#anthracitecadash

[snowball-with-knives]

The Small Things

@xesperanza

𝑅𝐸𝒟𝒞𝐿𝐼𝐹𝐹𝐸'𝒮 castle was a mute witness to the chaos happening all around it and in the outcropping villages that made their lives in its shadow. The Inquisitor had not had a chance to stop for roughly, what she believed was two weeks. Taking on more and more as the requests came in. A widower and a grave. Rumors of a cult. A husband’s panicked pleas for his wife. Tensions with Chantry and Templar and Mage alike. Refugee’s pouring in everywhere and the town was not equipped to handle the needs of those arriving in droves.  Some were desperately attempting to continue their day to day lives by refusing to meet the eyes of the refugees who pitilessly begged between grass-roof huts or well built homes. Dogs barked consistently and children or babes cried while the murmur of the grown were angry or desolate.  Anthracite had insisted they pitch tents and camp like the rest while here--but either one of her advisers (none of whom would fess up) or the family itself despite her protestations--had cleared a large, round, fereldan home for herself and a few of her trustees.  Usually, she had no issues working herself to bits. The more she did, the more likely she was able to sleep the entire night and stay asleep. The influx of mages were making people as nervous as the threat of approaching Templar and Redcliffe’s rumor mill about the Venatori...and worse were growing too loud to ignore. Three arguments had already erupted over her head where she had expressly to bark that the people came first.  This evening only a few dogs barked, and only a few children cried. The stars had exploded outward from a night’s clear sky. She could smell the drying fish from the docks slightly, but most importantly the chamomile tea that the elven healer had gratefully given her in exchange for those much needed herbs earlier. It’ll help ease some tension, possibly even help you sleep.  Anthy sure hoped so, slouched lazily on a bale of hay outside the door to her hut, she stared tiredly into the faint star-reflection of her cup. 

[snowball-with-knives]

Chicken Soup cures everything.

The imagine of a dwarf trying to size him up was hilarious in its own right–even if the Inquisitor was a little doped up on herbs in his tea to try and decongest his head and nose. If he didn’t feel like utter shit, he probably would have laughed, but he just managed a little look of amusement instead.

If she were a qunari, this would have been far more intimidating, considering his own mother probably would have been doing the exact same. But he was bored, and how he hated being ill. It meant having to lay in bed for two days straight while he recovered, and he couldn’t really focus enough on books to get drawn in and ended up just sleeping. It was a wasted day, and Kaaras didn’t like wasting days.

As she pushed him, he nursed his mug so none of the tea would splash out of it. Honestly, he was too tired to even right this one. Instead, he just huffed. “Yes, Aban Adaar,” he muttered his mother’s name sarcastically as he looked under his arm to see her snow-white hair.

He started heading back towards his quarters, otherwise she might smack him on the bottom at this rate. His ears flickered at her rambling from behind, and he mentally chuckled to himself. It was all out of concern, he knew.

@kaaras-adaar

He’s --listening? He’s actu--WELL OF COURSE he is. She’s very scary.

“And another thing--”  It was easy to imagine if she could find a chair to bring it over just to tweak his ear a little big, she might. But alas, no chairs were close at hand. And also attempting to grab one would have made her lose her trail of admonishments. As well as look even more comical she already did mothering an inquisitor three times her size.

“--thinkin’ being sick was gonna be fun? There’s nothin’ fun about being sick. Also, if y’get too sick, who’s gonna hafta take care of ya? Me, of course, ‘cause. An’ yer butt’s too big fer me to move around on my own. Nobody wants to get all gross w’ a fever an’ have some short stubby angry dwarf havin’ t’ sponge y’ down. You hear me right now, mister,  iffin you don’t take care of yourself I’ll.....I’ll...”

She had to think about it, as he cradled his cup of tea and shuffled back inside like a Good Little Inquisitor should.

“...bite somethin’.”

She would, too. Maybe.

“Now.” Busy-body likes as he went inside. “Yer gonna get a blanket, an’ yer gonna wrap yerself innit. I’ll go stoke the fire. Then I’ll go bug yer advisors for paperwork, an’ then mebbe a nice nip o’ something to put in yer tea t’ warm ya up from inside out, aye? Chicken soup--y’need sum chicken soup.”

If he thought she paused her to let him speak one word edgewise, he was gonna be so disappointed.

“Then I’ll get any paperwork, then I’m gonna watcha like a hawk an’ if y’try to escape so help me...”

Oh, she heard what he muttered earlier. Aban-Adaar but she was going to keep on pretending she didn’t hear.

Things would immediately go back to normal as soon as he felt better of course. Where Anthracite actually deferred to him. But for now? Kaaras was in her teeny clutches. And she was going to make sure he took care of himself.  

[snowball-with-knives]

“Why do you even want to scratch my back? It is not itchy and believe me I felt that if someone tried it.” He went down a little bit so she could well do what she was doing.

@thebloodychampion

“I’ll have you know,” imperiously. “I’ve heard frem many reliable sources--” made up. “Tha’s it’s a verra nice, relaxing thing t’do. And, it feels nice. So I’ve been told. And a good stress reliever. An’ ye looked stressed.”  Pause as he hunkered down a bit so she could stop jumping like an excited puppy.  “--You were stressed, right?” 

[snowball-with-knives]

aithreachasanswered:

RP starters: Heated argument. ↪ @snowball-with-knives // not accepting

       Atreus sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair—it had been his fault really—he didn’t mean to talk over Anthracite he just had this habit of interrupting when he had something to say. It really wasn’t a nice habit—he should cut down.

“Ah nae—nae Inquisitor, please fergive an auld Templar, ah jus’ well ah suppose ah was merely haverin’ ah did nae mean t'offend ye lass. Truly.”

@aithreachas

Spots of color from a tiny temper usually held between tongue-in-cheek tom foolery were difficult to hide behind pale skin and freckles. So that, and the slow rise, then even slower lowering of shoulders in deep breaths were the gist of her annoyance as she collected her thoughts.

“Accepted,” a bit snappishly. Then she made herself stop again, glancing down over the war table map instead of looking across it at him. “Though I suppose spendin’ years havin’ to bellow at men and women with swords an’ wrong ideas in their heads when their blood’s up is a habit I don’t have or understand. “

Her mouth made a small line. “Perhaps a break fer tea or a walk about might be in order,” conceding.

[snowball-with-knives]

DAI - Dinner Date by aimo ||||You can’t take Anthracite anywhere.

[snowball-with-knives]

Kiss with a Fist - The Past - Part III

[Title in thanks to the Florence & The Machine song, “Kiss with a fist is better than none.]  [ Part 1 ]  [TRIGGER WARNING: Part 2 ]

No light and no day. No way to know how long she’d been down here except for the smell of her own filth. Sometimes food, sometimes not. She could not see but could feel with her hands– as her dress became a blanket, became unraveled, became a memory and then a rag. Sometimes, when fresh air came, cut through the damp, the lichen, the rotting hay and rat-shyte, she could smell herself.  She would not cry. She would not cry. There was nothing to cry for. Little girl gone, gone, and lost.  That’s what you get. You should have known.  Sometimes she can’t tell what she’s said out loud and which is thought.  The rusted irons around her legs had gone from too-tight, to dangling like anklets.  They hadn’t cut her hair though. They hadn’t done that.  Oh mama, mamma, I am lost. 

The light hurt. The light from the torch hurt so much that her eyes watered. But she was so proud of herself–she wasn’t crying. It was just the light.  Karn’s voice rang hollow and empty. A sound of metal at her feet. She reached blindly for it and found….?  “Since you’re no good at being a whore, and I’ve already invested too much, your whore friend, Prim, convinced me to give you another chance. Those are lockpicks.  “You have until sundown to get out of them. Show me you’re worth half the coin I paid for you, and we’ll see about what use you can still be.”  He left the torch. He left the door open.  She was out before sunset, stumbling and filthy into the light.  A man with a gaunt face and clear disgust waited for her. He turned, and said: “Your first lesson is to learn to walk without sound. First, you must master your breath. Next, you must master knowing where and how to place your feet. We will start with your heels. Place them gently upon the ground, rolling the entire foot softly….”  That was the first day she learned how to hide.  From herself.  From the truth.  From the world. 

[pinkatron2000]

Head Canon for Anthracite’s Inquisition Accepted: 

“What happens when one person starts screaming out a window in swedenSkyhold at night.”

[snowball-with-knives]

||| Anthracite is very passionate about insuring the safety of all of her companions.... Art/Source © Aimo