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Fenris_icon.gif Kitty_icon.gif

Scene Title The Wolf and the Tiger
Synopsis Poor Fenris just wanted a hot bath and a quiet evening. He got… one of those things.
Location Lowtown Inn
Date Bloomingtide 28, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For More references to future-Fenris
Logger Dragony Goodness

Sometimes - especially in a place like Kirkwall - a nice, quiet evening in is the only peace you have to look forward to. It's impossible to tell if she's been waiting for just this day at just this time or if Kitty really does simply have the worst (best!) timing. Because instead of coming back into his be-quilted room for a nice post-bath bottle of wine and broody fire-staring on his own, poor Fenris gets greeted with the sight of an oversized Tevinter tiger lounging in his nest of quilts like she absolutely belongs nowhere else. It's possible she might be napping, but hard to say for sure.

The walk had not worked. Down over the coast, eyes focusing too long into the fog that hung over the Wounded Coast, through Lowtown, around the docks… It hadn't cleared his mind at all. Eventually, it was time to call it quits. Eventually, it was time for a bath and a truly heinous amount of wine. Decent wine for once, even. Payment for his last job had come through, and he had a little bit of coin he didn't need for his room. The water had been soothing. Enough so, in fact, that when the elf returns to his room, he's not even terribly jumpy. His armor had been left in his room, his blade too. Sure, there was a dagger on his hip, because frankly he never fully disarmed himself, but he did not think he would have need of it. Shirtless, still ruffling his white, damp hair with a linen towel, Fenris steps into his room with a quiet sigh.

His first mistake is not checking the room immediately, as he normally does. Thus, it isn't until the door is closed and locked behind him that Fenris notices the great beast upon his bed. Sylvan green eyes widen, and he slowly takes a step backward toward the door. His hand is on the handle when it dawns on him that could be a trap. Who the hell in Kirkwall would have a tiger. There's a low growl from the elf, and his gaze darts to his sword, inconveniently across the room, before his hand begins to move toward his dagger. Definitely expecting the owner of this beast to be on the other side of his door.

"You are a jumpy little pup, aren't you?"

The voice is female, but otherwise fairly non-distinct. Hazy, almost like a memory that tickles around the edges but never comes fully into focus. It also sounds like it's coming from the tiger, but the mouth doesn't move.

"If you're looking for a leash, you're out of luck."

Well, that certainly earns another growl. His brow knits, he pulls the dagger from his hip. See, there's this thing about Fenris, and that is that he has this nasty habit of jumping to conclusions. Further, this obviously foreign voice, present but mystical, so blatantly mystical, it crawls under his skin and raises his hackles.

"Be gone with you, Demon." He snaps, though he has not the slightest idea why there would be a demon in his room in the first place. Or why a demon in his room would look like a tiger.

Kitty heaves the overly-dramatic sigh of someone who is exhausted by what they're hearing. If only Fenris was the only one who jumped to such conclusions.

"Yes, yes, demon this, demon that. Don't you mortals have any imagination anymore?"

She rolls to her back and stretches, a low and pleasant rumble coming from her chest.

"If I was really a demon come to tempt you, don't you think I would have delved into the recesses of your mind and appeared as some dark desire?"

And she skims a little, to make her point, the same way she borrows words she can borrow thoughts too, though she's careful not to intrude beyond a word or two.

"A pretty blonde, perhaps? All pouting lips and soft curves and legs that go on for days?"

There's something in the tone of voice that just oozes the sensation of a particularly sarcastic eye roll.

"But no. I am me and you are you and you should put that knife away. It's rude to point."

"That is not going to happen." Fenris says, still sounding wholly unamused. It's a ridiculous sight, really. Him, in nothing but his pants, and frankly, the things are tighter than is strictly decent, shirtless, a towel still half over his hair, with nothing but a dagger in his hand. Even the glowing that begins about his marks isn't able to be all that horribly intimidating just at his moment.

None the less, he tries. Oh Maker does he try. The word blonde is… Spoken? Can we call it spoken? And he's immediately more than just on edge, he's angry.

"Of course not. Why sit down and be sensible about something when we can stab it instead?"

The question sounds so much like the healer who'd been in the bed this morning that it even seems to disorient the great cat occupying it now. At least for a moment.

"I don't suppose we could skip to the part where you stab me and then feel better enough to talk? This part is always so tiresome and there are too many songs in this room."

The voice change, that makes Fenris' eyes widen, and he blinks, even looks over his shoulder. There's a small sliver of him that, despite the origin of that voice obviously being the tiger, he is half expecting to see Anders standing there. But no one else is in the room and his mind spins with it for a moment.

The series of curses that come from the elf is a mixture of languages are incredibly colorful. "Are you here because of that mage?" He asks then, practically snarling the words. Oh that's moved from anger to betrayal, and that's not a pretty emotion on Fenris at all.

"There was a mage here?" The great cat blinks, then tilts her head to one side as though replaying that glance over his shoulder again and again to look for something. Those eyes close and she feels the air around them in a way that defies physical description.

"Yes… a mage. A tainted mage… like the ones that go below. And… - justice? A Justice was here?"

Shaking her head and opening her eyes, the great cat regards Fenris with the same passive arrogance of all felines.

"It is interesting company you keep, but I came looking for you, not them."

The betrayal fades just a little. Enough that his expression is no longer painful. Just angry, irritated, everything he didn't want to be tonight. For now, though, it seems he isn't going to just jump to stabbing her. Not yet, anyway. No, there's a strange curiosity building, though he mistrusts it greatly.

"Why?" He asks, still glaring.

"Charming," she deadpans, sounding for just that one word like a proper Ferelden lady. When she answers him properly, however, it's back to the usual, hazy, indistinct - though perhaps with a touch of the musical color spoken by the Marcher Dalish.

"There are a hundred elves in one of the city's empty warehouses. Slave stock. They need food, medicine, shelter, but I cannot get them to even venture outside." And her confusion and frustration over it is plain. "It is like trying to talk to cattle or sheep. There is nothing beyond a direct order."

No matter what is believed about the nature of this beast - good or ill - the undeniable truth is that she is freedom, the antithesis of collars and chains. It is not in her nature to be bound and so she does not understand bondage.

"You smell like the wolf but that collar left scars around your neck. You've survived. Help them."

Fenris shifts. He thinks, even, pausing. Sure, Fenris hates the institution of slavery. He hates watching it, he hates the thought of it, everything about it makes his skin crawl. Those who will not grasp their freedom when it is offered them, however, also make him twist.

"If you cannot convince them, how could I?" He says, sounding incredulous. He's still glancing over his shoulders, not trusting this situation in the slightest. Why? Why in the world could his life not just have one Maker forsaken evening where it can just be peaceful?

"I am not like them and they know it." And though the answer is given matter-of-factly, there is a tinge of sadness to it as well. "I am 'other'. After what they saw me do, they will never believe themselves capable of what I am. Freedom eludes them. They would benefit from a guide. You are not so different. I have hope that will be enough."

It is then that Fenris moves further into the room. Because, honestly, this has gotten into the realm of so bizarre he can't believe it, and he doesn't believe there wasn't something wrong with the wine he had before his bath. Taking up the half finished bottle he inspects it closely, looking, smelling. What even was his life?

"If it will have you leave my room. Fine." Fenris says. Though, whether or not he will believe this ever occurred tomorrow, or chalks it up to the mass amount of wine he intends to drink, is really quite hard to say.

Kitty watches him inspect said bottle with an expression of distinctly feline amusement, but she doesn't stop him. Nor does she stoop to the obvious commentary on his coping mechanisms. She even pulls herself to her feet, shaking her hide and stretching like a housecat gone wrong.

"Do you promise?"

Because she's pretty sure she's not evil, but she's certainly not stupid.

At that, Fenris sighs. Putting the bottle back down, he looks over to the tiger. A twitch at his jaw drops his ears half a fraction, but at least some of the heat has left his eyes at this point.

"No. I do not. That is, however, the best you will be getting from me." He answers simply, still not sounding amused with any of this at all.

"You're no fun," Kitty pouts, though the mouth moves only to yawn and not to shape the words. "Alright, I'll leave it to your conscience, then. I've no other choice." And since she is a cat of her word, she hops daintily off the bed and flicks Fenris with the tip of her tail as she walks past him on her way to the inconveniently closed door. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, da'fen."

See, Fenris would have been perfectly content to just let the strange fade tiger, who he was half convinced to be a hallucination, walk away. Entirely happy to just sit down and get back to his regularly scheduled drinking. Even the flick of that tail gets little more than a snarl. Even as his skin alights at the touch of that tail, burning hot, making him wince. Anders may have eased the damage that his body had done to himself, but the awakening of the lyrium so suddenly and unexpectedly, and so… Directly… Is unpleasant. That name, though, that gets a very different reaction. That, before he can even think, has Fenris moving quickly, throwing the wine bottle at the beast just before he moves to take up his sword, swiftness aided by the the still glowing lyrium, this time intentionally.

That wine bottle sails right through the great cat to shatter against the wall and floor behind her. It would be wrong to say that she appears alarmed, for there is no immediate physical fear for life or limb the way that mortal creatures experience it. Surprised, however, would be entirely accurate. The lit lyrium makes her eyes reflect and refract like a cat's do in the night, but she shows no other outward reaction to Fade Glow Night Light.

"That was rude. Also entirely uncalled for. Do you always try and brain people who do as you ask? I can't imagine that's a very productive strategy."

"How? How did he send you, beast?" Fenris snarls at her, not caring one bit if she finds him rude or not. He's not jumping to attacking her, not yet, intent on getting that answer first.

Now the tiger looks confused - confused and mildly cross.

"Who? How did who - what are you growling about, now?"

Of all of the decisions in his life, being ready to fight a fade tiger of unknown origin was one of the less prudent. And despite her pointing out the behavior, he does growl again.

"Danarius." He says, glaring all the while, "What foul magic did he employ for you, creature? And what is really in that warehouse?"

Well and truly lost now - and getting frankly very tired of being hissed and spat at for no discernible reason - Kitty lets loose a rumbling snarl of her own. It's no more than a mother's warning to a cub pushing the limits of her patience, but it's a frightening sound all the same.

"I have been remarkably patient with you, puppy, but you will either start making sense with your demands or I will have to be very rude indeed."

Somehow, her calling him 'puppy' makes him pause. While he was not familiar enough with elven to come to the conclusion of what she had meant immediately, hearing it in the common tongue makes the pieces fall into place. He heaves a sigh. Even the threat she has posed before him just gets a shake of his head.

"You were saying puppy…" Fenris mutters, placing his blade away, still shaking his head.

"Of course I w-"

But the great cat cuts herself off with a huff and a grumble that sound far too much like the pissy elf himself for anyone else's comfort, still sitting patiently in front of the door like a pet waiting to be let out.

"Are you always this frustrating?"

"Ideally." Fenris snaps, but he's settling down again. Taking a deep breath.
It's highly doubtful that he meant it in any humorous context whatsoever, but - for reasons passing any non-fade-tiger understanding - Kitty enjoys his response immensely.

"Good."

No, no one said she was going to make sense either. But at least she isn't hanging around, either. Because walking through closed doors is how everyone in Kirkwall gets around - didn't you know?

Definitely a hallucination. Fenris flops down onto his bed, reaches into his cupboard, and pulls out another bottle of wine. He winces a little even as he opens it. He'd have to clean up the glass from the other eventually.

That was future-Fenris' problem.

Or, Fenris-with-glass-in-his-foot's problem, a very specific variation of the future-Fenris.


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