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varricmancer · 5 years

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Lost And Found | 3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Word Count: 5,880

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

Warnings: Attempted suicide (not graphic, but possible trigger). The OC has depression and low self-esteem, so don’t expect her to be some bright mary sue. At the same time, this sounds darker than it is. It’s going to have fluff and comedy and all that eventually, but OC has some growing to do first. She’s just not the usual strong and easygoing character many oc’s are. She’s more of a delicate creature. Also, it is Dragon Age, so there will be descriptions of war/battles/violence.

Notes: Would you guys be interested in a chapter from Varric’s POV?

The day after the Herald left the crossroads was spent packing up what Crystal thought she’d need to keep from her little borrowed hut. Giles had assured her that she was free to take anything, but she only wanted to take essentials considering how much traveling they’d be doing not only now, but in the future when they would need to move to Skyhold.

She left out what she would need for the remaining week, of course, but packed up everything else she wanted to keep. All she had to use were flour sacks until she could afford to get something better. All she determined worth keeping was the clothing she could actually wear, the fur and small blanket from the bed (she hoped for a decent place at Haven, but she also knew they were still starting out and struggling too), and the small collection of paper and charcoal sticks she’d been hoarding. She’d been itching to draw, but paper itself was hard to obtain for the common folk as it was all made by hand. Parchment was a little easier, but still hard to come by in the middle of the wilderness.

She spent several days like that, giving away what she couldn’t use and preparing the hut for the next occupant. It was on the third night that the sending crystal Varric had given her began to glow. She picked it up and sat on her cot in anxious fascination. She was a little worried about trying to keep up with a conversation on such a weird device, not that she’d been any better at them on cellphones. Texting was much more her speed. After a few moments, the crystal made a little sound like a delicate bell, followed by the rumbles of Varric’s voice.

“So, the Magistrate is standing there looking like he has a giant staff up his ass and goes, "I was looking for someone with your...special talents.” You can tell right away that Hawke has decided to fuck with the guy, because he gets that crazy grin of his going and says, “I'm guessing you don't mean my ability to juggle small rodents while humming Orlesian ballads."

There’s a rumble of laughter and Crystal realizes that he’s telling a story to his group, probably sitting around a fire at one of the camps. She smiles to herself and lays on her little cot, listening as he continues the story. She doesn’t even mind if he probably did the Thedas version of butt-dialing her. She found his voice comforting, a bit of familiarity in this strange land. She soon found herself falling asleep with a smile on her face.

***

It quickly became apparent after three more nights of the sending crystal activating that Varric was letting her listen to the stories on purpose. She couldn’t figure out why, but she was grateful. She’d spend her days helping where she could around the village, and her nights relaxing in her cot listening to the stories, some familiar and some he was clearly making up on the spot. Sometimes the others would join in and tell stories of their own, sometimes they would just discuss things that happened that day and their plans for the next. Anytime the conversation swayed towards discussing Crystal herself, she noticed Varric was quick to change the subject. She figured the others weren’t aware she was listening in.

The best reason she could come up with was that he’d been very observant and noticed she had the constitution of a terrified rabbit and had decided to try to let her get to know them a little bit before she ran off with them. It seemed like a very Varric-like thing for him to do, she supposed.

Tonight, however, she was hoping to hear it in person as it had been a week. She figured if they wanted to be technical they wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but she’d heard that the Herald had been spotted nearby and would most likely arrive in the crossroads in a matter of hours. Being that it was the middle of the afternoon already, she guessed they would most likely stay the night and leave for Haven the next day.

Thankfully, they would be arriving to see an improved situation. The sisters and Mother Giselle had already left for Haven days ago, taking the wounded soldiers with them. That cleaned up the area quite a bit, as people were able to take back their own houses and the area was no longer haunted by the screams of the dying.

With the supplies the Herald had given them, the people themselves were looking better. Everyone was well fed and clothed. Crystal had even gotten to bathe with real soap, simple as it had been. It probably wasn’t good to use it on her hair, but she didn’t care. She was clean from head to toe for the first time in weeks, even if she’d still had to use a bucket of water instead of an actual tub. She was just happy that the next time she saw everyone, she wouldn’t look like an unbathed goblin.

In fact, as she slipped in feet into the best looking pair of shoes she could find, she realized she’d unconsciously taken a great deal of care with her appearance. It had taken her nearly an hour to dry her long hair near the fire (good God she missed hair dryers), and she’d let the results fall freely down her back in cascading waves. She was pleased that the harsh soap didn’t seem to dry it out that much. The dress she was wearing was the best she could find, long and a lovely royal blue color, if a bit scratchy. Obviously, she wasn’t going to find something of amazing quality out in the middle of nowhere, but she looked decent enough in it and the color looked good with her brown hair.

She was growing nervous, she realized, as she began fluttering around her little hut. She was anxious to get out of here, yes, but that also meant she was going right into the middle of everything. She was terrified that maybe she was making a mistake and should just stick it out here, or at least wait until they went to Skyhold before joining them. That would be the cowardly choice, of course, but she’d never claimed to be brave.

She huffed in frustration and grabbed a precious piece of paper and one of her charcoal sticks, striding outside to sit near the little pond. There was a log stump there that she liked to use as a table, so she set her things down and observed the bustle of the little village. Soon enough she caught sight of Giles standing near the crossroads sign speaking to one of the Inquisition soldiers. She smiled and set charcoal to paper, letting her overactive mind quiet as she drew. The paper wasn’t what she was used, of course, and the bumps and ridges in it made her displeased with the result, but it would do.

After nearly half an hour, she judged her sketch good enough and cleaned the charcoal from her hands with a quick flick in the pond. She didn’t want to risk getting anything on the one good dress she had. Giles hadn’t moved from his spot near the stone fence, though the soldier whose ear he’d been talking off had since moved on, so she walked over to join him. He grinned when she got close enough, waggling his eyebrows in his exaggerated way.

“Well, don’t ye clean up nicely, lass.”

“I’m hoping after the past few weeks we’ve all had that we all cleaned up nicely,” she laughed, then shyly handed the paper to Giles.

“For me?” He stood up straight and took the paper, whistling as he looked it over. “Now, no ones ever made my likeness before, but even I can tell this is good.”

She beamed from the simple praise. “I studied art. Not sure what good that’s going to do me here, but it’s what I know. Anyway, this is just a simple thank you for looking out for me. You know I don’t have anything else, so this is the least I could do.”

Giles reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Lass, ye don’t owe me a thing except staying safe. I feel like I’m sending ye right into the mouth o’ the beast, but the Herald lad seems a good sort. Certainly helped the crossroads, and I hear tell he shut down the fighting all over the Hinterlands. I think if I have to trust anyone with ye, it would be him and his lot.”

There was a commotion near the tunnel and the two shared a looked before observing as people crowded the party coming out of it. She sent Giles a little grin and wandered over, hoping it was who she thought it was.

The Herald and his crew were all riding new mounts, along with a few riderless ones behind them. The trip to Dennant was apparently successful. The mounts varied greatly from the Herald’s Fereldan Forder to Solas’s Red Hart. She was not looking forward to hearing that thing in person. It was bad enough in the game.

One of the mounts without a rider was a Battle Nug, something she’d never thought she’d see in her life beyond the screen. It was cute in a strange sort of way, with the rhino face and bunny ears. The hairless skin was cocoa brown, not unlike her own hair. Although the gorilla-like hands would take some getting used to. How did it not hurt it to run around on those things?

Varric separated from the party, trotting his sturdy looking pony over to her and jumping down as he grinned. The once over he gave her was fairly subtle, but not enough that she didn’t catch the way his eyes roamed over the curves revealed by her almost too tight dress. She could also see just how quickly he dismissed whatever he was thinking as he turned to observe the nug.

“Ugly, huh?” he chuckled. “Pretty sure he just gave it to us because no one else was buyin. Apparently, it’s a runt and when people actually buy these things they want em big.”

“It’s kinda cute in a way,” she shrugged, her smile widening when he groaned.

“You’re going to get along great with Red. She has two of the regular ones at Haven. She’s going to freak when she sees this guy.”

“Is that who he’s for?”

“Don’t know yet. When I said he gave it to us, I meant really gave. As in threw it in for free. I guess while it goes along easy enough, it’s really picky about who rides it. Wouldn’t let any of us touch him more than a couple pats. Dennant says it’s nice and well trained though,” Varric shrugs, and walks next to her as she goes closer to the Battle Nug.

As if it had sensed it was being talked about, the beast’s attention zeroed in on the two of them. Its snout wiggled as it scented the air, before releasing a loud huff and walking closer. Crystal reached out her hand and let it sniff at her, giggling as the heated breath tickled her. After getting in a few good sniffs, it batted it’s head against her hand, begging for pets. She scratched the area between his huge horns, the feel of the skin not unlike a hairless cat she’d once pet.

Suddenly, it surprised both of them when the Battle Nug dropped down and began trying to herd her towards it’s back.

“I think it wants you to ride it,” Varric chuckles, shaking his head.

Crystal stuttered, “What? I’m...I don’t even know how to ride.”

“How were you planning on getting to Haven?” Varric asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” she answered weakly, staring at the huge saddled back of the nug. “A wagon or something?”

“If that was the case you should have gone with the sisters. With us, you’d have to ride. I suppose if you’re really scared you can ride with one of us, but it looks like this big lug has chosen you, so maybe you can give it a try at least.”

She bites her lip and stares as she tries to gather enough courage to climb up. The nug is still nuzzling into her side, trying to encourage her, she supposes.

“I’m wearing a dress, Varric.”

“The saddle is big enough that you could sit side saddle. I’ll help you up.”

She sighs and lets Varric lead her to the side of the beast.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not a big fan of riding either, but it gets the job done,” Varric shrugs and laces his hands together as a makeshift mounting block.

She straightens her back, nodding in a show of fake bravery. She places her hand on Varric’s shoulder and is momentarily distracted by how solid it felt under her fingers. Thick and muscled - and flexing? A quick glance at Varric’s lazy grin and dark eyes is enough proof that he knew where her mind had gone and was maybe showing off a little.

She flushed and quickly lifted a leg, stopped by Varric clicking his tongue.

“The right leg first for side saddle.”

She nods and does as he says, placing her right leg in his cupped hands. He boosts her up a little and she scoots into the leather saddle. The squeal she makes when the nug stands up was embarrassing, and Varrics slow chuckles didn’t help.

“Alright, now these guys are pretty slow so you don’t need to worry about speed. Reins are fairly easy; left and right, pull back lightly when you want to stop. Press into him with your thighs to go.”

Crystal releases the death grip she has on the saddle horn, reaching for the reins. Her hands are shaking and she’s sure the nug can sense how scared she is because he’s not making any sudden movements; just stands there patiently waiting. She exhales and digs her thighs in and the nug starts a gentle trot. She barely has to do anything with the reins as it makes little circles and walks up and down a tiny stretch of road, occasionally shaking its head and looking back at her.

The Herald had joined Varric as they stood watching her, and she waved at him and sent him a little shaky smile.

“Look at that. He wouldn’t let any of us on him, and now he’s prancing around like a pony. Look at him showing you off,” Maxwell chuckled as he greeted her.

This wasn’t so bad, she mused. She relaxed a bit and let the nug wander around until it walked back to the rest of the mounts. She pulled the reins back gently and it stopped completely, dropping belly down so she could slide off easily.

She was a little unsteady still from the adrenaline rush and nearly fell as her knees buckled. Varric was quickly at her side, wrapping a thick arm around her waist as Maxwell reached a hand out in concern.

“You good there?”

She nodded and grinned sheepishly, “Just a little shaky. First time rider.”

Maxwell grimaced with sympathy, “Yes, I remember my first time. I couldn’t sit well for two days.”

Varrics sniggers quietly and she rolls her eyes while Maxwell continues on, oblivious.

“Make sure you used creams or oils to make it a smoother ride.”

Varric’s snickers have become outright guffaws and Crystal finds herself giggling when Maxwell stares at them in confusion for a full minute before he finally groans.

“Varric, you have the sense of humor of a child.”

The dwarf’s laughter quiets slowly and he shrugs, flashing the Herald a playful grin.

“Anyway,” Maxwell begins with a sigh, “Since the nug hasn’t let anyone else ride him and it appears he’s decided he likes you, he’s yours,” he nods towards Crystal.

Her jaw drops and she looks between the Herald and the giant beast.

“Oh, really, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. I’m giving him to you. He was free, so it’s not like it’s a great burden. And before you can use any other arguments, the Inquisition will handle his basic care needs like food and such. Congratulations.”

She opened her mouth to retort but with nothing coming to mind her jaw snapped shut. She sighed and flushed.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. When you get a moment, please join us for a meal and we can discuss the events of the last week and our future plans.”

With that, Maxwell saluted the two of them and sauntered off, whistling.

“He’s kind of a brat, isn’t he?”

Varric snorts, “Yeah, a bit.”

Crystal sighs and looks at the Battle Nug that is now snuffling into the ground.

“So now the only thing I actually own in this entire world is a giant pig-rabbit.”

“Seems like it,” Varric laughs.

“I’m not as ungrateful as I sound, I promise. Just...overwhelmed, I suppose. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with a great big beast like that. I suppose a plus side is if we meet any bad guys on the road, he can just sit on them and save me from having to fight.”

Varric shakes his head with a grin and gestures for her to lead the way back to the center of the village where everyone was meeting up. They are both silent for a few moments before he clears his throat.

“You look nice, by the way.”

She blushed and really fucking wished any of the clothes here had pockets so she could shove her hands nervously in them like she wanted.

“Thanks. It’s a miracle what eating every day and using actual soap can do.”

Varric snorts before returning the acknowledging wave of the Herald once they were close enough.

The party is sitting outside of her hut, of all places. Giles winks at her cheekily as he settles into one of the stools he’d dragged over for them to use and proceeds to dominate the conversation, pelting everyone with questions. She knew it was mostly because he was just a talkative fellow, but also because he knew that she preferred to listen.

Talking to anyone, especially a big group of intimidating people like this, was incredibly hard for her. Back in her world, she was a certified medication-guzzling socially anxious mess with severe depression. Here in Thedas, she was simply known as shy, which amused her.

The village was already at work preparing the fresh rams that they had brought back, filling the air with the scent of roasting meat and the sounds of excited villagers. Crystal leans her back against her little hut and wills herself to relax, listening to the now familiar voices of everyone around her. Her fingers itched to sketch the little village, knowing it was her last night here among these people. She’d start with her own little hut, she muses, perhaps at dawn when the sun just begins to color the sky. Maybe one of the children as they sit in rapturous fascination whenever she tells them a story. She’d already drawn one for Thomas of his sweet daughter that he’d lost. He’d cried and thanked her with a fierce hug that brought tears to her own eyes.

“What do you think, Crystal?”

She straightened quickly as she was jolted out of her thoughts, glancing at Maxwell in confusion. She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t even realized Giles had gone to get them food.

“Pardon?”

“We were just discussing our travel plans. It took us a little over four days to get here from Haven, but that was also because we made minimal stops since most of us are used to travel. We were wondering if you would be fine with that or if we should think on factoring inn stops into our plans?” Maxwell explained with a kind smile.

“Oh, God, no. No need to do anything different for me. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother. Personally, I like to stay on the road as much as possible, because that’s less paperwork I’m forced to do.” Maxwell grinned as the others chuckled lightly.

“So...if you’re talking about taking me with you, everything went well?” she asked tentatively, still slightly afraid that her very appearance in Thedas might have changed even the small things.

“Oh, yes. Everything was just where you told us, even the ridiculous Druffalo. The caches of supplies are on their way as we speak. We closed all the rifts except for the one by the river you told us about. Set up very comfortable camps on all the marked spots. Took out the Templar and Mage hideouts. We were all very impressed. Obviously, we haven’t delved into your future knowledge that you say you have yet, but this was enough to know that at the very least you seem to be on our side for now.”

Crystal released a relieved breath, finally able to release weeks of tension. She’d be in the thick of things, but she’d also be surrounded by those that could protect her the most.

“Thank you.”

Maxwell nods, pausing as if to catch his thoughts before asking.

“You seem like...there’s something specific that you’re wanting protection from. That you believe we can protect you from, specifically. Are you...able to tell me what that is?”

She chews her lip in thought, trying to figure out what she should say.

“I’m not sure? Honestly, I don’t think I’m the smartest person, so I’m never quite sure my logic behind what I can and can’t share is sound. I’ll be happy to go over things more once we get to Haven, but I think I can at least tell you we should start stocking up on travel supplies and weapons. Haven doesn’t seem the sort of place that would withstand an attack, does it?”

They all looked mildly disturbed by that, but Maxwell nodded in thought. She was relieved no one asked her to go into detail, because she wasn’t sure how she would have been able to talk her way out of that. She was afraid if she told them too much, it would create so much change that she wouldn’t recognize the story anymore and be worthless.

Giles soon brought them bowls of roasted meat and vegetables, and they were all more than happy to change the talk to more pleasant things. Varric and Maxwell both were very nice about asking her questions and trying to draw her into the conversation. Cassandra acted like she wasn’t there most of the time. Crystal knew it was most likely because she still considered her a threat so she tried not to be too hurt by it. Solas seemed as content as her to merely listen to those around him. She was especially glad he paid her no mind.

“Excuse me, Miss Crystal?”

She turned towards the shy voice of one of her favorite kids in the village, Malcolm. He was like her little shadow most days, and was always quick to ask for a story or for her to teach him how to draw.

“Good evening, Mal. Did you need something, buddy?” She asked with a fond smile.

He shoved one of his hands practically in her face as he handed her what appeared to be a rock.

“I worked all day doin’ chores for Ma so I could give you this. It’s a heating rune. Cuz you’re gonna be traveling and hate the cold like me. You just press your finger here and it warms up, but it doesn’t hurt or nothin’. So you can keep your tent warm and it works in water too!”

“Wow, Mal! This is so nice. Thank you!”

She grins at the blushing boy and means every word. If this thing works like she thinks it should, she can look forward to toasty tents on the road. Damn she hated being cold, especially after these last few weeks with nothing but a thin blanket to warm her. She leans over and hugs him tightly.

“You’ll remember to keep up with your drawing, right? I expect you to send me a drawing every now and then so I can see your progress. I’ll send you some of whatever I see too, okay?”

“Kay!” Malcolm grins and runs back to his parents. She smiles at the little rune before tucking it into her pocket.

“You didn’t mention you had a suitor,” Varric smirks.

She snorts and plays along. “Oh yes, he’s lovely. He catches me frogs and only wets the bed twice a week. The catch of the ages, really.”

He huffs a little laugh before turning to the group.

“Did I ever tell you guys about the time Hawke bought a mine?”

Crystal grins and leans in to listen, even though it was yet another story that she already knew. The way that Varric told them always made them sound new, however. She could tell the parts he was embellishing heavily and tried to contain her commentary. She was amused by Maxwell’s gasps of surprise and Cassandra’s eye rolls when Varric tried to describe the dragons in terrifying detail. Mostly, she was just happy to be sitting here listening in person.

Varric was so expressive when he told a story. His hands waved enthusiastically, and his face showed every emotion. He timed everything perfectly to get the reactions he wanted, smirking slightly whenever someone was shocked or appropriately enthralled. She soon discovered that she’d been focusing so much on him that she’d missed most of the story, too entranced by the dwarf himself.

She needed to get over this fascination with him, and fast. That way lay heartbreak and pain, she was sure of it.

She yawned loudly, hoping the others would catch on. Thankfully, Maxwell must have been looking at her because he yawned too.

“I think we should all get some sleep. We have a long few days ahead of us,” he grunted as he stood up and stretched.

The others murmured their agreements, slowly getting up and putting the stools to the side.

Giles scratches his belly as he looks them over.

“We have a couple o’ empty huts that you lot can use. You’d have to squeeze in there, but it would probably be a nice break from tents at least.”

“I have one extra cot in mine as well, if it’s needed,” Crystal ventured quietly.

The party spoke amongst themselves and eventually it was decided that Solas and Maxwell would share one hut, Cassandra would take the other as she wanted to bathe in privacy. Of course, this left...

Varric’s smirk as she glanced at him in surprise was gone so fast she could almost believe she imagined it. Everyone wandered towards their assigned places for the night, leaving Varric to open the door for her.

“After you,” he said softly, standing to the side as she tried to get past him before he could see her blushing.

Maxwell ran up and threw Varric his pack of supplies before he could enter. He accepted them with a grunt of thanks and shut the door, bringing the wooden bar down to secure it.

Crystal was practically vibrating she was so nervous. Logically, she knew that nothing was going to happen and that the chances of him being genuinely into her beyond friendly flirting were zilch, but she couldn’t help the rush of anxiety she felt just being in a room alone with him.

“So, uh, the cots are over here. The one on the right is a little more sturdy since it belonged to the man who owned this place before. I’ll take the smaller one,” she winced as she heard how shaky her voice sounded. She hated that he probably thought she was some freak scared of her own shadow.

He nods and smiles gently, seeming to pick up on her nervousness.

“If you wanted to change into your night things, I promise I won’t look if you don’t. I must protect my virtue, after all,” he drawled. She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped over his stupid joke, letting him lighten the tension in the room a little.

She peeled off her slippers and tucked them away into her bag of supplies. She’d use the more sturdy boots she had for the journey. She snuck a quick peek at Varric, finding him turned all the way around facing the wall as he shucked his own clothes. She nibbled her lip nervously and quickly pulled the dress up and off, leaving the thin white chemise on to sleep in. Unable to help herself, she looked out of the corner of her eye towards the dwarf behind her.

He’d already torn off his shoes and shirt, leaving him barechested as he struggled with his belt. She inhaled lightly as she watched his back muscles rippling like some damn romance movie hero. She turned away just as quickly, knowing that with his skills he’d probably know if someone was watching him.

She cleared her throat and instead focused on finishing readying for bed. She went to the little table that she’d turned into a sort of vanity and poured water into a bowl for washing her face and a cup for brushing her teeth. She missed the convenience of running water and tubes of toothpaste, not to mention her creams. This place was drying the hell out of her skin.

When she was done, she poured everything out and cleaned up the area.

“There’s still plenty of water left if you need it,” she said softly.

“Yeah, thanks,” he rumbled, his voice close enough that she figured it was safe to look.

She wanted to groan out loud and barely stopped herself from doing so. He’d changed into some comfortable looking pants at least, but he’d left his chest bare. Judging by the look on his face, he knew damn well the effect he had on her and did it on purpose. She didn’t even like body hair, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d even pulled his hair from its tie, letting flow freely. It wasn’t that long, just towards the middle of his neck, but it was still such an intimate thing to see, she thought.

He chuckled as she turned to busy herself, trying to keep her mind on other things besides half naked dwarves that were too handsome for their own good. She set her bags near the door for easy pickup in the morning and started the fire, knowing that the hut would be ice cold in a couple of hours if she didn’t.

Once it was blazing she stood with her back to it, letting it warm her before she tried to sleep with her one little blanket. The first thing she planned to do once she figured out how to get money here was going to be buying at least five blankets and the stuff to make proper pillows, not the blocks they used here.

She was swaying slightly with her eyes closed, listening to Varric humming and cleaning himself as she tried to relax enough to get to sleep quickly. She heard the splashing water stop and sounds of a towel being unfurled, then suddenly he growled.

Her eyes shot open and she stared wide-eyed as Varric’s face turned hard and tense with hunger. His hooded eyes traveled the length of her body, and when she looked down she realized, to her utter horror, that the chemise was so thin that standing in front of the fire had made it damn near see through. She could see everything, and if she could, so could he. She blushed wildly but rushed past him and jumped into her cot, covering herself with her threadbare blanket.

She could hear him breathing heavily, like he was trying to calm himself. A few moments later he walked over and pulled a blanket from his bag, settling into the cot that was so close to her own she could practically feel his body heat.

He turned on his right side as he got comfortable, facing her. In a surprising show of bravery, she turned towards him as well. They both lay in silence for a few moments, looking at each other with only the flickering light of the fire, studying and weighing each other.

She knew he was at least somewhat attracted to her, but she also knew he was probably fighting it because of his loyalty towards Bianca. Though she was sure he messed around at least somewhat, but never seriously and never with feelings. And Crystal, no matter how attracted to him she’d turned out to be, wasn’t the type to do anything casual. She grew attached too easily, was too needy for flings. She had a feeling he could probably tell and that’s why he was able to restrain himself.

She sighed curled up more into her little blanket, starting to feel a little more tired now that the heat was starting to fill the little hut. The only thing she needed now was Varric’s familiar voice rumbling through the sending crystal.

“Why did you let me listen?” she suddenly blurts.

Varric’s soft grin says he was expecting the question sooner or later.

“I thought it might help. Woman all alone in a strange place, about to travel with a bunch of scary warriors for almost a week. Figured it might help you get to know us a little and at least let you know we weren’t planning on chopping you to bits or feeding you to a dragon.”

“I was so very worried about the dragon too. Bless you, sir.”

He chuckles and sends her another little smile.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Crystal fights her blush and whispers, “Goodnight, Varric.”

She turned away and faced the wall as she willed herself to sleep, trying not to focus on every little sound he made. It was a very long night.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfic #fanfiction #dai #da2 #varric tethras #varric #varric fanfic #varric fanfiction #varric x oc #varricmancer

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long-way-down-rp-archive · 7 years

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Des Doran

TRUE NAME: Eh? Probably not? FACECLAIM: Dominic Monaghan NICKNAMES AND ALIASES: Trumpet; Sticky Fingers; Dope DATE OF BIRTH: August 23, 1989 AGE: 27 GENDER: A boy, apparently. Too busy for that noise. KIND: Human CALLING: Practitioner - Oracle OCCUPATION: Busker/composer

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Hands usually stained with ink. Tattoo of two adjacent spoons behind right ear. Usually in unkempt and scruffy clothes except on Sunday when he goes to various churches to listen to the service.

PERSONALITY: Jumpy, easily startled; Capacity for intense focus; Codependent, trusts easily; Self-deprecating; Easy laugher; Naive and optimistic; Inquisitive; Charming when he needs to be, especially to little old church ladies.

HISTORY:

Raised Catholic by a devout mother, and raised atheist by a quietly sensible father. Raised musician by everyone else. His grandmother Klara died when he was four, and he has very few but vivid memories of her at the kitchen table conducting the family band (papa and pépé) with a pair of spoons, tapping out the beat and singing full throatedly off key. When she passed away, pépé fell into a deep depression and left the house to live in a care home which, without regular access to a keyboard, only deepened his depression.

Des keenly felt the loss of his mémé, the colorful, songful woman who lit the room with sound and excitement. Losing his pépé from the house was nearly as difficult, and he started sneaking out of the house across town to visit him and pester a game of checkers from him. Once Des started bringing him to a nearby church (where Des had charmed himself into weekly access) to give piano recitals his spirits began to improve, and Roland started noticing how much like Klara Des was turning out to be… Playing back and forth for each other, Roland noticed Des would hum along to hymns he shouldn't have known. On a hunch he invented a melody on the spot, and confirming his suspicions, Des cried out, “I know this one! Isn’t it mémé’s?” Roland, never fully understanding his wife’s migraines or odd premonitions, couldn’t offer much insight to Des’ prescience, but at that point he started giving Des composition exercises to bring back to their recitals. As Roland’s depression lifted, he began to tell stories about Klara and the several occasions when she seemed to have a precognitive understanding of events unfolding.

Studying composition at university, Des was always too distracted to much impress his performance teachers, but practically seduced his composition mentor with his focus and determination. Des also managed to unnerve him on a few occasions, with his knack for showing him his own themes and developments before he’d written them down. Orchestration was particularly satisfying, finding colours and textures for the voices in his increasingly detailed visions.

Developing a firmer grasp of his visions, Des entered his master’s program with incredible drive. His performances including students, amateurs, and street performers were well received, and the consensus was that Des had a gift for finding exactly the right players for his works. Audiences were always struck by the powerful sense of unity his ensembles projected, despite their widely varied backgrounds. Des’ favourite recruit was Marius, a trumpet player famous on the streets and in the jazz clubs of Montreal. His sudden death by overdose was devastating for Des. Angry with himself for not averting Marius’ death, Des began ignoring his visions, and self medicating to deal with the increasing intensity of his migraines. He dropped out of school.

At the nadir of his self loathing and self destruction, Des landed in the hospital after taking his uncle’s painkillers. Waking up to silence worse than the cacophony which had been building for half a decade, he visited Roland, who told him the story of Klara’s immigration to Canada, and Des started to hear music again. A nearly overwhelming vision overtook him as he returned to Montreal, lasting nearly seven days, keeping Des scribbling later and later into the nights. He spent the next month and a half writing, reworking, teasing apart the themes and the structure. A giant symphonic work in three movements, the first woven with sounds of Klara, Roland, Marius, childhood and school, the second vast and meandering: cruise control, gasoline, campfire smoke. The third begins with electric guitar, honky-tonk, smoke and whisky calling, beckoning, compelling; then a curious half of a cadence, begging for resolution, release, relief. Buying an old Westfalia with Roland’s help, Des drives.

FAMILY:

Nancy Doran, mother. Municipal government employee, working with the mining union. Devoutly Catholic, instilled a sense of ritual and devotion in her son.

Darcy Doran, father. Retired miner, amateur violinist. A vocal atheist who taught his son to be skeptical but ethical.

Uncle Will - Nancy’s brother, kindly and practical like his sister. He’s a landlord in Montreal, and put Des up in his basement suite during school. Was amused when Des found a piano on the street and lugged it home. Was less amused when Des tried unsuccessfully to tune it but played at all hours anyway. Relegated Des’ “studio” to the basement.

Klara Doran, (née Orlov), paternal grandmother. Played spoons at the kitchen table, deceased. A closeted oracle and former wartime nurse, died before Des was born. Reputably a musicophile, especially Russian symphonies, and collected scores (unfortunately not musically talented herself, and despite her enthusiasm, a nearly tone deaf singer). Kept her divining gift secret from her husband, never fully understanding it herself (her family being estranged from her aunt in Russia, the previous oracle in the line). She would receive painful visions she tried to block out, resulting in crippling migraines and a lifetime struggling with depression. In her brighter moments she would sit by the piano and make Roland play for him for hours, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Roland Doran, paternal grandfather. Retired church organist, living in a seniors home in Sudbury. Chess player, but Des always made him play checkers. Taught Des to play piano.

SEXUALITY AND RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Pansexual, homoromantic, single

OTHER TIES:

Marius - Trumpet player in Montreal who was Des’ most reliable performer.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Players for his fatalistic symphonies and pieces, i.e., Guardians who need a tip, etc.

An enchanter or some Practitioner who can help him with a little something to clarify and ease his visions.

PERIPHERALS:

The Muses - A cohort of spirits who send visions to Des. They live outside of time which makes relaying temporal messages tricky, so they tend to be jumbled up and difficult to understand. The Muses, representing main instrument families, can disagree or cooperate. They have personalities he might begin to recognize. People who know how can influence them and thus Des’ visions, to warn or lead or mislead. By name and aspect, the Muses are Fiati, the winds, Ottone, the brass, Archi, bowed strings, Klavishnyi, keys, Stimme, voice, Schlag, percussion, and Punteados: plucked strings.

LIKES: Rain, record stores, cabbage rolls, rabbits, wool, radio DISLIKES: Small enclosed spaces (excepting the van), dogs, coffee, cold drinks, elevator music HOBBIES: Checkers, crossword, antiquing, watching the weather channel and feeling superior SKILLS: Music, cooking cabbage on a camper stove. MEDICAL CONDITIONS: Tinnitus, migraines CURRENT FINANCIAL STATUS: $25.33 PLACES: Places with heavy foot traffic. Often along the routes of people in his visions, he’ll play exactly what you need to hear as you pass. PETS: A pet rock, Maggie

KNOWN MAGIC: Des is an Oracle, his gifts manifesting as a kind of clairaudience.

He receives visions as fragments of song and sound. Like hearing every note in a symphony all at once, chaotic, cacophonous, usually quite loud. Major visions can last up to a week, during which Des secludes himself with plenty of manuscript paper and ink. He can be exceptionally grumpy or elated during the process. Hearing melodies and phrases and cadences jumbled together, overlapping, broken or unfinished, Des tries to sort it out by writing it down as music, mainly unfinished sketches for movements and passages. He sketches a piece and fills in details, slowly and methodically over the next week or so, until he finishes it or not. Few completed works, but once they’re finished, they’re a very useful reference for mapping out events about to occur.

When the subject of a vision approaches in time, space, or attention, Des usually starts to hear snippets of the piece it corresponds to. It may vary or develop what he’s written (the flute solo line he wrote plays in his head as a bird flies overhead in a park; the rumble of traffic at this intersection reminds him of the second movement timpani/cello orchestration; the brass fanfare blares as the sun rises). As a foreseen event happens in real time, he has aural “deja vu” as all the puzzle pieces make sense in context. Not every piece is finished, and not every piece is “performed.” He can miss certain sounds or details if he’s sufficiently distracted.

Des tends to receive visions of people experiencing deep emotional movement; catharsis or upheaval, passion or apathy. Appropriately, his music tends to be nearly operatic, and mostly late romantic. Works tend to be indicative of the character of the object(s), though, and can be widely varied. His favourite music, however, is the serial chromaticism of Webern and Stravinsky. The tightly organized, often cyclical nature of this music is appealing to one who is so often wading through a quagmire of murky suggestion and temporal vagary.

On a few occasions, he’s been able to play his vision for the object as it happens, and there’s rarely a dry eye in the vicinity when that happens. Sometimes these people are connected to him in some way, but more often they are strangers, and he usually tries to make a quick exit afterwards.

MAGICAL ITEMS: None yet. COVEN: None.

RUMORS:

Some idiot was in the way of the emergency vehicles at that fire last week, scribbling in his notebook.

Have you seen that weirdo who plays piano out of the back of his van?

There’s been a post in the classifieds: Musician seeks kappelmeister position at Catholic parish (Orthodox and Anglican also acceptable).

WRITING SAMPLE:

Everything’s in position. Des had parked the van at the mouth of a little alleyway near his mark. After warming up with a few scales, a little Bach, he looked over the page of scribbled notes in front of him. It was rough, but he figured he could pretty much wing this one. Yesterday had been a pretty painless afternoon of composition, and he’d only yelled at two strangers afterward.

A car alarm went off a few blocks away making him jump, but Des echoed the major third softly on the keys, enjoying the way the sound reverberated off the buildings. A clock tower somewhere struck 6 o’clock at the same time a cat knocked over a garbage can a little ways down the alley. Better get started. The rumble of traffic swelled a little, and Des riffed off it, following the little pattern on notes scrawled on the paper in front of him; a little prelude. A well dressed man carrying a briefcase in one hand and a bouquet in the other came bouncing around the corner of the street, whistling. Des matched his tune, catching his eye and smiling back. “Good luck!” he called, making the man grin wider and raise his bouquet in salute. Des watched the man press a small button in front of the apartment adjacent to the alley. He sighed as he matched the pitch of the buzzer, and chuckled as the man entered. Time to play in earnest. As the melody developed and the cadences formed themselves, he cringed, trilling on a high D#. Hearing the smash of glass a floor up time perfectly with the crescendo of the music. Hearing the heavy, stomping footsteps down the staircase to the falling arpeggios. Reaching the final staccato chord as the door blew open and the man stood there, breathing heavily. “Didn’t go well?” Des guessed, starting something more contemplative and soothing. “No. She had company,” the man barked. “Ah, bud, that’s rough,” Des said, turning his head but still playing. “Need an ear? Have a seat.”

The man walked over and sat down on the bumper of the van and put his head in his hands. Twenty minutes and a request later, the man moved on, his heart and wallet a little lighter. Des counted the tip the man left in the jar under the piano bench and smiled. A good night’s work.

#lwdbio

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