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Entry tags:
TDM 003
| TDM 003: #BEACHBUMS |
I. BEACH  Welcome arrivals, new and old! The skies on Erku may be perpetually gray, but the weather has taken a sudden turn to summertime heat. Fortunately, soaring temperatures have chased away more of the strange fog that conceals so much of the island, unveiling a charming, sandy cove dotted here and there with rustic love shacks. These shabby little lean-tos are dusty and sparse, but they provide everything one (or two, wink wink) might need for a little relief from the sun. Just don’t wander too far... that fog has memory-loss properties. II. DRINKS  The 'bots are very apologetic about the whole fog incident, and they are trying to get on the new arrivals' good sides by giving out fancy drinks. Of course, they still haven't mastered the art of making things properly, so each drink has a little something... extra.
III. SNACKS  Lo! As you ask, the Augur shall provide. Thanks to the efforts of your organic predecessors in restoring the planet’s Eros energy, edible fishes and seaweeds have returned to the ponds and the shores of Erku. If you fancy yourself savvy to basic survival skills, why not fashion up a fishing rod and catch yourself dinner? Just be careful if you happen to hook one of the octopus creatures from the deeper waters - they can be quite forward with their tentacles! Or, if primitive angling isn’t in your repertoire, you can always trade some credits for a tasty catch from one of the food stalls along the coast. Most stalls are manned by 'bots, but there’s nothing stopping an enterprising arrival from setting up shop. No credits? No problem! The robots have also provided a bit of entertainment, and any volunteers to man the kissing booth, get dunked in the wet t-shirt dunk tank, or grill up some fish - among other opportunities - will find credits automatically loaded onto the payment app of their bracelet devices. The 'bots are recruiting especially hard for participants to work in the gloryhole tent! IV. SPARKLES  As dusk descends, the white sands of the beach suddenly come alive with glittering lights. It’s as if the darkened waters have carried a thousand shining stars from the depths of the sea to the shores of the cove. In actuality, each little twinkle is a bioluminescent plankton or jellyfish! Feel free to wade among them and admire their shine; even the sting of the jellies won’t hurt you... though they do pack a different punch. The tentacles of the jellyfish elicit a powerful aphrodisiac response, which gets the heart racing and the blood pumping for an intimate touch. The effects come on within a matter of minutes, and last for a few hours. Only time will relieve the symptoms, but a partner will help to make it more bearable. N A V I G A T I O N |
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He's happy.
[It sounds almost funny coming from him, cheerful words in a tone completely lacking it. Garrett blinks and looks away, bending down to retrieve his fallen fish to give himself and Anders a second of privacy from each other's eyes.]
You've no idea how much he's missed you.
[Ox pads over to Anders, thoroughly concerned at the sharp change of energy in the air. The dog noses at him with a soft whuff, trying to coax the man into petting him, letting out a whine that sounds almost questioning. Aroo?]
Ox, leave him alone. The poor man doesn't even know you.
[Obviously not his Anders, then. Is he relieved? He can't tell.]
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Not great. Not a comfort. But he deserves it, he supposes, even if he's being made to feel guilty over this giant dog, of all things. Something is off and he'll get to that, he will, once he's through feeling sick to his stomach about having to face Hawke now, after everything he's done.
He doesn't reach out to the dog. Purrcival, now just interested enough to approach, slinks curiously around the dog's leg and stares up at him.]
I have no idea what you're talking about.
[The truth, delivered without emotion to Anders' elbow. He shifts again, still not getting up; maybe the sand will swallow him whole! That would be nice.]
Listen, Hawke— let me take my cat and I'll go.
[He's not Hawke's problem anymore, that much he'd gotten clearly, so he really should just go find a different spot to sit and sulk.]
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Well, he has an idea. But. That's as good as irrelevant.]
No. [s ig h] No, we need to talk. Not about- whatever you're thinking, it's probably not that.
[Right. Okay. He can do this. He can straighten himself out, he can call Ox back to him with the allure of his sandy fish kebab, he can try to be an actual person about this. He can look Anders like a grown adult who isn't terrified of words and feelings.]
Sorry for- can you get away from the booth for a bit?
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[It sure isn't going the way he planned, after all: the only kiss he or his cat have gotten is from the big dog who thinks he's someone else? Maybe? He isn't sure. But alright, fine, if he must; sitting down to talk is something he'd like to put off as long as possible, but... fine.
He leans forward to scoop up Purrcival then and stands, brushing himself off and running a hand through his dog-tousled hair. He is older, pale and worn and haggard, with the weight of Kirkwall all but shackled to his ankles. The most that can be said for his appearance is that he holds the cat with care, giving him a scritch behind the ears before he actually looks at Hawke properly.
...Huh. For the briefest second surprise overtakes the rest of what he's feeling, and before he can help himself:]
What did you do to your hair?
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Grew it. I do a little every day, you see.
[There's that tragic Hawke sense of humor. Now that Anders is looking at him for real, something odd twists in Hawke's stomach. It's him, it's Anders, it's...
But it's not really him, is it? He doesn't recognize Ox. This isn't his Anders. This man doesn't know why Hawke's chest feels tight, and Hawke doesn't really know him. None of the many versions of Anders he's met in those other worlds were terribly different from one another, but nothing is impossible- this man, he could be anything. Anyone.
And yet, no matter how Garrett knows that, it's hard to remember.]
It's- actually, it's a really long story. Come on.
[He turns and beckons, leading Anders in a direction that he hopes Barry is less likely to have gone in. Once they reach... a spot, at random, Garrett plops on the ground and leans against Ox, who has instinctively settled next to him.
And is looking up at Anders expectantly.]
So... this might sound a little bit crazy, but... what year is it? For you? In Kirkwall?
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Well, it's caution that keeps Anders a few paces behind as Hawke leads them away. There's a guilt in that, too, towards keeping his distance from someone he'd considered a dear friend. Kirkwall had never accepted Anders, true, but perhaps he'd been spoiled by Hawke's support, by Varric's friendship and Isabela's blasé tolerance, enough that here and now it's only natural to sink back into guarded paranoia.
Not that— He wouldn't assume—
Well. He's a mess by any stretch of the word, and the question stops him short. Literally, he stops where he stands and it feels almost like the world lurches around him, processing the implication of what Hawke says.
Bluntly:] I left Kirkwall.
[Which is answer enough, he thinks, as he'd only fled the city when the options had run out. Stiffly he sits, guiltily uncomfortable, looking down at his knees.]
Hawke, none of your friends have ever valued you for your ability to circle the point. [Please, bud... candor.] Whatever it is, just say it.
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[ s i g h ]
So that’s 9:37 Dragon? [ a note of dread threads into his tone ] And... it’s already happened?
[ Of course it has. He runs a hand through his hair in quiet exhaustion. ]
Right. So... I’m from 9:34. About a month after the duel. Only, I’ve been away from Thedas for years- and it’s not your Thedas, and I’ve already got spoilers about the Chantry.
[ He lets that sink in. ]
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I destroyed it. I killed the people inside. Call it what it is.
[He deserves what he gets, for certain; that he's sitting here and not dead in the streets of Kirkwall is testament to someone else's— some other Hawke's— mercy, not any commentary on his deeds or character. Anders knows this: for the act of taking so many lives, he does not even deserve the privilege of living to talk about it. It was never going to be easy; he was never going to be happy, but living in a powder keg does things to a person.
Still. Candor. He sticks his fingers into the sand, lets it run through them. The powder keg is him now, too many emotions and sick, sick guilt rolling in his chest to do this for much longer, but if he can get through one conversation then he can go, so--]
What else do you want to know?
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Um.
[He runs his hands through his hair again, nervous energy starting to catch up with him. Maker's breath, he never used to get anxiety like this. Even nearly two years on, thinking about the infinite different Thedases makes him a little queasy in an existential way.]
Anders, there are countless different Thedases out there. I've met other Hawkes and everyone from Thedas I've met in these pocket worlds knew a different Hawke. But every Thedas had you, and Fenris, and all others- pretty much as you are. You're all... constants in every universe. You're essential.
[Not replaceable, like him.]
That's why Ox recognizes you. He hasn't seen Anders in years. This stupid mutt absolutely... he loves people who don't like dogs.
[Fondly, rubbing Ox's big stupid head while the dog whuffs at him.]
Sorry for freaking out. It's a bit... well. This is my... fourth? pocket dimension I've been in since leaving Kirkwall. In one of them, I fell through a portal to another Thedas. It was 9:38, I was- that Hawke was- viscount? I walked through Hightown and saw it... like that, then went to the records to learn why. [He very determinedly keeps looking down at Ox.] Read about my- [no, no, too much information-] -friend blowing shit up. On the night that the exalted Champion [he spits the word bitterly] -helped carry out the Right of Annulment. How he, in his righteousness, purged the city of every mage- including his own sister and the apostate responsible.
[That was a fun fucking day.]
That's how I learned about the Chantry thing. Not exactly a party. Seeing you again after all that sitting between a fish grill and a glory hole was- a bit shocking.
no subject
But he doesn't interrupt. He listens, and besides sitting here on some impossible beach and looking at this Hawke who appears just different enough for his words to maybe make sense...
Maybe he could ease into understanding that. Maybe he could politely excuse himself and go be existential alone somewhere else, like the bottom of the ocean or the goddamned moon, but "the exalted Champion helped carry out the Right of Annulment." It hits like a blow, his entire body freezing up at just the words while the rest of what Hawke says fades into a dull buzzing. No, that isn't—
That wouldn't— Surely no Hawke could ever do that.]
Shocking.
[He croaks it out and finds that not only can he move again, but he's already shoved himself away, feet digging grooves in the sand. Confusion and terror and rage churn in him white hot and he really cannot do this right now, apparently.]
I should go. I need to— I have to go.
[And he moves to stand, because the options are get on his feet or be sick right now, and he doesn't want to upset his cat. Still, he has to know--]
How can you be sure? Did you go to the Gallows?
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When Anders gets up, reeling back from him like he's a monster, it stings like a whip-crack. (Another delightful flash of nostalgia from those fucking portals.) Maybe he wasn't the one to do that horrible thing, but it was a man with his face and his name and it was his city.
Garrett turns wide brown eyes up at Anders, at those beautiful amber eyes he used to look into with love, and finds that his last defenses are starting to wobble. This man is so many things, but in Garrett's mind he's also become a sort of measure of the health of Kirkwall- a yardstick by which Garrett can measure his failures. Because that's the theme that united every horrible version of Kirkwall he found behind those portals: failure. Failure to act, failure to defeat the Arishok, failure to choose right from wrong, and he knows that somehow, in his own personal future, he's destined to somehow fail his city and his Anders badly enough that a man who lived in the sewer to give medicine to homeless children will break his own moral code to commit mass murder.
That's on him. He's the fucking Champion. He should have gone to the Gallows.]
No. [He looks away suddenly, unable to handle the disgust and horror writ on that familiar face.] Somehow I couldn't stand to see any more horrors. Not just in that portal and that Kirkwall- I. I should have gone.
[But he couldn't. Maker's tits, he can barely stand to think about it now, why did he fucking bring this up? He's been ignoring his feelings for 28 years, did he really have to give in to the desperate urge to purge that poison from his mind? He loves Barry, but the man isn't from Thedas, he couldn't understand, and seeing Anders again- fuck, he shouldn't have brought this up. It was fine where it was, shoved in a box in his head where he didn't have to think about it.]