bakerstreet | over a drink

( just a touch of the pointed about that, she thinks, pretending not to notice. these drinks are not nearly top shelf enough to start unpacking what she may or may not be carrying around; it’s a great deal of world she’s expected to hold up, all 4'10" of her. a significantly greater responsibility than she’d been expecting to hold, at the beginning of this,

or at least at the beginning of her part in it. it’s not as if it hasn’t become abundantly clear that these events were set in motion much longer ago.

she sets the napkins in his hand, letting her chair plonk back into place, and rests her elbows on the table between them. )

We’re academics, ( she says, even if that maybe isn’t the first description most people who meet her tend to apply to athénaïs tavarys. it’s almost certainly not the work that earned her that rook moniker, ) we’re meant to like learning.

( and she does.

just,

everyone is really relying on her to catch up fast. )

[Emmrich listens to her voice carefully as he drops napkins one by one onto the floor and moves them with a boot. Wiping a skeleton off by hand is one thing. Wiping a tavern floor by hand is quite another.]

Learning from books and research can be quite different from some of the lessons life seeks to teach us.

[Going by his tone he might be discussing the latest bookclub choice or the weather in Nevarra this time of year. Manfred is nodding along and Emmrich wonders yet again how much his apprentice comprehends of the world around them. There's been a few signs that he's underestimated Manfred before; it's fully possible that his words are being followed.

But Manfred is not the one Emmrich worries about currently.

As soon as the spill is dried and the napkins are gathered up (still by foot) into a semi-tidy little pile, Emmrich looks back over at Rook.]

Academics also hold discussions with each other when a particular theory or line of inquiry trouble them.

[He knows she knows what he's saying. This is nothing new. But sometimes reminders can be helpful, especially when the task ahead of them approaches mythological levels.]

( mythological. downright apocalyptic, if they don’t get everything right—

there’s no margin for error. there’s no open book, no retaking this test. it’s only everything and everyone on the line. she rests her chin in her hand and smiles, something wry twisting in it. affection, too. she doesn’t fail to appreciate the care being offered to her; the bonds that they’ve all been building between them, turning a disparate group of unhinged strangers into something that on its better days resembles a family.

she thinks sometimes about what that’s going to look like after, if they live. )

Oh, Emmrich. Where would we even start?

[He chuckles despite there being no joke and lifts his glass to swirl its contents around once before taking a drink and considering. Hers is an incredibly fitting question, as he's come to expect from her.]

Perhaps with the greater triumphs, considering how challenging every aspect of the task is and has been. Minrathous was spared from untold horrors.

[Emmrich raises a finger, adding more to it as he counts off things he feel count.]

One archdemon is dead, and one god injured. Another lesser god is dead. I can feel growing relief from the spirits every time we enter the Crossroads.

[All four fingers and his thumb are outstretched now.]

We let those serve as a comfort as we face and break down what has gone wrong, and what, if anything, we can learn from it.

[It's much easier said than done, of course, but facing where they've suffered losses will help far more than letting those times linger and fester.]

But if we were to step away from academical analysis, I could ask you what is weighing most on your mind and listen. Sometimes what's most needed is someone to talk to and be heard by.

[He holds out his hand, open and palm-up.]

I am here for you, Rook.

( the easy jest to deflect dies unsaid as she finds herself disarmed by his sincerity— not a totally unfamiliar sensation, now. she reaches for his hand, instead, and presses it briefly; brushes her thumb affectionately across his palm before she withdraws, folding both of her hands under her elbows on the table.

he’s been kind and curious from the beginning. it’s easy to take him at his word in a way it isn’t always, with just anyone. )

Minrathous was spared, ( she allows, finally, and he can probably hear the shape of what’s coming next before she says the words, ) but not Treviso.

( not a thing she’d have forgotten on her own; not a thing she could possibly forget, lucanis’s absence a rebuke whether it’s meant to be or not. )

[He leans back in his seat, after, glass held in both hands. Treviso is the other side of the coin, and one he'd expected to come up.]

There is no word that suffices to describe the horror of what happened to Treviso.

[There is no softening that tragedy. Some cities recover from the Blight, but he does not think Treviso will be one of them.]

The lessons from it were that we need more information and more people. Which you've seen to. I wish there was more to be drawn from it when the price was so high, but you had an impossible choice, no time to make it in, and little intel.

High, [confirms Manfred. Emmrich nods sadly.]

You know what the worst part is?

( it could be so many things. this tavern still isn’t serving anything like a good enough drop for this conversation, but apparently they’re having it now as she gazes fiercely down into her glass, her always-squared shoulders dropped, the silk curtain of her hair affording her a modicum of privacy from the average onlooker at the tables further away— )

If I knew more, I don’t know what else I could have done.

( her heart aches for treviso. for lucanis, freed of his prison only to lose so, so much almost immediately— his grandmother, his home, even it seems the confidence of his people. the blight smeared through its streets is a horror show. there will be work to do there, but she doesn’t know yet what it will look like. what it might mean. and yet,

minrathous was the strategic play. tevinter is still ass-deep in this bullshit, as it was ten years ago when the venatori had followed corypheus. when she takes the information she has now and weighs it, cold and calculated, that impulse decision holds. and it hurts worse, somehow, than if she wished she’d done something different.

she very specifically does not think about solas, in this private, personal revelation. )

I don't know either.

[His voice is hushed. If the choice were his to make, he likely would have chosen to save Treviso but that could have lead to a greater disaster. It's the choice of sentiment, not strategy, of averting what suffering is currently known at the risk of causing even greater suffering.

There's a reason he leads classroom discussions, and not teams tasked with saving the world.

Emmrich takes another sip of the ale simply to give the conversation, and Rook, time to breathe. Manfred looks into his empty glass and Emmrich thinks he might detect a note of disappointment there. He'll have to keep an eye on his apprentice around drinks in the future.]

Sometimes more information means the same outcome. Greater confidence does not make the pain or weight of the outcome any easier, unfortunately. It can, however, make the next difficult choice more clear.

I cannot say what exactly is coming.

[Other than an archdemon and two gods, with a third most definitely trying to find an opening to join the fray. The situation strains belief even still.]

But I do know that we are more prepared for it, and that you are more prepared for it, Rook. Little comfort, likely, but I hope it does bring some nonetheless.

Well.

( her voice is soft; threaded with that rueful edge that carries her through most interactions with a wink and a nod, only tempered. hope is not a delicate thing, in her experience; hope is the stubborn inability to lie down in the face of overwhelming odds. getting up, again and again— learning from everything that knocks them down, first. it is valuable. it matters.

it isn’t what she’d like lucanis to overhear her calling treviso — a lesson — but what’s she to do except learn and get up?

know more. do more. be more. prepare. )

Failing a unilateral surrender of the Evanuris or a stiffer drink and a better night,

( two incredibly different ends of the potential comforts spectrum, )

it isn’t nothing.

( she reaches across the table to press his wrist again, her hand mostly pale where the pigment has been fading away over the years, ) And I appreciate it.

[Emmrich smiles gently over at her. This is not how he'd expected the evening to go, and if he was a wagering man he'd bet it hadn't been to her expectations either. That's not a bad thing, though.]

I can't arrange the former, unfortunately, but Manfred can make his way home by himself and we could seek out a location for the latter.

[He's not in a rush to get back.]

The offer comes with no expectations. I may be done with my tasks for the evening, but I don't know what your plans were.

( she favours manfred with a lopsided smile— )

You wouldn’t mind sparing me your dad for an evening? Bring you back a trinket.

( where exactly is she going to find manfred a souvenir? don’t worry about it, she’ll figure it out— that’s enough of a confirmation, though, before she even says, refocusing on emmrich: )

I was just going to head back to the Lighthouse and, I don’t know, rifle through Solas’s old sock drawer for inspiration. You can save me from myself. Or whatever conversation I’d have to endure with him, after.

[The possibilities for what 'trinket' entail here go from entirely harmless shiny thing to objects that will cause mischief for days on end, but he can't ask her not to do so when Manfred's already clapping delightedly and dropping off the stool. Emmrich especially can't say anything when his apprentice picks up the dirty napkin pile and takes it to a waste bin on the way out. How could he?]

Frankly I would have hoped you'd already deliberately lost one of each pair of his socks by now. That seems like it would be far more entertaining than speaking with him more.

[He stretches before finishing his drink with ease. It's weak enough stuff that it won't be a problem.]

Any prospects, or should we start to wander?

( at her size, even weak swill like this might’ve been a challenge to chug — or at least made her head swim, momentarily — but she’s also prepared to abandon half of it, so with just another mouthful before she rises to settle their bill, )

Let’s go for a walk.

( maybe it’ll clear her head a bit. not of the alcohol, but...

everything else. athénaïs is small and fast, so scooting around manfred and emmrich to get to the bar first is easy — at least the weak drinks were cheap. over her shoulder: ) On the boss.

( to be fair, probably whatever gold she just dug out of a pocket to pay the barkeep she just found somewhere in the crossroads; she had described herself, deprecatingly, as not exactly liquid. adventuring tends to sort of pay for itself, in a way, but it doesn’t tend to leave one with a lot of ready cash at hand. gold flows into her pockets and out of them again, and always has—

mostly in ways she’d be prepared to report to myrna. these days. mostly.

that settled, she links arms with emmrich partially so she can control his ability to stride twice the length she can manage and partially because it’s nice, and why not. )

It’s a mild night. We might as well make the most of it while that lasts.

[On the boss, as if he doesn't have a steady (and not insignificant) regular income still. He shakes his head, but he won't argue it. After this much time in Rook's company, he knows he'll lose.

He'll just make certain he adds more to the meal funds.]

A splendid idea. Starlight, pleasant weather, and excellent company on my arm. What else could anyone ask for?

[He's an early riser, but he loves the look of the world at night. Twinkling lights and tiny wisps shine all the more because of the encroaching dark. It's poetry. Being forced to slow down from his usual pace means he gets to take more of it in, too. Of course, it also means there's time for slightly ridiculous questions to come to mind.]

Did he leave a sock drawer?

( despite having brought up solas’s socks in the first place, the question takes her off-guard enough to startle a laugh out of her, squeezing his elbow where she’s holding him— )

Not as I’ve found, ( athénaïs admits, ) though I have a feeling the Lighthouse hasn’t given up all its secrets to me. ( yet, anyway; on sleepless nights (or what passes for nights in the crossroads of the fade), it’s as good an occupation as any to keep her busy and out of trouble. she’s paced every corridor available to her, examined every scrap of forgotten paper, rifled underneath every shelf for anything that might’ve fallen and rolled away to some nook or crevice for the past however many hundreds of years.

thousands, even. )

The wolf’s den seems more an office than personal quarters. But he must’ve slept somewhere. Whatever he began as, he’s a man with feet now.

( and all the needs and inconveniences that embodiment entail. )

Feet, truly the worst fate to befall such a being. Though I believe Pride always manifests with feet, unlike many others.

[He's gotten a genuine laugh out of her, and if anyone needs laughter, it's Rook. Emmrich is not too proud to be silly for a good cause.]

Perhaps that was not always the case, however. Perhaps as Solas changed, Pride reflected that.

[But that's potentially leading back into heavy territory, like the first nature of the others. He's of the opinion that legends are right to tie Vengeance and Elgar'nan together, but Ghilan'nain? What was she? Curiosity twisted into an unrecognizable form? This evening does not need to be spoiled with that discussion.]

No matter. Many of the rooms do seem to include sleeping options when revealing their form. Most, in fact.

[His had not chosen to do so. His also had full 'sunlight' at all hours. If not for all of the bookshelves and the way sometimes books he needed but had not previously owned showed up, he might wonder if the Lighthouse was not exactly fond of him.]

Personally I keep wondering Assan is interested in investigating the towers that are not yet connected to the base. Manfred should be light enough to assist, if he was interested too. I say if, as if he doesn't stand on the ramparts watching the towers half the day already.

( the meditation room that she’s made her own rather suits her in the way it’s provided somewhere to sleep: it’s far from the first time in her life that she’s been prone to sprawling face down on a chaise sofa and passing out. occasionally she remembers bedding. sometimes she wakes up beneath a blanket, and presumes the caretaker has been— caretaking.

putting up decorations. changing the lights. it’s all rearranging chairs on a sinking ship, maybe, but something in her shoulders still relaxes every time she steps back through the vi’revas. it’s a feeling she’ll miss when this is all over, she thinks, and then she decides not to think about that. they’re talking about solas’s stupid socks and whether or not manfred could ride a griffon, not

anything heavier than manfred, on a griffon. )

If, ( she agrees with a quiet laugh, trusting emmrich’s footing as she’s paying more mind to what they pass than where she steps, an eye out for trouble or a better class of bar. ) I think he’d jump at the chance. Onto Assan, probably.

I feel you are completely correct.

[The only thing that keeps him from asking Davrin his thoughts on the matter is the fact that if anything goes wrong, they'd be powerless to assist. He does not wish to think about how they'd have to watch and do nothing.

...unless Spite could make a bridge over. Perhaps if they include Lucanis in the planning it was possible. He'll mull it over.]

We truly live in a time of the impossible becoming possible, don't we. Imagine, griffons. A Dwarf who can hear the stone again. Manfred as my apprentice.

And now, not an impossibility but still something lovely, we're out on a beautiful, still night, looking for a drink together.

[There are still joys and marvels in this world. All is not lost, nor overshadowed, even with as large as the shadows of the gods are.]

The lights up ahead look a little cozier than most. What do you think?

( emmrich’s words draw a smile from her, small and sincere; here they are, living in interesting times. and it’s big, and terrifying, and they’d better not lose the last great hope of the griffons in a fade abyss, but— they are living in it. he’s right.

there is loveliness to be had. )

As long as you don’t ask when, I might have been there once before, ( in another life, as a student often sighed about if only she’d apply herself with as much vigor to her studies—, ) and I might happen to know the owner well enough we might even get a discount on the top shelf.

( goodwill and saving the world, and all that. imagine how far she’s come since then. )

Plush seats, too, ( she adds.

and private. )

Edited 2024-11-19 07:34 (UTC)

Once,

[he echoes, very amused,]

and through that you know the owner that well.

[There's such a story behind that and Emmrich is incredibly tempted to ask anyway. Then again, she'd only said not to ask when, not to ask no questions.

The place looks incredibly comfortable, soft seats, angled for closeness and to keep anyone from being able to watch anyone else. It seems the perfect place to hide away from the world for a time.

Emmrich leads them about midway in, picking a place that has a view of the door without being in direct line of sight and scoots in first.]

You can leave out when, but now I need to hear more.

( signaling one of the servers on the way — who absolutely, if he’s clocking it, recognises her — athénaïs is smiling as she shrugs her coat off to join him, rueful. the seats are as plush as promised and she relaxes into the cushioned booth, shirtsleeves already rolled up over mostly pale arms. )

It was one of those, last stop of a long night kind of nights.

( she assumes, clearly, that he’s familiar with the type; their fellows might imagine him as dry as the dead are dusty, but athénaïs is not convinced in the slightest, )

And I had been drinking. We were shooting this Antivan liquor straight that I half thought even at the time was just some kind of horrendous Crow poison— ( but at that point in the evening, who’s going to be a pussy and turn it down? ) I’d made several of those friends, you know, lifelong for at least a week. And the place was closing, we were just hours from sun up, but the owner was drinking with us, so,

( fuck closing time. she is not remembered exactly the same by all the servers who were there, probably. )

We get to talking, he finds out who I’m with, ( the mourn watch, specifically. )

I can't even imagine what you're describing,

[he says deadpan at her pause after the first description. Emmrich had been a student once. True, his grades and attendance had been perfect, but that left two entire nights a week to be foolish and young.

From there he listens, nodding along knowingly in a way that would likely break Harding, Bellara, and probably Taash.]

And not, I take it, your brand new sworn brethren. Had someone actually imbibed a horrendous Crow poison?

No. Well, maybe, ( hedging, ) but that wasn’t the memorable part. No, he—

( not all of the story is funny. after a moment, glancing up as a server approaches with a bottle and two glasses, snaking a glass with her fingertips and considering it for a moment before she takes over pouring herself with a careless, ) Ah, leave the bottle,

( but, her story. back to her story. )

Not everyone can afford, you know, the services of our brethren or ourselves.

( the mourn watch, a particular elite; the mortalitasi already, broadly, unique among nevarran mages. if athénaïs hadn’t come into their care as a girl, she might never have enjoyed the prospect of being interred within the necropolis at all; maker knows, she’s never looked for her family there. )

He’d lost someone. A few years back, by that point, but he’d wanted to do the thing proper. Out of his means. And he’d found someone who would, but it was...not right. On the cheap, a necromancer but not of our order— some chancer, making coin. It’d gone wrong. And I was only a— ( student, definitely, except she’s already said not to ask when, so: )

I wasn’t operating with sanction, ( she settles on, diplomatically, ) when I told him I could help. And in retrospect, mad of me to go to a strange man’s basement after that many drinks.

[The mood instantly sobers. He's very aware of how many can afford little, especially when it comes to final caretaking. There also is no work required to know the true timeline here. She's not being subtle... but she doesn't need to be.]

Generally not the wisest of choices,

[Emmrich agrees, carefully pouring himself a small amount of the drink to start. The writing isn't Antivan so at least it's probably not Crow poison either.]

But you are here to tell the story.

( his mood sobers; hers is still lingering in what had, eventually, become a warmer memory than not. she leans on an elbow, tilting her glass against the table, taking a moment to taste the vintage—

good grief. she hopes she’s getting a discount on this, it tastes expensive. )

I am. And it was — exactly what he’d said. He hadn’t known what to do, so he’d just boarded him in and hoped for the best. Which turned out to be me, absolutely plastered, full of youth and confidence. I know, I know,

( she’s young, yet. but thirty-five feels a lot different than mumblemumbleteen had, maker knows. )

It was a haunting, effectively. Like we’ve been dealing with, lately, I suppose that brought it to mind as well. I was too green to know better than to try it, and miracle of miracles... ( she spreads her hands. )

I told my professors he’d been mislaid. Got two strapping lads to come back a week later and help me ‘re-inter‘ him with due ceremony. He, ( the owner, this time, she means, ) visits when he can.

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