#wip work

[keroscenecure]

I am supposed to be writing a 5 page paper for Forensic Accounting and instead I'm trying to finish the Rabbot fluff fic I started before the finale...

I need someone to yell at me to do the thing-

[axl-ion]

Sometimes this is what referencing a pose looks like, but to achieve this consistently, you have to have a grasp on fundamentals:

References WARNING - Blood and gun

[complikatedd]

Wip Whenever

Look! A miracle has happened...I finally have something to contribute! Yay 🎉 🎉 The below excerpt is from my new long fic, More Than the Sum of Her Parts. The chapter isn't finished yet, but here's another peek into Zita/Viago's relationship. Poor Noodle thinks he's playing with her and can't possibly just saying what he means. It's rough out here kiddos. Anyway, I'm not officially tagging anyone but if you haven't posted and want to, consider this a gentle tag :)

It was over. She'd done it. Survived (mostly) a meeting with several Talons, including her own who was—despite what Teia said—quite upset with her. Still. Which, she supposed since she was feeling generous in the wake of her success, she couldn’t exactly blame him for. She was upset too, if he even cared about that—which she was certain he didn’t. It didn’t matter. She had seconds to meet Illario upon the roof and go…what?

Rescue a dead man?

To say she was shocked was akin to comparing the Dread Wolf to a mabari pup. She had failed to hide her surprise at the First Talon’s revelation: the fact that her dead grandson was in fact, not dead, and the body they'd all (save Rook and Neve) mourned was in fact a fake altered by blood magic. She hadn’t even known blood magic could do that. Regardless, once she could focus around the ringing in her ears—that apparently happened when one's target was alive, then dead, then alive again though this was, admittedly, the first time such an occurrence had happened to her—Lucanis Dellamorte was not dead or at least hadn’t been up until recently. He was instead imprisoned in a place called the Ossuary, which unsurprisingly, she hadn’t heard of but it seemed Neve had. Good on her past self for bringing the detective along. This prison was at the bottom of Rialto Bay—because of course it was—and if she managed to liberate a still-alive Lucanis, then she would have her mage-killer. Splendid. As if she were simply used to breaking into impenetrable prisons and bringing back dead men on the regular.

The prison, maybe, if she had two months to plan. The practical resurrection of the Dellamorte heir? That would be a miracle. And unfortunately, she was fresh out of miracles. Still, Caterina wasn’t exactly a person one could say no to. And even if she was, there weren’t any other mage-killers on par with the Demon of Vyrantium. If there were, she'd have gone to them rather than have come home a-begging. She needed to confer with Neve before meeting with Illario, she’d be right before about that at least, perhaps she'd have some kind of plan for breaking someone out of prison.

“Neve, do you think—” a hand on her shoulder, just there and then gone, but she knew the weight of it. Viago. She also, unfortunately, knew what it meant. Debriefing. Apparently, her explanation of it being “complicated” in the presence of the First Talon wasn’t enough. She should have known it wouldn’t be. Simply accepting her given answer was too easy. “Ah, excuse me, I'll be right back.” She glared at Viago's back, silently cursing him and dreading being sans buffer. While it would have been untoward for Neve to accompany her, Teia would have been welcome. Still, it wasn’t like she could ask without seeming like a child clinging to its mother's skirts. And she was far from a child.

She followed him, the flock of Crows parting before him like water, to a small salon. She noticed that it was neither one of the private ones that he and Teia favored nor his personal appointments, perhaps not a full debrief then. Whatever it was they were to discuss, he didn’t mind others potentially overhearing—though any Crow brave enough to eavesdrop on Viago DeRiva was one that wasn’t long for this world. Really the only one stupid enough to try was herself.

“Zita,” a long-suffering sigh. Had he ever said her name without that accompanying sigh? Perhaps not this specific flavor—exasperated, as if he'd tried to be patient with her and through some fault likely of her own making, and naturally he'd failed—but there was always some kind of sigh afterwards. She found herself bracing for the impact of the coming lecture, certain that now that they were alone, he'd unload. It must have been killing him holding it in for as long as he had. Perhaps he was even now sporting a new ulcer. He always said it was her antics—not the countless poisons he was constantly microdosing himself with—that gave him indigestion. “are you well?”

The question, quietly asked, nearly knocked her over. What was his aim? Viago was a champion chess player, always three steps ahead of everyone else, and despite his attempts to teach her to think the same way—or to even look at a game of chess as anything but a punishment—she had yet to become as great a tactician as he was. Still, she couldn't have predicted that this would be the question he'd ask. Or that he'd even ask a question at all. Demand she’d explain what she had been up to. Berate her for the slight of writing a letter to another house's Talon rather than to him. Update her on the goings on around Treviso and the carnage her actions had caused. But never once did she think he'd have inquired about her health. Or even thought about her at all. “Am I well?” she parroted his question back to him, not bothering to hide her confusion. It was plain in her words and on her face. She was put so far on the back foot that she couldn’t formulate an answer. Was this his point? To stupefy her into some kind of submission? To berate her more fully because she couldn’t snap back at him?

She wasn’t sure.

[complikatedd]

Wip not-quite-Wednesday

Thanks for tagging me @basedonconjecture. Idk what this is, or where it's going but it is...what i have. It does feature Lucanis, idk if it fits a prompt for next week or not, or if it'll even be finished as I'm not-at-all confident in my Lucanis Barbie's voice. So...we'll just see. It does however take place after Beneath the Skin There's A Human.

“Don't call me that.” She stated coldly, and hint of the warmth that she usually looked at him with gone. SMELLS LIKE. PAIN. AND. ANGER. Spite supplied, as if that were of any help to him at all. What had happened? Her mood had soured so quickly, he genuinely couldn’t remember. He must have said something offensive, but he didn’t know what. He must look a fool, sitting there across from her, slack-jawed like a freshly caught fish, but he was confused. He’d simply called her…Zita. Perhaps it was uncouth of him to call her by her first name unprompted—but he hadn’t meant to. Truly. He’d been referring to her that way in his own mind—or with Spite—since he’d asked after her shortly upon joining her company. It had been a simple thing, a question asked in passing to Teia on his way out of the Diamond after picking up supplies for the team. Their pantry had been abysmal, the girls all simply thriving on what could barely be called food, mostly fried fish (likely Neve's contribution) and some kind of hard biscuit that he’d never run across in his travels (probably from Bellara). There had been nothing that represented his fellow Crow at all. And, he'd noticed, no one used her given name, simply sticking to the moniker she’d given upon meeting her. He’d found it odd, and so he’d asked. He knew tensions were high between her and her head of house, Viago could be terse on the best of days, so he’d bet on Teia—and perhaps it was none of his business, perhaps he should have waited until Rook chose to speak to him about her past (if she ever did) but it had truly seemed like such a small thing. Teia hadn’t mentioned anything to indicate that him addressing her in this way would lead him here. It was just a name after all. Spite vehemently disagreed, pacing between them now, like a caged animal, confused worry coming off him in waves. Never mind that he’d called her that once before.  In the kitchen, that night after the dragon had destroyed Minrathous. Zita—Rook had leaned on him that night. Tears spilling from her eyes, a mix of guilt at her choice and (if he were to hazard a guess)s relief at having survived. He knew he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t press, should just apologize and move on, but he was curious, had been curious about her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. He could count the things he knew about her on his hands, mostly observations that he’d gleaned from spending time with her, decidedly nothing about her past at all. Which, he realized wasn’t that unusual for Crows as a whole, but especially considering whatever had happened between her and Viago, the fallout had the sting of something more than what he’d heard. A liberation of prisoners, an upset of plans, all banishment—for all that might have been true, it wasn’t anymore. “That person is dead, and I would appreciate not being reminded of her anymore.” Her words were flat. Her face set stubbornly. For what he didn’t know about her, one thing he did: that face left no room for argument. He wouldn’t be getting anything out of her. Not like this, and yet…and yet there was something else there. The hurt Spite had mentioned… “That isn’t true. You might feel that way, but if anyone knows about masks, it’s me.” An olive branch, perhaps, a door that was left ajar, a hand in the dark. It was all he'd wanted once, when he was at his lowest, and though there hadn't been much of an answer for him—and he didn’t expect her to change her mind based on what he'd said—he couldn’t help but offer.

[complikatedd]

Short blurb Sunday Someday

I was tagged by @wolfmoonwildflowers ...a while a good. Probably over a week, I'm the worst, but look I did kind of do enough work on my "goal" for the week (to write) to share. I think I'm about ready to cut this chapter off, if for nothing else than to move forward to let everyone's favorite Fifth Talon have a pleasant chat with his protégé. Anyway, more from my little in progress work for my little card sharp Crow Rook, Zita "Noodle" DeRiva. I'm not officially tagging folks bc I'm awful and it has been over a week.

“How many times do I have to tell you Crows always—" She didn’t have time for it. There was a time when disappointing Viago was the pinnacle of terror for her. When she'd have done—when she did do whatever he wanted with no (or few) questions asked. That was before. Before he'd banished her  from her home. Before the world went to shit. Before there was a literal gods (or close enough to it) living in her skull. Never mind the ones just chaotically running amok. She didn’t have time for niceties. And if he wanted to kill her for it, great honestly. If she were dead then she wouldn’t have to worry about the never-ending shit-list of things to do. “Finish the job, yes. I know.” She held up her hand to stop him (or anyone else) from interrupting her again. “It's complicated because instead of stopping Solas’ ritual, two of the Evanuris escaped and bringing a portion of the blight and an eons' worth of vengeance with them.” She didn’t hear the curse that Viago muttered but she knew that he had, knew it as sure as she knew her own name. Still, she couldn’t stop to analyze it. Her window of opportunity to get this out with as little interruption as possible was small and closing quickly. “Evanuris, whether they're actually gods or simply mages is a debate for minds greater than mine—” a huff of suppressed laughter from behind her—Neve? She hadn’t realized that the detective was…for all intents and purposes…boxed out by the Talons. If she were in a better place of mind, she would have perhaps stepped out from under their prospective wings to realign herself with her colleague, but she couldn’t reach that at this time. “the point of the matter is this: we need a mage specialist. We need—” “You need my grandson,” the first Talon, Caterina Dellamorte interjected. Closing the window of opportunity firmly with her weathered hand. Her request had been heard—or rather guessed at—and now came the time of negotiation. Her Talon, even debased as she was, would enter negotiations on her behalf. What it would cost them, what it would cost her specifically, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t in the best place (read: any place) to barter for anything better. They needed Lucanis Dellamorte.  Anyone else wouldn’t do. The fate of the world, not just Antiva or her own house, was at stake. It was why she was here at all. And though these gathered, save Neve, might not know the breadth of what was coming, she did. She'd seen the ritual fail, she had the Dread Wolf in her mind, she'd seen D’Meta’s Crossing. She would pay whatever cost it took to avoid that fate for anyone else, if she could. It was why she was here. Even as things were between them, Viago had to know that. Had to know that her bruised heart—it was more than just her ego—wouldn’t have allowed her to grace his doorway for anything trivial. He turned, voice quiet, but making sure that she could see him—hear him, despite him being on her deaf side, seemingly unbothered by any perceived rudeness at turning his back to Caterina. “Lucanis is dead. He was killed over a year ago.”  Her ears rang. Dead? Fuck. There went all their plans. Neve's plans. This whole circus was for nothing. If he was dead, why didn’t Teia say? Why hadn’t Viago? Everyone knew that Lucanis, not Illario, had been the favored heir to the position of First Talon. It would have been a courtesy to tell her. If not to demand her presence tat the funeral—exile be damned—then at least to avoid situations like this. Situations where she absolutely steps in it.  Were there not ringing in her ears, were they not in front of the First Talon herself, she would have let him have it. But, a traitorous voice inside her whispered, how do you know he didn’t tell you? She’d only scanned his last letter, barely looking at it, let alone reading it. She hadn’t been ready to hear from him. Hadn’t cared what he might have said. The only thing she could currently recall was his salutation, the same one he'd often used when he was cross with her.  ‘Idiot’. The address never seemed more fitting.

[complikatedd]

Short Blurb Sunday:

Yes, I know, it's Monday. Shh. I have been hip deep in DAI (first playthrough~) so I'm a little late. Thanks for tagging me @basedonconjecture . Here's s'more of Noodle's WIP. I also can't be bothered to format it so uh, just here.

It was like he hadn’t read her missive at all. She knew he had, it would be unfathomable to her that Teia would have kept it from him. Or at least would have let him show up here without some kind of information. Still, it could be that Viago just wanted to hear it from her specifically. To dress her down before the First Talon. For what reasons, she couldn’t say. Fine. “It’s complicated,” understatement of the age. But before she'd even begun telling him exactly how ‘complicated’ it was, he'd launched into a lecture. Did he just have these on tap or had he had to practice?

“How many times do I have to tell you Crows always—" She didn’t have time for it. There was a time when disappointing Viago was the pinnacle of terror for her. When she'd have done—when she did do whatever he wanted with no (or few) questions asked. That was before. Before he'd banished her from her home. Before the world went to shit. Before there was a literal gods (or close enough to it) living in her skull. Never mind the ones just chaotically running amok. She didn’t have time for niceties. And if he wanted to kill her for it, great honestly. If she were dead then she wouldn’t have to worry about the never-ending shit-list of things to do.

“Finish the job, yes. I know.” She held up her hand to stop him (or anyone else) from interrupting her again. “It's complicated because instead of stopping Solas’ ritual, two of the Evanuris escaped and bringing a portion of the blight and an eons' worth of vengeance with them.”

[complikatedd]

Last Line(s) Written

I was tagged by @basedonconjecture and given no direction as to what her preferences so uh have this very short thing that I'm working on that I dont know where to put and it...also hurt my feelings.

“So, what—I left you here in the pantry and you…you ran to the Warden's bed?” The emotion on his face was a mixture of several—hurt, disbelief, anger, betrayal, and jealousy to name a few—and he shuffled through them all with the ease of one shuffling cards. Which he would pull and where it would land them only he knew. She tried to read him, tried to get a handle on her own rising emotions—this was not the conversation she’d expected to have after their near-kiss in the pantry. She had to hand it to her fellow Crow, he was always surprising her, usually in more delightful ways than this, but he kept her on her toes. “Is what we had—have so cheap? So carelessly tossed aside? For…for what a tumble with a warden?”

He flinched as if he hadn’t meant to say that—Kesia flinched as well, taking a step back from them despite the close quarters of the pantry—and she saw regret color his features. He didn’t take it back, didn’t look like he knew how to, and she was smart enough to know he didn’t mean it. He was angry. He was surprised by whatever pedestal he'd put her on, by whatever notions he put on their relationship. And rather than respond in kind, she left him a way out. “That’s enough, Lucanis. I understand you’re hurting, that whatever you thought about me, about us, has been shaken, but I won’t be spoken to that way.” Her tone was sharp, perhaps sharper than she'd intended with this olive branch, but his words stung. “Out of respect for what I feel for you, I ask this one thing: is this how you would like to have this conversation? This is your chance to reconsider—and if you are doing so, perhaps consider from which point of view you’re asking. First Talon? Concerned teammate? Or perspective lover? I will answer honestly, regardless, but to what extent depends on who is asking.”

Her words had softened towards the end of her proposal, she didn’t want to have this conversation in anger—truly didn’t think that it was warranted but she meant what she said. She wouldn’t be talked to that way. She’d never once treated what was blooming between them as something cheap. Unconventional, unplanned, ill-advised at times, but never cheap.