I fought the law and the law won
Aug. 17th, 2011 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unasked_for[It would just figure that the next surprise Mayfield would spring on them would be something for which Fenris' newly regained armor is wholly useless. What good does it do him against milk?
He's the only non-drone member of his household; if anyone is going to drink the milk, unfortunately, it's down to him and only him.]
[Filtered to fellow Kirkwall residents]
This won't end well. [His ability to state the grimly obvious is clearly still intact.] Hawke - keep the mage close at hand.
TUESDAY: [Fenris chose not to drink the milk, and look what happened. The dichotomy between the surly elf and his droned self is even more violently at contrast than it is with most people - although today the emphasis is on 'violent'. Droned or not, this is a man in full armor, carrying around a host of glowing lyrium tattoos and a sword as tall as he is...and today, even as he cheerfully talks about the weather and how the town baseball team is doing, he is using all those things to his extremely bloody advantage. Don't be surprised if he talks to you about his kids even as he tears your heart out of your chest.
At one point, he will be running into murderdroned Hawke, and the two of them will be fighting an absolutely grisly battle while they discuss getting their respective families together for a backyard barbecue.]
((Feel free to have murderdroned Fenris kill your character, or to witness him killing others! I'm terrible at playing drones, so this is here largely to set the scene for aftermath threads later on.))
WEDNESDAY: [After yesterday, milk certainly seems to be the lesser evil, so Fenris grudgingly drinks a bottle when it arrives in the morning. But it's not long at all before he deeply regrets it; within five minutes, he feels more ill than he ever has in his life - or at least the parts of his life he can remember. It's actually enough to make him put out a call to Anders - not that he has the presence of mind to filter it.]
Mage...what can you do...for poison? [His speech is labored, every word clearly costing him effort.]
THURSDAY: [After yesterday, Fenris can't help drinking with some trepidation. And it's quickly justified, although not in any way he'd expected. He'll be spending the day locked in his house, in a state of intense agitation; every now and then, it seems, the trappings of Mayfield fade, and he seems to be see the walls of Danarius' mansion in Tevinter...to feel his master's leash around his neck. Anyone coming to check on him will find livid, bloody lines on Fenris' throat where his armor has scored his skin as he's tried to tear the damned thing off him.]
FRIDAY: [Only Fenris' hatred for not being in control of himself keeps him drinking after the past two days. Fortunately, today seems to be a day of mere unpleasantness rather than death or horror. He's soon miserably sick, but he's borne worse. He'll put out a call to that effect.]
I seem to have fallen ill...but I'll manage. How fare the rest of you?
SATURDAY: [Blades in his milk are a sudden and painful surprise, and Fenris' mouth and lips are rather bloodily cut by the time he chokes down enough of the milk to deem it safe to discard the rest. Anyone checking on him will find him infrequently spitting blood into a sink as he waits for the cuts to close on their own, interspersed with angry Tevinter curses.]
SUNDAY: [Fenris is beginning to wonder how long this pasteurized purgatory can last, and unfortunately the town has been saving the worst for last. He feels the familiar effects of poisoning quickly enough...but death doesn't follow swiftly this time. Instead the agony is prolonged, leaving his body weak and his thoughts scattered. Somehow, though, he manages to get on the phone.]
Have they lost the decency...even to simply kill us quickly, now? [His voice is hoarse, strained.] I can't...
He's the only non-drone member of his household; if anyone is going to drink the milk, unfortunately, it's down to him and only him.]
[Filtered to fellow Kirkwall residents]
This won't end well. [His ability to state the grimly obvious is clearly still intact.] Hawke - keep the mage close at hand.
TUESDAY: [Fenris chose not to drink the milk, and look what happened. The dichotomy between the surly elf and his droned self is even more violently at contrast than it is with most people - although today the emphasis is on 'violent'. Droned or not, this is a man in full armor, carrying around a host of glowing lyrium tattoos and a sword as tall as he is...and today, even as he cheerfully talks about the weather and how the town baseball team is doing, he is using all those things to his extremely bloody advantage. Don't be surprised if he talks to you about his kids even as he tears your heart out of your chest.
At one point, he will be running into murderdroned Hawke, and the two of them will be fighting an absolutely grisly battle while they discuss getting their respective families together for a backyard barbecue.]
((Feel free to have murderdroned Fenris kill your character, or to witness him killing others! I'm terrible at playing drones, so this is here largely to set the scene for aftermath threads later on.))
WEDNESDAY: [After yesterday, milk certainly seems to be the lesser evil, so Fenris grudgingly drinks a bottle when it arrives in the morning. But it's not long at all before he deeply regrets it; within five minutes, he feels more ill than he ever has in his life - or at least the parts of his life he can remember. It's actually enough to make him put out a call to Anders - not that he has the presence of mind to filter it.]
Mage...what can you do...for poison? [His speech is labored, every word clearly costing him effort.]
THURSDAY: [After yesterday, Fenris can't help drinking with some trepidation. And it's quickly justified, although not in any way he'd expected. He'll be spending the day locked in his house, in a state of intense agitation; every now and then, it seems, the trappings of Mayfield fade, and he seems to be see the walls of Danarius' mansion in Tevinter...to feel his master's leash around his neck. Anyone coming to check on him will find livid, bloody lines on Fenris' throat where his armor has scored his skin as he's tried to tear the damned thing off him.]
FRIDAY: [Only Fenris' hatred for not being in control of himself keeps him drinking after the past two days. Fortunately, today seems to be a day of mere unpleasantness rather than death or horror. He's soon miserably sick, but he's borne worse. He'll put out a call to that effect.]
I seem to have fallen ill...but I'll manage. How fare the rest of you?
SATURDAY: [Blades in his milk are a sudden and painful surprise, and Fenris' mouth and lips are rather bloodily cut by the time he chokes down enough of the milk to deem it safe to discard the rest. Anyone checking on him will find him infrequently spitting blood into a sink as he waits for the cuts to close on their own, interspersed with angry Tevinter curses.]
SUNDAY: [Fenris is beginning to wonder how long this pasteurized purgatory can last, and unfortunately the town has been saving the worst for last. He feels the familiar effects of poisoning quickly enough...but death doesn't follow swiftly this time. Instead the agony is prolonged, leaving his body weak and his thoughts scattered. Somehow, though, he manages to get on the phone.]
Have they lost the decency...even to simply kill us quickly, now? [His voice is hoarse, strained.] I can't...
