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[doggish]

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text; un: hawke | the morning after the big event

[defaulthawke]

[literally just a POV photo from his bed, showing Ox and Blue taking up most of it. Blue's nose is in the extreme foreground as she seems intent on telling the camera she loves it.]

voice;

[doggish]

[Hmm. He looks at them for a little while, but sooner or later, ring ring, what's up.]

Are you all right?

voice;

[defaulthawke]

Great.

[He sounds like a shitty hangover had a baby with a shitty flu.]

Don't die here, Fen. It sucks. You'd think I'd be getting better at it, after the second time this month but nooo. It's still shit.

How're you this fine- morning?

[doggish]

[His next exhale blows out of him, a sigh that he can't quite contain. Death not being permanent isn't a shock, not in hell, but that doesn't make it easier to hear.]

Injured. Not badly.

[He'll survive.]

Are you? Did resurrection heal your wounds?

text;

[defaulthawke]

i went to sleep and woke up three years later

[doggish]

[...WELL THEN.]

and the last thing you remember?

[defaulthawke]

leaving Kirkwall a smoking wreck instead of sticking around to fix anything

Seems like the right thing to do

[doggish]

and which did you pick, in the end? Meredith or the mages?

@pizza; text

[ghostlocked]

can u read yet or should i just call.

[doggish]

is there something you wanted tonight or did you simply decide to pass the evening heckling me?

[ghostlocked]

shut the fuck up. its not a heckle. its a genuine question.

u heard from stiles lately?

[doggish]

no.

i have not seen him in his room either.

people come and go. sometimes they do not return. and i cannot imagine he would not have contacted one of us if he was in trouble.

text, backdated to Stiles' disappearance. (also EYES @ the above)

[raketen]

Fenris, this is Alfons Heiderich.

[ As though there's another Alfons around... but he hasn't actually sent a message to someone directly before. He waits a moment before sending the next part, as though to ensure that it actually is working. ... Aha. Well, seems successful enough, so. ]

I apologize for disturbing you, but I am wondering if you have seen Stiles recently. He has not been back to the suite and I am concerned.

[doggish]

you are not disturbing me. but i have not seen him, and i have looked several times. nor have i heard from him, despite texting him often.

i believe he is gone. whether he moved onto another world or was killed i cannot say.

[It comes across so flatly, but of course it does. Fenris is coping with this in his own way, which means not lingering on it.]

[raketen]

[ Oh God, oh God, oh God. It isn't as though he hadn't considered those prospects, but to see them delivered with such finality in typeface sends Alfons momentarily into a panic. He scrambles to find seating before he loses his footing. This isn't the first person he's known who's disappered— Light had too. The suite is awfully empty now; he knows another person resides in one of the rooms, but they never see each other. But with Light, at least, he had simply disappeared... there was no antecedent.

moved onto another world... or was killed...

Stiles had always insisted that he wasn't dead. But nevertheless— ]

How can

[ —to the devil with this; his hands are shaking. He fumbles send and then taps at the call button instead. If Fenris doesn't pick up, then he'll leave a message. ]

How can you be killed— again? Is it because he wasn't really dead the first time? And if that's the case, then what does that mean to the rest of us?

[ A sharp inhale, but then he presses on. ] Do you remember the last time you saw him? Stiles, I mean. I know we lived together, but I hadn't seen him much the past month. I assumed he was avoiding me because— of something I did. I hurt him.

[doggish]

I have no idea. I am no mage, familiar with the arcane. It is enough to know that they can, and do, at will. Stiles is not the first person to disappear here, nor will he be the last.

[It comes out more harshly than he means it to, but it's not as if he's not upset about Stiles being gone. Fenris' mouth tightens, glancing sharply away as he tries to get a grip.]

. . . besides: I said he might have been killed. He might too have gone to another world. It happened to him before. It is not out of the realm of possibility it would happen again.

[I hurt him, Alfons says, and oh, he will circle back to that, rest assured. He remembers the enormous bandage on Stiles' shoulder, as well as his reluctance to speak of it. Fenris had never asked, but perhaps here, now, is the solution to that little mystery.]

text; christmas morning

[defaulthawke]

[Fenris will receive a series of stupid pictures: every single dog (all seven of them, including the Frenchie and two mabari) in Santa hats with outfits, a wooden Santa figurine with an... interesting addition, and a shockingly well-done (with nice composition and lighting and everything) dick pic.

It has a Christmas bow on it.]

happy weird hell-world Satinalia!

[doggish]

[WHAT A THING TO WAKE UP TO, I tell you what. Fenris is amused by the dogs, bemused by the Santa figurine, and . . . ah. Merry Satinalia indeed, and he spends a great deal more time on that photo above all the others.]

tell me you didnt glue a bow to your cock.

[defaulthawke]

i've done that before actually

i still have the bow

[it's an offer obvious enough that he doesn't have to spell it out.]

[doggish]

that isn't something you should brag about

are you asking for something, hawke?

[It's an obvious offer, but consider: ask for it anyway.]

[ghostlocked]

[Harlan almost makes it back to his own room before remembering where he is. Ah, right, the whole "covered in blood" look is a common one around Penance, especially lately with all the torture going on. He's not hiding the fact that he's a murderer anymore, which means he doesn't have to stew in complicated feelings all by himself.

A minute later, and he's knocking on Fenris' door. He hasn't bothered to text first, and he wouldn't even bother knocking if the door wasn't locked. And what an introduction this would be should one of Fenris' roommates open the door.

Thankfully, everyone is spared that awkward encounter. Harlan slips past Fenris without waiting to be invited in.]

I killed someone. It was kind of an accident.

[Most importantly: He's not sure how he feels about it yet. All he knows is this is not supposed to be this scattered after a murder. It's not a bad feeling, exactly, but he was looking forward to the calm that should be descending on him right about now. That's not coming, though. He's hardly capable of sitting still.

He heads off to Fenris' room under the assumption that his friend is following him, peeling off his t-shirt as he goes. He's not here for sex, though—he beelines for Fenris' bathroom to attempt to wash out the blood. The shirt is almost definitely beyond saving, but he wants to hold onto some part of his routine. Anyway, it's something to do while he talks.]

Some kid named Tim. I didn't know him. It was that, uh, Hellraiser thing.

[He waves a hand flippantly. You know the one.]

[doggish]

[So, hey, hi!

Harlan all but steamrolls over him in his eagerness to get inside— although, to be fair, that's probably a good instinct when one's all bloody. He closes his bedroom door behind them, going to sit on his bed as Harlan heads to the bathroom. He can keep half an eye on him this way without crowding him.

Because the truth is, Fenris isn't wholly sure what mood Harlan is in. Not gleeful, nor full of grief . . . he looks preoccupied more than anything, and yet there's enough nervous energy in the air that Fenris can't relax fully.]

Your torture went too far, I assume.

[It was a fairly viable risk, after all. Fenris leans back against the wall, one leg rising so he can rest his arm on his knee.]

What struck the final blow?

[ghostlocked]

I— No, it— Lucifer said he was going to heal people after, so I figured— I accidentally nicked his lung and he was a fucking baby about it.

[There's a lot of bias in the explanation he finally lands on, but Fenris can likely gather the important details.]

I told him I'd kill him after if he wanted me to. He did. I slit his throat. That's what I usually do.

[He leaves his shirt in the sink, cold water running from the tap, and reaches for a towel to wipe the blood off of his skin. Blood gets itchy once it dries, and it's already starting to get uncomfortable. His jeans are soaked through in a few spots too, but he'll deal with that later. Frenetic as he is, he's still not about to strip down to his underwear.]

[doggish]

An act of mercy, then.

[And theoretically a heroic action, or at least a decent one. Not a cause for this . . . this, this start-and-stop nature that's taken over his sentences, nor the staticy hum of tension that fills the air, leaving him slightly on edge.]

Does it upset you? I would not have thought you would wish for company after you killed.

text; un: hawke, 2 am

[defaulthawke]

i'm bored. want to spar, drink, or find something to burn down?

[He's not handling the closure of the club very well.]