Okay, just weird little fanfic idea that popped into my head, like, the dumbest thing:
Entrapta is working on Horde-tech. Entrapta is letting her hair grab tools. Some of it is just stray, doing its own thing. Catra, who’s been “supervising” suddenly gets cat-instincts and starts playing with the writhing tails of hair. Entrapta finds herself fascinated! It seems like humanoid-cat-people share many of the same instincts as, well, kitties. She turns aside from her welding for a moment to study these feline instincts. Of course, when she starts speaking into her recorder about animal-natures and predator and prey and especially how it reminds her of her interactions with a pet Entrapta had had when she was little, Catra just stops, gets serious, says “THAT’S NOT WHAT’S GOING ON!” and orders Entrapta to get back to work.
Aaaaand... catches Catra looking longingly and unable to keep herself from batting at a stray hair-tail again.
She finds out later that Imp and Hordak have similar instincts.
For marthas-adventures-in-the-fade, with sincerest apologies for the lateness of it, have an extra large serving of Sketch (feat Leliana).
For once in his life, everything was going exactly the way Sketch wanted it too.
Returning to Orlais had been been a gamble, but after being effectively blacklisted in about every other country in Thedas thanks to a certain red-headed bard, returning to somewhere with contacts that could set him up somewhere had been the least perilous option to his health. Thankfully notoriety had some benefits, such as making people absolutely petrified of you turning then mundane objects to decorate one's house with. But it ensured Sketch had a nice, quiet and uneventful existence.
For a time.
Unfortunately that also made him easy to find, at least for those who knew where to look and were more potentially scary than him. Not the most pleasant of combinations to deal with for certain, but while it had been a friendly face and not a contingent of Chevaliers at his door step, the latter would have been much more simple to deal with.
And so, here was Sketch, politely serving tea to his on off travelling companion of the last decade, and few close friends, who visit precluded, without fail, something calamitous to drag the elven mage's life back into uncertain chaos once more. But this time was going to be different, this time he was finally put his foot down and telling them:
“No!” Leliana blinked in surprise from her spot in the sunken leather armchair.
“No what? You've been lost in thought for while now Sketch, is something the matter?” Another bad habit of spending too much time in ones company. The elf pinched the bridge of his nose and willed blood not to colour his cheeks, though judging by the twitch of her lips hiding an imminent smile, he hadn't been too successful.
“What I mean is, I won't let you talk me around,” Sketch took a seat opposite her on the wooden chair that usually went with his table for one.
“Why would I try to talk you into anything? We are just two friends, catching up over tea no?” Leliana sipped her drink, wrinkling her nose at the taste, before downing the rest with ease of grace Sketch remembered seeing amongst nobles.
“The last time you said that I had to contend with 5 different angry factions chasing me from one end of Kirkwall to the other,” he replied dryly folding his arms, “Besides, you're usually too busy getting knee deep in everyone else's problems to bother with social calls unless you want something.”
Leliana had the decency to look apologetic for moment before her face smoothed over. Down to business then, “You are correct that my work doesn't allow much time to spare for myself. Though if it helps me achieve what is set out before me, I would gladly sacrifice it a hundred times over.”
“You have changed,” said the elf reaching for his own cup to take a sip. Cold. Just how long had he spent in his own thoughts? “I thought you were done working as a bard.”
“I am. Though what I do now requires a similar touch,” the red-head paused considering her next words carefully, while Sketch continued to drink his cold tea “I'm operating as the Left Hand of Divine Justinia the fifth.” the elf nearly choked on the bitter liquid before glaring at the former bard who looked as harmless as an anemic kitten in that moment.
“You did that on purpose.” Sketch grumbled while his mind attempted to reel itself in from the shock. Just how exactly did Leliana get into these things?
“But it is good to share the truth among friends, no?” Her eyes betrayed her amusement at the mage's disgruntlement as poured more tea for herself, the mood took a more serious turn with her next statement, “Sadly, a trustworthy friend to turn to is few and far in between in our current circumstances.”
“You mean the Templars splitting off from the Chantry and cutting down anyone carrying anything resembling a staff.” One more reason for Sketch to stay indoors and out of the public eye.
“Yes, there is that.” Leliana replied slowly as she stared into the rippling liquid, her mind seemingly drifting somewhere else before stopping herself, “And of course the civil war rounding up anyone who looks like they can wield a sword among the peasantry,” the red-head shift her gaze, locking eyes with Sketch. “Mages are especially valued, especially healers. I don't think it would matter much to the Empress or the Duke where they came from at this point.”
Sketch sighed, placing his empty teacup back on the rickety pine table “What do you want Leliana?”
“What do I want?” She echoed blankly, “What I want is simple Sketch, and for that reason I work to stop Orlais from tearing itself apart.”
“Funny, it already seems to have done a pretty good job doing that itself,” Sketch winced as soon as the statement left his mouth. Leliana stilled but still didn't react much beyond that. The mage kicked himself inwardly, wondering just how much of a part Leliana hand played considering her announced occupation. “Sorry. That sounded less-” the red head cut him off.
“Then let me ask you in turn, Sketch,” she was smiling but it didn't reach her eyes. Upset, but not quite angry then. “What do you want? Are you happy living here?” she gestured to the ramshackle home around her, with it's miss-matching décor, it's roof that leaked whenever rainclouds so much breathed on it, it's thin walls that betrayed the sounds of the couple living next door when they got too raunchy.
Despite all of it's flaws, it was the first place Sketch had remotely considered a home in years. He was tired of the constant running from the world around him, if there could be somewhere, anywhere he could settle for just a while, he intended to hold onto it for as long as logically possible.
“Maybe happy is the wrong word. But content? I suppose I am. In truth I've gotten quite attached to my little abode for all it's failings.” Leliana looked surprised by his answer, but that wasn't unexpected. While she understood what it was like to be hunted after Marjolaine had betrayed her, that had been Sketch's entire life. Everyday was spent wondering whether or not someone would betray him to the Templars and what they would do once they found him. Life on the streets was preferable to life in the Circle, even as an elf. Sketch had always managed to find work healing immigrants into the city, or working with the smugglers. For the most of his younger life the mage had spent a week away from completely broke until he'd met Tug and they'd joined up with Marjolaine and Leliana in their dance with The Game.
But that felt like a lifetime ago. After Marjolaine's betrayal, Leliana choosing to cloister herself in the Lothering Chantry, and Tug... it still hurt to think about it in spite of all the years past. There had been no place for a male elf, let alone a mage in Chantry, so he had simply drifted from one place to the next, never lingering, trying to keep his head down as no to give the Templar's or anyone else to attempt to relieve his shoulders of it.
The mage had been grateful when Leliana made contact with him all a couple of years later, funneling steady stream of contacts he'd never had much talent of maintaining. But when the work had him making more enemies than friends in the long term, he'd quietly resigned from further jobs, having a fair sum left over, even after he'd made his journey to Orlais and established himself a home he could take sanctuary in. The fact he'd done it all on his own bore some pride too, so he wasn't just about to drop it all in a moment just because Leliana asked him nicely.
“Perhaps that was the wrong question, maybe...” Leliana mused aloud interrupting Sketch's thoughts, “What is it that keeps you attached to this... place, what do you do here that makes it so worth holding onto?” Sketch opened his mouth to reply, but the question made him pause.
Yes, his home gave him a sense of security that he hadn't felt in a long time, but as to his daily routine, well... it was rather boring to be truthful. He had enough money to sit on that he needn't worry about taking on any jobs. Despite his love of books, the mage had been self taught to interpret the chicken scratches of scribbles on the page. One could only stare at them for so long attempting to decipher them in, more than often, re-doubled frustration. Friends, or acquaintances rather, were few and far in between. They either knew of his reputation and avoided him, or regarded him as an outsider based on his accent. This of course extended to women as well, any chances of having a family had been out of his reach the moment they realised any magic tricks he attempted to woo them with were less tricks and more him trying to let his mind lodge the bronze piece half-way into the table.
And given how easily Leliana had come across him, how long would it take for his contacts to decide they were better off selling him to the highest bidder, be it for the civil war or the score of enemies breathing down his neck.
Sketch sagged in his seat when his thoughts seem to lead him in one clear direction. Leliana seemed to read the direction of the thoughts that likely had played across his face, smiling in anticipation of his reply. Sketch sighed once more before finally giving his answer.
“The furniture more or less. I may not look it but I've actually gotten quite overly attached to a lot of the objects here. I can't see myself moving them easily, and leaving them alone leaves then vulnerable to be commandeered.” Leliana nodded slowly, taking his answer into consideration in such a way that made Sketch immediately suspicious.
“Ah... the furniture, anything else keeping you here?”
“I suppose there are debts I need to pay, tabs and such.”
“No outstanding jobs?” Sketch cringed inwardly at question as he shook his head. He'd considered using his healing magic to help the those residentially, though attempting such in the past had led to more trouble than it'd been worth. He didn't particularly like being as idle as he was, but it was better than your head on on a chopping board. Leliana nodded emphatically, getting up from the sunken chair with a grace Sketch hadn't thought possible for the way the chair seem into to devour all those whom sat within it.
“I see, I am very sorry to hear that.” her face was neutral, but Sketch had known her long enough to know she was planning something, “Thank you for the tea, it was good to catch up with you again Sketch.” a genuine smile graced her features as she made her way towards the door, “Adieu, have a good evening.”
“You... too.” Sketch barely got the words out before she disappeared into the night, mulling on her far too flighty exit. Was it too much to hope that she'd leave him alone after their conversation. A fool's hope maybe, Leliana wasn't going to let this go and Sketch knew it.
---*---
The following evening saw Sketch hurriedly make his way home from his local tavern. Fallen leaves from the Vhenadahl prance along the worn pathways in a victory dance, unaware that the price of their freedom was death. The warm autumn breeze caressed them, moves them along in front Sketch boots as he crushed them under heel, taking little heed of the sounds in his rush.
The reason for his haste began when the mage had found his tab had been generously erased, with a little extra to spare. When questioned as to who, the tavern owner had refused to remark beyond it being an unmasked woman whom had wished to remain anonymous. When loud speculation had begun whether it was an admirer of the elf's or not, Sketch had departed from the bar, the tips of his ears redder than he would have liked.
Upon arriving at home and finding the door on his lock picked, Sketch cautiously opened the door to find his house all but devoid of furniture in the front room. Flabbergasted, he made his way in, he checked the adjoining room to find them too empty. How in the Maker's name had they emptied his home when they be hard pressed to fit most of the objects through a doorway? When the mage finally looked in his bedroom, he found his old travelling pack sat in the middle of it with a roll of parchment sealed with the what looked like the sun of the chantry with an eye top it, along with mask sitting atop of it.
Carefully, he unfolded the parchment, good quality he noted, opening the pack with his second hand to check it contents as he began to read letter.
Leliana, with her rather liberal interpretation of his their conversation from last night, had concluded that the location of his home of his didn't matter so long at the objects within remained and had moved them to location close to Grand Cathedral, if memory served. She had also paid off all remaining debts and seen to the acquisition of clothing appropriate for the upper echelons of Orlais society. Desperate times called for desperate measures it seemed, as if she could find a figure whose notoriety precluded him with ease, what was to stop other from doing so?
Sketch grimaced as once again he found choices being taken out of his hands. On the one hand, better accommodation was welcome thought, though being a lone mage near the Chantry's stomping ground was a recipe for disaster... if the note hadn't included he'd be in direct service to the Divine herself. The elf nearly blanched as he read the instructions over again, the seal of the Divine, at the bottom of the note sealing, for better lack of the word, his fate in wax.
Whatever Leliana had gotten herself into, she was intent on dragging him into it. Though if she was turning to old contacts like himself, just how far was Orlais from falling in on itself? The thought alone made him want to skip the country and yet, Leliana's words the prior day made it clear that she would either restore Orlais to a workable state, or die trying. And the dying part Sketch really would prefer to avoid, he was already short on friends, and if losing Leliana would be anything like losing Tug... well he do what he could.
Though he'd still hold her liberal interpretation of his attachments over her for a while, it was only fair given the next thing she dragged him into, Sketch wouldn't be surprised if the sky exploded above him.
The irony of that thought occurred to him, when several months down the track, when that exact event occurred.
Person A is a professional hitman who, despite his soft and happy nature, has ruthlessly killed every person he was ordered to. He was currently sitting in his customer's home, tapping his fingers on the desk as the customer explained the details of who he wanted done for. Person A was taken aback when he realized something as the customer slid a photo his way. He was best friends with the victim.
_______ sat at her/his desk. She/he had been having artists block and if it happened for much longer, she/he wouldn't be able to pay her/his bills. ______ lived in Victorian ____. He/she was a poor artist and she/he normally only did sketches then threw them away because they weren't good enough. She/he slowly set the pencil to paper drawing a male/female. Once she/he had finished, she/he fell asleep, only to find that her/his drawing had come to life as a real person the next morning!
