[OPEN/EVENT] Wonder if those changes have left a scar on you;

[magisterium]

Who: Dorian Pavus & you!
Where: The bar.
When: 11/21, mid-afternoon until well past midnight.
Rating: R, potentially.
Summary: In failing to save the Herald of Andraste, Dorian feels he's responsible for dooming Thedas-- but the fact that Brennan's memories and his own now contradict has complicated things further.
The Story:

It doesn't matter to Dorian that none of the bar staff seems to be serving this afternoon-- he's enough of a regular that he feels perfectly comfortable helping himself, parking himself on a stool at the far end of the counter with an uncorked bottle of wine in front of him, already halfway empty with a second bottle on standby. He's certain he'll get through that bottle as well, and once he's done, he'll have very few qualms about helping himself to something more.

He's found occasion to drink most days since coming to Wonderland, and so his presence in the bar isn't unusual in and of itself-- but today he drinks with a single-minded determination, a desperate attempts to swallow down memories he'd rather forget, and to try to keep himself from losing his mind trying to reconcile why none of his memories seem to match up with Brennan's. It doesn't trouble him so much that Brennan doesn't remember what he does: Dorian could hardly expect him to do the impossible and remember anything beyond his own death. It seemed like it might be asking a bit much, considering he thought himself to be largely responsible. It was the fact that not only was Brennan here, but he remembered a friendship between the two of them that they'd never had the opportunity to build-- they had just barely met before Alexius had seen fit to remove the Herald of Andraste from time itself, and whatever that had meant for Brennan, it had also meant the end of Thedas as they knew it to be.

He exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before seizing his wine glass and swiftly draining it of its contents, trying to banish the all-too-vivid images that thoughts of Corypheus' Thedas brought to mind. Memories that even months in Wonderland could never hope to banish, perhaps not even years. His conversation with Brennan himself had been puzzling, but he's determined not to retain the necessary coherency to try and examine those discrepancies further-- not today, at least, and he hopes the inevitable hangover will be enough to keep him from trying to solve the conundrum tomorrow, as well.

Unfortunately, it's a vain hope. No amount of alcohol has ever been enough to quiet his thoughts or drown his regrets, though he's tried time and time again. Regardless, he intends to try once more, even if it takes him until the pre-dawn hours. There's always a first time for everything.

Comments

[sponsored]

No grace left in her step at this time of the evening, Faith practically throws herself into a stool at the bar. She'd blame the long day and the desire to at least attempt inebriation for not immediately recognizing Dorian roaming about in place of the blonde she'd been expecting.

"OK, bride-to-be, lay it on me and keep it coming." The exhaustion slumps in her bones, posture rounding her shoulders down as she rests her chin on her fist. For all the wall-climbing Faith feels like doing lately, she's suddenly wishing she didn't wish for more things to do around here.

And she'd like to stop thinking about who she's supposed to be, now.

[outofthebreach]

He can't sleep. He tried, but his bed now has the very distinct and familiar scents of exotic spices and something else he can't put his finger on. But it's definitely Dorian. On his pillow. And then he lays there wondering how many other nights Dorian might have spent in this bed that he can't remember now either.

Finally giving up with a sigh, he gets up and dresses again and goes in search of the man. Finally finding him in the bar, he approaches curiously and arches an eyebrow at the sight of what Dorian has already had... and what he still has left.

"Planning on working your way through Wonderland's stock in one night?"

[heroica]

Robyn doesn't frequent the bar. What she does do is wander the halls, new and foreign as it all is, occasionally speaking with the mansion's residents in polite snippets of conversation. Mostly, Oren sniffs along the carpet and she follows, trusting him to lead her somewhere, though not anywhere in particular.

He sniffs at the air up on the fifth floor and trots inside one of the rooms. The Warden follows suit, peering curiously inside; it seems to be like a pub, but not anything like those in Ferelden. It's much cleaner and smells less of dog, for one thing, never mind how strange the decor and drinks that line the back wall are.

She's just wandered in, peering at them, when she realizes what it was that Oren had been looking for. The hound is wagging the latter half of his body, staring avidly up at Dorian Pavus who is sitting nearby.

"Oh - I'm sorry, I hadn't noticed you there." She smiles faintly, approaching. "Would you like any company?"

[bloodmagics]

It's the very early hours of the morning when Hawke ventures to the bar, as he does every night. Or rather, remembers he does because of Wonderland's trickery, but no matter. Nightmares of being torn apart by Darkspawn, watching his family torn apart, every possible combination his mind could think up, and there it was. Every single night. Hawke never learns though, still tries to claim some small measure of sleep every night, only to wind up in the bar until he's too drunk to walk properly.

Only then does he manage to sleep for more than an hour or two.

He slides onto a stool a few down from Dorian, nodding at the other mage as he reaches over the counter for a beer. "Lovely night, isn't it," he drawls, bringing the bottle to his lips.

[radiopalkiller]

He likes the bar, he really does, it's the grave he comes to dance on ever so often, delicious memories of everything he helped destroy; a meaningless carcass of all the things he had a hand in killing, like a victory party that just never ends. Sure, there's that- that, uh, twinge at the back of his head, like some sad and pathetic mewl of nostalgia, but look. So many years down the road, you can't help but end up with bits of human stuck between your teeth, and not always in the fun and literal kinda way.

But that's the other reason why you come here, 'cause you go ahead and wash it all right down. Now that's a good lesson dear old Philip taught him back in the day. The rest is all his own doing. He grins wide, and makes a beeline for the lone customer at the end of the counter.

"Now you look like the kinda misery who needs some company."

He plants his seat on the stool, and reaches for an empty glass. Helps himself right to that guy's second bottle, and a hearty gulp straight from the thing to boot.

"Cheers, buddy! To, uh. To... dunno, you tell me, whatcha aiming for here, huh? Health, beauty, success, love, liver failure?"