chrisisofaith | IC Contact

Of course.

[The next day, he goes to the People Zoo. He sends a single message to her that Tim is on his way for Martin and then nothing else for eighteen long hours.]

[Chris gets several messages after that last one about Martin. First an hour later asking for an update. Then two hours after that asking for an update again. After that, the messages are sporadically sent around her work at The Crucible. She obviously hasn't slept by the time the next message arrives.]

We're far outside the window of time I'm willing to patiently wait for an answer. I know Martin is with Tim, and you've still not said a damn word to me.

If you say nothing to me for the next thirty minutes, I will put on every bit of armor I have, every weapon I can carry, and I will make someone at the fucking Zoo talk to me until I know where you are.

[It's a struggle to respond to her by the time he actually checks his phone. Hot water and sleep have done what they can and the curl of Jacob's arms have left him fuzzy...but once he sees her message, it's like lightning through him. When did she send that? What time- ten minutes to spare to her ultimatum and Chris types as quickly as he can.]

Don't

[Gods, if she went there and asked around, what would they tell her? Who bought him? The fight? Everything?

Probably not. He suspected that was not something they'd be boasting about outside of their friends. Still...]

I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to leave it that long.
I'm safe now.

[She said thirty and and that meant she was leaving in thirty minutes, so his message comes with just enough time to keep her from bashing her way through everyone at the Zoo for answers.]

What happened? Who took you in? Do you need anything?

[If he says anything worrying, she's going out anyway. He can't stop her.]

Jacob took me in. His dom bought me.

I need you not to go to the People Zoo and ask them anything. Leave it.
Please

[That sets off so many alarms that it almost physically hurts to restrain herself from destroying her phone. Something happened. She knows it. Chris doesn't say things like this to her. Ever.

Something is wrong.

No use telling him what he already knows.]

Who's Jacob's Dominant? I'm afraid I don't know him at all.

Jacob Frye, the proprietor of the Arena and one of my boyfriends. His dom’s a woman named Rosita, she got me for him so he’d not break into the Zoo to come after me

[How long can he string this along? He’s not planning it for once, just reacting. He ached too much to put that much thought into it.]

[She knows Jacob from seeing him in passing at the Arena and his posts on the network. Rosita... Hm. A name she's seen on the finder, but that's it. Fuck. Less helpful now, but it's still information and that's something.

Not enough, though.]

You know and trust this woman? Where does she live? I want to see you, not to talk yet but to know you're all right with my own eyes.

If not me, you know Wolfe will ask. [And then she'll find him and follow.]

[This feels like a balancing act, texting her and Hawke having already called him and forced him out of bed, but she’s persistent. If she doesn’t hear something from him, she might just hear it from Wolfe.]

I’ll be honest, I don’t know her, but I trust Jacob. I don’t know where she lives, but it’s not here with him. His home is The Hollow, just inside the woods.

And Hawke’s already on his way to heal me. You’re welcome to come place eyes.

[Hopefully his friend’s work would be quick enough to fade the belt-shaped bruise around his throat by the time she got here.]

Send me the location. I'm on my way.

[And, same as her boyfriend, she's not taking a damned cab. Fuck the city. Fuck the natives. Fuck everyone right now. The woods aren't so far and cabs don't get her close enough to the trees anyway. She's out there often enough to know her way very well.]

I want to know what happened before you got out. Why you didn't answer. Why you don't want me going to the Zoo.

[She's demanding a lot, but she's in the mode of a leader who needs information to act on. Chris will have to deal with it and accept her apology later.]

[He sends her the location first with a silent apology to Jacob for sharing his home. Not that he thinks the assassin will mind too much in this case, but still.

He knows what she's doing, though. The demand to know so she could work with what he had to give her. It's tempting to tell her no. He won't, but he thinks about it. He's a king, he can do this with his chin held high even as shame and anger pulls at him.]

I instigated a fight with the SIN guards for the cruel comments they were making about myself and my loved ones. I was already angry and it clouded my judgement. They stripped my magic from me and overpowered me. Most of their hits were directed to my torso except the initial few. Bruises. Split lip. Potentially broken rib.

[The rest...was not from that.]

If that were all, you'd have told me what happened when I first asked.

[The time between messages. The number he'd allowed her to send. The fact that he apologized at all? No. Something is very wrong. Something happened and it was worse than he's suggesting. She's starting to feel sick knowing that.]

You have another four minutes until I arrive. Tell me the rest of it.

[He swallows and detaches himself from his words as he types. This isn't a favor. Not to him or to her, it won't serve her, but hiding it would imply a shame at having been overpowered at all. That, at least, he doesn't feel. They'd beaten him before anything else, Jon was right. They were cowards and Chris held to that.]

It won't serve you to know.

The fight was broken up by Rosita.
Two fo them came back after she left to make an example of what a submissive should be for. Claimed they were doing my dominant a favor.

They used my mouth, restrained and choked me, wrote things on my skin and took one of their sticks to me as one might a paddle. One of them put his fingers in me, but it wasn't to stretch so much as humiliate while he got himself off.

Are you happier knowing?

[That wasn't kind, that was sharp and revealed too much. He buries it back down.]

Sorry. Nevermind.
That's the rest.

[She stops a handful of yards back from the house, and it's all for the better. His message is far worse than she'd imagined. What they'd done to him. What they'd done under the guise of "helping" with their power. Her anger rises and she almost turns from the house immediately to go to the Zoo. Her chest rises and falls in rage-fueled pants and her knuckles turn white around the grip of a dagger.

She'll kill them. She'll kill all of them. Now. Right now. She'll step inside and tear them apart with knives and rocks and words they'll never see coming.

A deep breath saves her. Five in, four out.

It won't help right now. Fully armed as she is, she needs a plan. She needs to make sure the one in her care is well.]

Thank you for telling me. You owe me no apology for your words.

Are you taking visitors? I'll stand guard outside if not.

[Her turn can wait a bit longer.]

[ 'Thank you for telling me.' Simple as that and he feels something shift in him that feels vulnerable and aches. He buries that down again, but lets the affection from it linger. He resolves to say something with her when they meet. Which...]

I don't want you to linger in the cold, but Hawke's about to heal me. You could wait on the back porch and I can bring you a blanket and tea or you can come inside and sit on the couch. You just might see more than you'd like.

I'm asking what you want, Chris. I'll be fine.

[The cold will sharpen her mind and senses with enough time. It can only help at this point.]

I'll go to the back porch as you've asked. You don't need to do anything for me. Stay with him. He needs to be there for you.

He is

[And he can wait, once Chris explains his intiative. He excuses himself from the concerned look to fetch the knitted blanket from the couch and an additional mug for the tea, then heads out to the back porch to meet her.

His bearing is regal, chin held high and gaze hard, though not unkind when he sees her and holds out the mug. The over-sized shirt that absolutely isn't his does nothing to hide the lingering belt-bruise on his throat or the angry red, circular, burns left in the met of his forearm as he holds the mug out to her.]

You keeping warm is what I want.

[There's still a rougher quality to his voice, but it's firm.]

Edited 2023-02-16 18:34 (UTC)

[It helps that she's had time to settle into the cold so she doesn't jump at the state of him. She doesn't even try to hide the worry or concern in her face, though, letting her frown come through as she takes the tea from him.]

I'm plenty warm from getting here. [A beat.] But thank you.

[Keep him calm. Let him be of use without extending himself too much. He's still hurt, possibly in shock. From the way he carries himself, he's certainly not lingering on what's happened. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate anyway, allowing him time to react and move away if he's ready to spook.]

What else do you need right now?

[That's far more important than anything else.]

[He doesn't begrudge the concern, he knows he's a sorry state, improved only from a shower and a bath both...plus, he wouldn't be responding much better if their situations were reversed.

Which leaves only the question. What does he need?
Safety. Assurance.
Dignity. His people kept close.

He can have at least one of those.]

Come inside. Please. You don't have to look, but I'll feel better knowing you're inside, not for your warmth...but for my peace of mind.

[She asked, he answered. That's enough to get her inside.]

Of course. [She gestures for him to lead them back into the house, staying close and within his vision even as she stays half a step behind him.] I'm here as you need me.

[It won't help to look, to know the whole of it, but she will. She'll let it sear in her memory and use that as part of her decision of how those who did this to him suffer and die.

Another deep breath. Chris now, murder later. One thing at a time.]

[ Hawke's set up in the kitchen, a bath towel rolled out on the table with scavenged bowls, one half full of warm water and one of suds. He's rounded up whatever hand towels and clean rags he can find and set them alongside a roll of cotton gauze and two thick glass bottles small enough to fit in his palm and filled with a viscous silvery liquid. Lastly lays open a small leather book, beaten to hell but still somehow holding together and open to a page of notes scrawled in his own messy script.

He's kicking himself a bit mentally for his haste. He could have taken a moment to retrieve potions from the Sanctuary or salves he has piled away at home, a small stockpile as leftovers from various of his own escapades that have left him in a state. Or a needle and thread. Anything that shows he had any foresight at all. But he doesn't have any. He has bandages, towels, two sad mana potions that are only half as effective as lyrium, and his own meager healing ability. His notes are there, things to remember from Anders trying to teach him a half a dozen times at least, and he kicks himself again for not being able to read his own bloody handwriting.

When Chris returns with Amelia, Hawke immediately looks up, pushing his sleeves again to his elbows, or at least making the motion of it since they're already in place. His posture shifts, looking more natural and at ease. Far more confident than he feels but there's a determination there too that sits in him defiantly. He smiles to Amelia softly, a hard edge to it that mirrors hers that's gone in a flash when his gaze turns towards Chris, all confidence and care and he hopes none of the worry and roiling anger that had threatened to choke him when he'd arrived showing through. ]

I'll need you to sit up at first so I thought it best in here for the initial healing. The couch will be more comfortable after and I won't need you to get up again so you can just relax.

[He doesn't direct where she should go, just lets the blanket fall to the couch as he stiffly passes back to kitchen and lets Amelia decide where she wants to be. He does keep her vaguely in the periphery of his vision, even as he approaches Hawke with the same bearing he'd stepped outside with. Detach from it. It's just healing, it was clinical, not emotional.]

I might need help with the shirt.

[But he's still going to try, letting his left arm pull the majority of the shirt up over his head so his right side is left as undisturbed as possible. There's bandages around his torso to keep pressure on his ribs, but deep purple and black bruises peek out from under them, down his stomach, but mostly along his back and up to his shoulders from where he'd curled in on himself to protect his head. The burn marks on his arm appear to be the only ones of their kind, but there's something else on his skin below the edge of the bandages.

The feint remains of sharpie spells out words, half scrubbed away as best they could be with soap and water. 'Slut' 'Nothing' and half of '-re welcom-' remains messily on his lower back. He ignores them.]

Triage should be my rib and then my rear and legs and then throat and neck.

[In his opinion.]

[She follows, lingering by the couch where he lets the blanket fall, but the second Chris says he needs help, she's on the move again. Footsteps quiet, but noisy enough to be heard. Tea set down in front of him so Chris can see her hands before she reaches out to help. There's no hairpin to make noise right now, and that means she's more careful and obvious about everything she does. Everything done with a care and gentleness that matches her face without reaching her eyes.

She's livid. She's ready for targets. She can almost taste the fear in the air, imagine the light going out someone's eyes and the foam at the corner of their mouth. Body going cold, their blood on the floor and her hands and her face. The dark smile she'll have almost crosses her face, caught only by Chris' voice.

One thing at a time.]

You may need stitches. I've a kit with me for it. [Fully armed and armoured, it shouldn't surprise either of them. Blades all over, slingshot on her hip, pouches on her belt. Leather across her shoulders, forearms, and chest. But she's a leader, and these are her men, and so she's prepared for battle and the aftermath.]

I have a bottle of antiseptic, too, should you need it. [She looks up to Hawke, mind using the less familiar name to help her keep her distance until they're both certain Chris is well, then draws away a few steps to give him space while she finds what she mentioned.]

My hands are here if you need them.

[ It's probably for the best that Hawke isn't the one helping with the shirt because he might have caused frostbite for the rage that sears through him. Wounds were expected, even brutality such as this he was prepared to see and hold to avenge later, but the writing. If he wasn't needed here he would already be storming the Zoo, leaving nothing but frozen, mangled bodies in his wake.

He's only barely able to contain himself, struggling for a harsh moment where he's frozen still. His breath shows before him in condensation, an effect he remedies as quickly as he notices. Later. Later. It's not his violence that's needed now. He's not stopped from giving Amelia a significant glance from around Chris, though. As soon as we're done here. ]

You're right, rib first. I think it's broken.

[ He kneels by Chris' side to examine what he can, forcing his voice into even gentleness. It's somehow not difficult even around all the rage turning the cavity of his chest cold. It's simple to be gentle to Chris, Hawke's default state but more important in this moment. Chris deserves that care and softness after what had been done. ]

I'm going to have to remove the bandage and put my hand against the injury. It's going to hurt significantly more as I do, but it will subside quickly after.

[ He knows this one. Ribs are easy to break in battle and he's had more than his fair share fighting enemies who brandish bludgeons. He prefers blades, if he has to get hit. Sliced flesh is so much easier to heal than crushing wounds. ]

Amelia, do you have a clean strip of leather? He's going to need to bite down on something... Actually, hold on.

[ Hawke reaches behind himself to pull his knife, sheath and all, from the back of his belt where it had been sitting under the red flannel he's wearing. The feather knife is pulled from it and tucked into one boot and the well made leather sheath offered up. ]

Here, this should do. Grip Amelia's hand as well, if you need it. I can heal her too if you're too rough, don't worry.

[ A stupid joke to break the tension, and an action to give Amelia a way to help actively. This is going to be agony for a few moments. He's not a spirit healer, he can't soothe and knit flesh and bone at the same time, and even if he could he knows from experience that it only goes so far before things are together enough that a body stops screaming. ]

[Her help is welcome and Jacob's shirt gets set aside safely for later. Does he need stitches? He hasn't looked. He'd been deposited into Jacob's care and simply...let the older man do that for a while until his head had hit a pillow. He should probably inspect his own injuries, but after Hawke's done what he can.]

I'll follow your judgement, you've better eyes on the whole than I do.

[Which is its own curse. Just because he hadn't looked closely didn't mean he wasn't aware of every likely mark and strike. He'd healed enough injuries to know what violence looked like what.

He offers a small smile for Hawke's joke, but takes the sheath mechanically. This part he could do. Physical pain was easier to manage.]

Her hands'll be better used helping you. Amelia, lovely, it'll go faster if you undo the bandages.

[He tucks the sheath between his teeth and nods to them, bracing for the throb and ache and searing pain that would come from the release of pressure. At least he trusts that even if his nails dig into his own palms or his eyes close tight in response, Amelia isn't likely to flinch for it.]

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cw: discussion of abuse, noncon and d/s dynamics, humiliation

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cw: graphic descriptions of death/murder

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