Sirona’s a beautiful colony, Max thinks as he steps off the shuttle.
Ash and Shepard have gone ahead, co-ordinating the pickup. Max doesn’t really know what they’re picking up, exactly, but it’s important enough to warrant a detour. He shuffles awkwardly in his armour, rolling his shoulders to loosen the bearing. It’s a new set, Cade told him, but it’s not getting enough use to loosen up. Sighing, Max supposes it’s early days yet, and he turns his attention to the dust blowing across the rocky ground.
“Hey, you.” Ashley’s voice sounds over the gentle wind, and Max looks up, heart already hammering. It’s laughable that he immediately fell for such a gorgeous woman as soon as he got on the Normandy, but hell, if the world is going to total shit, what’s he got to lose?
Dignity. What’s left of your minuscule amount of pride. And also if Cade finds out he’ll never let it go. Bad idea.
Max grumbles to himself, forgetting that Ashley had just spoken to him. When he realizes, he feels the familiar burn at his cheeks and ears and manages to respond.
“Oh, sorry - I was just, uh, just talking to myself.”
“As you do.” Ash smiles, amusement glinting in her eyes. She seems to notice Max’s embarrassment, though, and easily diverts the topic, glancing around the landscape. “You know, I was born here. Grew up here too.”
Max raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Oh? It’s a beautiful place.”
Ash nods, agreeing. She looks back at him with the same smile still in place, before gesturing for him to follow as she takes off towards a grassy knoll a little ways away. Max looks over his shoulder, finding Cade busy with a few colonists and someone who looked... vaguely important. Figuring he had it all in hand, Max quickly follows behind Ash.
“Here-- take this.” Ash hands him what looks like a blade of grass. Confused, Max takes it gingerly, unsure what to do. A soft roll of laughter follows from Ash, and he only looks even more bewildered when he looks up at her.
“Your face is priceless, Max, honestly. It’s not gonna kill ya.” Ash grins wryly and picks her own blade of grass. She holds the blade between her thumbs before pressing her hands together, creating a little hollow where the blade passes through. Max copies it as closely as he can, but soft, quiet notes distract him, and he looks over to find Ash blowing gently through the gap, and the notes play out every time she does.
“That’s... pretty cool, actually.” Max says, smiling. He’s used to dirty streets and concrete jungles. Not places like Sirona. If he had to guess, this is something Ash used to do as a kid, and the fact she’s sharing this with him stirs up a flurry of emotions. He keeps a lid on it, though, and tries to produce a few notes of his own. He manages one very flat sounding note before he ends up laughing at himself, and listens to Ashley’s version instead.
“We used to do this all the time as kids. Grass songs, we called ‘em.” Ash tells him, and she looks like she’s somewhere else entirely as she smooths out the blade of grass between her fingers. “Sometimes we’d used to wait until the breeze picked up, me and my sisters, and it would play these incredible notes if we all sat in a line right on the crest of a hill.”
“That sounds like a nice way to grow up.” Max says quietly, and Ash finally looks back at him, expression unreadable. He wonders if she gets his meaning, but he doesn’t dwell on it after her expression smooths out into that familiar smile once again.
Prompt list here . Arthur Trevelyan appears, courtesy of @grandduchessdechalons. Even at 25, he was firmly on his way to being the Tired Mage Dad that we know and love. And even at 11 years old, Vincent was still trying to stick up for the little guy. Brief mention of @alittlestarling‘s tiny!Roz.
Warning for implied disciplinary corporal punishment.
9:20 Dragon
Vincent hiccoughed as he tried to stifle the sound of his crying. The stone on his bare belly was blessedly cool as he hid in a corner of the apprentice dormitory, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was lying flat on his stomach, his back feeling as if it were on fire. Vincent’s shirt was still on the bed, but he hadn’t tried to put it on just yet, seeing as any move he made aggravated his back even more.
“I know you’re in here.” Vincent stiffened at the sound of his tutor’s voice. Arthur Trevelyan was a distant relative of his; Arthur had told him where they fell on the family tree one time, but he hadn’t really remembered aside from the fact that they were some sort of cousins. It was enough of a relation to latch onto, Vincent trying his best to learn everything Arthur had to teach him as well as he possibly could. “I was told not to heal you with magic so you would learn your lesson better.”
Vincent’s fingers scrabbled against the stone floor as he felt the first cold pass of a wet cloth against his back. “I understand.”
The cloth paused as Arthur sighed. “I don’t think you do. This wasn’t your lesson to learn, Vincent.”
Vincent winced. “Doesn’t matter, it was worth it.”
He didn’t have to crane his neck to know that Arthur was pinching the bridge of his nose, his tone of voice gave his movements away. “It was foolish of you to do it, Vincent. You should have let Colin take the blame; the stray fireball was his doing, not yours.”
Vincent and several other classmates had been practicing their fire magic. Vincent had always liked fire: it filled him with a comforting warmth and flowed through him easily. He’d often gotten praise for how easily it seemed as if he was mastering his skills, but that day, Colin had fired off a ball of flame by accident that had hit a shelf of books in the study they had been practicing in. Several important books had been scorched, though thankfully not beyond repair. One of the senior enchanters had been furious at them and had demanded to know who had done the damage.
Colin was a frail boy who had very little control over any of his magic. The senior enchanter had insisted on beating the student who had done it with a willow switch. Vincent had seen the look of terror on Colin’s face and had stepped up to claim responsibility without a second thought.
Vincent had never been beaten before. He’d heard stories from other older mages on how it hurt, but he hadn’t been prepared for the stinging blows that sucked the air from his lungs to the point where he wasn’t even able to cry out from the pain. After, when the enchanter had finished, Vincent had kept from crying by staring at his friend Roz. The other children in their age group had been gathered to witness his punishment, Vincent serving as an example of what would happen to them if they happened to get out of line. He’d watched as fat, silent tears had streaked down her cheeks, and even though he felt like collapsing on shaky legs, he had smiled at her, assuring her without having to say a thing that he was okay. He could tell that she had wanted to comfort him, her hands tightly clutching her robes until her knuckles turned white. He’d been ushered into the dormitory by a Templar soon after, who had shoved him inside and doled out another punishment that the enchanter hadn’t approved: Vincent was to stay in the room until morning, his dinner taken away.
Vincent shuddered as Arthur applied a thick coating of healing paste to the lash marks the switch had made across his skin, the pain dulling to a low throb. “I couldn’t let Colin get beaten; he’s been sick lately. He wouldn’t have been able to take the ten hits.”
Arthur sighed again. “You told the senior enchanter that this was an accident. You’re a talented boy, and a clever one. You have the potential to become a highly talented mage, but your soft heart is going to get you in trouble one of these days. It doesn’t matter if Colin wouldn’t have been able to take all ten strikes or not.” Arthur’s fingers were gentle yet firm on Vincent’s chin and he tilted his head up so he could look him in the eye. “There are only so many accidents one mage can have before it’s determined that they’re better off Tranquil.”
“But…”
His fingers tightened on his chin. “No. There are no causes worth becoming Tranquil for, especially when the circumstances aren’t of your own making. This is a lesson you need to learn, sooner rather than later.”
Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur beat him to it. “Colin is learning a lesson as well. Five lashes for allowing someone to take the blame for something clearly not their fault. The only reason you received ten was so you’d know not to claim responsibility the next time something like this happens.” Arthur began tending Vincent’s back again, hands gentle as he finished. “Your choices don’t affect just you, Vincent. Remember that.”
Vincent’s lip quivered, upset that he hadn’t been able to protect Colin. “I will.”
“Good.”
Arthur looked tired, and Vincent had to wonder if it was just from the sleepless nights that his tutor spent learning everything he needed to know in order to rise the ranks of Circle hierarchy or if it was because of that afternoon’s events. He looked over his shoulder to see if a Templar hadn’t stepped inside the doorway. Up until then, the two of them had been alone. “I know that you’ve been sent up here without your supper, but it’s a very long time to go without something to eat between now and breakfast.” Arthur slipped his hand inside the pouch at his belt and pulled out a small wrapped cloth holding a few crackers and thinly sliced coins of cured sausage. “My personal study stash,” he explained. “Hide them where no one will find it and it should tide you over until morning.”
“Thank you.”
Arthur smiled at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said that you have the potential to be someone great. While we may not have the power to change things around us now, but…”
“Yes?”
He shook his head. “That’s a lesson for another day, when you’re older.” He looked at the cloth of food in Vincent’s hands. “Now, hide those well and get some rest. The lashes concentrated on your left side; try sleeping on your right side instead of just your stomach. Believe me, your back will thank you.”
Vincent carefully got to his feet and gingerly put his shirt on. Tucking the food under his mattress, he wondered if Arthur was speaking from personal experience or not. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said again.
Arthur nodded. “I’m off to see to Colin. Remember what I said, Vincent.”
“I will.”
He smiled at him again. “Everything will be fine.”
Vincent winced again as he stretched, the paste Arthur had applied already getting stiff under his shirt. The pain had dulled down to a bearable level and seeing as he didn’t have anything else to do, Vincent got into bed and curled up on his right side. Just as Arthur had said, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as resting on his stomach had been.
He got to thinking. Colin was weak in fire, but Vincent was more talented. Maybe he could suggest to Arthur to pair the two of them up for a while so Vincent could help teach him what he knew.
If there wasn’t a way that he could step in and take the blame for future accidents, then there had to be a way that he could prevent them from happening in the first place.
For Vetra it’s usually physical affection and doing things that help Thisbe out. Touch is powerful to her, to be able to hold and physically be close, is the way she feels most comfortable expressing love. She’ll also grab Thisbe’s todo lists and tackle them for her.
Thisbe expresses her love with quality time and gifts. Shutting off any connection to the Initiative and giving Vetra her undivided attention for hours, days, is the best way she can show Vetra how much she cares, along with surprising her with gifts.
18. Is there any way they disappoint each other?
Thisbe can be so goal oriented that she forgets how to people. She can be brusque and flippant and what Vetra sees as unnecessarily cold. Vetra knows people and connections are important and she can be disappointed in how Thisbe handles people sometimes.
Vetra’s smuggler persona is how she does business, and Thisbe can be disappointed when it makes an appearance in their personal lives. She likes to think they’re close enough that when Vetra’s swagger shows up, she feels she’s being pushed away. She’s disappointed when that persona shows up instead of the Vetra she’s grown close to.
27. What makes you excited about their relationship?
It’s cheating to say “so much” but specifically I’d say the sense of protection and understanding and wanderlust they share. It makes me excited to know Vetra is loved for who she is, and not what she can do. It makes me excited to know that Thisbe will be seen and cared for as a person, instead of just a figurehead. That they both look out for each other’s well being in a world that can and will demand far too much from them. From this foundation they both flourish. Vetra learns to trust, learns to place value in herself. Thisbe learns who she is, unafraid of mistakes costing her this connection.
That they both find in each other a sense of home, a sense of belonging, and personal importance.
going dancing! the music on the radio is always good, and there’s always this point during their date where raul’s feet start to tap and jupiter’s fingers drum the table, and they look at each other and know what the other is thinking. their dances end up all the same though lmao- starting fast, wild abandon-type dances, all movement and feeling, and ending with slow waltzing bc they’re both tired and ambushed by sudden emotions.
9. How open are they with their feelings?
not very? it takes quite some time for them to confess their feelings to each other. jupiter flirts w/ everyone, so raul’s never quite sure when she means what she means and when she doesn’t, and raul sometimes distances himself when jupiter says something and it confuses the hell out of her. even after they get past the whole we-have-mutual-feelings phase, their relationship has a dream-like quality to it. but they have this understanding that they’re both in love w/ each other, and that they’re going to make it work, come hell or high water. i think i went totally off-topic there, but basically they don’t talk about it aloud too much.
10. Do they have pet names for each other?
yes!!! raul calls jupiter ‘lucero’, which basically means ‘bright star’ if the internet has anything to say about it. and jupiter, in turn, calls raul her ‘old world lover’, along w/ a string of other terms of affection.
She leapt and thrust out her sharpened spear the moment she saw the Enclave officer leer forward, and its handle interlocked with the trigger to whip it from his hands. When he saw it fall into the sands, he snarled at her and went to march to grab her, but his superior officer’s arm kept him back.
Nonetheless, he hissed out, “Tribal bitch.” That was a favourite insult of officers and wastelanders alike, Laetitia thought.
She pulled back her spear and must have lived up to the stereotype they invented, cautiously crouching and using it like a lance, dusky skirts sliding against her bare, tattooed legs. Sulik was the one who stood straight with her, sledgehammer waiting in two strong hands. The bone in his nose was lifted when his nostrils flared. Behind her, she swatted at the defenceless mother and daughter, until they got the right idea and ran away into the bushes.
There was a long, awkward pause with both parties at an impasse. The officer retrieved his weapon with a huff. Then the leader of the squadron hummed something muffled by the great pipes of his helmet and they all reluctantly turned around.
“It’s not worth it with their kind,” she thought she heard him say.
After, they decided to rest. Sulik made easy work of iguanas with his hammer and skewered the flattened bodies on the spit until they were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside. He wrapped slabs into packed brown leaves for later.
“We not think you would do that,” he said through a chomp of grub. “Grampy Bone surprised. Will remember that, fren.”
Laetitia thoughtfully poked the fire with a stick and watched the embers dance. “I might not like interacting with people,” she explained, “but I still have a duty to protect them.”
Sulik hummed his approval. She briefly wondered where the pair she’d saved had gone, but at least they were alive. The two of them watched the stars blinking in a comfortable silence.
Blackwall turned his gaze from the ominously dark passage ahead to find Ariel pointing up at a statue smothered in vines. A sliver of moonlight spilled through a crack in the derelict ceiling, shimmering off something cupped in the decaying idol’s hands. The evening had come and gone since they’d stumbled upon this little, lost temple if that’s indeed what it was. The others were probably debating sending out a search party right at that moment-
‘It’s been driving me mad since we got in here. So close, yet so far.’ she reached up futility, the silver light flowing through her slender fingers, illuminating nails chipped and chiselled from her explorations along cliffs sides and into tight corners. She turned to face him, the moonlight illuminating the insatiable curiosity in her eyes that took hold of her whenever in the presence of something new. He sighed.
“As you wish, my lady. But do be careful.”
“When have I not?” she grinned at his grunt of a response.
He slotted his torch in a holder next to the statue and kneeled next to her, hands knitted together in a tight cradle. She carefully placed her foot in it, eyes fixed again on the prize. When she nodded he lifted her up to the statue’s pitted chest. After a couple tense moments, her spare foot found a suitable dent and hand a vine covered shoulder. Her other foot left his hand to rest in a knot of ivy, parallel to his face. He’d seen her scale mountainsides like an August Ram, but still, his freed hands hovered near her. The green glow of her right hand highlighted the artefact as she braced herself, then reached. A screech tore through the dark passage ahead.
Blackwall’s hand went to his sword, where it was glued by a shot of web. In his haste to grab the next nearest weapon, the torch, he knocked Ari’s legs out from under her. Her squeal of surprise mixed with the cry of the gigantic spider that finally came into view. Its many legs skittered to a halt as he thrust the fire towards its hideous face. The light wheeled round the cavern as blocked its every advance, yelling and kicking the creature to keep its attention from The Inquisitor who daggling from the statue’s outstretched arm, all the while trying to free his hand from his side. But the spider had him backed right up against the stone, and the blighter was smarter than it looked. Just as he was contemplating throwing the flame in its face another string of web hit the torch handle and threw it across the room. The creature lunged at him. Blackwall closed his eyes. But nothing came. He opened them to find its fangs mere centimetres from his face, the foul venom dripping from them turn to icicles. He looked up to Ari with one arm firmly wrapped around the statue’s wrist, the other pointed down at the beast, mist still curling round her fingers. He pushed the spider off, its frozen body falling to the floor with a crack. Ari realised her grip and fell right out its exposed belly.
“Fenedhis lasa!” she spat as she stamped on its head repeatedly for good measure.
“My thoughts exactly,” Blackwall chuckled with relief. “Maker’s Balls that was a close one. Are you alright my lady?”
“Am I alright? You were the one who was about to get the head chomped off,” Ari shook her head and muttered some more Elven curses under her breath as she rummaged in her bag. Blackwall brought the torch back and held it over her, illuminating the slightly squashed bunches of elfroot they’d been helping the scouts gather among the trinkets she’d found in their exploration of the ruin. “I’m so sorry ma vhenan. Dragging you off to root around in the dark and for what-”
He interrupted her with a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“For something far more interesting than picking herbs.”
She couldn’t help but smile at this, motioning for him to crouch next to her.
“Such a foolish old man,” she muttered fondly before pulling out a small knife. Blackwall held still keeping an even closer eye on everywhere the torchlight didn’t touch as she saw through the web.
“I’m only sorry you didn’t reach that whatever it is up there,” he said, glancing up at the artefact still in the statue’s grip.
“I admit it is frustrating, but we can come get it at a later time, preferably in daylight and with a few scouts in tow to fill anymore surprise company with arrows. Plus Solas will want to give his opinion on the find I’m sure,” she pondered.
“Where was all this planning five minutes ago?” It always surprised him how quickly she can switch from the impulsive energy of his Ari to the cool reflective logic of the people’s Inquisitor.
“Where was your experience fighting spiders, Warden? There are as many spiders in the Deep Roads as there are dark spawn are there not,” Ari arched an eyebrow at him.
Blackwall felt as cold as the frozen remains of the spider on the floor. He quickly got to his feet. Ari frowned at his sudden shift. How could she be so perceptive yet still not see through his act? She answered his silent question with a tentative yet tender touch of his arm.
“Vhenan?”
“Ah, sorry my lady. Thought I saw something, but just a shadow,” Blackwall awkwardly laughed. “You’re right though. Guess I’m getting all old and slow.”
Her hand moved down to his and gave his a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on, let’s go warm those old bones by the camp fire here before any more of those blighted spiders show up.”
