Sarissa (ladyofsummer) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2013-09-05 20:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | anders, sarissa |
WHO: Anders and Sarissa
WHERE: The Hanged Man
WHEN: Before Nathaniel’s arrival
WHAT: Sarissa needs a room. Anders has a spare one.
RATING: G
STATUS: log; complete.
On the whole, Sarissa didn’t mind looking perpetually eighteen. She’d looked that way for over 60 years now, and she’d gotten used to it. The only problem was that despite being old enough to be a great-grandmother, she always had trouble getting into bars, or buying alcohol. Sarissa wasn’t much of a drinker, but there were times when she just wanted to have a nice glass of scotch. Times like these, in fact, when she’d been staying at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast for the past two weeks, ever since discovering that her assigned roommate was the one person in this world she couldn’t be in close contact with for long. Since Molly had been in the room first, Sarissa had taken it upon her to go elsewhere. Only a bed and breakfast wasn’t a long-term solution. Sooner or later it was going to get too expensive, and nurses didn’t make a whole lot of money in Storybrooke. The mayor had told her that she could move if she found someone to move in with, but who was there to stay with? She didn’t know anyone but Harry and Fix and Molly, and she couldn’t stay with them for various reasons. Nor did she want to put up an announcement. Sarissa was fairly easy going, but she also liked her privacy. The fact that she didn’t have a place to live with a personal thing she didn’t like blaring out into the ether. Hence the need for a nice smooth glass of scotch to relax her for a bit. She was getting a little tired of staying in her room above the diner, so she decided to go to one of the bars. And despite her youth, she managed to get into the Hanged Man without much trouble. The power of the Summer Lady gave her some sort of gravitas that made her appear mature, perhaps. She took a seat at the bar when she entered, and ordered herself a drink. That was when the bird, who’d been following her, perched on her shoulder and chirped cheerfully at her. Sarissa sighed. “I thought I told you not to leave the woods,” she said. The bird merely chirped again and started braiding her hair. Anders had hardly left The Hanged Man since his conversation with Hawke in the park. He really hadn’t done much of anything, save quietly sitting down and enjoying what little of the good graces he could find himself affording, and didn’t really see himself setting up anytime soon to do so either. His whole world had been spun upside down, while simultaneously ripping and wrenching the man into pieces of who -- and what -- he had been. Anders figured, in light of that, spending a good deal of time drunk and attempting to sort out the mess that was his head was a good idea and, even if alcohol probably wasn’t the best choice...it was still the one he was going with. There was a lot to think about, and none of it easy with the absence of Justice. Anders continued to count himself fortunate that the others had not simply decided to smite him upon his arrival, though he couldn’t have really held that against them, but couldn’t help but wonder -- just how long would that last? He was, by all accounts, a monster. Even if they were willing to understand, which he wasn’t entirely sure was possible, how was there any hope for him to move on from that? It was another afternoon spent asking silent questions into a half-full glass of drink. He’d already had two and, despite a powerful thirst for more, knew better than to indulge much further. He simply cradled the glass in his hands, his gaze cast down into its murky depths, as if somewhere, sunken beneath if cloudy hues, he would find the buried treasure of truth and absolution he so desperately sought. Instead, Anders heard the sound of a chirping bird, which was not at all a common sight inside a bar owned by pirates, and then watched, with a somewhat astonished (albeit faint) smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as the bird began adjusting her hair. “It seems you’ve made a friend.” He offered down to the woman, who happened to possess a blessedly strange face. It wasn’t that Anders didn’t want to see the others but rather that facing them was hard. Even Neria, who was blissfully absent from his latest round of vile deeds, who had know Anders prior to Justice, struck a pained nerve within the man. He wanted to be around all of them, all the time, to prove he was better than what he’d done, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Maybe a stranger was exactly what he needed. “That must be a very handy trick, when rushing out in a hurry.” Anders tried, as best he could, to remember himself. He’d been likable once, right? "That's what ponytails are for," Sarissa told him wryly. "I'm pretty sure what I'm going instead is a bird's nest." By this time, however, she'd resigned herself to just letting the bird do its thing. Obviously she wasn't going to dissuade the little thing, and she didn't want to chase it off. "Just let me know if she's bothering you," she added, because a lot of people weren't comfortable with animals in bars, even cute little birds, and the man who'd spoken to her looked like he spent a lot of time here. The last thing she wanted was to make any enemies. “Oh no, not at all.” Anders replied genuinely. “It’s nice to see someone getting along so well. Especially with a...pet?” Anders asked the question rather genuinely. The little bird, which now thoroughly held his attention, seemed quite familiar with the woman after all. It seemed perfectly reasonable it was her pet. “Still, surprised to see it just...follow you in here. Then again…” Anders voice trailed off, as if he might have had some story to tell. “...but they were cats...” Anders continued, as if he was actually telling the stories. “...but a bird? Well...maybe.” Anders shook his head, as if coming out of the thought with a soft jolt, before looking back over at the woman. Thoughts were muddy, muddy and complicated. “I’m sorry. I...uh...didn’t mean to…” Conversations, even his core personality, were things that were very difficult for Anders to keep a handle on. Everything about him felt unstable and to such an absurd point that all Anders could do was shake his head and laugh at himself. Nothing about it was funny, in fact it was quite the opposite, but what else was there to do? Anders swallowed another heavy pull from his glass before he turned, more directly, to face the woman. “Hello, I’m Anders, and that’s a very nice bird you have nesting in your hair.” "Nice to meet you, Anders," Sarissa replied. Despite his odd conversational tics, her smile was nothing but warm. There was a sort of broken fragility to him despite his rugged appearance, one that made her think that he would actually make a pretty good conversationalist if he could get a little more comfortable with himself. As someone who was not at all comfortable with herself now, she could relate. "I'm Sarissa, and I'm not sure if you can call her my pet. She just seems to have taken a shine to me." There was a clue as to why: as the bird continued to draw up her hair, the tips of Sarissa's pointed ears were beginning to peak out. ‘Nice to meet you Anders’ The phrase echoed inside his head with a hollowed sense of vacancy. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, but instead that Anders didn’t believe such a statement could be true. He shook his head softly again, dismissing the thought. It was one thing to think it, but it was another thing entirely to sit here being rude to the woman. He’d just smile and keep it to himself, because that always had a way of working out amazingly. “It’s nice to meet you too Sarissa -- Oh!” Anders couldn’t even hide his surprise when he saw the bits of ear begin to peek out. “You’re an Elf? -- not that there’s anything wrong with that, there’s lots of elves where I come from. I just...I haven’t…” Words rapidly began to fail him as the questions began to swirl about inside his head, leaving the last and most pressing one to fall from his mouth with a, rum stained, sense of urgency. “I don’t suppose you’re from Ferelden, are you?” Please let the answer be no. It was Anders, all consuming, thought. "Chicago," Sarissa replied, shaking her head. "Well, as of late, anyway. And I'm actually not an elf." She didn't reveal what she was, though, instead electing to give him a mildly curious look. Given the anxiety with which he asked his question, she was guessing he didn't want to see an elf, despite what he said about there being nothing wrong with them. "Why, are you running from one?" “Oh more than one, most likely.” Anders was doing his best to keep it light, simple, be the person he was remembered for being. Hawke had even asked him if he was the same person and, much to his dismay, he hadn’t been able to answer. Now, staring into his cup and talking to some, not-elf woman from a place he’d never heard of, Anders was trying to prove that he still had the potential to be just that. “Luckily, I think I’m safe, you know, unless they figure out a way through the portals and come here chasing after me.” He gave a mocking gesture of paranoia, which still managed to be half serious, as he glanced over his shoulder. “But, I suppose, if you’re not an Elf, I should ask...what are you? I mean, if you don’t mind the question. If you do, feel free to tell me to go back to my drink. I’m good at that.” As if to prove the point, he hoisted his glass again, swallowing down the torrential storm of feelings that seemed content to gnaw at his innards. “So, where is this Chicago?” The problem with being the kind of not-elf that she was, was that she was bound by all sorts of rules. Don't do favours without getting something in return. Don't accept something unless you know its cost. And never, ever give out important information for free. Sarissa had tried it, and only found herself blocked. Really, it was a miracle any of the Sidhe got anything done at all. But he had information to give, too; information she could trade her answer for. To Sarissa, it was a lot of roundabout work just to have a conversation, but that was the life she had now. “Chicago is about...two days’ drive east,” she hazarded. “And I’m a Sidhe. Faerie, if you know what that is.” It wasn’t a lie: she was a Sidhe. She just didn’t have to say that she was now one of the Queens of the Sidhe. “So what did you do make the Ferelden elves want to come after you, if I might ask?” She, too, kept it light, although she had a feeling the story was anything but. “I don’t, actually.” Anders opted to respond to the questions about Sidhe first, and followed them up quickly with the mentions of distances to Chicago. “And two days...drive? By horse or cattle, or does everyone make a habit of getting about by magic portal here?” It was dry humor, but it seemed appropriate at the moment. More so than what she’d asked about anyway. Those were questions Anders saw fit to avoid with another drink from his glass. “I’m sure they could find a reason.” Anders gave the staff on his back a slight shake. “Where I’m from, free mages aren’t exactly a thing many people are fond of..” He didn’t see the need to elaborate into great detail about what he’d done, namely because he didn’t really feel like saying it out loud again. Once was enough for him, and even that wasn’t something Anders had been fortunate enough to have. “They’re probably blaming me for the fact that, apparently, magic portals are popping up all over and snagging people out of time. Which, it’s not, by the way, I mean...It’s not my fault. In case you were wondering.” The guilt of his conscience rolled to life and told him that, perhaps, it could have been, even if there was no real evidence to support it, and Anders felt the raw need to defend that position. “This magic is way beyond me at any rate. I’m a healer, not some, trans-dimensional kidnapper.” Anders took another swallow of his drink, in the hopes that it would shut him up. "By car, actually," Sarissa said, looking at him a little more carefully. The bird that had been working on her hair seemed to be satisfied with its handiwork now, and took up a perch on her shoulder to look around curiously. "They're the big metals carriages on wheels on the street." She felt the need to describe them, because if he thought people got around by horse or trans-dimensional portal, he probably knew as much about cars as he knew about the fae. And it seemed like magic wasn't looked well upon in his world - or at least magic users who were...free? Did that mean non-enslaved? Whatever the case, it seemed like the only thing he was comfortable with here was the alcohol he was downing. "This must be quite a change from what you're used to, isn't it?" she asked gently. “That’s putting it quite mildly.” Anders retorted in an almost sarcastic laugh. “Where I come from I’m used to sitting around in a dark, seedy little underbelly, of a city on the brink of war, healing the impoverished, non-humans, the city would rather turn away. Then, when it all starts to really get bad, I get whisked away to a magical land where…” Anders voice trailed off for a long moment. “...where there are metal carriages that drive around, and there are this infernal contraptions that a lot of very strange people can talk to you on, and you don’t even have a cat for company?” Anders was clearly a bit drunk. It was a pretty common sight, on the afternoons he could ply on the whatever tatters of kinship he had with the owner and his, once merry, band of Ex-peers anyway. The whole world was turned on its head, his entire sense of self felt caught in a schism, nothing made any sense, and he couldn’t even remember why he’d done the terrible things he’d done. Getting drunk seemed to be the only thing that made any real sense. “I’m not really sure if I think it’s an improvement yet or not. At least people here are willing to talk to me without brandishing a sword or demanding my head on a plate...well...most of them anyway.” Because the simple fact was Anders didn’t even know how anyone else felt yet. He thought he did, none of them had tried to kill him yet, or berated him too harshly. Even Hawke, who would have had the most right, was more forgiving than Anders had expected….but she’d still come with awful news. “I guess time’s gonna have to tell on that one.” That was the second time he'd mentioned a cat; Sarissa wondered what significance it held for him. A pet, perhaps? One of the few creatures from his world that wasn't utterly horrible to him? Whatever the case, it did sound like he'd had a hard time of it back where he'd come from, and it hit every one of Sarissa's caregiver instincts. She knew she wasn't allowed to give out favours, but she might be able to get away with this one; there could be any time in the future when she might need one from him. "Most people here seem to be of the sort to be friendly unless threatened," she remarked. "But if you want any help navigating this world, just let me know. I know it quite well." “People who end up helping me, generally find themselves in a whole mess of trouble.” Anders felt his expression sink as the words fell out of his mouth. It was an honest reply, tangled up with the guilt he still felt over how he’d treated Hawke, but he also couldn’t deny he was in dire need of help acquiescing to this place. Everything about it was strange and made his head hurt. Of course, there was a very good possibility that blame fell solely on the rum in his cup but, no, Anders was going to blame the place. The rum was a good friend, and he couldn’t blame a good friend. “Perhaps you could explain this…thing to me?” Anders even gave the PDA an annoyed shake, as if that would do anything to it. He’d barely managed to get a grasp enough to stop himself from accidentally transmitting his voice through it, which he regarded as a considerable success, but it was not nearly enough. Anders knew, short of someone, somehow, finding a way to undo all this, he was going to have to get comfortable with the changes here. Of course, there was the question of, even if someone did find a way to return to where they were from, would Anders go? Would he really, willingly, step back through that portal? Would he go back to…Anders lifted his glass and drained it at once. He didn’t want to think about that. At all. Yes, of course, Sarissa wanted to say, but the thought brought with it such a revolting sense of wrongness that she almost gagged on the words. Oh. Right. Fae and their rules. Never do a favour without getting one in return, et cetera. For someone so naturally inclined to help as Sarissa was, this was definitely going to be a challenge. She waved the bartender over. "A sangria for me, and coffee for the gentleman," she said. "On his tab." There. That ought to count as a favour. Indeed, it was much easier to help him understand the PDA after that. Sarissa was a patient teacher, and answered any questions he had as well as easing some of his frustration. "It'll take some getting used to, but once you get the hang of it it's quite intuitive," she concluded. Anders had to admit, mostly because he couldn’t hide it, the bit of surprise when Sarissa went ahead and put in an order for the two of them and presumably placed it on him to cover the cost. In a normal world, under more normal circumstances, he might have protested. These however, were anything but normal circumstances and Anders was actually more than happy to buy the drinks if she’d help show him how to work the damnable contraption. It did leave one, begging, question however. “Coffee? What’s coffee?” Anders had never heard of the drink. Was it alcoholic? He certainly hoped it was, shameful as that might have sounded coming from a man who was already pockets deep into his own cups. Anders would pay back the debt, somehow, even if it was just spent curing the inevitable hangovers of the local patrons, or helping purge the toxins from those who’d had too much to drink. Ah, the joys of being a mage. You could go from stone drunk, to sober as a...well...to sober -- so long as you had the wherewithal to intone the incantations of the spell anyway. “Thank you.” Anders added, having finally grasped some of the basic functionality of the device. “I still don’t think I’ll rely on it much, but at least now I feel like I can safely use the thing without accidentally spreading my voice to the whole of this, rather lovely, little town.” "It has other functionalities too, if you want to find information on anything or new an alarm clock," Sarissa told him with a smile. She took a moment to show him how that worked, before settling back in her chair. "And the people in this town seem to be nice enough to understand if you do make a mistake and broadcast your voice all over it." Why would I want a time-telling device that also serves as an alarm? Anders might not have spoken the question out loud but, as he observed her showing him the device and committed the steps to memory, it was clear on his face. Technology, so he understood it to be called, was a terribly complex thing. which was saying something for a man who’d been using magic since he was a young lad, and had willingly bonded himself with a spirit in an act that almost everyone considered nothing short of boggling. “I suppose that’s true, isn’t it? Everyone here does seem rather...nice.” Which was a harsh contrast from what Anders was used to. Kirkwall, and really all of Ferelden, was on the brink of war. With the blight, and then the problems with the Quanari, never mind what he had done, the world stood on a, rapidly shrinking, precipice of chaos. “Sometimes I do wonder how they do it.” Anders continued the thought. “Where I’m from, or was from at any rate, we care barely handle all the refugees we had coming in, and none of them were making claims to be demi-gods, or vampires, or whatever-else I’ve heard runs around this strange little town.” Anders was rambling, and quite drunkenly, but he actually seemed rather chipper -- despite his somewhat cynical commentary anyway. “And I’ve really got to hand it to them…” He continued. “They’ve absolutely perfected the art of hospitality and…” Anders voice trailed off as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips and sipped. His face immediately shifted in surprise. “...and what is this? This is fantastic.” Clearly, Anders liked coffee. "Coffee," Sarissa said with a small laugh. "It's just as addictive as rum, but it's what you need right now." She took a sip of her own drink and pondered his words. When it came down to it, the denizens of Storybrooke had really taken the refugees well. For such a small town, it had expanded admirably to accommodate all the new arrivals. "It's true; they done a remarkable job," Sarissa agreed. "I don't think most communities would have taken it so well. I'm pretty sure mine wouldn't." “I know they didn’t where I’m from.” Anders replied seriously, and even a touch somberly. He could remember, quite distinctly, how he’d come to work in Lowtown, healing the sick, impoverished, and otherwise dislocated. The city had been positively bursting at the seams. Anders hung his head for a long moment. He surely hadn’t made life any easier. What a fool he’d been. “I suppose though, when you’re dealing with magic on a regular, unrestrained, basis, this kind of thing probably comes as less shocking.” He added. “Where I’m from, magic is...regulated.” Because that was the best word he could think to use with a head full of rum. Also, the conscience response, based on his actions had tempered his previous hostility about the Chantry and the Circle. While Anders would likely always remain bittered by the treatment he’d seen and endured, it was hard to feel quite so innocent anymore when he knew what he had done. He still wasn’t about to suggest that was for the best though. “So, you’re a Faerie?” He asked, genuinely happy to guide the conversation away from magic, the Templars, the Circle, and Kirkwall in general. It was a place that part of him would be trapped, and likely forever, but that didn’t mean Anders wasn’t going to try and force himself from it. “What’s that like? Or tell me something about where you’re from, if you don’t mind?” It wasn’t that Sarissa minded; in fact, she wanted to talk about where she was from and what her current situation was. It was just so strange and new that keeping it all in was a little overwhelming, but there was no one to talk to about it. She couldn’t talk to Harry or Molly; they were of Winter, and it was their nature now to look for weaknesses in her to use against her if they could. She couldn’t talk to Fix, who was so wrapped up in Summer that he couldn’t explain it to someone not of the Court. And she couldn’t talk to anyone else, because of the laws that bound the Sidhe. “It’s not that I don’t want to say,” she said carefully, trying to figure out how far she could explain it before she got choked back again. “It’s just that I can’t give out too much information without receiving some in return. Maybe I can tell you about my world, and you can tell me about yours, and how and why magic is regulated?” Anders looked at her with a puzzled expression. It wasn’t the first time she’d seemed to struggle with divulging and, even if she claimed she wanted to, the topic appeared to be a sore one from his perspective. Anders could understand that, probably better than most, and her return question drew a palpable sadness across his features. Where he was from, and what magic was like there, were not exactly the kind of topics he felt like delving into. “Let’s...try something else.” He suggested. He found that the company of Sarissa was enjoyable, albeit strange, and didn’t wish to simply brush off all conversation because the topics had gotten heavy. Anders took another sip of his coffee, trying to think. Between the rum, never mind the turmoil that had resulted since learning the results of his deeds, thinking had become remarkably difficult. “Where I’m from…” Anders began, before shaking head head “You see it’s…” Talking about himself, or the world he was from? They weren’t easy things at all. “I first discovered I had magical talent when I was young boy..” Because the beginning was arguably the easiest, and Anders could just glaze over the parts he didn’t want to deal with. “I accidentally set a barn on fire.” Which was as far as the story was going to go. Anders didn’t want to think about the rest of it. Exchanging the coffee for the very last of his rum drink, Anders shook his head. “That’s kind of how it works where I’m from. Magic’s a thing that…” That what? That people were afraid of? He just sighed. “Most people enjoy its benefits, so long as it’s practitioners can be properly controlled and they can be kept safe.” There. That was a good way to put it. “You mean just controlled,” Sarissa said with a wry smile. She could read between the lines; there was a certain care in his word choice that suggested that he was telling the truth without telling her the entire story. She could understand. There were certain things about her story that she couldn’t really talk about either, and she definitely couldn’t lie. Just another of the rules she was now bound by. “You called yourself a free mage,” she said, recalling something he’d said earlier. “Does that mean you weren’t controlled? And is it the elves that do the controlling? Is that why you’re worried that I was one?” “”I wouldn’t say worried...” Anders corrected here. “More surprised, really. Mind you, the last Elves I traveled with were an interesting bunch…” Even if one had carried a particular distaste for Anders in particular. “But, no, I wasn’t worried.” The iteration was important, because Anders felt the very real need to underline his lack of prejudice. Especially these days. “And I wouldn’t go that far.” He continued. While Anders was decidedly an Apostate, a mage who existed outside the circle, as often as he could anyway, he couldn’t truthfully say he wasn’t controlled. Even if Justice hadn’t been a controlling force, per se, the spirit had absolutely changed his perception of events. That, in an of itself, was a measure of control, even if Anders couldn’t fully place responsibility on the spirit. “While I might have been free of the structure...well, let’s just say that I have a different understanding of why it exists.” Which, again, was less than half the story. While Anders was still unwilling to accept the control as just, particularly the bits about the rights on Annulment or the process of forcing mages to be Tranquil, he was willing to accept a measure of leniency when it came to the matters of Abominations. “What about your world?” The question regarding other worlds still felt strange to ask. “What’s magic like there?” Again Sarissa was struck by the sense that there were many details - important details - that Anders was leaving out. At the same time, however, she still felt as if she could trust him. Sarissa had spent most of her life in the Winter Court, around very...untrustworthy people, she had a fairly well-honed sense of who could be trusted. And something told her that despite his prevarications and his penchant for drowning his sorrows in rum, Anders could be trusted. She did take a moment to think over his question, however. There were too many factions and too many variables in her world to give him an easy answer. “Hidden,” she said eventually. “Much of the magic happens away from the purview of the masses, and what they see, they tend to explain away with mundane explanations they can remember. There is a body that regulates magic use, but I’m not familiar with them.” “Hidden?” Anders asked, seeming genuinely surprised. “Like, nobody believes it exists?” Anders wanted to make sure he understood what she’d just told him because, even to Anders, that idea simply did not make sense. “But with all the good that can be done with magic, why would you hide it away?” Yes, there were inherent dangers, Anders knew that better than anyone, but to allow people to simply carry on with triviality, when magic actually existed? Anders couldn’t imagine it. “What do people do when they get sick, or are injured?” They were the prime questions, and the ones that, quite literally, fell out of his mouth. Deep down, despite all his guilt and torment over his deeds and poor decisions, Anders believed that people deserved to be helped and cared for. It was simply part of who he was. “What if someone is in need of medical aid that only magic could provide? You..hide that?” He wasn’t accusing either, nor was he pointing a finger of shame or blame. That was old Anders, that was Anders who had judged everyone, and committed heinous acts in the name of ‘Justice’ because of it. Anders knew he couldn’t let himself start down that path again. He was simply trying to understand. Did magic work the same where she was from? He assumed so, since magic was magic and Sarissa was the first person he’d met here who didn’t share his world. He had no bearing to think otherwise, save for the fact she’d told him it was hidden, but that didn’t change the very nature of magic, did it? “I’m sorry.” Anders offered softly, taking another sip of his coffee. “I do not mean to be rude with my questions Sarissa.” Anders meant it too, and not because it was better to say that than it was to offend the only person he’d met here who didn’t know him, but also because Anders knew he needed to work on those parts of himself. “Illnesses don’t work in my world the way it works in yours,” Sarissa said slowly. It was a guess, but from the way he reacted, it seemed like a safe one. If he didn’t know how to handle a PDA, he probably didn’t come from a particularly highly advanced society, one that hadn’t discovered Germ Theory yet. “Most illnesses are cured by the knowledge of doctors and their technology, much like they are here. There are some, of course, that even all our advances couldn’t cure, but in many cases, magic can’t heal them either. What magic can heal is usually wounds and illnesses caused by magic, and most people aren’t afflicted by those.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “And no, don’t worry, I didn’t take any offense. I can see you’re passionate about healing the sick. That’s what I do as well - I’m a nurse.” Anders was clearly puzzled by the revelation. Where he was from, almost all healing was handled by magic. Granted, most healers worked for royalty or were otherwise hired out like mercenaries, and there were many that only worked if you paid them to do so, but Anders had never cared for all that. He was a healer. It was what he did, and he’d never seen it as right to let the suffering of others go untreated. “That’s not how it works where I’m from, at all.” Anders explained. “Magic can stitch flesh and mend bones, it can raise the wounded back to full, fighting form, it can heal the sick…” Anders let his voice trail off as he looked down at his hands. How many lives had they saved? How many wounded had they treated? Even if he took his travels with Neria and Hawke out of the equation, Anders still couldn’t remember. “And it’s the responsibility of those with that gift, talent, ability, curse, whatever you want to call it, to use it to help people.” Sure, not everyone believed that, but Anders did. He still managed a faint smile at the last of her words however, despite the mulling mix of impassioned thought and utter confusion. “That doesn’t surprise me.” He replied genuinely, with an honest touch of warmth. “You seem very helpful, and I thank you for that. The adjustments of this place are, really, going to take some time. It’s one thing to be pulled into another world -- I think, but don’t quote me on that -- but with everything else I suddenly find myself having to adapt to?” Anders shook his head in frustration. “I don’t think it’s something I’ll honestly be able to do on my own and, while I may have friends here, it’s good to meet new people as well.” Namely ones who don’t know what I’ve done, was the rest of Anders unspoken thought. “I know I likely won’t be of much help…” Anders continued. “But if I can ever be of assistance to you, please, let me know.” Someone was being kind to him, a thing Anders was still not quite sure he deserved, but he didn’t exactly find himself in a position where he could question it. It was a chance to be there for someone, to do something good. Anders needed those things, if for no other reason that he needed to still believe he was capable of them. “Our technology can do all that, too,” Sarissa explained. “Just the other day I came across a young man who’d come from the portal, and he was grievously wounded. He’d been stabbed through the chest; he’d lost a lot of blood. I took him to the hospital, and a doctor stitched him up and gave him some blood. No magic involved. But I hear he’s recovering and he’ll be fine. He’s not alone - that’s what our technology can do. It’s still regulated in that people have to study to be doctors - that’s what we call our healers - but you don’t have to be born with the gift.” She, too, was passionate about helping the ill and wounded. Generally, Sarissa liked to help those who couldn’t help themselves. She’d spent too long being a powerless Changeling in the powerful Winter Court not to feel sympathy for the underdog. It was why she’d wanted to save the environment forty years ago, and why she decided to become a nurse ten years ago. At his offer, she smiled wryly. “If you know of anyone who’s looking for a roommate or has an extra room they wouldn’t mind giving up, let me know,” she said. “My assigned roommate and I...it’s best that we don’t share the same place.” “But that’s the thing…” Anders retorted. “He’s recovering, not recovered. The magic here seems almost...barbaric, torturous even, with the delay it forces people to go through. Magic, where I’m from is instantaneous. Granted, it can’t be everywhere, all the time, so you still hear about people surviving with scars and such, and even the best mages can’t cure some ailments, but we do what we can.” Thinking about the blight, about the illnesses that couldn’t be cured, was not easy for Anders. The acceptance that people couldn’t be helped had been hard on him, once upon a time, before Justice. He could remember that, even if he couldn’t quite grasp how far he’d actually fallen, or how it had happened in the first place. All he could do was try and shake it off though, focus on what he could do, and right now that seemed to be helping a woman who had helped him. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye open.” Anders volunteered. “Two, in fact, since you’ve been so nice.” It was the first sign that the man he’d been was indeed somewhere inside him. It felt nice to be able to make such a lighthearted joke, to be able to settle in to a sense of comfort since that fateful day in Kirkwall. He even smiled, a sure sign he was glad of her company, and gave himself pause to really appreciate just how fortunate it was she’d showed up, introduced him to coffee, and kept him from getting inconceivably drunk. “You’re having trouble with your living partner?” Anders asked. “I know what that’s like, trust me. What seems to be the problem though, if you don’t mind my asking? You’re more than welcome to use mine, should you ever need it.” Anders rarely slept there anyway, at least thus far. The beds were strange and much too soft for a man used to hard ground and stone slabs. Anders wasn’t even sure he could remember what a soft bed felt like, even though he was positive it hadn’t been that long ago. "And that's the thing," Sarissa pointed out. "Magic users can't be everywhere all the time. There are few enough of them capable of healing a person to begin with, and usually someone of that power has bigger threats to deal with." Growing up in the Winter Court, Sarissa knew of those threats all too well. Some of them were mundane - demons, ghosts, faeries who delighted in causing mischief to mortals - but others were much more dangerous. Sarissa knew that there were plenty of wizards on the White Council who would prefer to bury their heads in arcane literature rather than help people in need, but there were also people like Harry, who wanted so much to help but got caught up in everything else. His joke drew her out of her rumination, though, and she laughed despite how cliche it was. He was trying, at least, and it was a huge step up from the drunken stupor he had rapidly been descending into. Sarissa always did believe in encouraging attempts to do good things, so she smiled warmly at him. "I appreciate it. My assigned roommate and I..." She winced. "Imagine putting fire and ice in the same space. She is my cosmic opposite. We are not meant to spend time together. But if you do have space, and you wouldn't mind my presence, perhaps I can stay for a little while until a more permanent arrangement can be made?" “Of course.” Anders volunteered at once. “I’m far more used to, shall we say, less comfortable arrangements, than those that have been provided for me.” The truth was Anders was sleeping very little and the temporal displacement provided by his apartment tended to make him feel uneasy - and that wasn’t even counting the collection of strange appliances. “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like or need. No sense having you melt.” He followed up her metaphor with a lacking pun. “Maybe you can even help me navigate some of the other strange devices that appear to be quite common place. About the only one I’ve managed to make sense out of is this Fridge thing, but I imagine a box of cold in a place where food is stored, to be pretty self explanatory really.” Anders was indeed quite proud he’d been able to make sense of at least something in this place. Most nights he just sat there, thinking, always thinking. While he wasn’t sure a room mate would do him good, because he was an awful, terrible, person, perhaps a spot of frequent company would be nice? Yes, Anders decided, it would be - especially since she didn’t know him to be the man who was possessed by a spirit and had blown up a chantry. Sarissa smiled at the joke anyway, and she brightened at the prospect of being able to help him as well. Fae didn’t accept favours - they found it offensive - but if she could be of use to him as well, then that was a fair enough trade in her book. “I can do that,” she agreed readily. “I’m quite familiar with the technology of the age.” It had changed a lot in her time, but she always did like to keep up with the latest. And if Anders was just discovering the fridge, his mind was going to be blown once she showed him the microwave. |