boobytraps | prismatica

( In her usual fashion, Isabela's nursing a nasty hangover when she hears the rapid-fire hammering on the door of her apartment. At least whoever it is seems to know her name, and while the dulcet tones of her impromptu guest seem familiar, she can't quite place the voice yet. )

Oi, oi, oi, keep it down, will you? Some of us are trying to sleep here --

( It's as she finishes complaining that she swings the door wide open and oh. She's not prepared for the view that awaits her.

It has been far too long.

Fenris is treated to the rare sight of Isabela looking genuinely stunned for several long moments before her face splits into a grin. )

Fenris! You're back!

( And perhaps if she hadn't been so lonely lately she'd have the presence of mind to realize that this isn't as good news for him as it is for her -- her friend is not as suited to this world as she is -- but she figures she's allowed to be a little selfish. )

Back?

[Wait, no, he's too pleased to see her in all her familiar glory to ask that just yet. Instead: he steps forward, into her home, closing the door behind him. The world seems a little more contained that way, and he exhales. Swallows thickly, and then, finally:]

. . . it's good to see you.

[It's far, far beyond good to see him. He's overwhelmed with relief, honestly, and it's all he can do not to stumble into her arms.]

( Isabela can't help but notice that looks a bit green around the gills, like a farmboy during his first sailing trip. She steps back to allow him properly into the apartment, moving to lead them down the hallway and into the living room proper. )

It's good to see you, too.

( She can't help but want to answer his query, though, no matter how much he might want to get comfortable first. )

You were here for a few months. ( She shrugs. ) Then you were gone.

( Truth be told, she doesn't know what to do with this information either. )

[. . . well. That's news, and he exhales slowly, ignoring the way his chest has suddenly gone tight.]

I saw you not three weeks ago.

[He rubs his mouth-- and then, abruptly, takes a seat. At least he doesn't have to think about it: there's few he trusts, but Isabela is undoubtedly one of those few.]

I don't understand. I-- Isabela, three weeks ago Kirkwall was in flames, how could either of us have been here? Never mind for a few months.

( Isabela slumps into an chair across the coffee table from Fenris, dragging a leg over the armrest with more casualness than she truly feels. Her apartment is like many of the other provided housing in Lunatia, and although she hasn't changed the place much she's still proud of what she's done with it.

The main drawing card is a feature wall that has been adjusted to look like a scenic view of ships at sea. She stares at it for several moments, letting it help with collecting her thoughts.

What is Fenris saying? )

What do you mean, Kirkwall was in flames?

Anders and the Chantry.

[That isn't actually something one forgets, is the thing. There's absolutely no way she could forget such a thing, much less ask him to clarify. Fenris stares hard at her, his eyes darting over her face. Is it the same face he knows? Yes, ostensibly, it's the same warm eyes and dark hair, the same piercings, but there's--

Younger.

She looks younger.]

Anders blew up the Chantry, Isabela. He killed the Grand Cleric and half of Kirkwall with it.

[It's rough, because he doesn't know how not to be rough. But he doesn't mean it cruelly.]

( Roughness has never been something that's bothered Isabela, and honestly, she appreciates Fenris's candor. The truth of the matter is several people she had spoken to from Thedas had mentioned the future, but whenever they had asked her about her experiences, her timeline, she had evaded the questions.

Isabela hadn't cared to know more. Isabela had been glad to see the back of Kirkwall.

Isabela had been selfish, but she doubted anyone had expected anything more of her, and nobody had pressed further.

The little pieces of the puzzle start to slot into place. Reconstruction efforts. Viscount Varric (oh, how she had laughed at the mental image). Knight-Captain Cullen's promotion... this organisation known as The Inquisition.

It all seemed to lead back to some major catastrophe, and although her legs are still slung over the armrest, she sits up a little straighter, focused intently on the conversation. )

I - I didn't know.

( But perhaps she should have. Even if it was after her time.

It's not that the information is a surprise, per se; Anders had always been unpredictable, sharing his head with that spirit, but ...

She should have known.

Sighing deeply, she continues, more softly than is her usual custom: )

You know, in this place, that people can come from different times?

I'm beginning to learn it.

[Vaguely he'd heard such things, but dismissed them as irrelevant. Not necessarily untrue, but there were only so many things one could take in at once, after all. Fenris stares at her for a long few seconds, then sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

I didn't know, and maybe she could have found out, but he can hardly blame her for not wanting to. It's . . .

It's complicated, the emotions he feels right now. For this situation, for her. But looking up and seeing her perched there, the first and foremost that rises within him is still nothing more or less than complete relief.

Thank the Maker she's here, he thinks.]

Tell me the last thing you remember. The last big thing.

( Isabela averts her gaze, looking somewhere over to the side of the room as she answers with as little emotion as possible: )

People were trying to kill me, so I left town.

( Is that enough information, she wonders? Surely he'll tell her if it's not. )

[Ah.]

You came back.

[She had, to her credit. Was she expecting to hear that? He wonders. It's strange, seeing a version of her from a few years ago: he feels as if he knows her and doesn't, all at once. It's her, of course it's her, but . . . so much has happened since then, and it's hard to remember who they used to be.]

Hawke fought the Arishok for your life-- and, naturally, won.

[It's Hawke.]

( Oh. Well. That certainly answered some questions that had been lingering in the back of her mind, despite how much she might claim not to dwell on past events. Although, in this case, they weren't exactly past, were they?

She'd been wondering if perhaps she should return to Kirkwall, face up to her mistakes. But she hadn't wanted to cause more problems for everyone.

It was suppose to be her mess, to clean up on her own.

All this musing can really only lead to one question, anyhow. She finally takes her legs down from the armrest, plating her feet firmly against the floor. )

Right. Hawke.

( A beat. )

I have to ask. In your world... was Hawke a man or a woman?

[To his credit, he blinks for only a moment before grimacing.]

A woman.

[A rogue, too, which means Bethany is the twin he knows, not poor Carver. Fenris rubs a hand over his mouth, then asks:]

Marian Hawke.

Oh, yes, she was a woman in mine as well.

( They can agree on this much, at least. She gestures with one hand far above her head. )

About yay high, excellent tits, not a mage...

( Unlike the Marian that had been here many moons ago. That whole concept had taken getting used to. But not as much as the other Hawke. )

There was a Hawke who was a man here as well.

( Now, she strokes her chin. )

You should've seen his beard.

[There's the smallest sliver of relief at Isabela's answer. She's younger, yes, but it's still the woman he knows, thank the Maker, and some part of him relaxes.

But, ah--]

A man.

[That's . . . hm. Odd, honestly, but he'd rather the news of a bearded, male Hawke than an Isabela he doesn't know. It's easier to cope with, for starters, given one's here and the other isn't-- and really, until he has to confront it face to face, he won't give it much mind.]

I suppose it would suit him. Her. Them, whichever.

[Maker. He shakes his head, glancing to the side for a few seconds.]

The past few months . . . what have they been like for you?

[He's barely been around, but he's already seen, hm, quite a bit. He can't imagine spending months here. Like, yes, Isabela is perhaps perfectly suited for a city obsessed with sex, but at the same time . . . he won't assume her life has been easy these past few months.]

( The ghost of a smile graces Isabela's face at Fenris's question. )

Just the last few months? Much like the months before it.

( She stops herself short of mentioning that she's been here for over a year already. Not that she has any true desire to hide such information it's just ... difficult to confront, head on. )

In any case, much better now you're here.

( Evasive, in true Isabela fashion. While she hadn't minded this place so much in the beginning, the lack of freedom is starting to grate at her nerves, just as it had during her time in Kirkwall.

She was never meant to stay in one place for this long. )

[He sees that evasiveness, don't think he doesn't. But the difference between him and, say, well-meaning, eternally nosy Hawke, is that he doesn't necessarily think that prying is the solution. It's telling enough she won't say anything.

Besides: far be it for him to ignore that sentiment.]

It's . . . more of a relief than I can say to have found you here.

[It really is. He hasn't the words to express his relief that she's here, because everything he thinks of sounds either too simplistic or too full of emotion for his liking. So: there it is, he missed her more than he can say, more than he wants to say, and he's enormously glad to have her here, now let's stop talking about feelings.]

I've met one man who seems decent. Beyond that . . .

[. . .]

Too many are taken in by this place.

( Isabela scoffs, fingers fiddling with a loose thread of fabric on the arm of her chair. )

Can you blame them? They've a roof over their heads, full bellies, easy coin...

( People have given up their freedoms for less, she thinks, but that's a slippery slope to a difficult discussion that she doesn't feel like having right now, if ever.

Isabela herself had been charmed by this place when she had first arrived, so desperate she had been to escape the troubles that had haunted her in Kirkwall.

Now, though...

The city is too small, the countryside too desolate, the seas too uncharted.

It leaves her feeling trapped.

It leaves her wanting to change the subject.

So, she asks instead: )

Who's this decent man you've met?

[Of course he can blame them, and his expression says that plainly. He can blame them entirely, and does, but he won't pick a fight right now. Later, maybe, when the shock of seeing her has worn off, but he'll keep the peace now.]

His name is Lorenz.

[He's a dork. He's sweet. He's noble. Fenris will refuse to say any of these things, save perhaps that last point.]

He's . . .

Kind. Despite his occasional ridiculousness.

( She, too, is grateful that Fenris isn't in the mood to argue. They'll never see eye-to-eye on everything, but there's a time and a place for such discussions.

Isabela can't help but huff with amusement at her friend's explanation. )

Don't tell me you're growing soft.

I enjoy the company of one man and I've grown soft?

[Drawled out, and he settles back, a little more at ease now that they're in familiar territory. It's a mistake, because it means he relaxes enough to forget some aspects of the situation. Isabela doesn't look that different, after all, and it's easy to forget she's not the same woman he'd known. To wit:]

Don't tell me you're jealous.

[Because they were sleeping together, back when and where he was from. Because it was so casual that the thought of jealousy was laughable, and they've teased each other like that before. But this isn't his Isabela, and that's a hell of a thing to say to someone who knows you only platonically.

He wrinkles his nose.]

Anyway. He's heard stories of you. I think he's a bit stunned you're really a pirate, frankly.

( Well. There's certainly a lot to unpack here, and although Isabela enjoys digging for buried treasure she finds serious topics and thoughtful discussions of little value. She can find herself tensing further and forces herself to relax; there's no reason to be bracing for a fight when she knows she won't find one here.

Not with a friend. Not with Fenris.

With all the casualness she can muster, she replies: )

Oh, I get that a lot. You won't believe how many people believe all of the stereotypes.

( Peg legs and eyepatches, please. She considers herself competent enough to not lose any of her body parts.

Her mind, however, keeps spinning back to Fenris's earlier comment, and she can't help but ask: )

Jealous? Why would I be jealous? If anything, I'm flattered you're talking about me.

[Hmm. He wrinkles his nose, looking a little uncertain.]

It was a poorly worded joke.

[Should he tell her? There's no real reason not to, beyond some potential awkwardness-- but awkwardness is better than keeping it a secret.]

When you returned to Kirkwall, we slept together for a time.

[So, the joke being: don't tell me you're jealous I'm sleeping with someone else, which in retrospect isn't much of a joke, but whatever.]

( If Isabela's surprised by the revelation, she doesn't show it; if anything, she seems intrigued by the prospect. )

Did we. I'm sorry I can't remember it.

( A thoughtful pause. )

I thought you were with Hawke.

( Or is this just one of the any number of things that varied across timelines and realities? )

Hawke--?

[The notion is foreign to him, clearly, and he wrinkles his nose.]

I certainly would not object, [or at least wouldn't have a few years ago] but no. She was preoccupied by the witch.

( Isabela cants her head to one side. )

Merrill?

( It's an interesting coupling when she thinks about it, but if she's to truly reflect, she can see how it might work.

The absurdity of it all makes her laugh. )

I wonder how many versions of us there are out there.

prismatica | INBOX

slams into this FINALLY!!

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sorry for my slow, these past few days have been hectic c:

no worries!!

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