If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]

[inconsequence]

Who: Who wants to kill some slavers? You do! Of course you do!
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.


The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.

Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.

It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.

Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.

Or rather, they did not come only with knives.

One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.

That is, of course, where you come in.

One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.

So won't you join the dance?

Comments

[dirth]

[ The anger and the rage... That is what he expects. He had prepared himself for it from the moment that he had realised that the Inquisitor was coming for him, from the moment he knew that he would have to guide Sahlin through the mirrors to find him, to help put an end to the pain the anchor was causing her. He had known it would be fated for this to come to an argument, but all the same... There's no avoiding the way it stings.

Neriel knows, now, just where to push to make Solas feel as though he can no longer breathe, and when he turns his head it's with a sadness and a sorrow that he cannot, even with all his skill at manipulation and careful words, begin to hide. He is shattered, undone by the reality of his choice and the knowledge he had carried on his shoulders for all this time, knowing that the sacrifices he would make would be everything he had ever held dear.

He loathes himself, and he imagines others must feel the same. It does not make it easier to bear. ]

No. Maybe I don't.

[ But he does. Solas loved her with a violence that overwhelmed him, a strength that threatened to undo everything that he had begun to put into place from the moment he had awoken. She had changed so much - his view of the world, its people, their hearts and minds and their wisdom, and he had feared it was the Anchor's influence for longer than he could remember. In the end, it had all just been her; simple, wonderful Sahlin, proud and brave and incredible, turning his world the wrong way around and laughing as he tried to keep up with her.

He loved her. Solas loved her so much it had almost stopped it all. It had almost made him admit everything, to whisper the truth of Fen'Harel at her side, caring, loving, protecting. But he had been scared, just as he was scared now, too afraid to face the truth and the reality of a situation of his own making.

It's unlike him to cry and, so, he doesn't. He just crosses his arms behind his back and looks up at the sky above him, wide and expanding, and wishes it were different. ]

But I love her with what I have to give. All I had to give. It was not enough.

[lavelly]

[No. No. This isn't what Lavellan wanted. He wanted Solas to get angry with force to match Lavellan's own; he wanted Solas to fight him, to dig his fingers into the rift Lavellan had torn between them and pull until it was a gulf that neither of them could cross. He wants them to hate each other. He wants Solas to hate him, to rebuff him entirely, and maybe then Lavellan won't ache anymore, won't feel raw and bled dry to think of Solas. Maybe then it would be easier to do what he knows he already has to.]

Don't you fucking give me that!

[He fists the front of Solas's shirt and drags him to his feet, os that they're eye level, face to face. For once he's grateful that Solas is taller than him, because it makes it harder for him to avoid Lavellan's accusing glare.

(If only accusation was the only sentiment. His voice breaks and his vision blurs and the ends of his composure start to fray.)]

What is she to you, then? Some curiosity? Is that why you think you have the right to throw her life away so you can bring back the fucking evanuris? Or do you fancy yourself a god the same way they did?

[dirth]

[ There is the wildness that Solas had expected, and for a moment he's overwhelmed by it. He had seen the anger before, of course, and felt it - Sahlin and Neriel were more alike than he was comfortable admitting - but he had never been the subject of it, and it burns somewhere deep inside of him. There is nothing, truly, that Neriel could say that would change the certainty of his heart, but it doesn't make his words any easier to hear.

Solas had said them all to himself but they're starker and more horrific hearing them from another, seeing the pain and fury on another's face.

He stares, unblinking, for a moment, before he lifts his hand and places it over Neriel's, squeezing gently, urging him to drop his fingers and stand away. They both know that Solas has the power to be far more forceful, but there is no intent. He hasn't the will to be cruel, not right now, nor does he have the energy. He is tired, and worn, and broken, feeling as weak and small as he had when he first awoke. ]

I am no God, and neither were they. I do not consider myself one and I think you know that, Lavellan. You know me, after all, as well as I know myself.

[ He bows his head, closing his eyes. ]

She is the sunlight. The stars. She is the last good thing I would protect in this world, were it possible for me. I love her, but love is not enough.

[ Solas' voice grows quiet and he closes his eyes. ]

I do not seek simply to return the Pantheon to their power, and I do not expect you to understand the reasons I have made this choice. You saw a bare scrap of the world before the Veil as you travelled through the eluvian. I have seen both. That is why I make this choice, why I must decide. This was a mistake, and I must make it right.

[ And then - and then... His voice is simply hoarse. Defeated. ]

I will die, and I am ready for that. I searched for any other option, any other means of doing what must be done, but there is none. This is all that remains, what my pride has brought onto this world, and I must pay the price. If there was a way to make sure that no one else did...

[ But there isn't. There is no other option. The Veil must fall and, with it, Thedas too. ]

[lavelly]

[He doesn't let go, and his hands shake under Solas's touch, but his fury twists into something else, something he can't put words to. His breathing is strangled and he realizes with horror that his cheeks are already wet, and he hates it, hates himself for crumbling in the face of this, but he can't run from Solas now. All he can do is look down and pray Solas doesn't see.

It turns out not to matter. His own voice betrays him, thick and uneven. Small.

Solas is dooming all of them, and he knows it. This isn't new. But the deep-seated conviction, the resignation, truly, finally sends it home that Lavellan never had a chance. Solas is asking Lavellan to kill him, and Lavellan could not possibly. It's like being betrayed a second time.]

You were wrong once. Why can't you be wrong now?

[dirth]

[ Neriel doesn't let go and Solas doesn't move away, either. He doesn't have the energy to fight with the bite of this man's anger and disappointment, not when he feels it so keenly and so surely. He is aware of his own failings, aware of his own mistakes and faults, and there's no way for him to pretend as though he isn't or that he's somehow better than what he is. Solas knows himself, and he does not dare to claim anything more than the person he is, cruel and dangerous and wise beyond the appearance of his years.

He knows, too, that he is incredibly selfish, but he truly believes he is doing what is best.

Turning his head away, Solas frowns, considering for a moment. He doesn't know what Lavellan wants to hear right now and for a moment he is completely and utterly without words, but... He manages to search, to find them, to try and find the right thing to say - or if not the right thing then the best thing. ]

There are no mistakes this time. There cannot be.

[lavelly]

[There is nothing Solas could possibly say that would be what Lavellan wants to hear, except for capitulation. The one thing Solas will never give him. So it doesn't matter what he actually says. Lavellan barely hears it.

He just stands there a moment, shoulders slumped, fingers still clutching the fabric of Solas's shirt, unable to look him in the face. Then he lets go, and steps back, and wipes his face, and turns, and leaves.

He doesn't say a thing. Not an argument, not a parting shot, not even a dismissal. He has no words for Solas anymore. And he'll walk back in silence, to the Ingress, to the house, if Solas doesn't stop him. He feels numb. All he wants to do is sleep.]