hotproblems | 🌹🌹🌹

[He absolutely is glancing at the wall right now.]

I came upon her in a park.

[Fenris. Lorenz pauses again, but this time just sighs instead of giving him pointed looks. Did any stitching actually got done here, now that he can see under the mess...]

Well, as we cannot turn back time and have you not get stabbed: next time. I only ask for more foresight...

[There's a needle threaded, but no, no stitching yet, cleanup was still underway when he'd texted Lorenz.]

It's . . . difficult to think during Sanguis. Especially when someone seems a challenge.

[Which is not a disagreement, just a vague explanation. He shifts a little when Lorenz's fingers leave him, tucking his legs beneath him.]

I suppose I learned my lesson regardless: she turned out to be a mage.

[He hums, standing to wash his hands and glance at the needle. He doesn't need the explanation, not really, but that there is one is better than the alternative.]

Did she stab you with magic?

[Actual question. This would be much easier if one of them happened to have a healing spell or two, but instead it's amateur first aid stitching hour, so:]

Do you want to do it, or shall I take care of it?

Your hand is steadier.

[Please and thank you. He lifts his arm, shifting a little closer.]

But no. She offered to heal me.

[It was, honestly, a kind action, but still he'd refused it. Of course he had. He's allowed magical healing before, but that was different. That was someone he'd known for years, and had (in his heart, if not in word) trusted not to screw him over.]

I refused her.

[Aha. Well it's back down to the floor first, needle in hand now, brow furrowed at the wound.]

Hold still, then.

[He has not actually stitched too many wounds closed in his life, but they were all taught how to keep each other alive post-battle in the event that their resident magic users were unavailable for whatever reason. Or refused, in this case... He glances up again to show he's listening, then looks down for sewing circle time.]

She owed you the courtesy of offering, at the very least. [for stabbing!] That aside, if you had been hurt much worse than this...

Edited (do not look at my late typo correction) 2020-07-15 04:24 (UTC)

I would still refuse. She is an unknown mage; it would be too easy for her to-- mm-- to do more harm than good. All it takes is a moment's carelessness and trust.

[That momentary break in his sentence is the only indication he feels Lorenz beginning.]

[Hmm, not the answer he wanted when it comes to immediately not bleeding anymore, but self-preservation takes all kinds, he supposes.]

Then you could contact me prior to tracking blood all over the apartment if you're hurt again.

[It's a request more than anything else; maybe try a strategy besides the rambling speech-to-text thing next time, please? Thanks.]

Alright?

[He finally glances back at Lorenz, studying the curve of his cheek and the flutter of his eyelashes as he focuses on stitching Fenris up.

He'd been afraid tonight, the instant he'd learned that woman was a mage. Terror, old and long since ingrained with him, had struck through him like lightning, and it was only because he'd had somewhat of a grip on himself that he hadn't just attacked her outright. The wound he'd received was pushed to the back of his mind, and only now does he realize how it must have felt for Lorenz, to have gotten a text like that.]

I promise.

[He means it, his voice low. His fingers absently brush against a strand of Lorenz's hair, sweeping it back away from his face.]

Did they train you for this, in your school, or was this a talent you picked up on your own?

[That's right, get blood in his hair... No, he appreciates the gesture as well as the promise, leaning briefly into Fenris' touch with quiet satisfaction before concentrating on the stitches once more. They are not the best stitches, mostly orderly because of who Lorenz is as a person rather than too much practice, so apologies if he tugs too hard or anything at some point. He probably will.

That said,] We were taught... briefly. Most of our practical education revolved around combat training. I have always liked to be prepared in the event of an injury that requires urgent handling, myself.

[Some people just carried medicinal ointments around at school, it's normal... he has good foresight. Sometimes healers with magic just aren't around!]

These stitches are hardly elegant, but they'll hold. Hold still just a moment longer.

They're more elegant than what I would accomplish, I assure you.

[Because while he could stitch himself up, that hardly makes him an expert. Far from it.]

And how often did such events occur? You have spoken infrequently of your time in your war.

[And that is a part of Lorenz too, one that he would know better.]

Far more than I happened to be witness to, I imagine. Even I had my fair share of close calls over the years, when the fighting spilled into Gloucester territory. And of course, when we returned to the front in earnest...

[Well, he's been stabbed enough himself, brow furrowing in empathy as he tugs the last couple stitches closed and looks up again. Hmm. Well, he's already made his point, so--]

If you'd like to hear war stories, you'll have to wash up first. And agree to lie down and rest. Those are my terms.

[And give him time to mop up bloody footprints, but who's counting.]

[He does, in fact, want to hear war stories, because it's a side of Lorenz he barely knows, but also, what a clause. He wrinkles his nose for a few moments, petulant, before nodding.]

I-- all right.

[He won't argue with the need for rest, but he also will at least help mop up those bloodstained footprints. And does, though truthfully, a lot of it is just carrying around the mop bucket and emptying it when it gets too, hm, bloody.

And then he goes to wash up, dipping into the shower before crawling gingerly into bed. He pulls Lorenz close the moment he climbs into bed with him, his shirt off and his bloody leather trousers switched to sweatpants. Hello, darling.]

[Not arguing is a point in his favor and his reward is that Lorenz doesn't lecture him about personal safety while they clean up blood. He scoops up the still upset Nugget to take him away for real food while Fenris gets into the shower, too, and pointedly does not bring the dog to bed. The pets will entertain each other, elsewhere...

So, then: hello, dear, and he ducks close to press a kiss to Fenris' hair as he settles in next to him. The other reward is he's here now instead of spending another twenty minutes making tea and bothering Fenris to drink it, you're welcome.]

How are you feeling? Tell me honestly.

It hurts. But it would hurt no matter what anyone did. And I barely notice it.

[It is the truth. Give his tattoos this: the way they constantly ache means that he barely notices other pain sometimes, up to and including stitches. He registers it, yes, but there are far worse things.

He buries himself in Lorenz a little, pressing his face against his neck, nosing lightly against his skin.]

Truly. My pain tolerance is . . . different than others, I think.

[Mm, yes, he remembers that particular sensation from the other week. Pain is still pain, Lorenz thinks, but if there's nothing to be done for it except to be here, then he can do that much. He's still mindful of the stitches as he slides his arm around Fenris.]

I suppose. Even so, if you need anything, you need only say the word.

[Do not be petulant about it, let him fuss. Really he would like Fenris to take a nap or something after his serious injury, but that is a far off dream...]

Now then, you wanted to hear war stories? I have years to choose from, so— ask away.

[It's pleasant to be cared for, he'd realized last week, but old habits die hard. Still: there's a certain joy to be found in the way Lorenz offers that, unthinking but honest. He hums in response, a silent I shall that he underscores with a swift kiss to the hollow of his throat.

But ah, what a question.]

I suppose my initial one would be: tell me what your conflict was over, and why you fought.

[Oh, so he wants a history lesson, huh... Lorenz is quiet for a moment, just to think of where to start.]

The Alliance's neighboring countries, the Adrestian Empire and the Kingdom of Faerghus, started a conflict of their own while we were at school. The Kingdom had once annexed the Alliance, and my family's territory borders the Empire... I fought for the continued safety and independence of the Alliance.

[He honestly couldn't say what the rest of the war was even about. Dragons? Cults? Ancient beings somehow brought back to life? The last year of the war got more muddled than it was worth.]

As for the war's origin, it was an effort to dissolve the reliance on Crests— an inheritance of noble lineage. They provide unique advantages, occasionally, but many nobles value them too highly.

[Standard rich people stuff, unfortunately.]

The Crest system has been abused by those with ill intentions, to be sure, but the malice comes from nobles with an unbridled lust for power. The Crests themselves simply are. Still, I can't say the conflict wasn't inevitable.

[A noble's war, then, and it's not inherently unfamiliar, not to him. He spent ten years of his life (and more) watching nobles play politics, never mind all of Hawke's misadventures within Kirkwall's circles.]

It typically is.

[He pulls back: not far, but just so he can see Lorenz's face, studying him in the semi-dim light. The sun has long since set, but the moons light combined with the lights from the city illuminate them both. Lorenz looks different in the neon lights than he does during the day, pale skin seeming to glow.]

So you went to war to protect others. To keep you and yours independent, and thus theoretically free.

[He hesitates, then reaches for him, fingers brushing through his hair in a rhythmic pattern.]

There must have been fights you remember in particular. Incidents or whatnot.

[There are multitudes of battles, but surely there must have been a Significant Few.]

Theoretically, yes.

[Wry, but there's a point there, as the nobility does still exist, and Lorenz knows firsthand how selfish and power-hungry most of them are. The Alliance has its own mess of problems to still be resolved, in whatever will become of the continent after the war...

But yes, theoretically. Politics are a mess as always but they're a mess he can handle, glancing away from Fenris' face to frown over his shoulder as he thinks back to incidents.]

Hmm... there was the memorable battle in which I nearly lost the use of my hand. I was careless. Here.

[He holds it up, and the thin scar between thumb and forefinger is barely visible unless one knows to look, as Lorenz has never shied away from magical healing, but it's there. Specifically there for Fenris to look at while Lorenz considers other moments; the unbelievable, over-the-top end to the war surely makes a better story than the things he remembers with startling clarity, but it's for that reason that he says instead,]

Besides that, I had friends in the Empire. [Which he'd sort of mentioned way back when, but the people running around Lunatia aren't people he liked so that's different--] I remember our brief reunions more vividly than I'd prefer.

[It's strange, not being able to automatically sense Lorenz's thoughts and feelings. HE doesn't miss the connection, precisely, but it did make moments like this easier, when all he had to do to understand was reach out.

His fingers are careful as he takes Lorenz's hand, brushing against that scar. He doesn't release his hand as Lorenz continues, instead choosing to run his thumb gently against his palm again and again.]

Were you forced to fight against them?

[Like, presumably, but there's also a difference between being on opposite sides in a conflict and actually fighting, toe-to-toe.]

[It's a simple enough action that makes Lorenz smile, albeit brief and small, appreciative of the affection and care. It isn't as if he suffers over the war day in and day out- perhaps if some of those old friends were to actually turn up here, but he's been spared that conversation- but it's hardly a walk in the park to do it now.]

Personally? No. But a familiar voice carries much easier through a crowd, does it not, particularly when... you know.

[He shifts his hand then to curl his fingers loosely around Fenris', and sighs.]

The Empire's leader is here, in this city. She and I were not close in school. Some might argue that the full responsibility for the war falls on her, but here in this world, she is... still a young girl. Quite the headache!

[Timelines, right. Fuck 'em.]

[He hums softly. Headache indeed; he can't imagine . . . what would he do if it was Anders? A younger Anders, like Isabela, not yet guilty of the crimes he'd commit. What could Fenris do? Perhaps killing him would be the responsible thing to do, but at the same time, could he?

It's a problem without a solution, and he frowns faintly.]

How many years until she does whatever it is that begins the war?

A number of weeks, as far as I'm aware. She's heard enough about her own future to be tired of hearing about it, which I can't say I don't understand.

[These Kingdom people are so whiny, it's the worst. He sympathizes with that much.]

Personally, I have about as little interest in giving any of them a second chance as I do in turning back time to stop what has already transpired. What's done is done. Going out of my way to begrudge her for whatever she does here would be... exhausting.

[He shrugs; perhaps completely avoiding the issue of facing prior classmates-slash-enemies is leaving it unresolved, but he's heard just enough "precious second chances" from his own ally to have it already soured. He would rather... take care of his dog, or literally anything else. And yet.]

Is that callous of me?

Mm. Perhaps. Certainly there are some who would say so.

[But there's nothing inherently wrong with callousness. He traces his fingers lightly against Lorenz's palm, studying the scar there, before glancing up at him.]

But not, I think, cruel. Nor selfish. There's no guarantee that any action you take in this world will carry to the next, and so to spend your time and effort on something that may ultimately not make a difference would be . . . foolish, at the very least. Exhausting, as you said. And ultimately a poor way to spend your time.

[Lightly, he tugs their joined hands together, brushing a kiss against the back of Lorenz's.]

Isabela is here, as I have said. And she is from years earlier. Perhaps I would do well to warn her in detail of what is to come. I could give her all the things she needs to change the future, but to what end? Perhaps she will succeed, and perhaps not. Perhaps by meddling, I would lead Kirkwall to greater ruin, because there are thousands of factors I cannot control, nor wish to.

I think you intelligent, Lorenz. And not callous, but practical-- and there is a difference. A boon, when blind optimism would have you constantly at this woman's doorstep, throwing hours of your days away for nothing.

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