lostcarnival | just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

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just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

Who: Everyone who's stupid enough to show up for this, because legal drinking ages are for people from a different century/planet.
When: Afternoon/Evening, Day 30
Where: Lakeshore
What: Local Carnival workers get wasted and set off fireworks by the lake.
Warnings: Carnival shenanigans, ie. booze, drugs, and people getting set on fire probably. Put any tag-specific warnings in your headers!

So, Wismuth happened.

Lambert's pretty willing to bet a good chunk of the Carnival is pretty happy to act like Wismuth didn't happen, but he also doesn't really care about what sorrows people are drowning or not tonight: he knows he needed this drink, and after he'd slept off the immediate exhaustion that came with running around Wismuth for nearly two weeks with the power of Creation more or less constantly burning through him, he's ready to something, anything to feel like himself again.

Fast-forward to the lakeshore. There's a huge bonfire going, a box of assorted fireworks that's been 'liberated' from wherever the hell engineering keeps their supplies, and probably a crate of wine that's going to disappear sooner rather than later. Anything else, someone's going to have to bring themselves.

[ ooc: This is a mingle log! Bring your own entertainment, food, questionable substances etc. ]

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He knows he can't avoid her forever. There was only so much distance he could put between them when they had both found themselves working the carnival. They each had their own reasons for being here and dared not ask the other for more knowledge than that. It had torn at his heart, twisted a dagger through him when he saw her last. She had lost all hope. All the light she carried with her perverted and cast out in favor of a call for the destruction of a place she hardly knew.

The call had rung familiar, but he knew their reasonings were different. Hers had been brought on by someone who made others a puppet and forced them to act against their will. Their standing with one another meant he dared not near her when Cole sought to save her. He would only be a hindrance and reminder of all that ate at her. When he learned that those taken had been redeemed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

And now he would have to face her. His gaze remains on the bonfire as she nears and his grip is firm on his drink.

"I would have thought walking barefoot in snow would rank higher," he remarks. "I trust you have been well."

That he doesn't look at her is something that doesn't escape her notice. Once she would have been furious with him, the polite mask he wears that cuts him off from all true displays of emotion -- how could he put that up against her, after everything? Now her anger has dwindled into ashes and embers, and she is so tired of having to fight it. There is so much else she has to wage a war against, him least of all, why should she fight against her heart as well?

It has been a thought that's eaten at her since she came back to herself.

"Clan Lavellan is too far north for snow," she says, amused. "And you have proven that it isn't just Dalish elves who are stubborn enough to do so." Perhaps that had been the one thing they'd gotten right -- an ancestral dislike for shoes. "It is good to be myself again," Lavellan admits.

The silence that follows only lasts a moment, and then -- "Solas." Not a plea, but a request that he look at her.

The amusement is met with a light scoff. The cold was his element and he would hardly be put off by the notion that the Dalish did it as well. It was one of very few things they got right about the culture they claimed to hold so near. There had to be a success at some point.

But that is a bitter thought for another day. Here the only other elf from Thedas was her. They came from the same world, and yet they were eons apart. If fortune had been kinder, they would not have met here to be forced to torment the other as they worked their contracts. Even now, her very voice pulls at him and threatens to rip him at the seams. For a brief moment, the grip on his cup tightens until his knuckles turn white and he exhales deeply.

He owed her this much, he supposes. The weight of the world, tinged with regret and guilt, a sorrow he would never be rid of--it all was worn plainly in his gaze as he shifts to face her.

"Lavellan."

That was something, at least. She takes in a breath -- her eyes meeting his and holding them in her gaze. Lavellan doesn't consider herself a fool, but she has certainly had her moments of foolishness. This is one of them, but it will eat at her until she cannot stand it. The weight of the world on his shoulders was a burden he did not have to shoulder alone, if he had trusted her, if he had given her the option to help him with it. But Solas was too proud, too convinced that it should be his duty to do alone, too stubborn.

"Can we not do away with pretenses? I am -- I am sick to death of pretending that I do not love you," and the words threaten to tear at her throat, but Lavellan does not give in. Does not give up. You're a fighter, Lambert had said, and he was right. But she doesn't want to fight this. "Don't do me the disfavor of thinking I am asking for us to pretend that what has happened hasn't," she continues, attempt to undercut any excuse he might have ready. "But I am done pretending that whatever is between us is dead and gone when we know better."

She is not asking for him to take her in his arms and kiss her, but she is done with the careful wariness that they have approached each other with. That she wants gone, replaced by the ability to express concern for him, to see him more, to know that he is within reach.

Edited 2018-03-26 21:03 (UTC)

Impossible. How could she think such? He meets her gaze stubbornly. What she was suggesting shouldn't come to pass. Everything had become muddled and his heart--no, that stood before him now. Torn asunder and he could not indulge himself by allowing it back in. On the path he walked, there was no need for it. They were both better off this way.

"We know what will happen when we return," he reminds her. They may not know the form it will take, but they were both here for a means to an end. A year was a short time before they would be facing each other. It was an encounter only one would walk away from.

"It is simpler this way."

Lavellan can feel her face twist, displeasure crossing over it. Not at him, no, but at this whole damned situation. It was just like her to find herself in love with someone so stubborn and set in his ways but he didn't have to be so infuriating while being both.

"I am done letting you make decisions for me because you think you know what's best." The words whip out of her, and she would jab him in the chest with a finger if she wasn't acutely aware that touching him would be a terrible idea. "You don't get to decide my part of this. Not this time." If he had wanted to break up with her because he had fallen out of love, that would have been one thing. But because he felt as if she was getting distracted by him? Not telling her the truth and letting her make her own decision regarding the matter? He has made far too many choices for her to let him have this.

Huffing in soft, resigned laughter, Lavellan pushes forward. "Do you think that denying our feelings will make the end any easier?" Or does he want the comfort that lying himself will bring -- 'if she dies by my hand, at least she will have a chance to fall out of love before; if I die by her hand, at least she will not kill the man she loves.'

Ass.

He draws himself up taller, somehow. No, she was far too independent for him to make any decision on her behalf. He may have done so as much for her as for himself back when he first broke off their relationship. But here and now, this decision was as much about himself and what he needed to accomplish. It would be foolish for him to think he could fall back into any semblance of a relationship with her. His emotions had ruled him far too many times in the past.

With a wave of his hand, he dismisses her question.

"And what good would accepting them be?" he asks, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Do you wish to torment me further? To remind me of all I cannot have?"

He shakes his head. "The time for such indulgence has passed."

She doesn't flinch, doesn't back down but meets him as he does so -- proud and defiant against his idiocy. How could someone so brilliant, so intelligent, commit himself to a cause so completely that he does not see any other option?

"The only one preventing yourself from having it is you," Lavellan points out, gesturing emphatically. "All I wish for is for us to stop acting like strangers when I know you better than any living person in Thedas, and you me." But if they are dealing in dreams, here -- "You need not suffer alone. Not here, not there."

Indulgence. As if he could so casually brush their relationship aside as such. She knows better. She knew better from the time she was on her knees, dying, and his touch was cool and calm. My love, I will never forget you. At least she is not the only one ruined over it.

He brushes her words off before promptly ignoring them. There was nothing she could do for him. This path was his own and he had long since made his decision. There was no going back. The contract he signed with the Ringmaster made certain of that.

"So be it. You have long since stopped being a stranger." This was a small step, but a step nevertheless. For all the good that would do.

And if she expects him to welcome her with open arms now, she would be waiting some time.

As if she expected anything else. A romantic involvement would be... unwise, she couldn't argue that point, even as she felt it was pointless when they already were. As if pretending that she didn't love him would change how much the end might hurt. As if loving him would somehow make it hurt more.

Still, it's something. More than she'd hoped, but she pounces on it. "That is all I ask." For now, but she will take her victory and cherish it. The silence that follows is at least slightly less stiff and formal that it was before, and Lavellan even manages a smile as someone gets particularly inventive with fireworks.

"I found a recipe for gaatlok with the qunari -- I wonder if we could more accurately replicate something like these back in Thedas." They certainly didn't need more things on fire, but the fireworks had been fun, the few she's lit.

Edited 2018-03-27 05:51 (UTC)

He would argue even friendly was unwise. There's no change to his posture though he does shift to focus his gaze back to the party. At least he had the foresight to get himself a drink when he arrived.

"It would be easier to replicate with magic." Not that many in modern Thedas used magic for something so small. It was seen as drawing unwanted attention from demons and reckless behavior to wield it so. He gives her words more consideration before adding, "If you managed to bring a sample back, you would no doubt be swarmed by those who wanted to recreate them."

To her, she's already in love with him -- the damage was done, and what harm would being friendly do? So long as she avoided touching him, or invading his personal space. Or a thousand other things that amounted to keeping her at literal arm's length. That she could do, Lavellan thinks.

She hums, slightly, peering at them from where they are. "I'm sure Fiona's College of Enchanters and Vivienne's new Circle would love to set aside their squabbling to turn to party tricks." Unlikely. She will never understand Circle politics, not their desire to bicker instead of working together to find a solution. Better them than her, in truth. "We could use something so pointlessly fun. And beautiful," she adds, watching a few more explode.

"It would be far more useful than their bickering," he says with no small amount of annoyance. Vivienne's strong opinions on the Circle were idiotic at best. There was too much fear surrounding magic and the Fade in Thedas, and the Circles only promoted that further. At least Fiona's college provided an alternative for those fortunate enough to find it, for however long that would last.

That's a topic for another time, however. He turns his attention fully to the fireworks and notes the variety of colors and designs. "They do have a certain appeal," he agrees eventually. "Fleeting as they are."

That gets a snort of amusement. "You'll find no argument from me there," she agrees, with a small shake of her head. "Vivienne cannot see past the allure of power, or risk losing everything she's spent her life working towards. I can't blame her, but she needs to find another role for herself." Instead of one that's attaching herself to people in power in hopes to use and gain power herself.

Something about his choice of words make her grin, even though he can't see it. "You'd most likely have far more fun coming up with something better. I'm sure we could take one apart and give you an idea, if you'd like." Or he could simply make one if he thought it worth his time and effort. Lavellan would be a fool to think that it wouldn't be spectacular if he tried.

He rolls his eyes. His distaste of Vivienne was not something he ever hid. The whole notion of Circles was idiotic and the most he can say of the Dalish was at least they didn't buy into it. The woman would find herself lost in a chase of a power she would never obtain and keep the lot of them busy. It could very well make his work easier.

"That will not be necessary." A pause then, "If I were to create such a display, I would not need anything more than magic."

A pause that she pounces on, seeing an opportunity there. "Oh? And what sort of display were you thinking of?" Genuinely curious, but also amused and wondering how far she can take this banter of their's. It will never be like it was, she'd be a fool for thinking that, but Lavellan is nothing if not willing to take risks at a moment's notice.

That Solas is willing to indulge her this far says something. What, she's not so sure of. But something.

The curiosity is genuine, that much is certain, but that doesn't curb the suspicion in which he regards her question. "One of magic," he returns flatly. "I did not have a specific one in mind." She was the one entertaining the notion of recreating fireworks back in Thedas.

And if he did have a display idea forming in his mind, he did not think it wise to share it with her. He lets out a small sigh and turns his gaze to the sky as another firework is launched upward.

So it would take more than a simple talk to get him to cast aside his wariness. Not that she expected differently, it was Solas, after all. Lavellan sighs, and shakes her head at him in exasperation. How stubborn, how very him. "Indulge me on this, Solas. Just the once." He had before, but she's not asking him to give up his evening and curl up with her in her quarters, reading.

She holds up her hands, focusing on forming small dancing sparks between them that mirror some of the designs in the sky. So it was possible, then. "I'm sure you could come up with something to show off here, if you wanted."

It would take far more than a conversation to even start to mend what was broken between them. He had made his choice when he had offered to remove her vallaslin and reaffirmed it upon the death of Corypheus. Their time apart had only solidified his reasons for doing so. The request to indulge her has him tight-lipped for a moment before he gives her a one-shoulder shrug.

He holds his hand out, palm-up and forms colorful sparks that fly up a ways then burst into more that fall back to his hand. A simple start that is an indulgence for them both.

"I know you can do far more than that."

That's enough to make her smile, although she shakes her head in fond resignation. "And here I thought you'd aim to put me to shame the first chance you get, show off." But her's will take more work, and she holds out her hand again, brow furrowed in focus.

What curls up from her hand isn't exactly a firework. Not yet, at least -- just twinning branches of purple light like the horns of halla that branch off into vines like Mythal's vallaslin before each point rockets into the air, exploding in miniature versions of the larger ones above them both, and fall like glittering rain.

"Better?"

Ah. His eyes open in recognition of the symbolism she uses. Appropriate she would pick Mythal's vallaslin to mimic. The memory of the woman is pushed from his mind quickly before it can tear down his carefully neutral expression.

"Better, yes." On the heels of her glittering rain, he conjures up a white wolf and 'blows' it away to charge into the 'rain.' When it finishes falling, the wolf howls before erupting into its own spiral of light.

Wolves. How very fitting. It pulls a grin from her, and a shake of her head. "At least now I know it was Fen'harel's love for the animals that gave him the name Dread Wolf. You are not a subtle man, Solas." But she adores him for it, just as she does everything else about him. Stubborn, prideful, and yet--

Well. Best not to think of it.

Lavellan smiles, and calls up a raven from the remaining light fading from the wolf, its wings twirling in the fading light as it corkscrews up to grow larger, until it hovers over them both -- spreading its wings wide before burning up in the air. Less impressive than his, no doubt, but still.

"Nor are you," he notes as he watches her raven fly over. The bird favored by Dirthamen who's vallaslin she still bears. Does she regret keeping it after all she's learned? He had given her the chance to remove it and she had made her choice, but that was before knowing the full extent of their past. It would be foolish to offer now and he lets the thought fade away.

"I expect you had other plans for this evening than to put on displays of light with me."

"I never claimed to be. In fact, I think several people we know would be up in arms if I tried," she points out, letting the light fade into the darkness as he doesn't pick up the thread of it. There's only a small twinge of regret, but one she doesn't pursue. Lavellan has spent enough time pushing her limits -- she'd rather not press her luck and cause him to retreat. It would be harder to get him to come back from it, she thinks.

A shrug, and a shake of her head. "I've seen to most of them before seeking you out. I'm sure there's one or two people I haven't apologized to yet," she admits, and sighs.

"You were not the only one lost to darkness," he reminds her, his tone taking a turn towards gentleness. It's gone quickly, however. That sort of sentimentality had drawn him in before and they were not feelings he could entertain now. It was best they part before that risk grew greater.

"I will not keep you any longer."

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dirthena - 2018-04-09 14:34 (UTC) - Expand

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just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

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hey, when am i gonna remember that she only has one arm? not today, apparently.

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