mayfield_rpg | ◇ x; she's baaaack

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◇ x; she's baaaack

[ACTION A; 1761 Beaver Street; morning]

[Hawke did not escape the carnival very easily - if you can even call falling out of the sky and breaking your neck three days in "escaping." And even though she didn't suffer through five entire days of alternate Mayfield, when she wakes up in the morning, she's as tired, thirsty, and hungry as she was before she died.

So, the first thing she does - after being enthusiastically greeted by her mabari, that is - is wander downstairs, shoo the drones away, and put on a pot of coffee. It doesn't help fight off the sleepiness, though, so she shuffles upstairs, climbs back into bed, closes her eyes...

And screams.]

[PHONE; open]

Well, that was... fun. [Yaaaaaaaawn. Boy she sure sounds tired.] I think I lost a few days after I went to visit the neighbors, however. Anyone mind telling me what happened after - what was it, our third day there? I certainly hope I didn't miss anything interesting.

Nice of them to leave me a welcome back gift, too. Finally, something interesting to re-- [Hawke cuts herself off after taking a book off the shelf and inspecting the cover.] Hard in Hightown, really? It won't put me to sleep, at least.

[As she goes to hang up the phone, you might hear her mutter to herself:] Maker, I need a drink.

[ACTION B; Olney's Tavern; evening]

[After trying nearly all day to get some sleep and failing miserably, Hawke decides to get her mind off her post-revival the best way she knows how: drinking.

She swings by the tavern in the evening, ignores any drones that may be present, and takes a seat. It's no Hanged Man, but she can't be sure if that's a good or bad thing. The smell of piss seems to be absent, at least, which is always a good sign.

Her dog is sitting on the floor beside her stool, because, well, he follows her everywhere. Cupcake seems to be behaving himself, though.]

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I don't know what I thought... Only that I couldn't bear the thought of being here without you.

[Anders that is so sappy you should be ashamed.]

[Oh, that's... really sappy. Wow, Anders. :|a

Hawke tugs him closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, and laughs.]

Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm here now, aren't I? And I'm not going anywhere for a good, long while. [pause] Unless it's home, I suppose.

[He knows. The problem is, it doesn't bother him at all.]

[He cups his hands around her chin, staying close.]

Home. Yes, that's the only place we'll be going.

That's right. I hoped I might find something at that blighted carnival, but...

[She shakes her head before resting it on his shoulder, and lets out another yawn.] Nothing. Sorry. I tried.

[He blinks, but curls his arms around her.]

It's all right, Hawke. I'm... just happy to have you back.

And I'm happy to be back. That place was awful - I actually missed it here, if you'd believe it.

Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you?

No, no. [She shakes her head quickly.] I just need to eat. And drink. And... sleep, eventually.

[She doesn't really want to sleep now, though. Not anymore.]

Couldn't really do any of that in the... alternate Mayfield, I suppose you could call it, we were trapped in.

[He nods faintly.]

Lie down. I'll see to the rest.

[Because while he may be a complete and utter mess in regards to looking after himself, he'd be damned if he didn't look after his patients.]

[Which, he's apparently decided, Hawke is.]

[Surprising absolutely no one at all, ever, Hawke does not do as she's told. B| She's not sick or injured ~~anymore~~, so she obviously doesn't need to be taken care of. So stubborn.]

Anders, no. I'll be fine.

[... No, it's not surprising. But he was hoping.]

Hawke, please.

[If he couldn't help get her out of there, he wants to at least try to help now.]

[Oh Maker dammit you just had to make that face at her, didn't you.]

Now that's just unfair, looking at me like that. [S I G H] Fine.

[She shuffles off toward the couch and sits, but she doesn't dare lie down or close her eyes. Not gonna sleep at all for a while, nope, not with those nightmares.]

[Anders has perfected The Look over the years, apparently. When she relents, though, he offers her a smile in return.]

All right.

[Then it's off to the kitchen. It won't be long before he finds vaguely familiar food. Bread, water, an orange... though he really shouldn't try anything as fancy as cooking soup yet.]

[He's still hopeless with cooking.]

[REGARDLESS. He returns momentarily, offering her the finds.]

[She accepts the offering gladly, tearing into the food like she hasn't eaten in days. Which she hasn't.

But she isn't entirely without manners. After all but inhaling the bread, she pats the seat on the couch next to her - an invitation for him to sit with her.]

...Thank you. You really didn't need to do anything, though - for starters, I can actually cook.

[Fine with him. If she's eating, it's probably a good sign. Though he does sit next to her, when indicated.]

And I doubted you'd want to.

No, but I would have eventually.

[She inhales the water and starts peeling at the orange, but not before scooting over and leaning on him. Hi, Anders, you make an excellent pillow.]

Maker, I feel like this is the best meal I've had in weeks.

Eventually. When you needed it now.

[Oh. Well. He's fine with that. Even putting an arm around her shoulders.]

Perhaps because it's the only one you've had recently.

I did eat while I was gone. Or... tried to. It wasn't very satisfying.

[She slides an arm around his waist while she finishes off the orange with her free hand. Again, she yawns, but she shakes her head to fight off the sleepiness.]

All the more reason to keep doing so now that you've got better things to eat.

[He keeps his arm looped around her, and... lets his free hand trail through her hair.]

Don't worry, I'll be good. [She laughs softly, leaning into his touch.] It's like I'm talking to my mother.

... I really hope not. That's incredibly awkward to think about, considering --

[Considering how he came charging in and tried to inhale your face, Hawke.]

For the record, no, my mother did not ever storm into my house and kiss me like that. [She grins.] That's just you. But the fretting over nothing, reminding me to eat my fruits and vegetables - that's classic Mother.

That's... good to know, all things considered.

[He shakes his head.] It's also a classic healer.

She did barge into my room once, when I was a child, but that was because I'd tacked my brother's underwear onto the Chanter's board.

[She smiles crookedly at him.] I still think you worry too much.

Why am I not entirely surprised to hear you were responsible for something like that?

[He shrugs slightly.]

I'm a healer. It's what we do.

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