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...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
[Filtered]
Date: 2011-08-22 09:35 pm (UTC)Fenris himself is sitting on the floor beside the phone; judging by his posture, he'd been leaning against the wall beside it until he lost the strength to hold himself up. His eyes are closed, although when Anders approaches they open halfway to watch him. They seem to be having difficulty focusing, however.
His breath is alarmingly shallow, and he makes no effort to speak. He may already be beyond speech entirely.]
no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 03:02 am (UTC)Fenris--!
[Anders almost drops right down next to him -- his inner healer almost overcoming his utter dislike for the elf in front of him. Right now, it's not Fenris the Mage Hater, it's a patient. One he's been asked to look after. But self-preservation kicks in at the last second. Magic and Fenris? A terrible combination.]
I'm going to use my magic. Only the healing spells. Don't try to tear my heart out or anything.
[Warning issued, he wastes no further time in lifting his hands, gathering the necessary magic. Only when there's enough gathered does he direct it toward his patient, willing the damage -- whatever it may be -- to heal.]
no subject
Date: 2011-08-23 09:11 pm (UTC)Anders' warning is ridiculous enough to draw a faint snort out of Fenris. Even if he'd wanted to, he could hardly coordinate an attack on the mage in this condition - to say nothing of the fact that, while Fenris is certain the healer has medical skills that aren't magical in nature, he hardly expected Anders to have an antidote on hand here. He had known what he was asking for over the phone, no matter how he loathed it. At the time, magic had seemed preferable to dying...especially as he hasn't entirely bought into the concept of death's impermanence in Mayfield. It's never been something he wanted to test personally.
But now...that feeling, along with everything else, is fading. Even if he could imagine surviving, he's gone beyond the point where he wants to. Death would be more merciful.
He closes his eyes at the brightness of Anders' magic, and somehow isn't surprised when it seems to make no improvement. It's clearly too late now, if there was ever anything it could have done for him in the first place. His thoughts are increasingly fragmented, but he feels a degree of relief; he'd rather die quickly than have Anders' magic delay it at this point.
Even when the glow fades, it's too much effort to open his eyes again.]
no subject
Date: 2011-08-24 07:28 pm (UTC)[He can't feel anything changing. Nothing's happening. Clearly, the only option is to dig in deeper, to pour out more energy and magic. His and Fenris' antagonistic relationship has completely flown out the window by this point. This is a sick person, someone who came to him -- albeit grudgingly -- for help. The mage will be damned if he doesn't give it his all.]
[Anders says a few choice curses when he reaches for the spirit's power... only to find nothing, as he should have expected. But it was an instinctive move, born out of long habit. There's no Justice here to help -- as much as the spirit ever helped anything.]
[Just Anders.]
Come on... come on!
[And so, he tries again.]
no subject
Date: 2011-09-01 08:15 am (UTC)He would at least do the mage the courtesy of giving him some sign that he didn't hold the failure against him, considering the lengths he'd gone to.
But those possibilities are confined to the realm of the purely theoretical. Fenris' mind and body are shutting down; he's not even able to open his eyes again.
Within a minute, he stops breathing.]
no subject
Date: 2011-09-01 07:56 pm (UTC)[It stopped being about Fenris a while ago. He's a patient, now, one Hawke -- a friend -- wouldn't want to lose. Which makes it all the more important that the elf does not do what he's just done.]
[There's got to be more he can do. Some length he hasn't quite gone to yet. So he digs in, trying one last spell. It's probably futile. His magic isn't quite what it should be without Justice to provide support. Things feel cut off... different.]
[He shouldn't be surprised when the reviving magic fails. Or when all the strength is abruptly sapped out of him by the effort. Still, he grits his teeth, and tries again.]
[To no avail.]
[And now he doesn't... know what to do. He's on his knees, breathing hard from the rush of magic. Does he tell Hawke? Does he say nothing?]
[In the end, he can't decide. So he stands, and casts his Mayfield-issued coat over the elf, before staggering, head bowed, to the door.]