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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

So you see why I would rather not sleep? I'm not getting any rest either way.

[She sighs.] Dreamless sleep does sound nice. They don't have the right herbs here, though, do they?

To be honest, love, I do see. Grey Wardens tend to corner the market on nightmares.

[He's trying to be reassuring.]

Well. If we don't have herbs... there's always copious amounts of hard liquor.

I suppose you do, at that. [Pause.] Every time I close my eyes, though - it's not that bad for you, is it?

[Oh, but the mention of alcohol manages to put a grin on her face. Aww yeah, gettin' drunk sounds like a fantastic idea.] Now you're talking. I wonder if the drone keeps any in the house...

It used to be. Not here... there aren't any Darkspawn here to dream of.

[A dubious benefit of being trapped in Mayfield, he supposes.]

Should I look?

Well, aren't you lucky. At least now I can sympathize with you.

[Chuckling, she untangles herself from his arms and pushes herself to her feet.]

I think I'm well enough to go liquor hunting in my own house. You're welcome to help, though.

... that's not something I ever wanted you to have to sympathize with, love.

[Because Grey Warden Dreams are nasty ass shit. He shifts over, to let her stand, but stays on the couch, since she really seems to be all right...]

[Nightmares aside.]

I think I'd be next to useless at locating liquor.

Yes, well. With any luck, I can get back to sleeping regularly in a day or two.

[She's fine - just a little sluggish from the lack of sleep, so she'll be slow in dragging herself off to the kitchen. Happily enough, her quest for booze is a quick one, for her drone husband did, indeed, leave a couple bottles of beer in the fridge. Hawke gathers them all up in her hands and carries them back to the couch with her, cracking one open as she resumes leaning on Anders.]

I don't suppose our angry blue friend would let me share with you?

In the meantime, I'll see what I can find... if only to spare you the possibility of spending the rest of your days drunk.

[He stays put -- partly to wait for her, and partly because he wonders if Justice wouldn't go smashing the bottles, should they find any. When she returns, he curls his arm back around her again.]

Sadly, no. He's already irate enough, as it is.

Don't try too hard. I think I rather like the idea of being perpetually drunk.

He's always grumpy about something. Ah, we really should have taken better advantage of your being spirit-free, before the town returned him to you. [She sighs and takes a good, long swig from the bottle. So ladylike.] Too late for regrets, I suppose.

As a healer, I'm not sure I can condone such an idea.

[He looks at her, arching an eyebrow.]

Why do I get the feeling you mean more by 'take advantage' than just getting me drunk?

Oh, not even you can deny how appealing it sounds.

[In a very exaggerated gesture, she brings her hand to her mouth and gasps.]

Why, Anders, I'm surprised! Do you really think I would do such a thing?

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