Post #2425436 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Nostariel sat inside the Hanged Man, completely sober and drinking only some form of fruit extract, as the water was still, she thought, quite unpalatable, and she didn’t even want to think about where the milk had been. She’d heard through the grapevine (and in this case, the grapevine was simply Ashton) that Sparrow wanted to meet the two of them today for some reason. Having also heard that her fellow mage was demon-free, she supposed it must be for a celebration of some kind, though frankly she thought a party of three was a little small for such a venture, especially when two of them didn’t drink anymore. Perhaps it was something else then, though the Warden had no idea what.

Either way, here she was, planted in her usual spot, but with only the barest traces of the ponderous melancholy that had once anchored her to the spot. It was getting close to that time of year again, and she knew there would be a few days in there where she was almost as bad as she’d used to be, but hopefully, this time it would only be for a little while. Much as she didn’t want to fall behind, the occasional step backwards was part of moving forward, wasn’t it?

"We really should start going to a better bar," Ashton said, brushing his hands softly against Nostariel's shoulders as he slipped by. A commotion near her ankles revealed that he had brought Snuffy along with him on this trip. They had entered as Nostariel was pensively staring into her mug, or maybe quizzical was the better word. Honestly, he'd caught himself with much of the same stare on his face when he gazed into his own. Now that he was sober, he actually had the ability to question what it was he was shoving down his throat. It was a question he was positive he didn't want to know the answer to, and one he was sure would haunt him if he found out. It was better to not think of it, as he took a seat and ordered another one of whatever Nostariel was drinking.

Snuffy, now larger than the little pup Ashton first got her as, hopped up on a chair beside Ashton and looked every bit the Princess Ashton had named her as. Head held high, chest puffed out, she didn't even pant, as that would break her regality. As his drink arrived and barring a curious look at Snuffy (one which was fixed by an extra silver piece or two) nodded thanks and continued, "It's not like we don't have options. I mean, neither of us are broke anymore. Surely we could find a nice Hightown establishment that doesn't have mandatory weekend barfights," And maybe one that didn't allow dogs into their establishment. He loved Snuffy to death, but as an experiment, a bar that allowed dogs onto the premises wasn't exactly the highest class of experience. Still, he'd never for the life of him admit that in front of Snuffy. He could swear that the dog was smarter than he was.

Small talk is all it was though, he couldn't deny that the hole-in-the-wall didn't have its charm, even if he had to wipe that charm off after he left. And the shock of actually drinking something nice for once might very well kill him faster than the stuff he was already drinking. He folded his fingers together and created a hammock upon which his chin rested as he looked at Nostariel, "Soooo... How's life?" He asked with a comically large smile.

Nostariel beamed at the combination of Ash-and-Snuffy as they broke into her otherwise ordinary afternoon and summarily brightened the entire thing. He had a way of doing that, she decided, and of course, the Warden’s favorite dog could only help. Obligingly scratching the Mabari beneath the ears and moving down under her chin with muttered endearments, she dropped a playful kiss on the canine’s forehead and laughed when she chuffed in response. Glancing up at the hunter, she couldn’t force the smile off her face, and to her credit, she didn’t even try. “Oh?” she replied with traces of amusement. “And what respectable Hightown establishment would serve an elf like me and a no-good rogue like you, hm? I think I like my hole-in-the-wall just fine, don’t I, Snuffy?” She looped an arm around the Mabari’s rapidly-thickening neck and propped her pointed chin on the furred head.

“I don’t go to bars to be reminded of the reasons why I’m not wearing a dress and living in a mansion, thanks.” Though her nose wrinkled with faint distaste, her eyes were still clearly of a good humor. She considered the question perhaps more than its flippant nature really warranted, then shrugged, still leaning on the dog. “I feel… selfish, saying that life is good. But for now, at least, it really is.” Time would change that, like time changed everything. The anniversary was coming up, and who knew when this Qunari business would at last overwhelm them, but between now and then, Nosatriel was resolved to enjoy her simple contentment as much as she could.

“Any idea what Sparrow wants? I admit, I was a bit surprised when she asked to meet us here. You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?” Poor Sparrow had just been freed of that demon; surely she did not need to be troubled again so soon with other difficulties. She deserved to be able to have a chance to make peace with herself and the ones she’d hurt, to start healing as everyone inevitably must attempt to do. Nostariel knew a thing or two about healing, and the process would be long, but… if Sparrow could achieve it, things might at last be right in her world again. And that was worth just about anything.

Looking at herself in a mirror hadn't ever been a nasty habit of hers, but Sparrow couldn't help but pluck handfuls of cloth in her slender hands, inspecting the way they fell around her shoulders. Her lack of musculature made it impossible to keep her trousers snug on her hips, forcing her to continuously tug them up while she walked or sew them two-fingers inwards—and with her horrible seamstress abilities, it made for ugly clothes and ruined garments. Bearing her armour for the first time had been even more disappointing. It bounced and chafed her joints, like she'd become a bumbling fledgling trying on something that did not quite belong to her. Too skinny to trundle around in ill-fitting armour, and too stubborn to leave the house looking like a scraggy, rawboned little girl, Sparrow needed to do something. Startling observations like that caused her to look closer at herself. She impulsively enlisted the aid of her two friends, hastily sending letters to meet her at the Hanged Man. They might have a better idea of what to do with her. Rilien did not seem to understand her grievances, and simply suggested buying clothes that fit her, whilst feeding her spoonfuls of Maker-knows-what.

She fiddled with her trousers, sighing softly as she buckled a worn leather belt around her waist. Hipbones swung out like ivory tusks, no longer hidden by her masculinity. She didn't quite look like she was wearing a nightdress, but she nearly did. It was enough to give her pause. She fixed the collar of her shirt and tried to tighten the drawstrings. Robust shoulders had long wilted away to slender things, hardly worthy of manly veneer. No point in squandering her time anymore than she already had. She'd forgotten that Ashton had already seen what she looked like, but Nostariel certainly hadn't. She sighed again, low and soft, before pulling on her boots and slipping outside. It took her a little longer than expected to reach the Hanged Man because she'd been dragging her feet, swilling words in her head like the scummy-ale they served inside. Sparrow hesitated at the door and backtracked a few paces. Nostariel had never been one to judge others, nor laugh. Her weaknesses were her own, and she'd have to own up to them eventually—and she'd faced worse odds. Clothes were clothes, after all.

Sparrow swung into the Hanged Man like she always did. Or always had, before becoming Rapture's puppet-play thing. Her smile was genuine enough, even if it looked odd on all of those sharp angles, sticking out in her cheekbones and chin. If it was possible for her to appear more slender than she'd been under the guise of a man, she'd certainly proved it possible now. However, if anyone thought she looked like a man, they wouldn't now. Perhaps this, most of all, was the most disconcerting. Her identity was important enough to keep—important enough to protect, even if everyone knew contrary. All of her barriers were built around those lies; around falsehoods and tenderly built ideas of what she perceived strength to be like. She'd lost that with Rapture, along with much more. Her friends were kind enough not to seek retribution for her behaviour, though she'd been receptive enough to face what she'd done. She wanted to get better. She wanted nothing more. Sparrow spotted Ashton and Nostariel sitting in their usual spot and purposefully strode in their direction, unburdened by any sycophant-weight preying on her thoughts.

It was only then that she noticed the Mabari-hound obediently sitting in one of the wooden chairs, as if she'd been schooled by some sort of noble handmaid. She paused in her steps, faltered momentarily, then childishly hopped behind the mannerly pup to scratch it behind the years. “What—I never knew! You got yourself a Mabari-hound...” She cheeped excitedly, before tempering down her tone and clearing her throat. Snuffy's very existence had been a mystery since her possession for she'd rarely left her quarters in Darktown, nor sought out Ashton's companionship for fear of losing herself. Come to think of it, she hadn't really known what any of her friends were doing. It was something that needed rectifying. Slowly removing her hands from Snuffy's head, she smoothed out the many wrinkles of her flag-like shirt and plopped down beside Ashton.

“Suppose you two are wondering why I've asked you here.”

"Well, now I expect you to make regular visits to the shop. Then Snuffy won't be a stranger any more. And don't think about missing a week, I will hunt you down. You know I will," Ashton said, making a show of pointing at her. Afterward an easy smile settled on his lips as he shrugged noncommittedly. "Nah, just a little bit curious," He said, using his fingers to indicate how much a "little" was, "But then again, I can't say that I'm worried. Whenever you're around, I can expect copious amounts of fun times... Let's just not black out this time, yeah?" He said with a chuckle that quickly turned nervous. In that moment, he shot a glance at Nostariel that was somehow apologetic, ashamed, and embarrassed all at the same time. Damn his tongue being faster than his head.

Nostariel sighed and rolled her eyes, but whatever initial displeasure she'd felt with the whole incident seemed to have faded into mostly-good humor with time. Maker knew her friends were odd people that did strange things sometimes-- there was little point in getting upset over that.

So instead she smiled at Sparrow over Snuffy's head. "Well, don't keep us in suspense," she replied, trying not to mother when she noticed the rather frighteningly-emaciated conditions of her friend. She knew the last months-- years really-- had been bad for Sparrow, but she seemed to have lost her concept of how bad, if the shadow of worry behind her eyes was anything to go by. "What can we humble Wardens and hunters and hounds do for our gallant friend?"

Sparrow paused momentarily, before reaching over Ashton to scratch the Mabari-hound behind the ears. She quickly retracted when he recounted their harried tale. It was a slip of the tongue, clearly. Her grin was strangely sheepish. She hardly remembered what had happened, nor would she ever admit to wearing that accursed dress—she still secretly hoped she'd been the one wearing the silk fineries, and he'd been the one skirting around in frilly laces. While Rapture preyed on her weaknesses, Sparrow drowned them out with alcohol. It hadn't been her finest moment, but Ashton was there to support her, anyway. Thankfully, she'd been a little better. She even waved away the goblet the barman slipped over, wordlessly denouncing her nasty habits. Quite unlike her. Her stomach couldn't handle it, empty as it was. Her tolerance, it seemed, had all but slipped down the gutter. Rilien said it would take her awhile to feel normal again, but perhaps it was for the best.

“Don't worry—I'm in the business of remembering nowadays,” She affirmed, skating her fingertips over her the rim of her goblet. It was a genuine enough statement. After being freed from her unwelcome guest, and realizing what her companions had gone through to help her, Sparrow felt true liberation for the first time in her life. Nothing came without a price, though. Her friends had sacrificed much—Rilien, most of all. All of her lapses and mistakes had perched under her chin like contained howls, eating her away much like that leech-creature had. It was also her friends who had taken the reins away from her, belying a concern she did not believe she deserved. Who would stick their hand in the burning coals, only to pull one out from the fire? They would. They'd proven it over and over again. Mending her wounds, and trying to bandage theirs, was her only mean of rectifying all of her wrongs. It was enough for now. She took a deep breath and plucked at her dragging sleeves. “Nothing fits me anymore. I mean, I don't own anything that fits. And I thought that I ought to, I don't know. I look different.”

She threw up her hands, unable to chew the words out. Wardens and hunters and hounds did not dally around with skeletons, trying to dress them appropriately. It was difficult enough admitting that she wasn't happy with what she saw in the mirror, let alone leaving her hovel long enough to request aid. She knew how she looked. Sparrow mussed her fingers through her hair and leaned forward miserably, head plopping down across her forearms. “I look like I'm wearing Rilien's robes. My armour doesn't fit. I need help.”

Nostariel was pretty sure that ‘eat more’ wasn’t really the right thing to say here, though it seemed pretty obvious to her that it needed to happen. Sparrow was looking rather unhealthy, but… she bet it didn’t help to feel like she was swallowed by her own garments in the meantime. Still, she hadn’t really picked the vivacious half-elf as someone with any amount of vanity, so there were obviously other issues at work here. Sparrow needed to feel good about herself. Herself. That might be the operative thing, here. She couldn’t exactly pass for a man anymore, even if she wasn’t all that girly, either.

Well, there were a lot of things going on underneath this, maybe, and there was obviously still the matter of her health to consider, but all those issues would take time to work through, to sort out. Maybe a nice little dose of confidence would be the best place to start, rather than a way to end. Leaning forward onto the table, Nostariel propped her chin in a hand, sending Ashton a conspiratorial glance and smiling widely. “Well, that’s easily-enough remedied,” she said lightly. “We just need to find you clothes that fit properly. Would you like a dress? I think you’d look lovely in a dress, but if you’d rather not, there are tailors who make trousers and tunics for women.” Nostariel wasn’t exactly an expert on clothes, being a Warden and thereafter having most of her things made for her. She suspected Ash knew just as much, if not more, about women’s clothing than she did, but maybe between them, they could give Sparrow a hand.

Shrugging, she stood and tugged on Sparrow’s elbow, trying not to wince when this only reminded her of how bony she was. Nostariel had always been small and slight, but there was a difference between that and looking half-starved. Yes, a good dose of confidence was definitely in order… and then a large meal. “No time like the present, is there? Let’s make a day of it, the four of us.” Snuffy, of course, would always be included. "Shopping!?" Ashton exclaimed, flailing his arms about.

Sparrow's mouth gawped open. A dress? It sounded as absurd as her and Ashton's impromptu wedding. Had she ever worn one? Suppose she hadn't. Qunari were clearly unfashionable, and those who dwelt in Ferelden and Kirkwall seemed to prefer dressing reasonably, rather than frivolously. Not that she was in the habit of noticing. The finest clothes she'd ever glimpsed had been the ones Ashton had stolen from whatever poor nobleman's quarters they'd stumbled into—and even then, Sparrow was clueless as to how the pieces fit together. Running into money in the Deep Roads only garnished a short period where she bought and wore gaudy clothes found in the richer parts of Kirkwall, which were politely, albeit casually, jilted and dismissed by Rilien. They would attract unwanted attention, he said. He knew better than her, so she'd stashed the peacock-emblazoned garments in her hoard-corner. Now, they didn't fit her either.

She smiled when Nostariel leaned forward, propping up her elbows. Smoothly assuring her that they would find something proper for her to wear. Dresses, trousers, tunics made for women. The subject was still tender, but she'd have to come to terms with it eventually, as unusual as it sounded in her head. Coming to terms with herself, more like. It felt like something else she'd been desperately running from, and something else she needed to face. Piecing out the reasons always seemed ridiculous. Who would want to live the way she'd managed to live? Her lies were heavy things, bearing down her ankles and tugging at her throat. They'd protected her before, hadn't they? “I've never worn a dress,” She mused, meek for the first time in ages. Her armour shielded her from more than blades, it seemed. She was only relieved she'd sought them out for this. There was no laughter. No mockery or jeering. Amalia wouldn't have laughed, either. She was not ready to see her yet. “I think I'd like that.” "Shopping!" Ashton repeated in the affirmative, nearly launching out of his chair.

Sparrow responded in kind, slipping from the stool and leaving her goblet untouched. Steps forward were better than steps backwards, in any shape, any form.

Snippet #2425436

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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