not yet—but the tone of his voice is gravely serious with just barely tempered fury. ]
You are still Anders. That doesn't change no matter the world, or timeline, or any other excuse you—or anyone else—wants to make. You're still him just as I'm always going to be Carver Hawke.
[ One hand lifts and he points at Anders, still not taking his eyes off of his face. ]
Have you met Justice yet? You're not doing your fancy glowy bit, so I assume you haven't let him in. One of your bigger mistakes, really. By 9:37 Anders [ he says it sarcastically, as if he needs some air quotes around it ] has become the abomination everyone's accused him of. You and your internal pal Justice blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, killing dozens and dozens of innocent people. Further proving to that nutcase, Knight-Commander Meredith, that mages can't be trusted. Because of that, the Mage-Templar War began and went on for four years until the Inquisition ended it.
[ He leans a little closer, the counter creaking under the pressure. ]
Now, you can stand there and tell me you didn't do it, you're not going to do it, it's not you, you swear it! Yet, there's a man who wears your face, who has your voice, who shares your past who exists for me and did any number of horrible things. You saying all that means nothing to me because I lived through it all.
[ His finger jabs into the counter to make his point all the more clear. ]
I'm not going to do anything to you. Unless it's warranted—just like I would to anyone else here. You start harming people, and I'm not going to hesitate to act. I'm not some mindless animal that doesn't know how to behave. Just don't give me cause to, and we can exist just fine here.
no subject
[But what's the point in butting heads about the theories of human experience? Anders would rather let Carver think what he wants. People on the verge of breathing fire around him generally don't care about being reasonable. They care about making their point, which Carver does with devastating efficiency, pulling him into this place he doesn't want to be in, this incomprehensible wintry wasteland of someone else's memories where familiar landmarks have melted away.
Justice's name coming from the mouth of a stranger has him gripping the edges of the counter without realizing it. Justice--? And a chantry? A war? So it's true, then. They think Justice is responsible, that together they create an abomination straight out of children's horror stories. His muscles clench all the way up his arms and into his shoulders.
No, Justice wouldn't. Justice is a lot of things, but not some run-of-the-mill demon inspiring violence wherever he goes.]
That's--that's insane. That's how you and the elf remember me?
[His instincts say run, but the enormity of it is unavoidable, a boulder falling from the sky to land on him and squash the breath from his lungs.]
You're serious, aren't you?
[The implication is slower to process. It settles over him in increments, engaging different emotions like notes on a violin. A flare of shock and denial are first, of course. The urge to say every one of Carver's mocking protests word-for-word is nearly choking in its intensity. Then a more subdued note--an insidiously quiet horror at the sense the story makes. Not about why they'd do it, but why people would be upset to find him alive if it's true. If his lookalike is the poster boy for mass murder.
At this, he feels a stony sort of indignation that a universe, even a cruel one, would use his face and Justice's purpose in the committing of atrocities.
And for what? To do what? To show his anger? To lash out at the Chantry? At a society that had never accepted him? What would that accomplish? His thoughts spin like a toy top careening out of control. Society doesn't want mage kind around when they're on their best behavior; there'd be rioting in the streets for being at his worst, and the ripple effect would ensure everyone would suffer for it. His incredulous disgust at the charges turns his face hot even as his knuckles go white. Wreaking havoc against the Chantry wouldn't help him, or Karl, or the victims. Karl would hate the thought of it. It's a pointless act, a cry for attention like Uldred's attempt to take power. No winners, just losers.
How is he supposed to account for a Thedas that's drawn the cosmic short stick? It's so beyond his ability to comprehend or refute that it's like one of those unsolvable mathematical problems mathematicians waste their lives pouring over.]
No way! Not a chance! [At first, the words are no better than a noise locked in his throat; he has to force them out with effort.] I'm sorry everyone you know seems intent on finishing what the Blight started and razing Thedas to the ground, but that just proves for certain that's not me. Me me. I don't waltz around attacking chantries and killing people for fun, and I'm not planning on starting.
[Carver has already said nothing he says to the contrary matters. But it's the truth. Anders knows where he draws his lines even if no one else in this world or the next believe him.]
I can't speak for other versions of Thedas, just for myself. And that I'm positive of.
no subject
He frowns and backs up slightly from the counter, putting the needed space between them. Likely for the best. He doesn't want to go back on his word, after all, and throttle the idiot just for breathing. ]
Of course, I'm serious, you sodding idiot. I wouldn't throw that around as some sort of merry bloody jape.
[ Not for the first time he's wishing he just stayed in his room. Carver's hand lifts and he rubs against his forehead. It takes a special kind of person to give him a headache by simply talking. ]
Maybe the you now wouldn't consider it. But the you with Justice—or Vengeance, or whatever he wants to call himself—considered it and didn't even bat one sodding lash.
[ His arms cross over his chest and he gives a rather reckless sort of sneer. ]
And considering you're from the past, you can't be positive of anything. Would there be a world of Thedas out there when you didn't turn into a sodding maniac, that's great. In fact I hope it's true somewhere. But, that won't change anything for me or for Fenris. For us, it was still you.
no subject
[By the time the appalled protest is out of his mouth, he already regrets it. There's too much he doesn't understand about this; he exhales roughly and swallows back the sick feeling in his throat. His head feels like a thirty pound sandbag attached to his shoulders, fit to burst from this new information.
Nonetheless, dread gives his reply a sharp immediacy.]
I am positive. What you're talking about is...
[All the words for "horrible" come to mind, but they're a pale representation of what he feels, like a faded afterimage set beside a color photograph. They don't come close to encompassing the truth--yet it takes effort to keep from babbling the words uncontrollably to distance himself from Carver's world and everything in it.
The tension increases in the line of his jaw as if he's physically holding the words back before he answers.]
It sounds like he or... or they paid for it. That has to be enough.
[Because Anders--the one standing here now--doesn't have an explanation for how things could take such a turn for the worse.]
You and the Fenris must have thought I was still possessed and out of my mind. Well, I'm not. I'm just a Warden and an apostate trying to get by, and that's it. I'm in no hurry to walk a mile in your Anders' shoes.
no subject
[ There's no vehemence behind the word, but that doesn't mean it's emotionless. There's a lot packed into that small little word that even Carver can't quantify exactly everything that's present. Not that he could even if he wanted to because he's not the sort to dissect his feelings and other such nonsense crap like that. It's a simple no to everything that Anders says and is.
But, first; ]
No, he didn't pay anything. [ Arms unfolded, they hang loosely at his sides with the careless sort of grace that a warrior carries himself with. At rest, but still battle-ready if necessary. ] Not that my sister made right choices all the time, but this—that was the wrong one. He should've been left alive to see what mess he wrought. That would have been better.
[ It's like this conversation has just drained the entirety of his adrenaline and now all he wants to do is go take a nap. Then preferably not talk to anyone for the rest of the day. Then probably go break a bunch of useless junk to expel the rest of the buzzing energy in his reserves.
Never having been in a position like this before, he doesn't really know what to do. He can continue to be mad and get himself nearly to an aneurysm each time he sees Anders. Or, he can attempt to let it go for now and somehow reconcile with the fact that this man doesn't have that weird spirit inside of him. But, either one is going to require more thought and time away from the man in question.
The no fits here, too. ]
I know you're not possessed. You're just... [ he makes an off-handed gesture ] kind of a sodding idiot. The Anders I know would've already started with the glowing bit and started ranting about how I must hate mages. I don't know what happened directly with you and Justice, only heard the story secondhand. You—he, whoever—fucked up and didn't even take responsibility for it. That I can't forgive.
no subject
[It's a low-key taunt, less a deflection and more something to fill the silence with. There's not a lot he can say in support of or against Carver's lack of closure. There's not a lot to say. It is what it is, and it's personal, wrapped up in feelings of anger and betrayal and the relationship between brother and sister, none of which Anders is privy to as a stranger on the outside looking in.
How can he judge what had gone on in this alternate history without having lived it? He chafes at being used as a stand-in for someone else, but he can give Carver the chance to say his piece. That much, he can do. From what he's hearing, it's more than the other him had done.
Anders' moves backward until he can rest his hands on the far counter behind him, letting the distance bring with it clearer perspective.]
If something went wrong after they merged... if they became an abomination in the truest sense of the word, then it's better that someone put an end to it. Safer. For everyone.
[Validating the necessity of his and Justice's deaths leaves the taste of bitter ash in his mouth. In most situations, he doesn't have a problem finding his voice, but he labors in getting the words out; it takes breaking eye contact to do it, and even then, immediately after Anders reaches to open the refrigerator door for something to do.
He spots juice in a carton. He doesn't particularly want juice, but he pulls it out and makes a show of taking a cup out of a cupboard. It gives him a chance to turn his back and make sure his composure hasn't slipped.]