[So hey, give mind-reading this: now when they encounter some new fuckery, he's not nearly as thrown as he might otherwise have been. The bar has been set fairly high.
Actually, wait, back up: so they'd been having a fairly decent week, when all's said and done. Fenris has learned to enjoy the yukata, especially once he learned how to manipulate the fabric to suit him, all dark colors accented by hints of blue or silver. The festival itself is enjoyable as well, if not utterly foreign to him. They go out more than once, weaving their way through booths once the sun sets, examining trinkets by the light of the lanterns and talking about nothing in particular as they do.
They're on their way home when Vulpus opens his portal. And sooner or later, they go through.
He doesn't know what to expect, frankly, or what he even wants when he gets it. To back to Kirkwall? To see Lorenz's world? Or perhaps some third option, someone else's world, so he doesn't have to think about heartache or homesickness.
But it's Kirkwall's streets they land on. He knows them in an instant: the cracked cobblestone beneath his feet; the bizarre architecture, shantytowns sprung up in every free space available, with only the slimmest passages left for travel; the occasional sea breeze and the glittering sight of Hightown just above them.
Lowtown. Despite himself, despite everything, something in him relaxes.]
no subject
Actually, wait, back up: so they'd been having a fairly decent week, when all's said and done. Fenris has learned to enjoy the yukata, especially once he learned how to manipulate the fabric to suit him, all dark colors accented by hints of blue or silver. The festival itself is enjoyable as well, if not utterly foreign to him. They go out more than once, weaving their way through booths once the sun sets, examining trinkets by the light of the lanterns and talking about nothing in particular as they do.
They're on their way home when Vulpus opens his portal. And sooner or later, they go through.
He doesn't know what to expect, frankly, or what he even wants when he gets it. To back to Kirkwall? To see Lorenz's world? Or perhaps some third option, someone else's world, so he doesn't have to think about heartache or homesickness.
But it's Kirkwall's streets they land on. He knows them in an instant: the cracked cobblestone beneath his feet; the bizarre architecture, shantytowns sprung up in every free space available, with only the slimmest passages left for travel; the occasional sea breeze and the glittering sight of Hightown just above them.
Lowtown. Despite himself, despite everything, something in him relaxes.]
We're in Kirkwall.
[Oh, he's missed this.]