Anders_icon.gif Davan_icon.gif Fenris_icon.gif

Scene Title A Trip to Darktown
Synopsis Davan makes an evening visit to the clinic.
Location Clinic
Date 07 Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For A Squeak toy.
Logger Davan

The very fact that Davan had to step over THINGS to get here means that the actual clinic is going to be a fucking HAVEN of cleanliness. The bodies he could handle. He's Tevine. Now that he's here? "Maker, I think some of those lumps tried to talk to me. I may have been nearly accosted by one. Thank the Maker for this place." Cue the dramatic shudder. Now he can look for this healer, holding the bag on his shoulder with marked impatience.

There are very few people who could be said to be as… blatantly Tevene as Davan. It's not so much about the physical features as… well, if the ostentatious fashion (too open and blatantly hedonistic for the south outside Orlais) weren't enough of a clue, the free carrying of a staff would definitely give it away. And, well, that accent is pretty… eesh. So when Anders looks up from divvying up a batch of stamina draught into one-dose vials, it's with an immediate tension that he does a really bad job of hiding. "Can I help you?" And if, when he sets the pouring pitcher down, he shifts to put himself between the visitor and the doorway in the back, well… he's a healer Warden living in the sewers. That's got crazy written all over it, right? Nothing he does has to make sense.

Fenris had been putting his armor on for a job, conveniently enough. So when that accent walks in the room… And when Anders responds as he does, Fenris is immediately and entirely on edge. But he has sense, no one could ever say otherwise. So while he arms and moves near the door to listen, he does not yet emerge from the back of the Clinic. Fifteen seconds, Davan, your time begins now.

Davan sighs gratefully. "Maker, I do hope. It took me ages to find the place, and I bring gifts." He holds up the bag. "A rather strong apple pie flavored alcohol and various cleaning things that I have absolutely no name for." Surprise. "I've come to ask for your help with a rather sensitive matter. I have it on good authority that you're the man to come to with this."

Well that's… yeah, nope, not at all what Anders had anticipated here. "You…" But while he's trying to wrap his head around alcohol that tastes like pie, there's a big red warning flag waving in the back of his head and he takes half a step back to facilitate a slightly more balanced stance. "On whose good authority, exactly?" He looks the other mage up and down. "You don't look injured."

Fenris waits still, but he's counting. And his hand has moved to the hilt of his blade at this point.

"A young woman named Carys. She had quite a lot of good things to say about you… Anders, yes? Although, that's rather like me calling myself 'Tevine', isn't it?" That's dismissed as Davan walks over to place the bag on the table. "It's the matter of a former slave. He's most recently engaged at an inn in Lowtown with an appalling amount of quilts. I had hoped.." He gestures toward the potions. "That you could assist me. I've checked on him with the proprietress, but it seems unwise to let him see me." Enjoy that, You two.

In case anyone was wondering about the fastest way to get Anders from zero to homicidal… this would be it. He drops into an actual battle stance - time spent with the Wardens had done wonders for his usefulness in close-quarters conflict - and his lip curls into a snarl even as he pulls on the unholy power at his disposal until lightning crackles loudly between his fingertips. "You are not welcome here," he spits, fury radiating from him like rays of sunlight. "Leave now - leave my clinic, leave Kirkwall, leave the Marshes - and never set foot here again. I will tear you limb from limb before I let you have him." And there is neither mercy nor hesitation in that statement. That was the wrong opening gambit.

Well, that made things simple at least. Always good when this sort made these decisions about politeness for you. Because Fenris is not much keen to let Anders just stand and defend him alone. So it's blade drawing, glowing starting, door opening time. Which, admittedly, is a time that takes a few beats of the heart. So… Thee might be time for back tracking. That's something, right?

And there it is. That reaction to unexpected situations that is the low volume shriek. "Why is that the first reaction to go for? Do you Southerners really have something against helping ex-slaves make new lives? I'd expected the opposite!"" Hold on. "Have who? Now look, he doesn't belong to you. He doesn't belong to any… Maker, where is that feeling coming from?" Worrying about the important things, folks.

There probably aren't very many people for whom this set of things - unreasonably large blade being drawn, growling and the ache of resonance as those lit markings flare power - could be said to be reassuring. Anders is one of them. But then there's this… shriek that honestly makes it a little harder to take Davan seriously as a credible threat. Which isn't right or fair but that's how it is. "My mate belongs to no one but himself." Well hello Anders there's that word again - way to think this through, buddy. "And I am certainly not condescending enough to think - wait, what?" Hopefully Fenris is at least in the doorway by this point, because Anders is looking back for some kind of help on this one. "Helping former slaves make new lives for themselves? That's one I haven't heard." And he's been actively listening to slaver activity in this area long enough to have gotten a solid grasp on their usual stories. "So bully for you, bonus points for creativity and all that. You can even tell all your magister buddies that you almost had me fooled. Now get out."

Anders is a lot more forgiving than Fenris is. Because Fenris doesn't much care about excuses or shrieks of fright. Not even a little, the minute he's in the room, he's closing distance. The one benefit is that he's in the mood for information, so it is not his blade with which he greets Davan, but reaching to lift him by the throat.

"Magister… Please, as if they'd let me anywhere near the Magisterium. I certainly know a few, but I wouldn't.." Davan shakes his head. "That is not the point." But then he's being lifted? Ok, look. This is not going to be conducive to talking. "Could you… who are you?" He somehow manages that one. Well, it's a good thing he didn't bring Princess. She may never have recovered. He may not. New euphamism. Choking the mage. It's not funny!

Anders makes no move to stop Fenris' advance on the stranger. He had told him to go, after all. "Why don't you start by explaining who you are and who sent you?" Since Fenris has decided it's 'move on to interrogation' time, Anders is helpful. He does follow, though, lightning still crackling between his fingers.

"If you value you life, mage, I would answer his question." Fenris growls at Davan as he lifts the Tevinter up and puts his back to the wall with a firm, unceremonious thud. Nevermind that this would uncomfortably familiar when he thinks about it later. Right now he's just rage.

"No one sent me! Davan. Davan Pulcherus. I'm here on temporary exile with an ex-slave named Cyras. …if that's what he's calling himself now. You know, this is VERY difficult!" Davan gestures toward the hold, but he at least sees the sense of not struggling. "Who needs to learn to not think like a slave… fuck it. If you put me down, I'll sit here and talk." This whole gaspy raspy thing is NOT working for him.

Anders may be a mage interrogating someone while Fenris holds their life in his hands, but he isn't one who thinks he is even a little bit in charge of said grumpy cat. So he doesn't give Fenris orders, he doesn't even give suggestions. He simply steps forward to stand next to him. "You know there's something uniquely condescending about actually everything coming out of your mouth. I can't put my finger on it, but it's there."

"Mage, you have two options. Talk fast like this, or I'll let you down, and my hold will be on your heart instead." Fenris growls, though some of the anger ebbs just a little. That's not a name that is familiar to him. If this man is here by Danarius's instruction, then Danarius is calling on the aid of entirely different families. Not impossible, but unlikely. "Give me a good reason to believe you and you might get to keep breathing." He's in a forgiving mood today.

Davan takes a moment, because this is an important thing to clarify for Anders. "I'm Tevine, I'm certain it's part of our language." There. "I'm not here looking for anyone. I'm here to ask for help for Cyras because he was a domestic, it's all he knows. My father meant him as a pet." See that look? Beyond the 'being held in a bad way' expression, it's pure disgust. "I don't want him to be taken advantage of by someone hiring him."

Oh boy… yeah, some of these pieces are starting to come together for Anders and he cannot help but heavy a heavy sigh. "And Carys told you I would be the person to help?" He really, really needs to rethink his choice in friends; this whole endeavor might still end in blood and death and for what? "What makes you think I'm even remotely qualified for something like that?"

"Then perhaps you can do better in our tongue. Or were you brought up too lavishly for manners, either?" Fenris growls, though this time not in Common, but in the High Tevene of the Imperium. No Slave tongue for him. There's that anger again, but it's from insult. And in the next moment, he realizes that… If this man was sent for him, either he's a very good actor or he was told nothing because by this point they're usually too scared for any kind of sass. So he lets go, suddenly, letting Davan fall to the floor.

At this Davan perks up. Oh goodie, someone to do languages with, except he's being dropped and if the shriek was something? The surprised squeak is even better. "Maker, you.. I know who you are," he suddenly announces. "You're the man who escaped that piece of shit, Danarius." It's the lyrium and it took him that long. "I've heard rumors." And now that the playing with languages is done, he turns to Anders. "I was here to ask, hoping you'd at least be able to teach him alchemy or let him observe the way you interact with people. … and really, the latter is what he needs. I don't know if you understand the kind of conditioning that goes into …training…" He clenches his teeth on the word. "A body servant. It's quite extensive."

Anders doesn't miss a beat when Fenris flips into High Tevene, even smirks a little because honestly he enjoys Fenris' snark more than he should. The squeak just gets a raised brow and a 'Realy?' expression from the healer, but he can't help the way his eyes flick to Fenris when the stranger mentions conditioning - even if they're back on squeak-toy in only a fraction of a second. "I understand enough." It's a simple answer, but one that is continued on the heels of another sigh. "I understand enough to know that I am the last person on whom anyone should be patterning their behavior."

Fenris growls, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Davan. "If you've any sense at all, you have still only heard rumors." He sends back, still in Tevene. He's not amused, not even a little, but at this point, Fenris shuts up. There is absolutely nothing productive for him to say, and he's certainly not suited to training a body slave out of their conditioning. Nor does he have any advice at all for it. So he just stands, still faintly glowing, not looking pleased.

"It doesn't matter, you're the only person I have any confidence that i can trust with this." To Fenris, Davan merely nods and this language thing. Really, now they have to be friends. "Please, we've not even been properly introduced and the people I do have conversations with wouldn't be interested in the information, so I'm not sure who I'm expected to go running to." That said he looks back over at Anders. "You live in a pit and heal people for no coin. Even if Carys hadn't told me about you- and I trust her word completly- That alone would have made me come here. Look, he's … he deserves better than the life that my culture tried to give him. If it's a matter of money, please. Give me another reason to put my father's money to uses that would make his face turn purple."

"Carys…" The name begins with confusion and ends on a long and heavy sigh. "Money? I don't want your money." And though his lip curls in an impressive (unconscious) mirror of Fenris' usual expression of distaste, there's an edge to his voice on the refusal that is more suited to guilt than disgust. He lifts one hand to push back through his hair, clearing his face for a moment before stubborn strands drop right back where he doesn't want them. "Look, I'm not arguing that point. Slavery is foul, no matter what form it takes." There's a hesitant tightness to that sentence, though, that says he has more to add and does not know how, precisely. So instead he moves a little, turning to face Fenris with a questioning look before tilting his head back over one shoulder. "If he wants to learn how to hunt for herbs, how to brew with them, some basic first aid… That I can do, if he's an aptitude for it. Send him here. I've got nothing else to offer."

Fenris is fuming at this point. Each passing moment in Davan's presence just makes him twist and… There's that look of questioning from Anders and Fenris can't stop the sharp way he looks back. It's hard to parse, that expression, something between rage and disgust and desperation. But he just wants this over. So he stays quiet, shimmering in white blue light.

Davan nods. "I'll … leave a message at the inn. I try not to have any direct contact. I'm afraid it might be detrimental." He gestures toward Fenris. "My accent alone, as you can see. However, the offer is open. If you find yourself in need- although I imagine it'd have to be desperate- I have a place in Hightown. Carys is staying with me, you can send a message with her or come yourself. I occasionally have a Templar guest but I don't think you need worry about that." To Fenris he gives a nod. "Sorry my presence made for a tense evening. It's a pity you hate me just for my place of birth. It's been ages since I met anyone who can affect the right intonation. It's all gone soft over the ages, I'm afraid."

Mention of Templars always makes Anders tense. Mentions of them while he's already stressed? There's an actual growl rumbling in his chest. "I won't be going anywhere there are Templars," he snarls. "I will never go back." Poor Davan, just stumbling into all the big red buttons. Templars are one thing, but taking a swing at Fenris is another. "Why hate you for being from Tevinter when your ignorant arrogance is so much more prominent?" The great cat's fur is well and truly ruffled. "Get out. I know the innkeep, I'll go take care of it."

At that growl from Anders, Fenris moves, putting himself less than subtly between his mage and this… Whatever the fuck Davan was. He'd fallen somewhere between boxes, and it made Fenris deeply uncomfortable. "My pronunciation is as much for your amusement as my anger is." He says, and there's a look then. A look that says Davan should listen to Anders' instruction to get out. Because he's reached the end of his patience, and if Davan stays a moment longer, his heartbeats can be numbered on one hand.

Davan gives the hint of a bow. "Fair enough. Thank you." At least the gratitude is genuine. "My apologies for causing the tension." And NOW he's going to go. You only poke porcupines so much, after all.

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