ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-03-23 12:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Max & Richie
WHAT: Max's idea of 'let's have a date' means going out and beheading vultures
WHERE: The forest
WHEN: Tuesday
WARNINGS: Gore (because beheading - Richie has an ax, naturally), fire, one of them does a barfing (guess which one)
STATUS: Complete
Max Trevelyan had actually done his homework this time; somewhere he imagined he could hear Josephine feigning a faint at the notion. Or perhaps not feigning. He wasn’t exactly the research-y type; while he tried to prep for public speaking moments and/or not make a fool of himself for various balls and gatherings, when it came to fighting he vastly preferred to hop in and see what his opponent was made of. This approach sometimes paid off, and sometimes left him splattered against a tree trunk wondering about the depth of murder turkey rage. But today - oh today. He’d already heard from chatter on the network that the enemies - corrupted vultures? - were nothing to half-ass. Bleeding, feathered, half-rotted and all-nasty, the corrupted vultures had been determined to make their way past the forest and into Vallo proper. The defense teams were doing what they could, but they couldn’t be everywhere, and Max…? Well, Max had been doing a lot of paperwork this week at work and the thought of beheading something instead made him feel warm and fuzzy. And so he’d messaged Richie with a coy line: “Let’s have a date!” along with a cartoon drawing of a vulture, and a location at the edge of the woods. Richie’s own journey into his powers had been going so well, lately, and more to the point the man looked good wielding an axe. Max would always admit that. Let’s have a date, he said. It’ll be fun, he said. Or, well - admittedly, Max didn’t specifically say it would be fun but that was the implication since cartoon drawings were involved. Richie begged to differ - he was no ‘save the world’ warrior mage like his boyfriend apparently was, and for someone who literally, actually accidentally stumbled into hordes of power and ‘accidentally’ slipped into the role of an Inquisitor he seemed to really like doing that whole hero thing on occasion. Richie could take it or leave it. Because meh. But, okay, he did have people here he cared about - he’d fight to the death to keep Max safe, or Enola, also his friends. Maybe he didn’t look like much with the tall, gangly muppet limbs offset by the broad shoulders that possibly helped him tap into those Maine lumberjack genes and look decent wielding an ax - but he had determination, stubbornness, and (real) fire in spades. So he’d get shit done. Even if reading the network mumbo jumbo about weird-ass bird-human hybrids wandering around likely smelling of rot and a month-old corpse stuffed into the trunk of a car made him want to NOPE the fuck out. The things he did for his beloved. “We couldn’t just go to the movies or find a place to do it in public, could we?” he asked as he approached the rendezvous point, carrying an ax that a bird zombie could pry from his cold, dead hands. Also the fire totem - it glowed like a hot coal with all its red phosphorescence tucked away beneath his shirt; he wore it around his neck, along with the protective stone Max had given him for Valentine’s Day. Just in case. “Don’t be grumpy; I brought you coffee.” Max gave an iced sugary concoction he’d seen Richie order a dozen times to Richie’s free hand, knowing and accepting that if they were attacked, the drink would likely go flying. He smiled beatifically. It was the kind of smile that indicated that he was totally innocent and hadn’t lured his boyfriend here under false pretenses of sweet nothings. Max had a real hard-on for helping people. It was just his nature, particularly after saving the world a time or two, and now that he was here and largely chilling, he often inserted himself into dire circumstances chasing that same rush. He waggled his eyebrows at Richie, taking his staff from his back and giving it a light twirl in his hand. “They’re trying to get into town, I heard. Think of it this way - you’re saving the movie theater. You’re ensuring that whatever public place we choose to do it in will be free of mutant bird corpses. Past!Richie is walking, so that Future!Richie can run.” Well. There was coffee, so he couldn’t be too grumpy. Richie took the iced beverage, leaning in and planting a kiss on Max in thanks - that was a jolt to the system too, in a good way, and in a way that he’d admit was much better than Jacked Up. Granted, these coffees he sucked back tended to make his skin tingly and have him rationalizing reasons in his head why he needed to run around the room eighty times - the tingles as a result of Max were the best kind, however. Regardless, he didn’t think they had time for a pre-battle blowjob so he began the process of sucking back the coffee through the straw. Slurp, slurp, slurp. “You’re full of shit, honey, but I loved that inspirational speech and I love you,” he said, eying Max’s staff and resisting the urge to make a quip or two about it - but give him a minute, that would come. “Alright, let’s do this thing. I’m in for saving the movie theaters and the video game arcades.” Ax in hand, he started off into the forest - yeah, alright, he wouldn’t mind helping people either. He guessed. All these farmers and folks who lived off the land always went two steps forward and three steps back with all the fuckery that popped up around here, and he felt bad for them. So. Here he was. “Love you too,” Max said with the tone of someone who knew they’d won but weren’t going to point it out, and followed behind Richie, eyes sharp for anything feathery moving between the trees. He supposed it might be a little headstrong to be here - neither were Defense team members, although Max had considered it when he’d first arrived - but at the same time, they were capable, weren’t they? Richie had vanquished a murderous space entity with fewer powers than he currently possessed, and it wasn’t as if Max was a slouch at magic - his Fade powers were vital in protecting and empowering other fighters, even if he didn’t have his connection to the Breach any longer. He didn’t have to wait long - Max inhaled sharply, eyes focused on a shadow that seemed more solid by the second. Of course - now he saw there were more than one - possibly three? - skulking along the branches. What he couldn’t see in detail, he could smell: a fetid, festering scent. Max wasted no time, casting a barrier on himself and his boyfriend. They were creatures that like, zoned in on magic - right? No wonder they found Richie and his mage partner - and he didn’t particularly care for that little fact, but shit was what it was. “Oh my god, they smell like ferret piss,” Richie stated, crinkling his nose - not that he was overly familiar with what ferret piss actually smelled like but it seemed like a better descriptor than simply vomit. Speaking of vomit, he might do just that - the adrenaline rush was a little much for Trashmouth Tozier sometimes but he’d see what happened. Max was in this for the long haul but Richie wasn’t sure if he’d seen him at his puking worst yet. The vultures moved fast too, creeping in the shadows one second and then zipping by in a breeze the next, probably trying to figure out the best way past the barrier - he didn’t even have a chance to conjure fire because the vultures did it for him. Flames shot up from the ground, fiery geysers where they stood but Richie reacted quickly - the totem glowed brighter, like it always did when it was ‘one’ with him, and clink. Like a key into a lock, they were bonded again and for a flash of a second it was like Richie glowed too - behind his eyes, within the marrow of his bones, his skin. He twisted the fire into a knot and lobbed it right the fuck back at them - eat shit, birdbrains. Of course, that little trick meant he needed a free hand so he ended up tossing his coffee cup too, the ice and remaining sugary water going flying. It was almost all gone anyway but it was the principle of the matter. “Fuck you, I wasn’t even done with that yet!” Oh, now this fight was on. If he was wearing earrings he’d be asking for someone to hold them. Max winced as the remainder of the gifted coffee went flying - oh, he hated to be right sometimes - but refocused on the battle, staff pulsating a vivid green. He’d not seen anything quite like the corrupted vultures before, although the stench reminded him of the undead of the Fallow Mire, or the demons of the drowned inhabiting the remains of Crestwood. Dead things, furtive things. Things that shouldn’t see the light of day, and yet - here they were. He fought quickly and viciously. Max had learned in the various attacks of things since he’d gotten here to adjust his fighting style - with only one person at his side, he couldn’t be as aggressive as he might have been with three. And so he cast barriers, and dispelled offensive magics. The second gush of fire from the geysers that had been summoned were extinguished, and the rumble of ground that another one attempted was stilled. It wasn’t showy magic so much as vital, as he supported Richie and kept him going against one foe at a time rather than the lot of them. It almost felt -- perfect? They were in synergy. So Richie going at these assholes with an axe wasn’t exactly elegant, but it was hard to argue with beheaded results. For someone with an astounding case of ADHD, Richie thought he was doing a pretty good job at multitasking - he gripped the ax handle with both hands, muscles flexing (check that shit out, boyfriend - or, you know, whatever) swinging it whenever he was in range of getting a hit. All the while he kept the vulture fire the fuck away from them, using a different kind of flex - mental muscle, or magic, file it under that sort of thing. He didn't know. Flames receded, or popped up again far away from them - like a game of whack-a-mole, with ugly vulture fuckfaces. But it seemed to work until one of the vultures caused an earthquake, any remaining animals in the trees scattering - birds flapped toward the skies, squirrels skittered about. And Richie was knocked off his feet, wind knocked out of him, literally eating dirt. Ouch. He was fine though despite being a little dizzy, and scrambled up - lunging for the ax which he managed to get his hands on, fingers white-knuckled around the handle again. One of the vultures was caught at the back of the neck - he timed it exactly right, somehow - and the thing that was already dripping with blood suddenly became more of an...explodey. "Ugh," Richie groaned, looking like he'd rolled around in dirt and guts. Which was pretty accurate, he guessed. “You’re doing great, honey!” called Max from behind him and slightly above - he’d found a nice little log to stand on and shoot his spells from. Mages did love having a height advantage, after all. Richie had been lovely to look at for at least part of that; the effect was somewhat dampened by the innards strewn over his lover’s face and clothes. The woods seemed quiet - for the moment - and he hopped off his log and crossed over to Richie, stepping over the still-twitching corrupted vulture on the ground. He gave him a once-over, looking for injuries, getting blood on his hands and not caring. Max liked the finer things in life, sure, but he wasn’t a priss. When he was satisfied that Richie was well, he looked back down at the corrupted vulture, a displeased frown marring his usually-happy features. “It’s hard to believe they were once human,” he mused. “We had something similar happen with-- red lyrium. Templars. Giant hunks of poisonous stone, just… growing out of bodies like glittering tumors. It drove them mad.” He hadn’t been sorry about killing them, either, but he wondered how Richie was taking this, giving him a questioning expression. Killer clowns and murder turkeys were one thing. Wizards that had massively fucked up were another. Jesus. Max was right, these things were once human - it really was difficult to believe. “Hold that thought,” Richie replied, then took a few steps toward a pile of scorched debris (at least Smokey the Bear hadn’t been summoned - it was controlled forest fire) and then promptly hurled. Yep. The first time vomiting near his partner - this felt like an achievement unlocked. Did he mention he really wasn’t some kind of berserker warrior whose boner only grew at the thrill of a fight? Still a little woozy (from upchucking and also smoke inhalation), streaked with soot and blood, he lumbered back toward Max. “It feels - weird. Like when I killed Bowers. I knew he deserved it, and he would have stabbed Mike to death otherwise. But - it doesn’t tickle my pickle.” Neither did this - or, actually, killing corrupt wizard things happened to be the part he kind of winced at. Helping people, that was good. He just was never going to be a person who didn’t bat an eyelash at doing a murder. “Is that weird?” Max’s instincts had been to follow Richie - to go over to him, and stroke his back while he was ill - but he also knew how valuable privacy was in a vulnerable moment. And so as soon as Richie returned to him, Max leaned close, his hand finding his lover’s, not minding the gore. “It’s not weird,” Max confirmed, his voice quiet and devoid of the usual good humor that inflected his words. “It means you’re compassionate. That despite everything, you hope for someone’s better nature to emerge through the gloam.” He was more inured to killing that Richie was, having gone against whole armies with the Inquisition, but that didn’t mean he wanted Richie to change. Harden. (He didn’t voice this part because he already knew the joke that would be said). No, Max leaned against him, purposefully slowing his breathing after the fight, his chest moving up and down at Richie’s side, subconsciously trying to exude calm. “I know a lot of warriors back home. Soldiers, mercenaries, trained killers. People shed blood willingly because they think it’s the right thing to do, or that they’re advancing Andraste’s name. The only ones who enjoy it...” he gave a pastel sort of smile, a half-smile to indicate that nothing about this conversation was easy or fun, “are the ones on the opposing side that we call ‘the bad guys’.” Having Max close even after he’d tossed his cookies was definitely a good way to calm Richie down - he was talented at that anyway, being one of the few reasons Richie had in his life to sit still and just appreciate everything, because Max’s face was a work of art unto its own that needed to be appreciated. There were a lot of reasons people followed him, standing by his side during his time as a leader. Richie saw those reasons in action pretty much everyday - how personable he was and how just being in his presence felt like these nourishing rays of sunshine pressing on you, a softer sense of humor than his partner had (Richie’s humor was subtle as a brick thrown through a glass window but it seemed to work for him). Clearly Max could rouse others to action - given how easily he’d convinced Richie to come out here and work on those fiery infernos. Though it was also true he’d walk to the ends of the Earth (or whatever the fuck planet they were on) for Max too. “Yeah, definitely not ever gonna be one of the people who enjoy it,” he snorted, having dropped the ax so he could wrap his arms around Max and turn into his embrace, into his chest, doing the ever-so-romantic forehead touch. “It was a good date though. I mean. I’m gonna need to brush my teeth before we make out but. You know.” Max leaned in, accepting the embrace with one of his own. Being an inch or two shorter than Richie, he fit in perfectly, he thought, beneath the other man’s chin. The woods were quiet - a far cry from the howling, shrieking, and sounds of violence that his ears had been buffeted with only moments before. They probably shouldn’t press their luck here, should they? His magic attracted the corrupted vultures, and who knew if more were on their way as they stood here. “We could always shower together,” he suggested, his voice muffled. “Romance and utility. Next time, I promise to suggest something involving more food. Maybe fondue. That looks like fun.” Max was always a fan of anything food that involved sticks you could sword fight with. He peeled back reluctantly, and gave Richie a tug. “Let’s head back to Skyhold before round two kicks up, yeah?” Fondue - such a brilliant idea. Basically it involved hot cheese and hot melted chocolate, and Richie enjoyed both. Better yet, it didn’t #trigger bad memories or anything - he was surprised he could still eat fortune cookies given the debacle at Jade of the Orient, back in Derry. “I’ll look into that,” he promised, squeezing Max gratefully - oh man, Richie was such a cuddle slut. He thrived on affection and shit like having his hair played with and hugs; his favorite people knew that about him too. They’d figured him out quickly. “And I think a shower sounds perfect because - “ Because they were both wearing the remnants of this battle, and that was obvious. But also. “...I like getting you naked.” Yes, that too. He picked up the ax in one hand, letting Max tug him along and holding on with the other - not like Richie was digging his heels in or anything because he was eager for soap and water. What a time to be alive. |