nysalogs | Open!

Entry tags:

dragon age: abelas

Open!

Who: Abelas (

getoutofmytemple) & open!
What: Catch all for the event
When: Over the course of the month
Where: Olympia & Wyver
Warning(s): Illness, blood, Abelas is a huge jerk

[I: Early in the Month]

[Well after it had been clarified that he had not, in fact, been poisoned, Abelas' outlook on his condition... hadn't changed at all really. The sweet embrace of death was upon him, and he did not want to spend his last days holed up uselessly in a room.

However this plague upon him had other ideas, so as far as he was able to go was the kitchen before he gave up. Thus, by the sheer force of stubborn will he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, trying to go about writing notes on the area for reference.

Then the door opens and the rush of air triggers something in him, and he sneezes, sending his papers scattering over the table and falling onto the floor. Slowly he looks at the new arrival with a harsh stare, not so much directed at them as much as the miserable state of his existance.]

[II: Post Evacuation]

[A]

[Abelas glared as someone entered the room he had been shuffled into in the commotion of the evacuation. He had once again taken out the IV that had been keeping him hydrated. Even without the illness impairing him, he very much would not have cared to have something poking about his veins. Now with a healthy dose of paranoia, he quickly grew wary and agitated at the poking and prodding that came with those that tended to him.

He shot the new arrival a harsh glare, already predicting their next words would likely be.]

I shall drink when I am thirsty.

[B]

[Well, somehow he's managed to escape again. Magically making yourself invisible was handy when he spontaneously did not feel like resting and getting force fed any longer. There was a small part of him that was aware that it was the illness clouding his judgement, but the larger part of him hated taking orders from those centuries younger than him, and was fairly certain he was going to die and did not wish to do so laying quietly in a bed.

It was not until he was out and stumbling around like a drunk with a bloody nose that he realized that dying in the streets was probably not the best alternative. Eventually he found himself sitting on a bench holding a cloth to his face to stay the bleeding, ignored for the most part while people rushed around to tend to the refugees.

[Wildcard]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Dorian knows the elf to be abrasive, but he isn't so narrow-minded that he wouldn't recognize symptoms he's been working to prevent. He came to know Abelas was sick because of his journeys from the Institute to the Sanctuary, and he anticipated this. His escape is much like an animal going away to die from their predators- instinctive, but ridiculous. He won't have it.

So once some poor nursemaid confirms he's gone, Dorian goes track the elf down with purpose, if a bit presumptuous. He wouldn't be so ridiculous that he'd flee the city, would he? Go into a forest, find some ruins, mourn Mythal, all that? Such questions nearly drive him into making the effort to travel, but he fortunately glances over the bench in passing, then again once he spots him. Less work than expected, but once the shock's worn off, he's still very obviously aggravated in his approach.]

You still haven't gotten with the times, have you? Intent on being your own downfall.

[The time he had spent on the bench bordered on delirium, the chaos and bustle seemed to just meld together in a cacophony that he felt so separate from. He could not even say how long he simply sat there in his daze until the familiar voice snapped him to attention.

He looked up at the source, now somewhat roused from his stupor. Luckily he wasn't sick enough to forget to glare as he did so. There was still some hope for the old bastard yet.]

Better to be my own downfall than to rot in that bed.

[Never did he think a glare could be comforting, and yet. Dorian heaves an exasperated sigh, taking the seat next to Abelas and pulling a vial from a pack he's brought with him.]

Come now, the beds could have been much worse. They fluffed your pillows for you! [He turns to face him more directly, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding out the potion with the other.] Just one for your headache, so you'll stop being mine.

[Abelas rolled his eyes and grunted in discontent at the joke. The hand on his shoulder only made it worse and he leaned away from it as soon as he saw the gesture coming. There were some things even this virus couldn't make him amicably tolerate.

The look of repulsion was only encouraged at the sight of the potion. One there one hand, there was indeed an appeal to having his head feel less like it was trying to implode in on itself, but on the other just the thought of drinking anything made him feel ill... well, more ill anyway.]

I see no point, I will not be able to keep it down.

[ Ana has been spending much of the time since her release trying to help those who've been effected by the virus. Most of it is like the work she did at the Sanctuary, except that those who are lucid enough still find the energy to be furious with her for her part in their suffering. It's probably no less than she deserves.

She's been trying to keep her hands clean since they fitted her with the tracker; she has about a month's worth of trying to make herself as boring and helpful as possible to look forward to. At the moment, she's going about her regular chores and buying what food she can with what little she has saved. It's pure chance that she spots Abelas, and it's not difficult to tell that he's not well enough to be out on the street.

Typical.

Ana goes directly to him, already rifling in her satchel for a bottle of water. ]

We have to stop meeting like this. I'm starting to think that you just like suffering.

Edited 2017-10-29 17:35 (UTC)

[He had been so lost focusing on the sensations that came with his illness that he hardly seemed to notice the other had approached... not until the water was in his face and he reflexively jerked away from it in revulsion. Then her words came to him, and he shook his head to clear his mind enough to hold a conversation.]

Then it would seem I am aptly named "sorrow" considering how much misery and misfortune seem to be attracted to me.

You know, back home, they called me insufferable. I'm going to have to start introducing you first, so they don't see me as so bad.

[Dorian has half a mind to grab him anyway, force it down his throat and back to the Sanctuary, but instead he takes a deep breath and relents. He raises his free hand in surrender, but he keeps the vial in the other. Though they're no more than strangers outside of the incident at the temple, Dorian's frown is still filled with genuine concern.]

I understand this is difficult for you, Abelas. But giving up and sitting in the street like some vagrant isn't a worthy end for the man you are. You can try and drink this, or you can make up not doing so by coming with somewhere you won't give me a heart-attack.

[Fortunately for Abelas, the one who happens to join him doesn’t look much better. His dark skin has been paled by whatever plagues them both, and he wears a similarly miserable annoyed expression upon hearing the sneeze. He had already agreed to march forward and allow himself to play guinea pig for a cure, but staying still had been a challenge.

After waking up today, he is reconsidering his options. Dorian wasn’t so bad, and it was not as if the Institute was poorly funded. He would do better work there if he was readily available.]

Oh don’t get up.

[His tone is predictably put upon, as if it causes him great pain to bend over and pick up the papers nearest him.]

I certainly wouldn’t, if I were you.

You are insufferable.

[Just to make certain that much was clear. Of course he was aware he was not easy for the shemlen to handle, but there was reason for that. Namely they kept trying to give him orders they weren't qualified to give him.

Though there was truth in the man's words, he knew that in some sense, but the more he tried to look at his own situation his thoughts grew muddled and paranoia quickly set in. There was a moment where he seemed to be weighing the options, but then he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He went back to glaring at the vial.]

Go with you and have whatever concoction you are holding forced into my veins.

[Abelas gave the stranger a sour look as the picked up the papers. It was one thing to offer aide, but with an attitude for such a simple task, he'd rather have just done it himself. He very tentatively reaches out to reclaim his notes and sets about reorganizing them as they should be.

He doesn't take his eyes off the stranger, however.]

I am perfectly capable of standing.

[Wrathion hands them over without a fuss, and offers Abelas a smooth smile...and a sniffle.]

Of course. But I was already standing. We unfortunate souls need to support one another, wouldn’t you agree?

[He turns to consider some options for food, mentally battling the onset of a stomach ache.]

At least you have work to do. None of this realm’s magic works quite as I expect it to.

[Abelas continues watching the other warily, but there's a curiosity there as well.]

The work I do is my own. There is much to make note of for personal reference, and much to make certain is not forgotten.

[But of course he was writing it in ancient Elvhen, which to his knowledge only one other could read... as least not without the aide of Veilfire. However if this one was capable of magic, then perhaps veilfire wasn't out of this one's abilities? There was something peculiar about him- at least his eyes were more odd that he expected to see of shemlen.]

You are a mage then?

In a matter of speaking, I suppose. I am capable of magic.

[He had been capable of much more than he is currently, but that was neither here nor there. Instead of going for the refridgerator, he takes a seat across from the other man while idly tapping clawed gauntlets.]

All dragons are. To varying degrees of success.

[...]

For a dragon you seem to bare a striking resemblance to a human.

[a shapeshifter he could see, but even for one as old as he, it was difficult to believe that dragons could shapeshift in the reverse of what the Evanuris did... much less that they would fall ill. Perhaps the illness had gone to his head.]

Mortals tend to find this form more approachable.

[He suppresses a cough and leans back to gesture while shrugging. He would hardly be the first to question him.]

I cannot say I blame them. I know what I and others of my kind are capable of.

I see little reason why anyone would willingly approach the shemlen, but I suppose such is a personal preference.

[Because this entire thing here? The stuffed up, coughing, sneezing, achy plague brought upon him? Shemlen's fault. It could have all be avoided had he worked harder at avoiding them.]

I have seen far worse committed by those that took the form of a dragon than the beasts themselves, though they were not so delusional to believe themselves to actually be dragons.

Shemlen? I am not familiar.

[He is pretty sure he is being accused of being insane, but he has never needed to justify his existence to anyone before. It seems silly to start now.

And yet.]

I was born of one of the last clutches in my flight. In fact, I am thr last of the Black dragons on Azeroth. No great loss, I assure you.

Mortal races.

[He shrugged, and punctuated it with a stifled sneeze. He scowled, loathing the sensation, but then continued on with the conversation. The other may be mad, but at this point he cared little. Conversation was conversation he supposed, even if it was with an oddity.

Not that he had much room to talk.]

I could say much the same about many of my kind as well, still I mourn what we once were.

[Of course there still had been enough good that he did not feel their empire needed to have crumbled as it did, but that was a thousand years in the past. He could at least commiserate on being the last of something, even if the other's claim may simply be a delusion.]

You presume much if you think I'll put forth the effort to force it.

[He would. He knows he would, if he truly thought there was no other option. But he knows saying as much won't help his case, and playing the role of someone who would let things go comes easy. People usually just assume that of him already.]

I won't take you back to all those needles and nurses. Somewhere quieter than all this. [He nearly goes on to talk up his corner of the Institute, but realizes quickly enough that it probably isn't much more appealing. Well, sacrifices have to be made-] Like my home. Or yours.

No.

[He spat out barely a breath after Dorian could finish his sentence. He had no interest in being shipped off to some strangers quarters, nor did he wish those he roomed with to see him like this. He ran a hand over his face, and tried to focus enough to think. He could not stay here he knew that much, yet he could think of nowhere else he wished to go.

No, that was not true. There was one place he longed to return to, but it was only a place he could return to in his dreams now. His thoughts were interrupted as he was overcome by a coughing fit. When it subsided he had to take a moment to catch his breath and recover before he could speak. It gave him time to look as the fresh blood coating his hand from the fit, and it was enough to grant him a brief moment of clarity.]

I do not wish to remain here, however there is no other place I desire to be.

[ She puts the water away for the moment. There's nothing she can do if he won't drink.

When he moves the cloth from his face to talk, she sees that there's blood on it, too. ]

I'm nether of those things, yet here I am. Is there a reason you're not in bed?

[He scowled at the cloth in his hands as though it were the one responsible for this. He knew he was in for another lecture on why he should return, it was not something he was keen on exerting the effort to focus on, but he doubted there was any avoiding it.]

I will not have anyone forcing things into my veins while I lay rotting in some bed. If I am to die, I shall at least do so with some semblance of dignity.

[Thankfully, most of his life has been training for dealing with unreasonable and spiteful answers. He can handle this. He has patience, and that patience only grows the more he sees the blood his fit draws. A delirium by an unforeseen sickness?

It reminds him of Felix. Gone, with the world they both ache to be in. He won't let that happen again.]

You inspired me, you know. [He sighs, turning his head to look up at the sky. He won't keep insisting, instead just... talking, in hopes of something.] The truth of your past set me on a path I may never have thought to undertake. I wanted... so much, for the future of my homeland. I thought it was just within my grasp. And then suddenly, everything was gone. I didn't know what to do with myself. I thought, why didn't I just die with everything I've ever known? Why bother? There must be a reason for this.

We were brought here for a purpose, Abelas. Your god would not want you to waste this opportunity, just as those I knew wouldn't want me to waste away a chance they did not get.

[There is no small part of him that wished to say that he should in no way serve as an inspiration to anyone. Particularly one with a hope of making a future for their homeland. Jis spirit had been all but broken centuries before this one was even born. Yes, he had continued to put everything he had into a cause he knew would ultimately be in vain, but it was not hope that drove him, or some sort of inner strength. It was simply what he has always done, it was his final duty to Mythal, it was his purpose. To admire him for that would be admiring a fish for swimming.

But it was not his place to steal the final shred of hope this one seemed to be clinging to, even if the source he drew it from was not the fount of strength that he believed. With luck the human's short lifespan would take him before that final shred of hope fell through. Abelas' gaze did lose some of its harsh edge at least, whether it was because of sentimentality or scrunching up his face in irritation was just worsening his headache was anyone's guess.]

Mythal perished long before your time, she cannot want for anything. [Of course he had heard the rumor that Mythal lived in some form, and it was not an impossible tale to believe...
were the source anyone but that shady witch.] My fate is hardly up to me. Human disease was the one thing that made humans a threat to us. Death was all but certain for those that contracted such ailments. I do not see how I shall be any different.

[ Ana thinks that they've both seen quite enough death to know that there's no dignity in it. She does understand what he means about not wanting to spend his last moments rotting in a bed - but that doesn't mean the alternative is any better. ]

Really? Which gutter is the dignified one that you're so set to die in?

Edited 2017-11-13 03:23 (UTC)

Yes, it was what made humans a threat to you, oh, I don't know, centuries ago? We're all grown up now, killing each other with swords and staffs. There is no excuse for not pushing through and cracking on, other than the fact you're just miserable.

[Dorian runs a hand through his hair, sinking down on the bench to look towards the sky. The stars are beginning to show from the early evening, and he gestures out towards where the Thesa station lies.]

I'll just have them resurrect you, you know. You might be terrible company, but I'd like you to last long enough to find out whether pleasant conversation is possible.

[Abelas cast the human a glare. There was that nudge to his pride knowing part of the reason he was doing this was the almost comforting familiarity he had with misery, and that was not something he was fond of admitting. It was always simply easier to simply remain that way, than to briefly overcoming it only to have it crash down upon him once more.

But it seemed as though this human was determined to drag out his miserable existence for... what had to be the most useless reason he had ever heard. However it was his reason, and there did not seem to be any stopping him, so after that long drawn out moment of glaring, Abelas finally held his hand out for the vial.]

Fine.

[To be clear, Dorian does make some effort not to smile. It was just a very, very small effort. The corners of his lips are still twitching upwards as he hands over the vial, and he proceeds to place both hands behind his head in the most smug posturing he could have taken up.]

A very conniving dwarf once told me to embrace my place in the universe. I think it's about time you follow in my footsteps, hm?

I would rather choke on your supposed antidote.

[he uncorked the vial and tipped it back, drinking the contents as swiftly as he could to avoid losing his nerve. Of course he immediately regretted his decision, as a wave of nausea washed over him. The illness clearly did not much care for the treatment, and he had to steel himself to try not to gag.]

This works quickly I hope?

You aren't choking.

[Thus, he's just going to have to accept has to stay alive. Dorian is an adult? Appreciate his company.]

It should work within a few minutes, yes. Let the sound of my sweet voice sooth you, until then.

That much is taking great effort.

[And he did gag just a little. Talking was hard in such a circumstance, and yet he couldn't quite stop himself. At least it was a distraction for the moment.]

Spare me. I am trying not not to throw it back up.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Open!

II-B

no subject

no subject

no subject

II-B

no subject

no subject

I

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject