dǫçţǫŗ şɭęęƥ (shone) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-03-06 11:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: dan torrance |
Who: Dan & Anders
What: Introducing Anders to sugary air and having Serious Talks about how it's going to be super hard to keep him alive because Reasons
When: After this
Where: Starbucks
Rating: A for Angst
Status: Complete
Starbucks. Because everyone enjoyed paying exorbitant prices for sludge that would do in a pinch, but wasn’t exactly great coffee. Dan was already aware that most who consumed coffee, in the United States of America, tended to dilute their coffee to beyond watery levels but Starbucks seemed intent on popping up everywhere and thus punishing the rest of the world (and worlds beyond?) with...mediocre brew. Still, they were home of the frappuccino and Dan supposed everyone needed to try it once (just not the green tea kind, that was an abomination unto its own). Each Starbucks, even ones in magical cities apparently, had a comforting sort of smell to it - whatever it was, it was strong, the air was thick with it. Not unpleasantly, however. White cups and the milky foam - leaf designs, some of them, in pale brown, the various baked goods in the glass case; lots of sandwiches, egg and sausage and turkey. Some things just never changed. Which was fine, in this case. He’d gotten a java chip frappe, and sort of felt like his teeth were going to fall out now, but it was all about showing Anders new things. “So,” he started from where they were seated, a table by the window, poking his straw into the mountain of whipped cream, “...thoughts on the frappe?” It was an important experiment, after all. ---- Anders felt awful. Which was fitting, given that he’d succeeded in proving himself both an inhuman monster and an utterly wretched man over the past twenty-four hours, but justification didn’t actually make a thing any more palatable (and wasn’t that, when it came down to it, the crux of the problem?). The egg-tomato-beer-pickle abomination spawned by Vallo’s hangover cure committee had, much to his surprise, helped with the pounding in his skull and the churning in his stomach but the weight of knowing that most of his great big dysfunctional found family wanted Justice dead, and of not knowing what would be left afterwards if they succeeded, was far harder to shift. But Dan was good people, one of the few friends he’d made since they arrived, and for his sake Anders was putting on a brave face instead of wallowing in equal parts self-pity and flagellation, the grin he flashed - though lopsided and faltering - a genuine one. “It’s good. It’s… I mean, you’re right, it’s mostly air and sugar, but that’s brilliant.” He stirred the concoction with the straw before taking another long sip, as if to confirm his hypothesis. “You can barely taste the coffee under everything else.” ---- “It’s true, the coffee is kind of an afterthought,” Dan chuckled, taking another sip and - yep, there was the sugar, coursing through his veins. Buzz, buzz, buzz - he loved coffee of any kind though, and had sort of traded his old vices for caffeine (a shame he could no longer combine vices, like with a shot of whiskey into his dark brew). But considering he worked night shifts, it helped. He had been asked (by Justice, no less) to work his literal, actual Doctor Sleep abilities (that nickname always weirded him out, a little) and soothe a savage beast; or Justice wasn’t a beast so much as a disgruntled spirit. But he obviously trusted Dan enough to allow power-down mode and, again, had requested it for reasons Dan still wasn’t entirely sure of - still, he knew Anders was down in the dumps as of late. He hid it well, but emotions radiated off of him anyway, like Chernobyl - emotions that Dan picked up on, which was why he was certainly willing to take him out for a little jolt of caffeine joy. “Are you feeling a little better? After the...drunken night?” He didn’t miss those. Eight years sober, and he intended to keep it that way. ---- “Me? Never better.” He didn’t immediately blurt out No, it’s all gone to shit, which was a small but highly appreciated blessing after the last week of unbridled, uncharacteristic honesty, though the way his smile wavered, his gaze dropping away from Dan and down to the plastic cup, said more than enough. As did his tone - that brittle, too-bright lightness that rang more than a little hollow. “Everything’s great. How are things with you? I see your cat turned up? That’s got to be worth celebrating.” He raised his plastic cup in a semblance of a toast. “Here’s to cats.” --- Yikes. Dan attempted not to wince, but the expression may have slipped out anyway. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have people in the city - it seemed that those who did (Stan’s friends, anyone?) were caught up in a neverending circle of drama; it was some serpent eating its own tail shit, and he didn’t envy them. “Oh, yeah, Azzie’s here,” he said, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser in case this whipped cream situation got out of control. It was fine contained in the plastic dome, but one never could tell. “I can introduce her to your cat, if they want to make...cat friends.” Cats were social creatures, except when they weren’t - though Azzie seemed to like Salem, Sabrina’s cat. So it was possible. He swallowed another mouthful of sugary air. “Actually, uh - there’s something I’ve been meaning to also ask you? Maybe it’ll help get your mind off...other things.” --- He glanced up, shooting Dan a somewhat bemused look - what sort of name for a self-respecting cat was Azzie? Poor thing - before shrugging. “We could try, certainly. I get the feeling the good Captain’s more of a people-cat than a cat’s-cat, but I might be wrong. I hope I’m wrong. It’d be bloody awful for him to not have any friends like himself.” Another sip. Yes, Dan had been entirely right, this was the best - nay, the only - way to drink coffee. With Justice back behind the wheel (or at least shouting directions from the backseat) he couldn’t be sure it was actually doing anything, but it tasted good, which was more than could usually be said for the stuff. Dan’s question had him quirking an eyebrow - intrigued, if slightly wary of where questions might lead given recent conversations’ tendency to take running jumps off metaphorical cliffs. “... oh? I’m all ears. What is it?” ---- “Cat date it is,” Dan nodded. And hell, he had no idea what kind of a name Azzie was - she’d been at the hospice when Billy first got him the job there as an orderly, and she kind of stuck to Dan’s side. She still stuck to his side here, or at least, she was content to not wander off in search of potential dying folks. He really didn’t need that kind of headache. But oh, right, anyway. How to put this? “My - “ Or she wasn’t his, he should just back the truck up before he used any term like girlfriend; they hadn’t dived into the awkwardness of that conversation yet. “...my friend? Allison,” he started. “She had an accident before she came here. It damaged her vocal cords so she can’t talk. I thought - is that something that would be in your capabilities to heal? With magic?” If not, he’d keep looking. And while he and Allison could talk just fine, being that he was able to read her thoughts, he knew she wanted to converse with other people without having to use a phone or write things down. --- A long moment passed. He’d caught the hesitation, of course - remembered when he’d stumbled over words the same way, with his ‘friend’ Karl and his ‘friend’ Hawke - and smiled a little at both the memory and the prospect of Dan having such a ‘friend’ (Maker knew he deserved one), but it wasn’t that which gave him pause. How long had it been, since anyone had looked at him and thought ‘healer’ rather than ‘monster’, or ‘terrorist’, or ‘fucking idiot’? He remembered Darktown, shadows playing over fevered flesh, the fierceness with which the refugees had protected him when Hawke first came. It had been good, to help. They had done good, he and Justice, hadn’t they? Anders frowned, biting his lip, before nodding slowly. “... yes. Probably? I’d need to see the wound to be certain.” He shifted in his seat, sitting that bit straighter, meeting Dan’s gaze more evenly. “I’m assuming wound, anyway - you said accident, it’s not a long-term degenerative sort of thing, there’s some sort of structural damage that she wants repaired? That should be doable.” A beat. He shrank a little, giving a thin, brittle smile. “Assuming she doesn’t have an issue with the whole…” Anders gestured vaguely, taking in all of himself, tone that little bit too flippant. “Terrifying eldritch abomination, thing.” ---- Dan exhaled a sigh of relief. Because at least the answer wasn’t ‘fuck no, not in my wheelhouse, bother someone else.’ Not that he thought Anders would put it like that - if nothing else, he’d come to consider the mage a friend, terrifying eldritch abomination aspect aside (though that was debatable too). “There’s a wound,” he confirmed. “On her neck - her throat was slashed. So yeah, it’s structural damage.” No need to go into how it was slashed (with a violin bow, apparently, courtesy of her sister - Dan had only just gotten that story; it was a great one to tell on a first official date?), since that was Allison’s tidbit to tell. “I’ll mention this to her - we can meet with you, if you need to look at what she’s got.” He glanced up through blonde lashes, cottony blue eyes warm - he was grateful that he’d found someone who could help. “Also, I’ll owe you one,” he assured. “And I’ve - I’ve been trying,” Dan added. “Looking into someplace safe for Justice to go. Nowhere dangerous. It’s why I’ve been researching creation myths with Sabrina. If you trust me, to be with you every step of the way, I think - I think we can work something out.” --- … and there it was, the fly in the ointment - or rather, the raw egg at the end of an otherwise lovely evening of forgetting who and what one was. He inhaled, a long hissing breath through his teeth, tone sharpening and, paradoxically, deepening, the second speaker flexing his muscles -. “Yes. Great. Let’s work something out. Not as if we’re already working just fine without your interf-”- before sighing, pinching his brow, pushing the rising bile back down. “Sorry. Sorry, you… you don’t deserve that. It’s been a long week full of people telling me that I need to sort out This Justice Problem before they sort it out for me. You’re trying to help and that’s more than I deserve, just....” Another sigh. He waved dismissively, took another long pull on the green plastic straw, cleared his throat. “Whatever. You don’t owe me, if anything this is the first tiny repayment of the kindness you’ve soon Hawke and I since we got here. Whenever’s good for… Alice, was it?” --- Dan quirked an eyebrow, but he wasn’t mad, per se. He felt sorry for Anders - it was a difficult situation to be in, especially when an angry spirit was slowly erasing any trace of his existence, under the guise of being his ‘friend.’ Maybe Dan didn’t know shit about shit, but he knew that wasn’t healthy. “And you don’t deserve what will happen if the two of you aren’t separated,” he said. “I’m not trying to take care of it for you. I know how tricky it is - I’ve seen angry spirits, I’ve seen them in my father and when he tried to kill me and my mother, he wasn’t himself, he couldn’t control the force inside of him. I really don’t believe that Justice will be fine with building a life here, if that’s what you ultimately decide to do. I believe he’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill his purpose, whatever that may be.” And with that, people would get hurt. If he sat back and did nothing, he’d be complicit in all of it. Maybe even complicit in Anders’ own death. He’d rather the mage resent him, than feel the heavy weight of guilt - as heavy as a blanket worn during an Egyptian summer - after so much inevitably went wrong. “Allison,” he corrected. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Thank you.” He sounded sincere with those words, and he meant them. --- “Don’t mention it.” A long pause, Anders not so much stirring the remnants of his frapuccino as half-stabbing them with the straw before he set the cup down again. “No. Right. See, here’s the thing.” Another sigh, this one more of a frustrated almost-snarl at how difficult this was; for all its faults (its many, many faults) the outbreak of honesty had at least made the talking part easy. “That thing you’re afraid of, that Justice will do something terrible because it’s his Nature? It already happened. We… I… No, it’s still I, we’re one and the same. So, I.” He steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the table and shielding his eyes with his hands, exhaling. The memory of how this conversation had gone with Eddie was still painfully fresh. “I blew up a Chantry - I think the closest word you have is Cathedral? I killed a good woman, plus Maker only knows how many bystanders, to prevent a truce being signed that would have prolonged the subjugation of mages by Templars. And as a result of all that I forced every Circle mage into open war with our oppressors because the alternative once I’d crossed that line was either death or Tranquility.” Anders looked up, bracing himself for Dan’s response, words coming quickly in anticipation that this might signal the end of both conversation and friendship. “But he’s- we’ve- I’ve learned from that. I know what I’m doing. And I know what I’d be without Justice around and I don’t want that.” ---- So basically Anders just confessed to blowing up a church in an act of terrorism. It was a lot, but Dan wasn’t going anywhere. There was so much passion, so much conviction, to Anders - yet he was a disaster waiting to happen and, in an odd way, Dan identified with that. Anders was empathy. He was compassion. He was also likely depressed and paranoid - he strove to make a difference, but it was a goal that had destroyed him once. It would destroy him here too, if they weren’t careful. “Do you really know who you’d be without Justice or are you afraid to try?” he asked, pointe-blank. “Because if you’re afraid - it’s okay. I’d rather you be afraid and alive than - succumbing to something that we could have prevented from happening.” --- Dan hadn’t run. That was… unexpected, and helped cement the growing fondness Anders had for the man, for all that his not leaving lead to some more awkward questions. He sighed, head back in his hands now, fingers unlaced and working small circles at his temples as if the thoughts needed to be physically coaxed out. “Okay, so, putting aside the fact as far as I’m aware the only way Justice gets out of this is if I die which, no offence, No thank you? I know who I was before our arrangement.” he concluded, after another silence just long enough to become uncomfortable. “I know that every good thing I’ve done, I did after. He used to… we had so many arguments, back then. I was a coward, never thinking of anything but my own hide, always claiming things were too big for one man to change. Why Neri kept me around I’ll never know.” He glanced up at Dan from underneath his fingers. “You know what made Hawke look twice in my direction? Not anything the human part of me brought to the table, that’s for bloody certain.” Anders exhaled. “Plus there’s the whole Grey Warden thing.” ---- “No,” Dan shook his head. “That’s not true. We haven’t known each other long, but it’s - you’re fused, you and Justice, but not entirely. I can still feel you, and I can feel him - maybe he showed you that there’s more out there in the world than what you knew and experienced, but. You’re still you and you don’t have to let this decision to be a host for him ruin your life. And by the way, killing you won’t happen.” Absolutely not. Hadn’t they all just gotten through a conversation (or more like a clusterfuck, and lots of people shouting into the void) about how magic was everything in this world? There were options. Ones that didn’t have to do with ending Anders’ life. He slurped the last bit of frappe, almost cautious about asking but not quite. “...what Grey Warden thing?” --- “Why does everyone assume this is ‘ruining my life’? Maker’s breath! I-” No. Stop. Count to ten. He exhaled. Clenched and unclenched his fingers, took another drink. “Right. The Grey Warden Thing. Back home, there are these things called Darkspawn. They live underground, and every so often an Archdemon comes along, unifies them into a big slathering horde, and leads them against the surface - that’s what we call a Blight. The Grey Wardens were created to guard mortals from the Darkspawn.” Another sip; there wasn’t much left now, the straw making an awkward sound as it sucked in as much air as foam. He set the cup aside. “I know, that really doesn’t sound like the Old Me’s style. But I was desperate. I’d escaped the Circle enough times they weren’t going to just throw me in solitary for a year and call it even. So when the Templars found me, Conscription felt like a really good idea. Of course, what they don’t tell you is that the Order’s founded on some pretty horrific blood magic, and joining means drinking the blood of an Archdemon so when the Blight comes you can hear it calling to its children.” He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. “The endless hunger’s not much fun, neither are the nightmares. The best part, though? The real icing on the gigantic, terrible cake? Eventually, you turn. The longest anyone’s ever gone is about thirty years before the call gets too much and they wander off to join the horde. But that was without Corypheus - may he rot in the darkest corner of the Void - deciding to hamstring the order by triggering a False Calling. Justice is about as fond of the idea of me becoming a ghoul as he is of getting drunk, so, he’s kept a leash on things so far. You take him out? I don’t know how much time I have left.” --- “Wait - “ Dan had to process this. Well, he had to do that and he had to rewind - back up the truck, again. “First off, it’s not an assumption that letting a spirit possess you is ruining your life. It already fucking ruined your life once, based on what you just told me about how said life spiraled out of control.” The chantry? Right? Dan hadn’t misunderstood that, had he? “You took a spirit into you and the entire thing was messing with magic you didn’t fully understand at the time and that’s not good.” But back to the whole Grey Warden aspect - which sounded like a whole other monkey wrench thrown into the situation. It was like an abusive relationship with Justice, the whole ‘you need me, you’ll die without me, you don’t know how to tie your shoes much less make a good decision if I’m not sucking your soul’ train of thought. “Look,” he reached across the table, hand patting Anders’. “I don’t have all the answers right now and I’m not making any threats or promises, and I’m definitely not going to do anything without talking to you first. All I know is that we’re in a world that is so different than what we know - and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you have more time than you think. So why don’t we just take one thing at a time? I’m with you. I promise.” He didn’t make promises lightly either - not ones that were iron-clad. --- “The Chantry ruined my life.” Anders retorted. “I’d have blown up a hundred Grand Clerics if-” - he stopped, took a deep breath. Tried again. “I think people are too quick to blame Justice. They forget that he was never a child dragged away from home in chains, told he was an abomination. He never watched the love of his life - the first friend he’d ever had - be sent across the sea because Maker forbid a Mage feel something other than self-loathing. All the rage people are so afraid of? It was there before, and it’s still going to be there after. I’m not less of a monster without him around.” He sighed, shrugged his shoulders. “But sure, fine, whatever. You keep looking for a solution. Hopefully you’ll find one before Fenris decides I’ve turned fully demon and puts a sword through my throat.” ---- “Can it not be both?” Dan asked rhetorically. He didn’t disagree that the rage would still be there - but with Justice, he had obviously felt trapped and like he could do nothing but lash out, channeling that rage in a way that meant lots of people got hurt. “We have more in common than you think, Anders. I live with rage. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m a monster too.” So from monster to monster, from someone who felt that simmering and a series of spikes in very dark thoughts - well, he understood. The ghost of Dan’s father was ever-present in blood and bone, Jack and his alcoholism and the blooming of hellfire. “No one’s going to put a sword through your throat either. If anything we’ll poison you with the green tea frappe.” He was kidding. Really. --- It was tempting to tell Dan he had no idea what he was talking about - his so-called rage had never, Anders assumed, started a war that had consumed a continent, or laid waste to a city - but he refrained (see? He could control himself. There was no need for all this fuss), even grinned wryly at the suggestion. "You know I'm going to have to try this green tea at some point, just to see if it's really all that bad." He shifted in his seat, settling on a comfortable position - not the hunched-shouldered tragic figure he'd initially cut, but not the attentive physician either." So. Tell me about Alison. Other than that she needs her throat fixed. Is she a friend-friend or…?" ---- His inner anger had never incited a war. But Dan had hurt plenty of people, innocent people who didn't deserve to get caught in the F5 tornado that was him. His debt to pay, to make up for all of that, was miles long - the fact that he was alive here told him he wasn't finished yet either. So while Anders probably won the rage contest (it wasn't a contest), he didn't win the 'I recognize I'm a danger to others, I need to do something about it' contest. At least not at the moment. He wasn't sure what would get him there though. 'I haven't blown up a cathedral yet, I’m fine' was a pretty low bar. "She's - " They could talk about Allison, that was fine. He recognized the desire for a subject change when he saw one. "We've been on a date. Or at least, an official date. I don't know what the other outings were." Just friends, maybe? Pre-date feelers? Jesus. No wonder he'd avoided this for years. It was complicated. --- Subtle the abrupt turn into talking about something other than Justice might not have been, but subtle wasn't really in Anders' wheelhouse, and the semblance of normality - of just being two entirely unremarkable and completely human friends talking about unremarkable human stuff - was a welcome change. Never mind that he had never actually been on a date himself - fumbled trysts in corners of the library didn't count, and being a notorious apostate had put paid to an awful lot ever since. His grin broadened. "Whatever they were, you should do more of them. You're practically glowing." ---- “Am I?” Dan grinned too, a chuckle escaping him. The ‘glow’ may have been him blushing, but whatever. Or he was pregnant, Anders made it sound like he was knocked up - divine conception, lacking a uterus. “I just - haven’t dated in awhile, so it’s kind of new and exciting. We’ll see what happens.” That seemed to be the theme of his life lately - seeing what happened, avoiding the temptation of looking into the future, which was unstable and not very concrete anyway. But for now, he thought maybe he was onto something when it came to taking it in steps - they’d bring Hawke a frappuccino too, the Captain would meet Azzie, Anders would help Allison, and Dan would help keep his newfound friend alive, whatever it took. Abominations and all. It would be interesting, if nothing else. |