ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-04-23 11:22:00 |
|
|||
Things were weird now, Bela thought, but honestly - when weren’t they? Ever since she’d arrived here, a couple months ago (where did the time go?), it had been one shitshow after another - from learning that Hawke was dead after reading Varric’s letter, the sorrow and grief weighing on her heavy as anchors, to coming here and seeing a womanly version of Hawke with someone else, the same man who took a Fade spirit into him willingly and blew up a chantry. It was all quite a bit, and she purposely hadn’t replied to the talky box post referring to how future Anders and Hawke had spawned. The Hawke she knew had never been interested in such things - settling down, having a family. Even at the time of his death, they both had been apart, not really believing in being tied down - and Bela couldn’t give up the beauty of the sea anyway, not when it whispered to her like a lover, salty breeze by her ear. Still. Maybe there was something to it, she didn’t know. Maybe settling down in a place like this wasn’t so awful. Easier to do here than in Thedas, that was for fucking sure. Her melancholy thoughts didn’t last long, though - because she went to go track down her favourite Knives McGee, whom she liked quite a bit. He was just finishing up at the fighting ring that would debut soon, where she’d promised to bartend, and she’d be certain to get a good view of the goings-on. The sky was nice this time of night, perfect black velvet and the city lights made it look like that canvas had been speckled with glitter - Merrill would have liked it, even if it was a bit overwhelming sometimes. She waited outside the club, wearing skintight shimmery black leggings, loose white shirt tied at the waist, and enough gold jewelry to announce her pirate status without words; she was planning to make her appearance something of a surprise. Oh, ho. Diego would never admit it, but he was grateful to the Fryes. Years of militaristic, regimented training and routine had rooted an itch under his skin that grew near unbearable if he didn’t eventually do something. Back home, that usually took the form of him prowling the streets at obscene hours of the night/morning ready to knife any lowlife scum preying on vulnerable people, until he collapsed into bed utterly exhausted. Or, in lieu of that, he’d work at Al’s and then pick up some fights after. So having the Underground, even if the official fights themselves weren’t yet up and running, helped cool whatever it was at bay. And, not that he would admit this either, but he liked both Fryes. Thinking of having ‘people’ was a new thing, Diego would have always called himself a lone wolf, even after coming from a team of seven. Friends was a foreign concept. But here he was. The wide staircase Diego climbed up had been undoubtedly a safety hazard when Evie and Jacob first leased the place, but that had been fixed. Even though it was never meant to be a high end club, Diego appreciated the combination of no-frills, no fuss, but legitimacy too. You knew what you were getting yourself into at the Underground. Fighting crossed timelines and universes. When the door to the outside (or inside of the club, depending on your perspective) closed behind Diego he was biting off the end of tape he’d been winding around a finger that had bent back a little too much for his liking. He inhaled in the night air, cleaner and crisper than the gym’s, although Diego was well accustomed to that scent and didn’t mind it so much. A flash of something catching the light snagged his attention and he whirled around, all sharp barbs and ready to fly off the handle until he realized it was Isabela, all legs and tousled hair. Then his shoulders relaxed, he rested a foot against the wall and arched a scarred eyebrow, smirk pulling at the opposite corner of his mouth. “You know, where I come from, we might call this stalking.” How sweet. The greeting made Isabela smile, a shark-toothed sort of grin that rivaled the glow of the moon high up in the sky. “It’s only a little light stalking,” she insisted, stepping closer. “If I wanted to be stealthier and just watch you, I would.” Oh yes. She was a rogue, a backstabber, a heartbreaker (well, those were the names of two of her daggers anyway) - if she didn’t want to be seen, she wasn’t. She could blend in with the shadows effortlessly; it was where she had once belonged, so it was fitting. Her palms rested flat on Diego’s chest, before fingers curled inward a little, and she leaned into him. “I haven’t seen you in awhile, so I thought I’d say hello.” She had people here, she supposed, but Fenris was all twitterpated over Dorian and there was also the Justice dilemma that she didn’t know how to help with - and, given that the plan had finally been decided upon, she realised she couldn’t help anyway. Because Andraste’s tits, it was one weird plan. Still, there was nothing wrong with expanding her horizons - she liked the sheer insanity that was Diego’s family too. Though out of them all, clearly she liked him best. “I can’t tell if that’s intimidating or hot,” Diego mused, his head tipping back against the wall. “I think both.” What, he was a red-blooded human being, who wasn’t going to find that hot? ...Probably people who were into a more ‘normalized’ version of romance and sweet talk but that had never really been Diego’s speed anyway. He wasn’t even sure if he was built for something resembling normalcy, considering how much of a dumpster fire the end of his relationship with Patch had been. That had been the most recent one and even though they’d eventually developed a friendship, their actual relationship had ended years ago. He twirled a piece of Isabel’s dark hair around his finger. Even that was enough to send the smell of cinnamon in the air, or maybe not exactly that. Some other spice from Isabel’s land of dwarves and magic and pirates and whatever else. Elves. Things that Diego’s mind had no real frame of reference. “That’s a terrible errand,” he drawled. “Thought you’d mastered your talky box, huh?” Not that Diego was a massive fan of them either. On the one hand it meant he could keep up with his siblings, important especially for Klaus. On the other hand it meant his siblings could keep up with him. He sighed and rolled his eyes to the moon that was still in the sky and back, although there was no malice or sarcasm in it. “And now I have to coincidentally walk in the direction of your place because you’re wearing about fifty pounds worth of jewelry and there is God knows who lurking around here wanting to do who knows what.” Okay, maybe a little sarcasm. So often that was the only way Diego knew how to communicate, in threats to unseen foe, in sarcasm, in anger. Even more often was that communication blown off as just Diego being an asshole, which, valid. It was indeed cinnamon that was Bela’s signature scent - maybe some cardamom and star anise too, fragrances clouding color spice markets. Nothing too strong though - just enough to get this knifey fellow to touch her hair which, well, mission accomplished. “What a coincidence it is, I was just thinking that you’d have to walk me in the direction of my humble abode as well,” she smirked. Yes, keeping her safe from things that went bump in the night - even if she was armed now (of course she had a dagger or two stashed on her person) and would stab anyone who tried anything. Except Diego. He was perfectly fine to try something. Anything. “So chivalry isn’t dead after all,” she grinned, stealing his hand for a squeeze before setting off on their path; he could walk her to where the city life eased into something more woodsy, since the Crossed Quills was nestled within. “And you can catch me up on how you’ve been. Perfect entirely unscheduled opportunity.” “Stay off the internet if you want to keep thinking that,” Diego muttered. Although with the bits and pieces that Isabela had revealed about her life, along with her overall...vibe? God, what a stupid word, aura wasn’t right either but whatever, he knew she didn’t have a rose tinted view of the world. Isabela looked like she had been through shit, had handled herself through it, and was still able to walk away with her head held high. Small talk, great. Just what Diego was good at. Mixed with talking about himself! Even better. He was so good at both. “Fine,” was his ever so eloquent and lengthy response. He was fine, he thought. Except for not knowing where Five and Luther (although fuck that guy) were, his relationship with Vanya that felt too daunting to repair even though deep down he actually wanted to, and Klaus. Klaus, who Diego really would have done anything to keep him safe and protect him from himself, and who seemed to be doing better all things considered but Diego also felt that if he blinked, the whole thing would come tumbling down. Diego’s support involved literally picking up Klaus if he had to to take him to meetings, if he had to physically restrain him to keep him clean, that’s what Diego would do. As much as Diego didn’t understand the drugs, he at least knew why. Score one for Reginald Hargreeves’s shitty parenting! But besides that he was fine. “You good?” He asked, glancing over Bela in her weird....rippling pants. How were they doing that? Well, fine was a loaded response - Isabela knew there was a lot to unpack there, but she wouldn’t push about it. “Hmm, I’m sure,” she chuckled jovially, wrapping her arm around Diego’s as they walked. “Me? Oh, I’m splendid.” She assumed that ‘splendid’ was a more zesty version of ‘fine’ but semantics. “Not quite jiving with my fellow Thedosians but I suppose I’m partly to blame for it, since I seem to come from a different set of circumstances.” And her Hawke had different body parts, but they all knew that. “Plus I suppose the most recent weirdness hasn’t helped matters either.” Besides, there was no way she was moving into Skyhold. It was just - not right. Not for her. Diego once again arched an eyebrow both at the appearance of Isabela’s arm and splendid. He didn’t protest either one. Sometimes people just needed to talk out their issues, but Diego did best when there was something he could do about them. Someone being an asshole? Let him punch that asshole in the face. That was an easy, straightforward solution. Patch died? Kill the people who killed her. Mom died? Fix the apocalypse. Anger worked really well for Diego. Just listening? Was a lot harder. “Has to be hard. That they aren’t the people you know,” he settled on. “Like they should be, but.” He shrugged. They weren’t. He couldn’t relate, the Hargreeves were all from the same time, had the same memories (even if their interpretations differed), but Diego thought it had to be isolating. Lonely, even. Diego wasn’t great with words to describe what he thought it might feel like, but he had the sense of wearing shoes suddenly too small. He snorted a laugh. Recent weirdness indeed. “Yeah, what the fuck? I swear to God if I turn out to be a fucking kid, just, fucking, sedate me until it’s over.” Although a bunch of former teenagers calling “””””Dan””, Grandpa was pretty hilarious. He exhaled out a slow breath. “But, shit, I wouldn’t want to be a kid now, but if I could go back and redo? Knowing what I know now, at least, I would.” He’d have stood up for his siblings and himself more, stopped caring about a damn number and the Sissyfiean task of getting his father’s approval and instead, told the man a lot sooner what he thought of him. Thanked Grace a lot sooner and more often. Included Vanya in things. Protected Klaus from his training. Stopped Five from time jumping. Saved Ben. “What do you think?” He asked, nudging Isabela with an elbow. “Go old or go young?” “Hm, tough one,” she hummed, thinking it over. “I didn’t have the best childhood, and I’m not certain if knowing what I do now would even make a difference anyway.” Growing up in Rivain had been an experience - her mother had posed as a seer, heavy kohl-lined eyes looking out from headwraps; it was somewhat beautiful, that part of the world, yet she would never want to actually live in it. She hadn’t. She’d started off as some naive girl, sold into marriage, and became a ruthless pirate determined not to let anyone enslave or trap her ever again. She operated by her own moral code, which could oftentimes be questionable, but Hawke had been good at helping her see that she really could polish that tarnished heart of gold she had hiding within her. Obviously a future with Hawke was not in the cards anywhere, but he wouldn’t have wanted her to be morose about it. He’d want her to build something that meant a bright new future. “I think it’d be nice to see how things turn out,” Isabela decided. “Especially here. Doubt I’ll end up the married with crotch goblins sort, but I wouldn’t mind being happy. Do you want to see how ‘old you’ turns out? I’m sure you’re just as handsome,” she hugged Diego’s arm to her plentiful bosom, “...probably still stabbing things too.” “Of course I would be a hot old guy, throwing knives,” Diego scoffed. Although really, he hadn’t given the idea of his long range future, either here or back home, much thought. Even before trying to stop the apocalypse his life had been more day to day focused. Probably because when he quit the Academy and told Reginald Hargreees exactly what he thought about him, he was basically out on his own. Then he entered the police academy, had direction for approximately five seconds before getting kicked out and on his own again. So yeah, long term future plans for him consisted of...the next week. Here, it was different. He still wasn’t thinking years and years into the future, but stability wasn’t all that out of sight. Especially with the time and space and most of the Hargreeves all in the same place and those damn family ties still holding. “I don’t know,” Diego said, after that moment of reflection that he immediately wanted to wash off of him. “Happy, sure, that’s what everyone says, but I don’t know that I really get what that would even be.” Which, God, didn’t that sound fucked up and something to shove down deep. “I’m not sure we’re supposed to always have it figured out. Maybe it’s alright not to know what that means,” Isabela mused. After all, things could change - they did change, and what made someone happy one second might not last for years and years. And she also wasn’t certain if they were meant to know too much about what happened in the future - that sort of set up high expectations and potentially ruined things? But that was just her. She did a little turn still holding Diego’s arm, twirling beneath it like they were dancing, then anchored herself back in - out here beneath the open sky shining with city lights that looked like stars. “Guess what would make me happy right now, though?” There wasn’t much about Diego that screamed whimsy, or even hinted at it, what with his dagger stares and propensity for peppering everything he said with expletives. He, certainly, was not an active participant in Isabela’s performance of a whirl of spice scented hair and pirate gold that didn’t clink together in the movement. Of course, he actually didn’t reject it either, instead, holding Isabela’s wrists in a loose, calloused touch. “I have some guesses. Most of them involve hooking up, kinda hoping that term translates here, but I’d take suggestions. Except,” he paused, considering, and Diego wasn’t much for smiling. He gave at most, a smirk at something he found funny, a huff of what could be a laugh. Here, his dark eyes glinted with humor, the tip of his tongue rested on the tip of an eyetooth. “Not like, clown porn. Furries, not into that either. No judgement, obviously.” Oh yes, Isabela knew what hooking up meant - she was less clear on the meaning of furries though, but had a feeling it didn’t matter much since she gathered it wasn’t something...attractive? Or at least not to Diego, since he said he didn’t like it. Maybe it was better not to know. “Well, I suppose you’re not wrong,” she purred silkily, tugging him in closer to her - and, this close, past the cinnamon and the allure of spice she was the scent of warm sea salt and a storm, something knotting itself into black clouds. Rather than make him guess, or play twenty questions, she just went for it. The kiss she gave him was delightfully dangerous, a ship’s collision with rocks - because it made her want more anyway, her fingers curling at the collar of his shirt. Diego’s thumb came up to coast along the sweet slope of Isabela’s jaw. His other hand went to her back and the warm skin just under the white shirt. He thought of throwing knives--which, predictable, sure, but specifically he thought of the moment of release. Plenty of Diego’s time as a child had been spent pouring over things like wind resistance and velocity and angles and things that just simply didn’t make sense to him and he got so frustrated because all he knew was that he threw a knife and it went where he wanted. His mind equated kissing Isabela under the city lights and dark sky to the split second he stopped overthinking (not that Diego had ever really been accused of that) and let go. So easy. So dangerous. Quite the addictive rush. “Yeah,” he breathed out on another huff of a chuckle, easily lost if you weren’t looking for it or didn’t know how. “Something like that, sure. Good to be on the same page.” And because Diego had always been better with his actions than his words, he kissed her again. Oh, they were on the same page, alright. Isabela had all kinds of kisses for him - long ones, short ones, the lose-your-breath ones, and lighter ones too. Her hands framed Diego’s face, a delicate stroke of her thumbs over his cheekbones. He was so handsome - and right now, she wasn’t thinking of anything or anyone else but him. “Your place is closer than mine,” she pointed out, and would give him another moment to think about what he wanted - before she kissed him once more, kissed like war, like she was afraid he would pull away and deny her. The slant of her lips was hard and demanding, because she knew what she wanted and it was him; if she was going to do this, she was going to feel it to her toes, and she wouldn't be afraid to let him know it either. There were no second thoughts to be had. Diego had willpower in spades, but there was no way he was able to say no to Isabela, long legs, dangerous curves, unabashed authentic confidence and sass, she infused the surroundings with the scent of warm spice and open air. It was intrigue and adventure and the unknown.all together, and he was supposed to somehow say no to that? Diego had no intention of anything resembling rejection, but somewhere around the second time he lost his breath, he completely lost track of how to say no. She kissed like war, she kissed like a storm, and Diego met that hard and fast, a man that had been starved. Isabela’s eyes seemed to glow, like the gold jewelry reflected off of them. “So fucking ballsy,” he murmured, and that plus with way they were pressed close made it seem like they were sharing some sort of secret. Maybe they were, separate from Isabela’s ballsy-...ness. His mouth fought an upward curve as he tilted her chin up and kissed her again, a softer and tender thing. “Come on, Captain.” The sweetness of that last kiss was what got her (not that Isabela hadn’t already been gotten in the first place); it made firecrackers sizzle all through her veins, crawling, sparkling. She grinned big, like a Cheshire cat, and her hands slid down to take both of Diego’s in hers. Just briefly, before she let go of one and kept hold of the other, fingers laced in a loveknot. “Lead the way, darling. And besides, I’d be boring if I was any less ballsy,” she pointed out with a wink. “You wouldn’t like boring, would you?” Certainly not for a sweaty romp, which was what she was planning. That and more, actually - she’d been quite persistent with this one, and she didn’t intend to let him go anytime soon. |