ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-05-24 18:41:00 |
|
|||
Coming back from the dead was no simple feat. Killian’s death was of abnormal circumstances, completely unfair much like Leandra’s - he’d been skeptical about the attempts of resurrection (or traversing to the depths of limbo to offer him a piggyback ride to the world of the living) when Trevelyan had explained it, but by the grace of the Maker - sans the crude additions to his glorious title - Hawke wished them success. And success they certainly had. It was good to see the this particular pirate out of the confines of a glass coffin, protected by archaic walls that kept magic in. Not to mention alive and well. Good on his queenly consort to have made sure his body didn’t decompose or anything. That’d be a terrible way to rejoin the world above? Rot wouldn’t be a good look for him, he’d gather, but jokes aside, Garrett was also aware that death and its experience brought hefty baggage. He’d brought Killian over to what was the beginnings of The Hanged Man for a tour, distractions, and perhaps a talk. “My biggest fear is some drunk twat’s going to think it’s a pinata up front,” huffed the Champion of Kirkwall, motioning to the replication of a sacked man dangling from his ankles right above the door. Downtown Anaheim was busy, bustling with tourists and locals, and this building had been chosen for its potential and location. It’d eventually be molded into the (sanitary) image of the tavern in their dreams, complete with a couple rooms available for lodging, and not to mention the very top of the building would be his to inhabit. Bela and Dog too, of course. Marriage sort of involved shacking up together and being agitated by the other’s habits, and he was looking forward to that in the long-term scheme of things. Currently, The Hanged Man was in its raw skeletal form. They still needed function furniture and decor, but they were aiming for very specific things. And perhaps a professional to help them find those very specific things they needed. Inside, the lighting installed was dim and golden, as if it were actual flames giving it illumination. “We’re also planning on making this into a microbrewery, alongside the custom created cocktails we’ve dedicated to our dream companions. To make this place stand out more. Give it its own flavor.” As for the rat droppings, well. It’d make it authentic but then it’d get their business licensed cut up. This place was fantastic. Or it would be, when it was all finished. But Killian was already getting ‘medieval tavern’ vibes - reminded him of the ones he’d dreamed of in Misthaven, traveling all across the lands and living a pirate’s life. Cheap ale in casks, perhaps a straw mat on the kitchen floor to fall over drunk on, a community cauldron bubbling with stew and hunks of stale bread to dip into it. There was something warm and homey about such places, and given the year 2016 of their Lord and Savior or whatever the fuck, modern conveniences would prevail. This was the age where people ate styrofoam from McDonald’s and called it food, there it was, hot and fresh and composed of chemicals in under thirty seconds. He much preferred a little tribute to a cosier era; the benefits were that electricity and toilets that flushed would also be a part of this tribute. Some modern conveniences, styrofoam aside, you just sort of got used to. “Are you certain this won’t bring the police around?” Killian snickered, patting the actual hanged man where his balls would be, giving him a little push - the body went back and forth, swinging jovially. “But aye, its own flavour is good - you’ll have it thriving in no time, I’m sure. What else are you aiming for? I’m not exactly an interior designer - “ No, he’d leave that to Regina, “...but if you need help with anything, why not.” “I bloody hope not - and stop fondling him, you two just met,” Hawke chuckled, arms mostly crossed, and his fingers were brushing through that infamous beard. It was all coming together from memory, slowly but surely. Even the front doors had Kirkwall’s crest painted on it, looking purposefully aged and faded. “We’re trying to look for...rustic chandeliers, if you will. The original had one something similar but they literally held a pit of fire to provide more lighting. Feel free to point me at anything that might fit that description.” Not to mention the torches on the walls too, though he’d advocate for actual fire with hesitance. Rationally so, considering this was a place that served alcohol. Fire and drunks were a recipe for disaster. And this place was an investment (not to mention his home), he didn’t want destruction to fall upon it. The upstairs was a little more put-together, and it’s biggest project was making sure the plumbing and wiring was done correctly for the sake of actually living in it. It’d be a unique set up amidst the excitement, which was perfect for him and his new wife. “Once it’s all finished we’ll be hosting a belated wedding reception with the opening. You’ll have to come.” Rustic chandeliers. The Captain’s brow furrowed thoughtfully - if he could track people, he could most certainly track treasures (it was sort of how he started out too, come to think of it). His innate pirate nature meant that he simply had a knack for finding things, it was how he’d made a living for so long - and presently did as well, just with a proper licence soon-to-be added to the mix. “Shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll give it a go,” he promised, abandoning the poor sap hung by his ankles and beginning to wander to have more of a look around. Killian certainly didn’t blame Hawke for wanting to live here - he probably would too, if he didn’t feel the call of the sea, singing to his very blood. “And I’ll be there for your wedding reception, wouldn’t miss it. I’ll even bring Her Majesty.” Regina would like this place also. They could get a few drunken rounds of Cards Against Humanity going in here. “How was the wedding anyway?” he asked. “Beautiful and Elvis-filled?” There wasn’t proper seating to entertain his friend here, alas, but there were some crates of materials they could get their dashing bums comfy on. Hawke did, anyway, and welcomed Killian to do the same. “It was certainly an experience,” the mage grinned, dimples revealed. “Exactly what suited us. We did it beneath the Las Vegas sign on the highway. Elvis was an inspiration, he truly was.” It’d been a good couple days away, though they’d come back a bit sooner due to the surprising arrival of his goddaughter. Amelia was suspected to be an early arrival, but the when was unknown, and he wanted to be there to celebrate the arrival of the little bundle (the littlest bundle he’d ever even seen) with his best “What about you? You’ve had quite the interesting...couple months.” Putting it rather lightly. “I visited you, Killian. While you were in that coffin. Thank every omniscient being that you’re back, but it must have been a journey.” Hearing that people visited him was still strange to wrap his head around. And not like Killian remembered any of that, of course - he’d just been one soul of many trapped in the Underworld, cursed with burning eye syndrome thanks to the unfortunate tint of those skies. It wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t ambrosia and eternal bliss either - about as delightful as an actual weigh station or truck stop, which is what it was meant to be for those who have passed on anyway. “I appreciate it,” he chuckled dryly, settling on one of the crates, sleek limbs folded down to make himself comfortable. “The visitation, I mean. I’m just glad that people were stubborn enough to go after me - I didn’t want them to at first. I tried to talk them out of it, but nothing I could have said would dissuade them. In my dreams, I sort of wished that Emma would have just let me go when I was meant to go - it would have been safer for everyone, and I was even on my third death or so. My time was up there, and cheating death’s not worth it - I guess here it wasn’t my time though. Maybe later, you know?” Things worked out differently - in Orange County, he hadn’t seen and experienced as much as Captain Hook; Killian was still ‘young’ in the scheme of things. He’d made different choices and was learning from the mistakes of his other self. There was always more learning to do anyway. “Love’s a powerful thing,” Hawke rumbled a laugh, unsurprised that the people around him were that particularly tough brand of stubborn. “Makes you do extraordinary things. It’s not always synonymous with smart, I’m afraid, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Cliche to say, but nonetheless true. Who wouldn’t try their hardest, when they knew that there was a chance? As miniscule as it may be. Hell, love had made him do the reckless thing of facing the Arishok for Isabela’s safety. The qunari leader wanted his pirate queen and make peace with Kirkwall and, well, this mage, of course, chose the difficult route much thanks to the squishy organ beating in his ribcage. In the end things worked out, and there were no regrets. Never when it came to her. Talk about a fresh start at life, though. Death and returning from it must make you view things differently. “So what’s on the agenda for you now? Your hopes, your dreams, go on.” Hawke even batted his lashes, ever the trolling romantic. His hopes and dreams. It was like they just sat down for a round of speed dating, how bloody sweet of Hawke to ask. “No, I suppose that both versions of myself can attest to the fact that love makes you do incredibly stupid things,” he grumbled, fondly, though he had to admire the gumption involved, at the very least. Not just anyone would risk everything they had, their own life, for the sake of ensuring some dastardly pirate got another chance. And it was a good thing - if he was still alive, he was living to the fullest and making his own decisions about what kind of man he wanted to be; hopefully a good one. Not a perfect one, he was fallible, but he wanted to be decent. “Not quite sure though - so far the plan is to just learn to change nappies, and be a godfather,” he’d learn all about the odd gadgets that made parenting easier, and some that were also just weird, “...and I’ve been studying for the PI exam. Application for the licence has been sent off, now i just wait a little and fill my head with knowledge. As for anything else - “ He shrugged, sort of enjoying that he didn’t have to be in possession of all the answers. There were goals, things to work toward, but he supposed the future was generally wide open. “We’ll see, eh? Briefly had a talk about babies of my own, but I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.” Really, he was fine if it didn’t. Let him get in some practise first, with all the messy parts and the ‘why won’t he stop crying??’ parts. Ah, godfathering. Hawke knew how that went. Hadn’t they both finished the blankets for their respective godchildren? “My goddaughter recently made her debut into this world. A bit early at that, definitely one of the tiniest babies I did ever see.” Could perhaps have to do with the mother also being a very petite lady, but at least Amelia wasn’t ten pound basketball that irreparably wrecked her mother’s birth canal. That’d be painful. “There’s plenty of bodily secretions to clean up already, I’ll tell you that much - I’ve got experience from helping my mother with the twins, so it all comes rather naturally to me.” There was the one time where Carver whizzed in his eye, the fucker, and he was confident that set the tone for their very turbulent relationship. He’d been doing better at university - he’d wanted to make Leandra proud, Andraste bless his mother’s soul. But Killian having the baby talk? Of his own? That tickled Garrett in his non-naughty bits. “You’ll get a taste of what it’s like when your godson is born. Maybe not the full picture of parenthood, but a taste. We’re the lucky ones that don’t have the endure the sleepless nights. Your lady’s up for the task of her own one day?” He wouldn’t talk about children to Isabela, not this soon after marriage. That was shocking enough for her in itself, and if she’d chose not to have any then that was fine - he’d wanted her, not for what could eventually occupy her uterus. “I fully expect to get piss in the face on more than one occasion,” Killian rumbled a laugh, scratching through the black, prickly scruff that was his very strategic groomed facial hair. He probably wouldn’t remember to point the little shit’s tiny winkie south all the time, and thus would likely pay the price for it. But he’d do his damndest, that was for sure. This was something he wanted to really experience, and do a good job with. Not like his dream self would get to - parents there were barely minding their own babies anyway, not as if they’d let a dead pirate near one (if they were smart, that is). Having his own children though, he had to admit it was something he’d considered - then and now. There were paternal desires, hidden deep under the rest of the intricacies that made up his being, some of the fronts he put up just that and then beneath that the more genuine bits he shared with those he loved. “She’s got motherly instincts for miles,” he grinned. But then it faded a second later, he became more thoughtful. “I just know she’s had some trouble with pregnancies, in the past - with her last husband. I wouldn’t want her to feel like she needs to go down that road again. It’s painful and difficult. We can always adopt, if we decide to have children.” And it didn’t make much difference - giving birth didn’t automatically make you a mother anyway. That was simply biology. Such was the expectation when dealing with an infant - it was the gritty truth, but the unconditional love for them was what made all the tears and frustrations and messiness worth it. It was why Hawke, ever a ‘mama’s boy,’ worshipped his mother. Leandra may have done the stay-at-home mother routine (she’d gotten judged for that, and if only he could take a mighty piss on those rude commenters), but her job was not an easy one, and growing up he’d seen the struggle both his parents had gone through for the love of their family. It always stuck with Hawke, and an example he’d chosen to live by when he’d taken the mantle of ‘head of the family’ after his father’s passing. One day he’d know he would fall into the strides of fatherhood fairly easy if it were in the cards, but that’d be for another time - right now he was content to enjoy the married life (not so different from their usual life together), and making sure his siblings were taken care of. “Ah, you’ve come so far,” Garrett smirked, one of those bushy brows of his poking upward. “I happen to recall a certain conversation with scantily-clad dancers as our backdrop in regards to relationships and having a talk with a certain ‘majesty.’ I suppose once someone goes to another plane of existence specifically for you, it very much cements the ‘long-term’ commitment, doesn’t it?” Scantily clad dancers always made for the best backdrop, when it came to philosophical conversations. Really got the juices flowing (the thoughtful juices). “Funnily enough, we had that ‘talk’ a couple of days later,” Killian lifted an eyebrow - in that way, the villainous way. If he had a mustache to twirl, he’d be doing so right now. But it was more suggestive about the nature of that ‘talk’ than anything else. Captain Innuendo was a moniker well-earned. And it wasn’t like he’d be lying - ah, fond memories of christening Her Majesty’s sofa. Was there any piece of furniture in her place that had not yet been a surface for their zealous fornication? “Long-term commitment, not as terrifying as it once was. I don’t think I was afraid of the idea, more...resigned to not finding the right person, not when I had so much baggage.” He still did, to some degree. But to find someone who helped lighten the load, and took you despite it all was a special person indeed. “Seeing Liam also helped...in the Underworld, I mean. There was some closure. When things sort of tie up, then you feel better about looking toward the future, I find.” There’s always that one person who would accept the baggage and work with it - sometimes Isabela had put herself down with hers, always convince that she was a piece of shite (her words), but Hawke would never believe that. Neither of them were perfect people, but that was the charm with all relationships, wasn’t it? Imperfect people coming together and making it work, despite the flaws and troubles that could emerge. “At least something came out of it, in the most unexpected way?” There wasn’t much of a silver-lining one could find after going through the hell Killian had gone through, but reuniting with his brother and having that talk one final talk everyone wished they could get with a lost love one could revitalize you in a way you could never imagine. A weight off the shoulders. “I have a hard time imagining your dreams are over just yet, but I hope nothing of that calibre will happen to you again. Take a deep breath, enjoy what you’ve got now before the next wave hits.” His weren’t over - far from it. Kirkwall laid in ruins, there was political strife and he’d fled with Isabela to divide the Divine’s forces after him. Soon the news of the Breach would reach them. Another ticking time-bomb to witness. “Gods. no. They’re not even close to being over,” Killian sighed. Thinking about what was going to happen next all in that turmoil made him get up to pace, to walk around, wiping his good hand on his dark denim jeans. The prosthetic he adjusted, and it felt heavy for some reason - though granted not as heavy as his hook would be, as much as he missed the grotesque appendage sometimes. It was a part of his identity whether he liked it or not. His wandering had him leaning against the actual hanged man again, arm around the upside-down man, giving the poor fellow a hug. There, there. Things would be alright. “Probably not over for either of us, hm? But that’s alright - I really don’t think I’ll die again.” Five times or however many he knocked on Death’s doorstep and then ran away really were quite enough for him, thanks kindly. “So I’ll be here to battle through whatever the next wave is. It’ll be a nice switch, fighting alongside friends and family this time.” Christ, their lives were never dull, were they? Hugging that thing. That was new. Hawke laughed, pushing himself off the crate. “Pretty sure if that happened again, you’d get revived a second time around for a good spank,” he quipped, stretching his burly limbs before he motioned over to the stairs of the establishment - it was open for all to see, and would be where the spare lodging rooms would be built. The main suite would be in homage to Varric, who set his roots down right above the watering hole. “Come now, the tours not over yet. I’ll need old medieval bedding too, something that looks itchy but feels as soft as a baby’s bottom.” Then he’d take him up to what would his home, or one of them - he’d still come stay with his siblings once a week or so and spend a lot of time in that house too. All good changes, and Killian escaping the maws of permanent death was one of them too. It made him feel so fuzzy, really, he’d might even give his friend here that hug the hanged man outside couldn’t - come into his arms, Killian! Oh, alright, since you insisted, Hawke. Well, the ‘hug’ Killian gave him first was more like a slap on the ass - and a generous grab, with the hand that really could appreciate those manly buns. He wouldn’t be putting his sausage into them anytime soon, but the glorious act of riding the chocolate highway would have to be something which occurred in another time, another place, a galaxy far, far away. “Chandeliers on fire and bedding that looks itchy but is soft as a baby’s bum,” he confirmed with a nod. “You really do know how to make my life interesting, mate, but I’m on it. Now show me the rest of the place.” Up the stairs and onto the more personalised parts of the tour - he’d just have to leave his friend the hanged man here, hanging, but alas. He’d be back. |