the i n s o m n i a meme

[bababooey]

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they? i n s t r u c t i o n s • Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject). • Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10. • Have fun! o p t i o n s 01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet. 02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops. 03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it. 04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them... 05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort. 06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help? 07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on. 08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them. 09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you. 10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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Lasulahn Lavellan | Dragon Age: Inquisition

[varhellathen]

{ Available as Inquisitor or companion. }

Inquisitor, 5? Zev is always cold in the south.

[ombranera]

"You know-" When one cannot sleep, one wanders- or at the very leas Zevran has always done so. Paced the perimeter of a camp, checked the doors, halls, and eaves for other assassins, built traps by candlelight to occupy his mind and hands until exhaustion swept him to the sweet embrace of the Fade once more. Doing so in Skyhold is...an experience.

So many more nooks and cracks and alcoves to check and climb, the battlements terribly high- a fairly defensible position all told but-

Terribly cold.

Worse than Fereldan. Even with the room he'd borrowed for the time being (not the main hall, Maker knows he'd rather not be among the nobility for any reason) with Leliana's blessing as they planned for whatever it is they may have need of his skills, Zevran finds himself often chilled to the bone. Thus? Wandering. "Back during the blight with all the running around, the makeshift camping I thought to myself 'it would be far better if we had a proper fort or castle from which to work' and yet-"

Zevran's voice, low and warm as he isn't, crackles with laughter as he leans against the battlements, staring off into the void. "And yet even with this, it is still so unbearably cold."

Ohmigoodness, perfect!

[varhellathen]

It's remarkable that Lasulahn can find somewhere less comfortable than Haven, and yet, Skyhold seems to be precisely that. The stone walls feel as though they close in on him the longer he lays in the darkness, and the beds are so deep as to be suffocating in some strange way. He has admitted that part to no one, even Josephine. A mage and an elf both, Lasulahn can only imagine how people would talk about how the knife-eared Inquisitor is too savage to be comfortable in a proper bed.

He's grown used to the cold, a little, though not enough that he ever wears less than several layers- the only exception being his feet, with only a knit wrap that leaves his toes and heels bare. He'd tried boots as the humans wore, and to say he didn't care for it would be an understatement.

When Zevran joins him on the battlements, the Inquisitor greets the rogue with a smile- and a look of empathy. "Stone seems to hold on to the cold, doesn't it?" he answers, voice soft but tinged with humor. He tugs his cloak around himself a little tighter. "I miss the meadows and the forests of the Free Marches dearly. I'd happily take the summer insects for a warm night again."

For a moment, he too gazes outward, but soon returns his attention to the other. "I could light us a little fire, if you like."

[ombranera]

"I would take the muddy fields and hills of Ferelden." Zevran tugs his coat closer about himself as though that will do anything for the cold. "Even if the whole country smells of dog."

Amicable Antivan Bickering is what Leliana called it during the blight. Considering they spent hours enough teasing the Warden and Alistair both over the food, the weather, the lack of fashion- it keeps one sane when so far from home. "While I've no desire to spurn your gracious hospitality, I cannot wait to be back on the road to Antiva."

Investigating word of Venatori flitting about, and is that not distressing enough? He would have thought the Grandmasters knew better. But then he has been killing them little by little and fear makes for strange bedfellows...

"Ah? That would be marvelous- if, of course, it is no imposition." He brightens somewhat at the suggestion, eager for respite from the cold, if not his own thoughts.

[varhellathen]

That earns a quiet chuckle from the Inquisitor, laugh hidden behind his hand. He feels a little bad for laughing; there are good people in Ferelden. There are also many that entirely deserve the derision their country receives.

"No, of course- I can only imagine. I'm a little envious." It's mostly a lighthearted joke. Lasulahn understands by now that even if his installation as Inquisitor was questionable, he is the one with the anchor and that cannot be changed. There are important things that he must do, because he is the only one with the power to do them. Still, he can think wistfully about disappearing to some place he's never been... particularly somewhere warmer than the Frostbacks. "I've never been to Antiva."

Lasulahn shakes his head with a warm smile. "Not at all, I was thinking about lighting one anyway." He indicates to a sconce a few steps away, unlit, and moves towards it. With a gesture, curving his hand around the charred end, fire springs to life. It crackles for a moment, granting a warmth beyond what one might expect of a torchlight. Lasulahn is cautious about his use of magics, but being in the presence of another elf, and only another elf, makes him a bit more comfortable. Making room for Zevran, Lasulahn holds his hands to the flame.

"Are you here long, do you know?"

[ombranera]

There is always a grace to casting, Zevran has noticed. Though the gestures vary from place to place, school to school it is still quite plain to him that fluidity of motion must come into play just as holding one's dagger as an extension of one's arm makes a better assassin. He holds his hands out to the fire with a pleased, bone-deep sigh. "Ah- much better. You have my thanks."

He flashes a grin, content to sit and soak in the warmth for a moment or two.

"That depends entirely upon the whim of your spymaster. I could go off on my own and attempt to handle the Venatori without her assistance but memory and practice have taught me it is better to take the aid and intel of a well-rounded spymaster than stumble about in the dark on my lonesome." Even if she is strange to him, now. No longer the bright, laughing woman led by faith in a vision he himself never truly understood. More like the Grandmasters and their plotting, though he has not said as much in her company. Not yet, at least. "Cold she may be, but Leliana would not deliberately lead me astray. I think. It depends on whether or not I've done anything unfortunate to her ravens."

A beat.

"Were it not for your-" He wiggles one hand, indicating the anchor- "And your needing to remain, I would offer to take you with me. Everyone ought to experience Antiva at least once in their lifetime."

[varhellathen]

The Inquisitor hums his response and offers a small nod, though he can't keep a smile off his expression with Zevran's reaction. He can't say he feels any different, truthfully.

Leliana is an imposing woman. Lasulahn doesn't have much frame of reference for her. He knows of her position as a hand of the Divine and her efforts in the Blight by what others have told him. Precious little of that has come from Leliana herself. He tries not to be too intimidated by her- she seems like she needs a friend, sometimes. They talk, but rarely does the advisor talk about herself.

Cold. Lasulahn doesn't know if that's the word he would use to describe her, but at the same time, he can't think of a better alternative.

"She doesn't mince words nor actions, but she is true and dedicated." He glances away as though one of Leliana's ravens might be sitting nearby, listening. "The amount of knowledge she can collect is a little frightening." Dirthamen knows she had enough information on Lasulahn to make him wonder how she could've learned so much.

He rubs his hands together a bit self-consciously, thumb tracing the strange mark. "It's a kind thought, nonetheless, I thank you. Perhaps one day."

[ombranera]

"I remember a more playful woman." Zevran offers, eyes on the fire. "One that questioned zealous adherence to a code or creed- or so I observed from her poking at the Sten that traveled with us."

But with the world so strange, sliding into place to assist the Divine- he can understand that stepping back. The emotional distance required to make difficult decisions. He simply...cannot quite reconcile it with the woman he had known. "Ten years can change quite a bit, I suppose."

The political landscape, the questions far more difficult, the moves grander.

The weight must be suffocating, though that thought is more for the elf at his side than Leliana. "...Is it painful? The mark. In my experience, those that find themselves chosen by fate, destiny, or sheer bloody luck do not often manage to do so without some pain."

Nightmares and neverending hunger. The promise of a ragged end. What price must this strangeness require?

[varhellathen]

Truth be told, there are a thousand questions Lasulahn could think of to eagerly ask his unexpected companion out here on the battlements. He doesn't want to be rude or prying, though, and only offers a quiet, sympathetic nod, brows a little drawn. There are times she seems to be in pain. He still remembers approaching the tent in Haven when she was praying, and her demanding questions about the Maker's intentions for which he had no answer.

Lasulahn looks at his palm for a moment. "Less so, now. When the Breach was first opened, I'd never experienced anything so painful." Maybe he'd just gotten used to it. He places his hands within the folds of his cloak. "I'm told it nearly killed me." While he doesn't at the moment think the Mark will kill him, he can't say the same for one of the countless battles he finds himself embroiled in.

[ombranera]

"You've work to do yet, I wager. May I?" Zevran turns his hands from the warmth in the sconce to extend one instead to the Inquisitor. Is it the night air, the nostalgia of spending evenings by a bonire hoping that the next day's travel and conquest would save Ferelden that makes him seem so young?

No, it cannot be that. Zevran is not so old himself to be looking upon others and thinking they shouldn't be carrying such a weight. It isn't his place to do so.

"So much power in so small a thing. But the Fade isn't something to be taken lightly, so a shard of it..." He shakes his head. "I do not envy you, my friend. But- while I cannot offer to spirit you away to warmer shores, I can offer a distraction should you have need of it. Such burdens can be quite difficult- and often people forget the person under the title of paragon, yes?"

[varhellathen]

It's the first time someone has asked to see the Mark aside from Solas that Lasulahn does not mind. Most were curious nobles - those that had the gall to ask - peering over it with no thought but to sate their own curiosity or gather gossip for their next salon. He offers his hand to Zevran, uncurling his fingers to show the strange marking. The garishness of the green is muted in the firelight, for which Lasulahn is appreciative, though it is still noticeable.

Idly he nods along in agreement with the other elf's assessment, watching the glimmer in his palm. Wielding the Anchor, he knows the power it holds, can feel it each time he closes a rift. It does not seem small in those moments. Now, though, it does.

His head tilts in open (if not eager) curiosity at the offer presented to him. He likes Zevran, what he has seen of him, anyway, and though tired, the call of sleep is not yet enough to drag him back towards his bed. "People see what they need to see." And no one has need of a wild elf from the Free Marches. There are those Lasulahn thinks see him as a person, rather than the Inquisitor, but they are precious few and far between. "What sort of distraction did you have in mind?"

[ombranera]

His grip is gentle, all things considered. Lightly cupping Lasulahn's wrist like a delicate bird, thumb smoothing across his palm- avoiding the edges of the anchor as he wouldn't dare presume to touch it. He might get cursed with similar luck or something of the like if he weren't so careful. Habit has him seeking out nodes of tension, gently smoothing them away before he can think about it- he's done much the same for those he was close to over the years. His fellow crows, The Warden and their party, Leliana, Josephine after one too many letters left her with a cramped wrist.

"And that is a useful tool on occasion, and a difficult hurdle all it's own on others." Zevran's lips quirk as he releases Lasulahn's hand before he gets any ideas one way or another. The man is lovely to be certain but he does not know how long he may remain and-

Well.

The hero always dies. That the warden survived is something of a surprise but heroes are not often that lucky. "I've dice if you know how to play, cards, tales from the Blight- those are often quite popular- in my room I've a mandolin if you wish for a more musical evening or-"

Don't offer it, Zevran, it will not end well.

Don't.

Do not.

"Massage oils. It is difficult to carry such weight at all times, is it not?"

Brasca.

[varhellathen]

The assassin's touch is warm, and gentle, and there's something about the careful way he handles Lasulahn's hand that's... comforting, almost. Pleasant, at the very least. When Zevran releases his wrist he tucks his hands back inside his cloak and away from the cold.

His eyes alight at the options the other presents him with- at least until the last, and no cast of firelight, however red it may be, can explain the color of the Inquisitor's cheeks (or how wide his eyes get before he remembers himself).

"I- ah-" His tongue seems to forget speech entirely for a moment. "I've-" Oh, Evanuris have mercy. He clears his throat a little to try and regain his composure. It works - somewhat. "Varric tells me I'm hopeless at Wicked Grace, so I might be poor sport. Getting out of this wind sounds lovely to start, though and we'll... go from there?" There's a higher pitched uptick in his soft voice, equal parts nervous and hopeful. He hardly wants to offend the Inquisition's guest, especially a friend of Leliana and a man who has thus far been quite nice to him. Everything Zevran had mentioned sounded fun. Even massage oils sound like they might be... nice, admittedly, but a little more intimate than Lasulahn would expect.

Maybe it's an Antivan thing?

Lasulahn can't say he's heard of it, learning what little he had of the language and custom, but that didn't mean much.

[grandscale]

[ ooc: How do you feel about cross-canon? Can AU into Thedas, no worries. ]

[varhellathen]

[ Ready and willing! Sounds lovely :> ]

10

[grandscale]

[ Emprise du Lion is frigid, this time of year. That alone makes it a less than hospitable place to make camp, without factoring in the shards of red lyrium jutting out of the ground. Or the similarly-infect templars shuffling about the place.

But there is a rather melencholy beauty to it as well. The broken roads, the looming structures that stood far longer than those people who had created them, the soft humming red glow in the air catching on the flakes drifting down from the night sky. The pained rumbling coming from inside those gigantic structures...

Wait. That's not quite right, is it?

But it's there, echoing in the night air. Scraping stone, and then a noise like some great beast in pain, drifting over the campsite as the wind whips past the assembled tents. ]

[varhellathen]

[ It's remarkable to Lasulahn that the Inquisition keeps traveling to progressively colder and colder locations. He had thought Haven miserable, then Skyhold, but neither hold a candle to the Emprise. There's something about the air in Emprise du Lion, beyond the mere temperature.

Being from the temperate Free Marches, Lasulahn is unused to the cold. That alone makes it difficult to sleep. Now, he might swear he hears something on the wind. Something that sounds almost like it's in pain. No one else in the camp seems particularly disturbed by it - or if they are, they've said nothing. Inquisitor Lavellan is never so careless as to leave camp alone in the middle of the night... save for this night. He's not sure what prompts him to make his way unescorted, particularly considering how rife with enemies this area is. Perhaps it is because everyone else seems to be asleep, and everyone has fought hard.

Cloak pulled tightly around him, feet aching from the day's walk through numbing snow and ice, the elf makes his way from the circle of tents and the warmth of the fire, with only a quiet explanation to the lone agent standing watch that he's merely clearing his head, and will be back shortly.

The sound like the grinding of stone echoes loudly enough that he's certain someone else must have heard it, but he is close enough now to the seeming source that to turn back seems simultaneously both the best course of action, and unwise. He lifts his staff, its illumination glittering across the fresh snow, peering for the source of the noise. ]

[grandscale]

[ And what should have been a mere pile of rubble in the darkness suddenly moves, giving the scale of what has been making that noise some definition.

It is a dragon. Not an especially large one, but large enough. The elf could perhaps have stood slightly taller than its elbow, were it upright. But in point of fact, it is not standing upright. Instead, in the illumination of Lasulahn's magic, the beast appears to be lying on its side, looking slightly dazed, a strange red glow in its eyes.

And nearby? Clusters of red lyrium sing their crystalline song, woven through with whispers.

Oddly enough, the dragon doesn't look much like any of those native to Thedas. Gold rings encircle two of its horns, as if they've been chosen specifically as decorative pieces. And despite being very male, this dragon has wings, albeit folded uselessly as its back for the moment.

Even so, a dragon is a dragon. Obviously, the solution here is simple. ]

[varhellathen]

[ The elf startles backwards as the dark shape in front of him moves, and he turns towards it—

There were dragons on the other side of Judicael's Crossing, according to their intelligence, but none were supposed to be here, and certainly not so close to camp. He nearly turns heel to flee, but something stays his feet.

Dragons are beautiful creatures, though Lasulahn's admiration of them is of a different color than the Iron Bull's own adoration. The glimmer of gold catches in the light of his staff, and he finds it curious. He's reminded of a story that Hawke once told him, about Asha'bellanar- a so-called Witch of the Wilds, being able to turn to a fearsome dragon.

It is probably an enemy before him, all the same.

He notices the red lyrium next. It is not an uncommon sight, here in the Emprise, but Lasulahn knows well of Varric's warning not to get too close, and certainly not to touch it. It affects humans, dwarves and elves alike, so it is not surprising that red lyrium might affect dragons, too. Perhaps if the dragon were not corrupted, destroying the lyrium might let it regain its senses, and return to its territory...?

It's a foolish plan, really. What an ignominious end to the Inquisition, the Herald being devoured by a dragon after attempting to save it. Dragons were hunted for sport, their bones displayed as trophies.

But dragons, whether simply that, a Witch of the Wild, or something else entirely, were living creatures, and Lasulahn has ever held a softness for animals and beasts alike.

Unsure of whether he hoped the sound might disturb the camp, or not wake them, he directs the power the Anchor wields into the coalescing form of a fist, directing it downwards onto the red lyrium to crush it. Cassandra or Blackwall might destroy the lyrium simply with their weapons, but the elf holds no such strength in him. This is the best he can manage. ]

[grandscale]

[ There's a brittle crack before it shatters, spraying outwards into a thousand blood-red shards, and whether by the noise or the sudden destruction of the lyrium the dragon appears to be rousing from its pained stupor.

Claws dig into the snow, muscles tensing. It shifts with a full-bodied shudder, shaking itself out before slowly rising to its feet, and the rubble nearby falls away from dark pebbled scales with a familiar scraping of stone.

Yes. About to the elbow, when standing.

Those luminous red eyes shift to the shattered lyrium before the dragon shakes its head, as if in an attempt to clear its senses. Then, with an inhale that flares the nostrils, it turns its burning gaze to the elven mage. It doesn't growl, doesn't attack, no, nothing of the sort.

If anything, it seems...puzzled. ]

[varhellathen]

[ He makes it a few steps back before something freezes him in place. His gaze lifts slowly to take in the dragon at its standing height.

Dragons are breathtaking creatures, particularly up close. Lasulahn's last encounter was not so calm. His senses should tell him this one will not be calm for long, but still he lingers - even as he can almost hear the scolding of his companions already. He keeps his staff at the ready, just in case. ]

It's alright, now. You should return home, this place isn't safe.

[ He's usually smarter than this, really. Though- the dragon already seems to be looking right at him, so it's certainly noticed either him or at least the illuminated staff he holds, so speaking surely can't do much harm. ]

[grandscale]

You know, I'd rather noticed.

[ A voice echoes on the air, as the dragon cocks its head in an almost feline manner. ]

Though I believe some thanks are owed, stranger.

[ No one else stands here, no sign of any other movement from the dragon. Clearly, the voice can only have one source. It gives the pile of red crystal a look that is almost disdainful, before shaking its head again and stepping out from the shadow of the ruin.

More to get away from those damned whispers than anything else. Why is it always something trying to get inside his head? ]

[varhellathen]

[ The Inquisitor startles enough that he has to readjust his grip on his staff, lest he drop it.

Talking dragons is a new thing, in all this strangeness that he's discovered since falling into - and out of - the Fade. He might attribute it to the red lyrium, but he's only ever heard indistinct whispers from the cursed stone. ]

I- yes of course. [ He steps back once more to make room for the great thing as it moves, and Lasulahn cannot help but notice how very small he is next to it- him. ] I heard you some distance away, but I didn't know what the sound was. [ He nods his head and gives some approximation of a bow. ] I'm happy to have helped, if I could.

[grandscale]

[ What a deferential little mortal. That's a pleasant surprise. So is the aide, for who knows what might have come of it if he'd been under the spell of that damned rock for however much longer. ]

I'm not often in the fashion of needing help. But it was appreciated all the same.

[ Something else tickles at his senses, as he stares at the elf, so very much the appearance of one like the Sin'dorei. A whiff of magical familiar and foreign, very much like the gateway that allowed him to pass into this realm in the first place.

Slowly, he leans forward, head lowering, until he's staring straight down his nose at the slight figure standing there in the snow. A faint rumble, though not an unfriendly one, resonates in the back of the black dragon's throat. ]

Hm. That is strange magic you carry with you, mage.

[varhellathen]

I imagine not. [ One would think dragons quite capable, but Lasulahn supposes everyone - even dragons - must need a little help sometimes. He offers a pleasant (if slightly nervous) smile.

The dragon references his magic, and the elf glances down, then holds up his hand, palm out for the other to see the magic still glimmering brightly from its use moments before. ]

Ah- yes. [ He glances to his palm, and then lowers his hand, returning it to his staff. He's not sure what else to say of it, the Anchor. ] Are you... I mean, I don't wish to be rude. I've never encountered a dragon capable of speech, before.