mayfield_rpg | ◇ x; she's baaaack

Entry tags:

◇ 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[... 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.

You really should be more surprised. I'm much more well-behaved now.

Well, I ate, so you can stop fretting. I feel much better now.

Are you now?

You haven't slept yet. Have you?

Aren't I?

I... don't need to sleep. [Frown.] Not yet.

You did go running off to a deranged carnival in Mayfield.

No?

So did half the town.

...No. [She takes a deep breath, fighting off another yawn, and shakes her head quickly.] I'm fine, really. I can sleep later.

And if half the town went running into a pit of lava, you would still be a fool to follow.

[He reaches over to gently grasp her chin.] I saw that.

You can't really blame me for wanting to investigate when something strange happens in town. I was only looking for information.

Saw what? [Despite the flippant remark, she looks away, avoiding his eyes.] I'm fine, Anders.

No, I suppose I can't.

... Hawke. You're not being honest. I can tell, with you.

When did you get to know me so damn well? [Hawke sighs, resigned to the terrible fate of being honest about her feelings. Dammit, Anders!!] It's nothing, really. Just... nightmares, is all.

[She feels really silly complaining about having nightmares, of all things, but this is Mayfield, so it's a legit concern. Either way, she ducks her head, continuing to avert her gaze. Wow, the floor sure is interesting today.]

A few years ago, I'd say.

[He says nothing for a moment or two, instead trailing his fingers through her hair again.]

If we were in Kirkwall, I'd know exactly what to give you for a dreamless sleep. As it stands now... I'm not so certain.

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]

[action!]