entranceway | Video

[ For a few moments, all that’s visible in the slightly shaky view is an exciting expanse of bland-colored carpet. A light scratching sound is audible in time with the tilting of the image, as though the material that covers the device is moving against something unyielding and metallic. To someone who’s seen this sort of thing before, it’s indicative of someone examining the device.

A moment later, the image blurs and the boring carpet is replaced by large green eyes, shaggy white hair, thick black eyebrows, a scowling mouth, and a chin marred by white lines. ]

Hn. [ It’s a derisive snort, though the word that follows is even more so, heavily laden with disgust. ] Magic.

[ The image spins again, resolving a few dizzying seconds later to a crooked view of a sparsely furnished room. It’s the sort of room that looks to have never yet been lived in, the furniture of the most generic sort. Prowling near the far wall is the owner of that too-close face.

He’s wearing spiky armor, sharply pointed gauntlets, and a conspicuous lack of shoes. Pointed ears poke out of his hair and when he turns to unlimber a large greatsword from his back, more of the white lines are visible on his skin where it shows through gapes in his armor. As is probably apparent, he has no idea that he’s being recorded and continues to examine the room with wary unease.

The video will continue for quite some time, documenting a positively riveting video of an over-armored elf doing nothing but poking around a room, until he’s alerted to the fact that the device is both active and broadcasting his business to others.

Someone, quite clearly, does not know how to use the communication device properly. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Fenris doesn't take the exclamation or the comment personally. He's accustomed to Anders' unique sense of humor and dismisses the romantically-laded turn of phrase as typical nonsense. ]

You murdered hundreds of innocent people, started a war that killed more of your mages than the Circles ever did, and were slain by Hawke for it.

[ If it was anyone else, he might have tried to be marginally more gentle with that delivery. Because it's Anders, he doesn't bother. However, the most vitriol is saved for his utterance of Hawke's name. That he loads with every ounce of anger he possesses. ]

So yes, Anders. The breakup—[ That is pure sarcasm. ]—went poorly.

_{[A thick, buzzing silence fills the space that Anders should be using to counter with some clever retort. Absently, he lowers the device so that camera angle skims the edge of his jaw and the blue sky behind him, a sudden weakness in his muscles he can't explain.

Of course it's a lie. But it's a particularly hard-hitting lie that that takes him by surprise. Repulsion, he's used to. Scathing back-and-forth debates, he's used to. Block, parry, jab... he knows all the steps on how to hold a combative conversation. It's a dance, but he's missed his cue for a comeback. He's stumbling, forgetting his steps. More than that, he can't breathe. His chest has clamped like a vice and he has to remind his lungs to take in a breath of air.]}

So we aren't close is what you're saying.

_{[A thousand thanks to the Maker that his voice holds steady when he speaks, wavering just slightly on the comedic note. He even manages to readjust the camera and smile faintly into it.

He refuses to think about what the elf has said--it's a ringing in his ears he can't think about right now for fear of what his expression will reveal if he does--but his guard is up.]}

[ He thinks that he's landed a blow when the image shifts and no blithe quip is forthcoming. It should be satisfying. It is in a way. But more than triumph or satisfaction, Fenris feels a baffling sense of weariness. It has no place within him now, but before he can analyze it, the absent comeback arrives and he bristles all over again. ]

No. [ It's spoken through clenched teeth. ] We aren't.

[ And perhaps they could have been. Fenris isn't blind to that. They both were so violently opposed to slavery. They both abhorred blood magic. If Anders hadn't been such a champion of mage rights, they might have discovered more common ground than they realized.

The fault of Justice? Anders' weakness? Fenris' blinding rage? Hawke's cruelty and negligence? He doesn't know and that just makes him angrier.

His voice drops to a hiss. ]

After a lifetime as a magister's slave, I find it difficult to get close to an abomination.

_{[That's just fine. As said, there's only one Anders, and he isn't close to anyone. He doesn't expect friends. He doesn't know this elf, and the world Fenris thinks he remembers isn't his. The events described mean nothing to him.

Seen in that respect, there's nothing to be sorry about, is there? Case of mistaken identity. Simple. Done. No reason to care about magisters or being referred to as an abomination while the rest of these hints about Kirkwall and disaster dangle over his head.]}

It's a good thing you won't be finding any in those cabinets, or anywhere else in this place.

_{[Spoken with idle disregard. He won't rise to the bait. This is about someone else, not him.]}

[ It's too flippant. Too unconcerned about all the deaths he's responsible for. Whether he remembers it or not, he ought to at least react. A shred of remorse. Anything to prove he isn't wholly a monster.

But Kirkwall had been rife with monsters. It's no wonder it drew Anders to its filthy, overcrowded streets. ]

I've already found one.

[ It's a snarl, Fenris' lyrium lighting up in response to his ever-increasing fury. And because he's furious, because he wants nothing more than to reach into the image and tear out the bastard's shriveled heart, his fingers clench too tightly around the magical box and crumple it like parchment, rather abruptly terminating the connection. ]

_{[Where does this guy get off snapping and snarling at him through these little magic screens? This is getting to be a bit much even for Anders--somebody needs to take a calming bubble bath before remembering they're not each other's enemies. Anders hadn't whisked him to this world.

His eyebrows come together, a scoff on the tip of his tongue, but then the elf is glowing and his likeness on the screen abruptly cuts to black. The question--what in the name of Andraste's knickers?--and the friendly reminder that he's not the Anders Fenris knows abruptly die with it.

Left uneasy and unsatisfied, he ends up huffing to no one but himself and the birds. Well, be that way!

Searching back to find the network identity the video feed had originated from, Anders fires off a last message.]}

WELL, IT'S NICE TO MEET YOU, TOO

and you know you might want to get that checked out by a physician

[ It's quite a while before Fenris sees this message.

First he has to regret breaking the magic box, which takes a while. Then he has to inadvertently get the closet to provide a new one; namely, by wandering past it grumbling under his breath about wishing he had another one to finish his conversations. When a replacement appears, he has to figure out how to turn it on. And then he has to finish his other conversations.

Eventually, he finds the message. More writing.

A lot of blank staring ensues before he shrugs and turns off the device. If he can ever find it again, he'll ask Carver to read it for him. ]

Video

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject