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[ Tony watches her closely; it isn't really the reaction he'd been anticipating. Hawke does about as well with feelings as he does - which is to say, not very well - but he knows her well enough to know this is off, even for her.

Come to think of it, that might be what the flask is for, too. ]

Oh, they are. But I've come to find they have their time and place.

Oh. Is this special? Are we having a moment? One of those moments where we bond our friendship eternal forever. Start planning some tattoos? I vote dragons.

[It's a joke. It's a Hawke joke but the delivery is off. Probably because before she even starts she has to take a hit from the flask and the finish has her with her forehead in her hand trying to breath.

It's not even a lie. It does make her feel important in a way that no one ever really has been good at except for Varric. But sometimes she wonders if Varric sees her for who she is, warts and all. Tony does. And that's why she really doesn't want to add more by breaking down in front of him.

But all she can think of is there's not going to be an eternal friendship. With Tony. Or Varric. Or anyone. It's going to be cut short. What was she going to miss?]

Edited 2017-01-03 02:22 (UTC)

[ Okay, so whatever this is, it's a little more concerning than just being "off." He squints at her through the dim light. ]

Uh, sure. It's a moment as long as you don't barf on me.

[ Because she's looking more and more like she's gonna barf, or pass out. Was it something he said? Saying the wrong thing entirely without knowing why it was the wrong thing is nothing new, so that's possible. Likely, even. ]

I'm not, I just...

[She doesn't even know what she "just" anymore. It started small as a familiar weight but now that feeling that she can't breath is spreading through her like some kind of virus. She doesn't want this to happen, she just wants to joke with Tony and be comfortable in his presence and perhaps even happy that he praised her. People don't praise her like that often.

But instead she's just sitting there with her head in her hand trying to catch her breath like a pathetic fish that's been pulled from his stream and left to gasp and flop uselessly in the dirt.

Hawke doesn't even realize that she's on her feet. She doesn't remember even thinking about standing. Her body's completely lost in it's desperate struggle to just find air.

Elena told her how to fix this but now she can't remember. Is it five seconds in, ten out? No... three and seven? Fuck. Elena would be so disappointed in this if she could see it. Add her to the list along with the entire city of Kirkwall. Maybe everyone in Thedas.]

I just have to go. I'll be...

[She wants to tell him she'll be back as a sort of useless gesture that it isn't his fault. But the words die on her lips as she turns around and half runs, half stumbles away from the camp and closer to the quiet and dark stones that surround it.]

[ Well.

That happens.

He pulls himself up as she stumbles away and follows after at a slightly slower pace, lest she feel like she's being actively chased or boxed in, or something. This kind of thing seems to be happening a lot around here, or maybe he's projecting again, but he's gonna go ahead and assume he's not. Better to look like a damn fool than not do anything.

They're in the dark twilight of the camp's outer ring by the time his voice pipes up behind her. ]

Try the alphabet backward. [ He's tried that one at least a couple of times, with varying success. ] ... Or forward, actually, backward is hard as hell. It's only easy when you're well and truly plastered.

[Hawke only makes it to the outer ring before she collapses, retching up a foul combination of burning liquor and the funny purple water that restores her magic, before she collapses into a crouch. Resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She tries to cool her face with an ice spell, only to struggle to control it so tendrils of ice creep from her feet and across the rocky wasteland.

She'd thought getting away would help. That she'd feel less trapped. But instead the dark sky and landscape just seem to crush around her like an impossible force. Is that what dying is like? It's dark and cold and crushing and there's nothing else anymore.

Hawke has been so close to death so often that it feels like a memory. Something that was in the past but she'd moved on from. There'd always been something stopping her. She couldn't die then, there was something more she needed to do. But she fails doesn't she? Kirkwall falls to war. Then what is there for her to do anymore?

Tony's voice comes in somewhere behind her left shoulder and cuts like a light in the fog. She raises her hands out of her hands to look at him and give him a baffled stare through her attempts to catch her breath.]

The...

What?

[ He moves closer - avoiding any nasty, unidentifiable liquids - and deposits himself on the ground next to her. ]

You know, "A, B, C, D..."

Unless you don't have that in dragon land, which, shit, I guess might be true. Listening to my dulcet tones might have to suffice, unfortunately for you.

[ People simply talking to him has pulled Tony through plenty of his own panic attacks in the past, and while he can't claim there's any universal tactic that guarantees success, there's no point in not trying it.

More alarming is why Hawke of all people would be in this state at all. ]

I'll take dulcet tones. You could sing. Can you sing? Either way you could sing.

[She reaches out, awkwardly, clumsily, to grab his arm when he drops beside her, gripping it like it's the only thing keeping her from just sinking right through the ground. It's pathetic. Like a clinging child and she hates it. But the sky feels like it might swallow her up whole and it's only a funny joke that Tony is the only person next to her.]

You're gonna have to pay extra for singing.

[ He shifts a little so that she can hold onto him comfortable, but otherwise doesn't point it out or make a fuss. No big deal; like this happens all the time. ]

Singing's not really my style, anyway. Could teach you some French, maybe. Or Japanese. Then again, I feel like you'd start insulting me in multiple languages, so probably not the best idea.

I'm rich.

[She reminds him but without any real demand behind it. She's slowly dropped from a crouch to just slumped on her knees. Now she looks more worn down than she does panicked and afraid.

Her hand still grips him tightly.]

Teach me something anyway. I promise to use it only for good.

[ Progress is progress. He remembers what that feels like, as the walls seem to stop closing in on you but you're still left bruised and breathless, like they crushed you anyway.

She earns a skeptically quirked eyebrow, though it may be hard to see in the semidarkness. ]

Yeah? So if I teach you the first fifty decimals of pi, you'll do only the most responsible mathematics with it?

[She does feel crushed. Like her body was put through the ringer like it often is, but with an extra layer of despair coated in there. But whatever this strategy is, it seems to be working.]

Of course. I never drink and divide. Responsible maths only.

Good. I'm holding you to that. No accidental time/space anomalies or I'm blaming you personally.

[ And then he literally just starts. Reciting numbers from memory. And fully expecting her to repeat after him. ]

[Hawke stares at him for a few seconds like he's just shouting nonsensical bullshit. Which it almost is because she has no idea what pi is and it just seems like he's saying numbers into the void. She tries to repeat after him but her brain clearly can't keep up with his unique sort of genius and she just ends up stumbling over her words until she just stops with a frown.]

Am I supposed to have a headache? Was that the goal? Because that at least did work. Very effective.

[ He actually snorts, the closest he's come to laughter in... well, weeks. Certainly not since before the Moira crashed. ]

If I had a dime for every person who's ever told me I've given them a headache. Not that I need the money.

[She starts a little bit at the noise before connecting that it was a somewhat positive sound.]

I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've heard you laugh in weeks. Or almost laugh. Not that I count laughs or almost-laughs. That would be creepy.

[She sighs like someone taking a rest in the middle of pushing a massive boulder up the hill.]

You could take them anyway. I like shiny coins.

Hey, it hasn't been weeks.

[ Until he suddenly realizes it probably has been.

He looks away, out over the alien horizon. Sometimes looking at it makes the guilt feel overwhelming (did he put them here? Would they be fine if he just hadn't meddled?), but then he thinks of the weight of Hawke's hand on his arm, and Pepper sleeping safely in their tent, and the promise of a new tomorrow in whatever greets them beyond the Ingress. ]

Well, whatever. We're alive. Everything's shitty, sure, but we can fix that - probably. Might as well lighten up a little.

[Hawke grips his arm a little tighter before she even realizes her body has been subjected to an unconscious reflex.

We're alive. It's funny how words can mean nothing and then suddenly mean everything only a few days later. Not funny haha, but funny in how Hawke's life tended to be "funny". Perhaps, it was fitting in that sense.]

Definitely. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but someone has to drop this important truth. You're really not fun when you're grumpy.

[See, this is your problem. Not hers.]

[ And here Tony thought it has been an innocuous, even optimistic statement. ]

You're mistaken if you think that's news. [ He narrows his eyes, trying to scrutinize her as well as he can given the lighting. ] You did try to squeeze my arm off for a second there, though. What's up with that?

[She glances down at her hand, gripping his arm like he's the one keeping her grounded on this earth, and then pulls away sharply like she'd just burned herself. She runs her fingertips across her palm as she makes a fist, opens it, and then repeats. She should probably tell Tony. Probably. But it's hard when she doesn't even really know how to tell herself it. It's a strange mental state of knowing something but not being able to understand it. So she starts as Hawke does, coming in from an angle that no one else could ever seem to quite understand.]

My mother and father eloped when they were quite young. It was quite a scandal, you know, the daughter of the most powerful family in Kirkwall, pregnant with the child of some lowly mage. [Her hand drops to draw a circle in the dirt.] They escaped in the middle of the night, like in some dashing novel, across the Waking Sea [A line cuts from the circle and another circle is drawn at the end] to Ferelden . To start a new life or something like that.

But, funny, it turns out that living a life on the run with a mage when you're used to luxury and servants is bit harder than my mother could have expected. Imagine that, hm? It was a cold winter that year. The coldest that Ferelden had seen in ages. And so my mother gave birth to me on the coldest, darkest day of the entire year. If my father hadn't been good at healing magic, I'm not sure she would have made it.

[There's a pause. It's funny to imagine her parents young and not made weary by the world and the hands that they were dealt. ] But when I was born I didn't cry like babies do out of the womb. I was just limp, whimpering, and ugly. Alright, all babies are ugly but perhaps I was exceptionally ugly because it makes it a better story if I am. [Everyone likes humor, right? Of course.]

Anyway, Mother didn't know if I'd survive the night. Apparently she cried and told my father she didn't want to see me in case I didn't. But I did. I survived that night. And the next. And the week and so on. A rebellion against fate or something like that. Which was fitting, my father would have been a rebel he hadn't married my mother and fucking an apostate is about the most rebellious thing Mother had ever done. They were proud. So that's how they got "Marian".

Rebellion. And I suppose I did rebel. Against everything that the Maker threw at me. Pneumonia, the Fifth Blight, the Deep Roads, enough blood mages to fill up an entire circle, murderers, Templars, a Qunari leader who stabbed me like a meat skewer. [She's not looking at him, she hasn't been looking at him, and she keeps her eyes on the dark ground.]

But here's the thing about rebellions. They either succeed. Or-[She runs her hand roughly through the dirt, destroying any trace of the drawings she had made.] are quashed. Brutally.

[ Though Tony and Hawke get on like a house on fire, that doesn't mean Tony claims to understand half of what goes on in Hawke's head.

That sort of becomes obvious again, while he listens to her ramble.

At first he assumes this is a diversion tactic, though certainly more elaborate than her usual. She could exclaim about the shitty alien weather or insult something Tony said three days ago if she wanted a quick out from his prying questions, but her story starts dragging on too long and too solemn for that to be the reason. She doesn't even bother to look at him while she does it. It's not normal.

So he doesn't interject or ask where this is going - just shuts up and listens, until she gets to the end and it seems the sad tale might be leading into something more. ]

Sounds about right. [ He watches her fingers in the dirt rather than her, lest she feel like a bug that's being pinned to a velvet sheet. ] Depending on how benevolent your oppressing overlords are, of course.

[Hawke is quiet for a few seconds. Which is unusual because it seems like the perfect place to toss back some kind of quip or insult. And she wishes she had one. But right now she's sort of in shock at the extent to which she just spilled her guts to him. Hawke doesn't do that. Her heart is held so close to her chest that sometimes even she doesn't know how to let her guard drop.

She feels... tired. Like she had thought maybe telling the truth, even if it had been nonsensical and round about, would relieve some of the anxiety tearing at her chest. Like the relief you get from nausea after vomiting. Unpleasant but ultimately better. Instead she just feels tired, numb, like when you have a bad case of the flu.

Hawke sighs and finally looks back up at him.]

Death is generally pretty brutal. Or at least that's probably why it has such a bad reputation.

[ He doesn't get it at first. It seems like a pretty generic statement, all things considered, but then why- ]

[ I suppose I did rebel.

But here's the thing about rebellions. They either succeed. Or are quashed. Brutally.

Death is generally pretty brutal.

He may be dense in a lot of places that matter, but he's never once been accused of being stupid. ]

[ He's on his feet before he really registers what he's doing or why. ]

No.

[ Everyone has a home to return to. That's what he's hyper-focused on these long months, desperately trying to unravel the secrets of the Ingress, constantly motivated by that distant possibility that they'll someday be returned to where they came from.

He's never thought too hard about what it would be like to part ways, or what might happen if someone didn't have somewhere to return - couldn't return. How do you live if you know you're already dead?

It's insane. ]

Forget it. Fuck that.

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