( garrett ) hawke. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
queasycrow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2015-07-06 11:51 am
queasycrow) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-07-06 11:51 am
Entry tags:
oo1. closed.
CHARACTERS: Garrett Hawke and Fenris
LOCATION: Level 8, room 27.
WARNINGS: Beard.
SUMMARY: Puns about swords.
It's become evident over the past few weeks that obtaining freedom is a lot trickier than Hawke might have otherwise supposed, even when taking into account the expectation that he is capable of doing things where others have previously failed. But the ratio of hero to ordinary person (and the news that he had been here before, one way or another) is also out of balance. He's only recently gotten a proper hang of how the doors work.
The other problem being Fenris' continued avoidance, which will make it difficult for when it's time to make a dashing exit -- the elf is heavier than he looks, and too wily to expect that hoisting him forcibly over a shoulder would be a sustainable solution of any kind.
(Hawke is not deeply this in denial, but there isn't much else to reflect on.)
He arrives at Fenris' door. He does not expect him to respond violently to his mere existence, but Hawke is wearing his armor all the same, comfortable in metal, leather, and fur, and strategically distinct. He had only spared a split second considering whether or not he should leave behind his staff, but he hasn't yet, for anything more involved than a late night bathroom break, and so its visible over his shoulder.
His gauntleted hand holds another weapon, though -- a sturdy greatsword of some significance, resting against his shoulder, his fingers dancing once around the grip before suring it up as he knocks, knuckles to metal.
LOCATION: Level 8, room 27.
WARNINGS: Beard.
SUMMARY: Puns about swords.
It's become evident over the past few weeks that obtaining freedom is a lot trickier than Hawke might have otherwise supposed, even when taking into account the expectation that he is capable of doing things where others have previously failed. But the ratio of hero to ordinary person (and the news that he had been here before, one way or another) is also out of balance. He's only recently gotten a proper hang of how the doors work.
The other problem being Fenris' continued avoidance, which will make it difficult for when it's time to make a dashing exit -- the elf is heavier than he looks, and too wily to expect that hoisting him forcibly over a shoulder would be a sustainable solution of any kind.
(Hawke is not deeply this in denial, but there isn't much else to reflect on.)
He arrives at Fenris' door. He does not expect him to respond violently to his mere existence, but Hawke is wearing his armor all the same, comfortable in metal, leather, and fur, and strategically distinct. He had only spared a split second considering whether or not he should leave behind his staff, but he hasn't yet, for anything more involved than a late night bathroom break, and so its visible over his shoulder.
His gauntleted hand holds another weapon, though -- a sturdy greatsword of some significance, resting against his shoulder, his fingers dancing once around the grip before suring it up as he knocks, knuckles to metal.
no subject
He blinks stupidly across at Fenris.
Then kind of realises after that. There are any number of moments he could have projected across at the man who looks so much like the man he knows better, and practically is, his own idea of it cementing in the same moment Fenris' own notion splinters all the further.
"That's-- a mistake," he says, just in case, a hand going out at a hover. Fenris steps back into the room and sort of by instinct he steps forward. Internally, he quests blindly for whatever is making him leak, although he has no real sense of it himself. "I should explain. I didn't come here to do that, but--"
no subject
It isn't a command or an invitation. Too skeptical for that. How could you possibly with a pinch of you've explained well enough already thank you, all while holding a sword and looking at Hawke like he's.
There is no good simile here. Like he's a mage with whole mountain ranges of muscles who's tried cramming into the much smaller shape of the Hawke Fenris knows and loves, awkwardly and grotesquely, and has now also crammed an awkward and grotesque memory into Fenris' head.
He swings the sword up onto his shoulder with a familiarity that could not be killed by a year of guns or a whole lifetime of never having held this particular weapon. There might be a decent simile somewhere in there, at least. An analogy to the way he's glaring at Hawke. If it weren't familiar—personal—despite the beard and mountainy muscles, he wouldn't look quite so fierce.
"I would rather you didn't."
no subject
What he had come here to do was give him the sword. No puns intended. That much, he's managed.
"True. I suppose it spoke for itself," he says, casual affect not all the way insincere -- what is sincere comes from a place of grim humour. He doesn't look at the weapon that Fenris has handled, studying big elf eyes and the shut down occurring in and around them. It's not a new obstacle -- it just is that. An obstacle. "Have a good night, Fenris."
It feels like strategic retreat. It also feels terrible and he's pretty sure a crack has opened up in the firm muscle that is his heart, but it is also strategic retreat, turning his shoulder to the door and heading away before Fenris can force him, without glance back.
no subject
He doesn't go to the door to watch Hawke goes. He goes to the door to close it behind him, and leaning his head out to check on his progress down the corridor is—whatever.
He scowls.
Now that the man is out of the way, the cat comes out for real and slinks around Fenris' ankles into the corridor, off to find someone else to beg attention from, and Fenris scowls at him, too.