therookery | CRYSTALS

Entry tags:

CRYSTALS | Open

FORM: crystal
SENDER: ya boy
RECIPIENT: all of you
WHAT: is your sending crystal running you better go catch it
WHEN: vaguely Post-Island
WHERE: kirkwall
NOTES: i'm cool with transitioning this into a mini-log if anyone actually wants to go look!

A sending crystal is missing from the storerooms.

[ the inflection's shallow, and oddly-placed — as though someone speaking across a great, flat distance. ]

The assignment records were last updated three days ago; they don't account for its absence. I've completed a search of the Gallows towers, excluding restricted and residential areas.

[ not for lack of trying. no one spoke of privacy before the rebellion. ]

I’d ask your escort through these, or barring this, that you keep an eye open within any shared living quarters and workspaces. If you've information to contribute, please inform Casimir Lyov, in Research.

I am, [ a pause. ] distinctive.

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[There's a pause before Anders replies.]

Going by the sound of his voice, this is not actually a time for jokes.

I do not understand.

Have you seen the branded people? The ones burned who walk around with empty eyes and empty voices? They were mages, once, and deemed too stubborn, or willful, or fearful, or anything but perfectly biddable, and they were cut off. Cut off from magic, from feeling, from joy, from everything that made them who they were.

And it's not hyperbole or exaggeration. They had everything taken from them, and now they're used as labor about the place.

The librarians in Skyhold. Yes, I have seen them.

[ he turns over the information, silent in gwenaelle's library. ]

Do you know him?

No. But I have lost some to the process, and they have suffered enough. What ones I am able I will protect.

[...........he wasn't sure he'd be saying this to Anders about anything else, but:]

Thank you, serah.

[...This is twice in one evening they've agreed on something. The world might be ending.]

Of course.

[He isn't sure exactly why he's doing this or what he means to say so there's a long stretch of silence with ambient noise--bees, small rustlings of herbs--on the line--]

I expect I don't have to ask but be kind to him.

He's Tranquil.

[For the thanks earlier, Anders chooses not to take offense at what implications he thinks could rest in Myrobalan's words.]

There is no mage who has not lost someone to that cruelty. I'm not about to make his life worse.

[He does not say, we nearly didn't in Hasmal.

He doesn't want to have made himself this vulnerable; he doesn't want to expose more of himself now that he has.]

There are some mages who persist in believing the lie that Tranquil aren't people any longer.

I know you wouldn't. [That at least he can grant Anders.] But I had to--say something. [Olive branch, or--because Casimir is his loss and he somehow feels responsible, still.]

[The quiet stretches for a few moments, filled with the sound of Anders breathing as he considers his words in order to protect himself as much as he can.]

They are people. People who have had all of the joy and color in life stripped away from them, as one said during the few seconds when he was he was himself again, but still people. They are there, even if they cannot reach themselves any longer.

I will not let harm come to your friend.

[Silence from Myr's end in turn, as he presses his fist to his mouth and swallows a noise that isn't a sob, damn it.]

Thank you.

[...And then, because he heard it and can't not ask even if he wants at the same time to believe it with all his heart and disbelieve--]

They can become themselves again?

[They're in territory that's so risky now, so personal, and Anders' hands are tight fists, nails digging in, as he works to keep at least a little bit of the pain out of his voice. He doesn't succeed completely.]

There are rumors of a cure. But what I saw with the mage I... the mage I knew, was due to Justice and was short. The spirit that used to be inside me came to the forefront, and he, the mage, was himself again for... not long enough. Three minutes. Four, maybe. Then he was lost again.

[There are rumors of a cure.

He drops the crystal from nerveless fingers; there's a sound as it hits the end of its tether and thumps against cloth-covered flesh.

More silence, dragging out until Myr regains enough of his composure to fumblingly take up the crystal again.]

Maker's blood. I--I... [No, he has no real idea what to say here.] --I'm sorry.

[For a few moments he's worried. There's a thunk from a blind mage; it could mean anything. Except what if assuming Myrobalan is hurt is insulting because he's blind? They're actually having a conversation.

Thankfully, Myrobalan speaks again and Anders doesn't have to worry about that anymore for now. Now he just gets to be at a loss for what to say back, because what do you say? The Chantry blew up in part for him? It was a long time ago? He begged me to kill him?]

I am as well. He deserved so much better. But life does not deal in what is deserved or undeserved.

[He takes a breath to regather himself.]

I will be kind to Casimir, Myrobalan.

[They're actually having a conversation. It's a hell of a thing.]

No; that's why we're called to. That's what-- [--that's what justice is, isn't it? Dealing in what's deserved.

But it's not safe to talk of justice, here. Not wise.

He swallows against the tightness in his throat; notes the use of his name, the way it's set off against his friend's.]

Good. He deserves only kindness. He's always deserved only kindness.

Thank you, [a third time, and a small hesitation,] Anders.

As did Karl.

[It's a precious thing, that name, and it's clear in the way he speaks it.]

Until next time we speak.

[Because now it's time to go meet with a Tranquil man, and it would be nice to end the conversation on a peaceful note.]

Until next time.

[He'll take the gift in the spirit it's offered and let it lie quietly there.

Anders understands, at least. And Casimir will have someone else in the Inquisition to look after him.

Thank the Maker for small blessings.]

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