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Where to put the bodies when they're done is something Amelia's been pondering since they left Broken Hollow, and as they make their way through the Down, straying near South Park, an idea comes to mind. She smirks behind her mask, eyes dark and devious.

"Let's get them closer to here," she murmurs, gesturing past him to where the park - and its giant sinkhole - are located. "I know what to do."

There's nothing more to be said while they find their targets. The bar the pair have sat down in is half-empty when they peer in through the window, winding down for the evening and with most of its patrons so drunk they should've been cut off several cups ago. It makes what's going to come next very easy for them. Amelia stations them half a block from the entrance in a shadowed corner, not taking her eyes off the door as adrenaline starts to filter into her blood once more.

"We need to spook them in the right direction. Keep them to the alleys in that direction," she points to a few darkened side streets leading back toward the park. "I can make them fear the shadows enough to keep them going in that direction if you cut off other access points they might try escape down."

There's only a few seconds for Hawke to respond before the pair they're looking for stumble out, laughing jovially. The Shadow Mistress' heart rate drops, all sounds that aren't those fucking voices, that glee. If the mage at her side says anything else, she isn't going to hear it. She takes a breath, pulls her slingshot her belt, and takes a single step out from the corner. The guards get two warning shots close to their ears before she's making straight for them as they curse and jump down to first alley she indicated.

It's time to make them fear for their lives before they're ended. They won't hear her coming as she does it either, only rocks whizzing past them, catching them across the face or legs as she forces them on her chosen path. Silent as shadows she follows them, and in that silence, she's going to strike when the time comes.

He says nothing, only nods in a cold calculating way that doesn't break the veneer of placid rage etched into the lines on his face. It's a hard expression for a face so used to laughter and coy looks but it's settled on him and doesn't shift even as she begins the chase.

He keeps pace with her across the way, sticking to shadows and throwing walls of force at intervals where the two guards may turn away from the intended destination. Ice would leave evidence at least for awhile, but force is invisible and impenetrable, sending the guards bumbling and bumping into each other as they sprint away, arms up by their ears and yelling drunkenly about assault.

Arms up protecting their heads and necks, like Chris had from their attack.

The next force spell doesn't block a path but instead propels them down an alley of Amelia's choosing, sending them sprawling and scrambling with wide eyes and more urgent movements. They're starting to panic.

Good.

It's easy to keep the men running to where they want them to go with Hawke's magic in the mix. On her own, a maneuver like this would never have worked. In Ragneux, she would've needed at least three well placed Family members to pull it off. He's resourceful as well as powerful, and in any other moment, the thought might send her pulse racing for a different reason. For now, it's merely information to be filed away, held onto until it's useful again. It'll come again soon enough.

Amelia closes the distance between herself and her targets with each alley, jumping off anything above ground level to give herself an extra boost of speed and distance. She doesn't need to catch them to scare them, and each shot across their ears, arms, or chests is enough. Rocks do plenty of damage when fired hard and aimed well, and these men are on the receiving end of decades of practice, bleeding from many cuts across their bodies. They won't survive this.

When at last they leave the security of alleys on their way to South Park and the sinkhole there, the Shadow Mistress gives herself a little more speed to get alongside her targets. One she slows with a rock to the forehead, hard enough to daze him a little. The other takes a knife to the outside of his thigh as she closes in. They're starting to scream now, to get loud, and she won't have that. They're not done yet, and she won't have them be disrupted by anyone who might think these men are in need of help. They are beyond that, having lost their chance for it when they assaulted one of hers.

She's on them both in seconds, leaping from the ground to come down hard on the taller of the men with a dagger to his shoulder, in the soft spot between bones just above his armpit. Her weight hits his chest and sends him down, and she rips his shirt before stuffing it in his mouth.

"Keep quiet," she commands, voice so guttural as to be unrecognizable. "You'll speak when I say you can."

There's one left to take care of before they take these two down into the sinkhole, and she trusts Hawke to have him when he's still stumbling from being his so hard in the face with a fig sized rock.

Melee fights are to be avoided when you're a mage, as a rule, but Hawke is broad and tall and when he got out of the Pit he refreshed on how to throw a punch, which benefits him now as he descents on the other guard with a full knuckled hit to the mouth, practically riding him down to the ground with the force of the blow. There's nothing in it that's finesse or fine tuned. It's a punch that aims to hurt and he succeeds by dislocating the guard's jaw with a cut off yelp and a pathetic whimper.

Hawke raises quickly, leaving his boot against his target's neck to prevent any screaming and then looks to Amelia. Should he just throw the man down into the sinkhole and use that cover for their business? He's half a mind to and so he hauls the man back to his feet by his collar, twisting it still so talking is difficult, and walks him backwards so Hawke's grip on his collar is the only think keeping him from disappearing into the blackness of the cavern below.

Even as the man he's fairly certain is Calus begins to flail in his grip, the look on Hawke's face is deathly calm. Clinical. And he holds him further over the sinkhole with all the detached demeanor of a crumbling cliffside.

Both men fall silent save for their muffled cries of agony and fear, and Amelia delights in having that control. She wraps the shirt in her hands tightly around her guard's face, tying it tight and swatting his hand down with a blade through his palm when he tries to stop her. He's still far larger than her and could, if he's smart, throw her off before she can get help dealing with him. Lucky for him, he's not smart, and so he only gets three more knives to various weak points in his body to keep him still.

When her target is fully reduced to a panicked mess, she gets to her feet, standing on the man's free wrist and hip. Her weight keeps him from rising or thrashing too hard, freeing her attention for Hawke. She can't see his face from where she's at, but she can guess what he's thinking.

"We'll follow him down to see it through. If you're done with that one, gag him and let him go for now. He won't survive the fall." And if he does, he'll be in such pain and torment as to wish he was dead; a worthy thing to be inflicted on someone so vile.

"I'm far from finished." Power hums in the air as Hawke gathers his magic to him, the edges of his cloak rising slightly and rippling on an unseen wind. The air in the Down is stagnant and close as ever but in their small corner of it it moves, turning against their quarry all on its own at his directive.

The temperature around them drops several degrees as Hawke shoves the man over the sinkhole but he does not fall immediately. He's left hovering but silent, scrambling at his throat for breath and feet flailing. A gesture of Hawke's hands and the front of his shirt tears open. The wind picks up, cold and cutting in a very literal sense, directed with intricate cruelty into the squirming guard's naked chest. With maticulous precision a word scrawls itself there, the process taking both an excruciatingly several seconds and far too short a time for what the man deserves. By the time Hawke's finished, the guard has passed out entirely and floats rotating slowly in the air over the sinkhole so Hawke can survey his handiwork before the man drops down into the darkness below, a message clear to anyone who would find him later.

NOTHING

Amelia watches Hawke work, her lips pulled into a grim smile beneath her mask. It's right that this man should feel so much fear before he dies. That terror and pain should rip through him the same sway it does all their victims, the way it did Chris. A soft growl issues from somewhere in her throat as she watches the man - dead or alive at this point doesn't matter - fall into the void below. Her eyes narrow as she looks at the man beneath her feet.

"You're next."

He's on the edge of passing out, and she won't allow it. Stepping aside, she gives him a swift kick to the ribs, forcing the man in a curl to protect himself. Her eyes are wide and pupils narrowed as she rips out various blades, leaving the one pinning his hand to the ground.

"Look at me, filth. Look me in the eyes when I'm striking you. You have no defense, and you are no victim - stop trying to act like one." The man - Tarent, she recalls - seems to crumble further as her assault continues, her blows to his chest, hips, and shoulders causing pain as she strikes wounds she's made relentlessly. She doesn't let up, doesn't stop until he's too weak to raise his free arm to cover his face, blood loss and pain taking all his strength. She tucks the toe of a boot beneath his chin to get his attention before speaking again.

"I strip you of your name. Once you could call yourself Tarent, but no more. Now you're merely trash, a corpse not yet dead enough to shut up until his breath is taken from him." Another growl slips free as she kicks his face away, allowing her to drop to her knees and grab hold of her last knife. She twists it until he tries to cry out in pain again, the sound muffled by her makeshift gag. It's satisfying in a way she needs right now.

"We're taking back what you stole from us," she tells him, voice sickly sweet compared to the dark utterance it was before. "And you'll never be able to hurt another ever again." She catches Tarent's eyes briefly before ripping her blade from his hand and the ground in one swift pull, giving him a last kick in Hawke's direction.

"For you. I've dirtied my hands when his life's not mine to take."

"You're lucky," Hawke intones in a voice that's low and still carries like a deep winter's chill, felt through the bones more than heard. He strides the gap between himself and the dead man, coming to rest standing over him with the pitiful curled up form between his boots. "You're lucky because you get to die when this is over. I would have preferred you lived the rest of your craven little life with the knowledge of what you'd done."

He flicks his right hand from his side casually and the man that had been Tarent lets out another muffled cry behind his gag as his arms jerk themselves stretched outwards. "I'll take solace, though, in knowing you can't impose your miserable self on anyone else. I'm doing you a favor, really, if the only way you can get off is by forcing your tiny cock into submissive's face by surprise."

The air grows heavy and the guard gags, struggling to breathe both as he can't expand his lungs past a certain point and as the fabric in his mouth is forced further down from the shift in gravity. Hawke remains impassivly standing above. "Know that you died at the hands of yet another submissive who knows what his place should be. Know that you died for daring to touch your betters."

Hawke leans down, pressing one knee to Tarent's chest as he brings his face close. The guard is struggling, straining with bulging eyes and veins clearly defined along his head and neck. One eye has gone completely red for the blood vessels behind it that could not take the strain. "Know that you killed yourself the second you even thought of laying a hand on Chris Sonom."

He pats the side of his face gently and retreats to kneeling at his side instead. Even the pressure lifts and Tarent gets one difficult breath into his lungs before, like Calus, his shirt tears of its own accord to expose the hollow of his chest. "I'm just doing you a favor by informing you."

Words carve themselves in bloody scrawl here too, longer and with painstaking clarity. Hawke's hands rise like a conductor, fingers moving to direct the wounds as they appear, and once they're drawn - and only then - he lowers his hands to his sides again, leaving Tarent still and passed out with dripping letters etched into him. Blood drips in turn from Hawke's face and front. He runs a hand through his beard, staining the snowy white in red streaks, surveying his handiwork.

YOU'RE WELCOME

A simple push of force magic and the corpse tumbles to meet the other, cracking against rock after rock the whole.

Way.

Down.

Edited (Forgot a word) 2023-02-19 16:44 (UTC)

Amelia watches with cold eyes as Tarent struggles. As he looks up at them with unspoken pleas for mercy. The same ones she knows others have cried out to him when he forced himself on them, when he beat them and fucked them and thought himself better.

Pathetic.

Hawke gets his chance for vengeance, hate, and anger without interruption. Cold echoes out of him and it feels good as the filth at their feet slowly succumbs to the pressure on his chest, the fabric in his throat, the loss of blood from so many wounds.

Then, just as simply as that, he's tossed over the edge and sailing to be judged in his afterlife.

It helps. It helps so much. Knowing he's dead or that they'll break his neck soon and that it'll be the end of it. But there's still work to be done.

The Shadow Mistress reaches out, touching a man so cold her fingers almost burn from the contact with his face. She catches his eyes, and dreams is everything about him difficult to resist. A fire burns in her she wishes she could quench in the chill of him, to press against until they're both nothing but embers and ash.

Later. Their work must be finished, and then she'll take him home for whatever else he'll allow.

"We have to follow them down. Put them out of easy sight. Let's see this done, then we'll go home."

Amelia touches his face and he shifts his eyes to look at her, turning his face just slightly and forcing himself to see her and not the heavy red film that's coated everything since they left the Hollow. She speaks, something about finishing their work but he doesn't hear her. He's focused on her lips moving, the blood staining her clothes, drying on her hands, the clear and steely focus in her eyes. All for the same purpose as the mess he's made of himself and their quarry, the necessary sanguine work of revenge born of love.

He ducks down and kisses her, unable to help himself for the emotion that rises to choke him. The kiss is thawing, his skin still chill but mouth hot and needy, a small grunt of pure emotion and adrenaline sounding against her lips and teeth as he pulls her crushingly close for a long moment.

Another and he parts from her, breathing heavy pants against her lips as he nods. There's weariness there now that the deed is done and the feral energy that has suffused and sustained him ebbs and tells him he's overextended his abilities. He's no longer seeing red but coronas of soft color edge her form and that of anything that lives or gives off light, signs of mana imbalance. But she's right, they need to make sure this can't be traced.

"I'll get us down." Another kiss, placed softly on her forehead, and he pulls away entirely to create the disk that can get them silently and safely to the bottom in order to complete their grisly work.

---

No more than an hour later sees them in the elevator back to the Up. Hawke's turned his cloak inside out to hide the splatter, too drained to utilize a cleaning spell for it and not sure he wants to anyway. He needs to feel this still, smell the iron tithe they'd forced due to pay for the wrongs done to one of their own.

He leans against the wall, head lolled back and not dozing but resting his eyes, comforted by having coaxed Amelia up into his side if she's willing. The hand at her back rubs absently but in soothing circles, more just feeling the texture of her clothes than aiming for any meaning in his touch.

The doors part and he's slow to move, bringing Amelia alongside and forcing a natural smile to the SIN guard at the checkpoint, their cover story of a wild night of play with pain and blood given in drunken-sounding pieces until the guard rolls her eyes and waves them out into the much more chill air of the Up.

It's harder to focus on the remainder of their work after a kiss like that from Hawke, but Amelia's denied herself so well for years that she manages. The excuse of being and staying close when the work is done while they make their way back to the Up eases the rest of the need in her blood enough to keep her steady. Helping to fool the guard is good, but dreams know she plans to delve her fingers into his hair as they clean themselves in her shower, to touch and worship him as no one else has ever managed in his life.

Damn the weariness. Damn the pains and soreness. She's going to take them both to new heights after this.

The sharpness of the cold air makes her draw a breath, cheeks flushing as she instinctively leads them toward Shadows' Rest. Her lips are still parted as drags a hand along his arm, pupils wide and eyes unblinking as she looks up into his face.

"I want you home with me," she murmurs. "My home is closer, and I've a shower to melt away everything that isn't us." She raises their entwined hands to brush her lips across his knuckles, her breath warm and soft as she clasps her free hand around his. "I need you, Wolfe, as soon as I'm free of every stitch and weapon."

He’d found his way back to bed, he’d made a valiant effort at dozing at a minimum, but sleep had proven elusive even without a threat of dreams to haunt him. Jon might not have liked Chris locking away his dreams forever, but in times like this, he was thankful there’d be no nightmares.

Still, his mind works and memories play like visions that chase away peace for each sound in the night, and the sight of his loved ones faces as they were preparing to leave keeps resurfacing. They were going to go home. Get rest. Right?

If it were reversed, he’d want blood. He’d want to taste it in his teeth and feel it on his skin and drag the remains to the feet of his person so they’d know it was done.

They’d tell him, wouldn’t they? Not if they thought he’d have stopped them. He would have stopped them. Those men didn’t deserve more of his thought or attention than they already had, and they certainly didn’t have a right to put hands on his family if something went wrong.

If something went wrong is the thought that sends him out of bed. He can’t get away with getting up twice, but he presses assurances and promises to Jacob’s lips before shoving on his boots and stealing one of his boyfriend’s jumpers from his days as a younger man.

Chris gathers a first aid kit and bandages and an extra knife and heads out into the forest to make his way to…the elevators? The people Zoo? He’s not sure. He’ll start with the zoo, even as the thought stutters his heart, he has to check. Thankfully, he doesn’t get that far. Luck or providence has his trajectory turning a corner to spot them at the end of a street emptied by the late hour.

He opens his mouth to call to them, closes it, and lets his feet carry him instead, eyes already sweeping over them for a limp or careful movement that might give away an injury. What he sees instead is blood. Drying and flecked on skin and hair and hands and his stomach plummets as much as it soars in relief. Three steps four. Five. His bag shifts on his shoulder as he reaches out first for Amelia.

She’s even worse for touch than he is most days, but it doesn’t stop him now. He grabs for her and pulls her close, arms wrapping tight around her as he presses his lips to her hair. Her cheek, wherever he feels he can. When he pulls back, he takes her bloodied hand and presses a kiss there too, uncaring of the traces it leaves on his lips.

He cares just as much when he turns to Hawke next and takes hold of the front of his friend’s shirt to pull him in and press a kiss to his lips. It’s a slow, appreciative thing. Soft for all the evidence of violence they carry. Chris pulls back, a hand on each of them as he bows his head.

“Please tell me you weren’t hurt.”

He'd been about to murmur his acceptance to Amelia, sketch a picture of slow freedom from evidence of the night's exertions into more pleasant solace when a hand suddenly captures Amelia's and brings her around for a tight embrace.

"Chris, what are you-" He's too slow to start speaking and isn't through his question by the time his friend's hands are on his collar and pulling him into a kiss he hadn't expected. He goes rigid for a moment. He'd not been ready to let go of the frigid grip on his chest yet, tried and emptied of power as he is, and Amelia had not seemed to ask it of him. He'd been prepared to let the enmity stay as long as it would, fuel that joint experience and come down from it slowly with Amelia in the privacy of her shower and her bed, but that kiss cracks something in him. Thaws it forcefully and with too much ease, and Hawke brings his arms up around Chris without thinking, melting a kiss back into him. When Chris pulls away, he's panting steam again, his shaking fingers having left three red streaks against Chris' jaw.

"No," he responds, voice thick with emotion and exhaustion both. "And neither will you be, never again at those hands."

Edited (Typo) 2023-02-19 19:51 (UTC)

Amelia only has time to exclaim Chris' name softly before she's pulled in. She sighs with relief as she hugs him back, just as tight, releasing him the moment he pulls away. She tries to interject when he turns to Wolfe and the two share-- something that is not a mere friendly or reassuring gesture. Knowing they were friends and close the way they are, she'd assumed they were lovers, but this is... more than that. Much more.

She swallows down the desire to ask after it. Now's not the time when Chris is on edge, she and Hawke are covered in blood, and she's still wearing most of her Shadow Mistress mantle.

"It's over," she confirms softly, drawn back completely from both men. It feels... wrong to put herself so close when they're having some kind of moment. She forces down all of her emotions, kills the desire still screaming inside her, and takes a breath as she tries to catch Chris' attention.

"You shouldn't be out right now. What happened to resting? What were you--" She cuts herself off from berating him like instinct tells her to, taking another breath. "You could have messaged us. We would have answered." Eventually.

He can feel her try to step back from them, but he isn't as kind and his grip tightens as it shifts down to her waist. It’s selfish, terrible, but he wants only those couple inches between them and no words to ask it.

Not when their words carried so much already. His spoke of safety and vengeance and a sweep of gutting relief that stings his eyes he shouldn’t be feeling. Hers spoke of love and concern even through a berating tone, and he wants to bury himself in it. He won’t. Seeing them while is enough.

“I got scared. Something you said before leaving sat ill in me and I worried for you two, that you’d get hurt on account of me. I couldn’t sleep. I thought…I’d start with the zoo and go from there, I forgot I could-” text. Call. He did it so often and yet sometimes, instinct ran first and his phone sat forgotten in his pants pocket. “I’ll not keep you now that I’ve seen you, I just…I…”

His hand at Amelia’s waist and Hawke’s arm tighten and his eyes lower to look away from them as his emotions fail him and them.

“Thank you.” I love you.

I got scared. Admitted without hesitation when everything else is stuttering explaination and the winter in Hawke's chest thaws further, heart beating heavy in it. He can taste that feeling of concern, the desperate worry that would drive Chris back to where he'd been hurt just to make sure the same hadn't happened to them, taste it in a way that has everything to do with how low his mana is and his body is scrambled for the lack, but he'll not worry Chris further. Not when they've done what they set out for. "I'm sorry, we should have- We didn't want you to worry but apparently we failed that."

He smiles, a tight but genuine thing that looks sinister with the blood streaking his beard. They'd wiped what they could from their faces but it was little enough help having already dried and the blood they couldn't clear away is frightful enough. Even so he tucks Chris close, one arm curled around him even as the other reaches for Amelia's arm too, unaware of more meaning behind the kiss. He's worn and obtuse in his exhaustion and unable to untangle affection and concern if turned towards him. And for reciprocation? Well. Every kiss he's given Chris since he arrived back months ago has been a silent declaration. It's been present since that night he got off the train.

"We're alright, Chris. We'll actually go home now, I promise you, though I think both to Shadows' Rest." He nearly invites Chris along, his need to keep both of them close to outweighing reason, but he's not so far gone as that. Things are still new and being felt out with Amelia and he feels he must be careful with his priorities lest she thinks she's not one of them.

Even so, he can't just leave Chris alone on the street. He glances at Amelia in thanks for her patience and kisses the top of Chris' head, trying not to leave blood there too. "Do you want escort back to the Hollow? We can take you that far."

She lets herself be pulled in, mask firmly in place as she places a gentle hand on each of them; Chris at his waist to assure him of her presence, between Wolfe's shoulder blades to steady him. The cleric gets a soft kiss to his temple and then to his curls as she listens, her expression neutral and calm.

"It's all right. Had I been thinking, I'd have offered to send you updates." That would have kept him from coming out here, at least. She can't be upset at him for thwarting what had built in her when his thoughts are so scrambled, when everything in him is off after being violated in such a way. He needs time to recover, and she's fine. Recovery from too little sleep, a flood of adrenaline, and bearing such emotional weight should come first.

She's fine. She doesn't need anything as much as Chris does.

Exhaling a little breath, she kisses Chris' cheek again and shifts her hand to his lower back. "Where do you want us to be tonight? We need to get clean, but if you need us under the same roof, you'll have that. At mine or Jacob's, or even Marzipan Terrace." Her chest tightens, but it doesn't show in her face as she kisses Chris one last time. "We're here for you, however you want."

Even if he couldn't say it, that moment of vulnerability that washes through him feels like a wound left exposed...and there's some shift in the people around him that has him clamping down on it once more. He can't...read them. Exhaustion or stress or the general way he's been keeping himself closed off, he's not sure, but a glance to Hawke's face sees a tight smile and to Amelia's sees a mask firmly in place he could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago.

And all at once, something dark fills in where the relief had washed through before. Guilt. Shame. A flash of his family's faces laughing and joking as he stands at the edges of the room to watch them. He should have stayed home. Texted them. They're right, what could he have done to help regardless, with his magic gone and his scythe back home? He just worried them. He brought them to violence that could have seen them captured or hurt...still could. What if one of the birds had caught sight of them?

He feels sick and hollow and hateful, not to them but to himself. He should have kept quiet.

He steps back and out of their physical reach, that same detached expression from earlier back in his face as he lifts his chin. "I'll see myself back to the Hollow. Get home, please. Clean up. Take care of each other...and maybe keep your heads down a couple days. Good night, loves."

If he lingers, waits for them to answer, they might...say something. Push. He couldn't give them the chance. Maybe it made him look foolish, to show up and then leave so quickly, but maybe he should. He shouldn't have come in the first place. Shouldn't have involved them. He gives a nod and turns to head back the way he came, bag resituated on his shoulder and a hand wrapped tightly around the strap.

"Chris, wait," he steps away and Hawke bridges the gap, stopping short of grabbing but his fingers do find the front of the bag and linger there for a long moment. He feels the lack of Amelia's hand at his back the same as the lack of any emotion on Chris' face and he struggles with both so keenly that it's hard for him to speak further. He's moving again now, adrenaline ebbed and weariness set in and everything is halos and strange tastes but even for all that he can see the guilt roiling underneath the veneer that Chris pulls back into place and he can't ignore it. Not now, not when he's been through such a horrible experience and is trying so hard. At the back of Hawke's mind he knows there's something wrong with all of this. That he's doing wrong somehow, but as he can't focus on what that is, all he has is to simply forge again.

"I was scared too. We both were, we couldn't-" He tries to find words in his mess of a head, trying to find the right thing to say as comes so easily to him normally. The thing that will break the tension, that will convince Chris not to march off alone into the woods and leave them standing on the street with this heartache. Or that's just him, he doesn't know. He can't tell. He has to pull himself together. "I-I need to know this hasn't- That you'll be alright."

It's a stupid thing to say. He's not sure what he would have said instead, but he hates what came out of him. Desperation, a clinging reedy quality to his voice that wavers in the wake of what feels like everything that had been keeping him together no longer supporting his weight. He's not the one who needs time and room to fall apart, he shouldn't be asking for anything from Chris, he should be propping him up and telling him that he'll be alright. He should be certain. Decisive. A pillar of support. Instead he's standing covered in blood on the street between two people he loves dearly and unable to be of use to either one because he's too worn and too greedy to pick up his own pieces and set the world right.

"Chris." Softer, with no thread of desperation running through it now, but no less pleading. Please.

Edited (typo) 2023-02-20 00:34 (UTC)

Everything is fraying rapidly, pulled apart by threads so easily picked at by circumstance. Chris turns to leave, frightened and withdrawn, and Wolfe goes after. They need a calm, steady hand to guide them, and she can provide that. She's done it hundreds of times, and for these two people, two she cares for above most others in this city, she can do that.

She steps forward and reaches for Chris' hand, not yet out of her reach with her own energy still propped up by their violence. Her mask still hides most of her emotions, but it can't hide the concern she feels. Something happened just now, something she doesn't understand, and he can't be left to think he's done something wrong. He didn't. Amelia doesn't need to understand what she's seeing to know that.

"Chris." Her tone is soft, but warm. "At least let us get you back to Jacob. We want to know you're safe." She gives his hand a squeeze, and briefly turns her gaze to Wolfe as she rests her free hand on his forearm. He looks so disoriented by all of this, and she can only imagine it's compounded by his heavy use of magic tonight.

Her voice firms a little as she draws herself closer to Chris, offering what comfort she can while they're out in the cold in the middle of an empty street. "Whatever you're feeling, I swear to you, you've done no wrong. Please, we won't come in if you don't want that, but we want to know you make it back safely. If that's too far, come to Shadows' Rest. I've space and food enough for all of us."

They still reach for him and it drives the doubt deeper. He's done this, hasn't he? He's not pulling himself together enough to be convincing. A king should have his best foot forward at all times. There's a voice that runs through the back of his mind that feels like oil. 'These friends you've fooled into caring.'

Hawke's voice is a plea and Amelia's concern is clear where there'd been almost nothing before. There's too much running through his mind and over it all, the guards jeering at him. What a pretty mouth he had, too bad he used it for back talk and sarcasm. They had a fix for that.

They were right about one thing, he certainly never seemed to use it to find the right words.

He takes a centering breath, not to subside the storm in him, but simply to set it aside. Now wasn't the time. Hawke needed Chris to be okay. Amelia needed him to show it. He could do that. He turns back to them, expression gentle and smile not full or even trying to be, but affectionate all the same. "I'll be alright. I can't stay away from Jacob, he'll worry too much, and I've more'n one knife on me and a first aid kit, I can get back just fine. I've been in this city three years without incident, one day won't change that." He doesn't address the rest of what Amelia or Wolfe says, he can't...but he can do this.

"Please. What I need is for you two to get home and cleaned up and take care of each other. Getting caught out with too many questions helps no one." He at least bites back the apology that threatens to bubble up. That's not helpful right now.

Blue eyes meet green and for a moment Hawke isn't sure he should believe this. He should insist, at least walk him home with Amelia and see him safely back inside. But he searches in that gaze and sees no lie. Chris is still capable; he's not in prison any longer, he's armed and skilled and not completely covered in blood from having committed what was assuredly no crime but illegal all the same.

What's not addressed is left to lie, Hawke too tired to notice or too wound up and weary to follow through. He doesn't kiss him again either, though he sorely wants to. It would be easier, a wordless communication of everything he wants to get across, but that wouldn't be warranted either. Instead he lets out a helpless breath and squeezes Chris' shoulder, his thumb lightly brushing the side of his friend's neck. "Alright. You win. Just send me - send us a message when you're up in the morning, alright? I know you probably have a hundred other people who want to know the state of you but... indulge me."

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Hawke finally manages to pull together somewhat. He's not helping, otherwise. He moves his hand from Chris' shoulder and places it over Amelia's on his forearm, knowing the decision he's made is probably not exactly as she would have done. She'll want to see him all the way there, whatever he says, but it's true it's not far and if he gets caught with them looking like this he'll be in more trouble than otherwise.

Wolfe's right that Amelia would prefer to follow Chris home, though she suspects in his current state, her partner couldn't do so safely and she will not leave him alone. All she can do now is accept Chris at his word and allow the man to go on his way. She trusts him, and that will be enough to carry them until the morning when they're all somewhat recovered.

"One when you get back to the Hollow too, if you please." She offers Chris a wry smile before withdrawing, taking Wolfe's hand between both of hers to offer him something steady to hold. "Rest well, Chris. We'll talk again on the morrow."

She lets the cleric retreat first, watching his form disappear from view before she finally releases a breath she'd held for fear of things falling further apart. It's not an ideal situation now, but it's what they have. There's nothing more to it than that.

Squeezing the cool hand in hers, she turns her smile up to the mage, worry more freely written in her face now. "You look tired," she murmurs, reaching up to caress his cheek. "Let me take you home, then we'll get cleaned up and find something to eat before bed, all right?"

There's no real space given for him to dissent as her feet are already on the move, leading them toward Shadows' Rest. Aloïs will have to forgive the mess they'll leave in the larger of their bathrooms, because she already knows everything they're wearing will be left across the floor. The first real victim to all the violence they committed today.

She's quiet the rest of the way to the house, eyes focused on every shadow and corner they pass to keep watch for any who might stop them. The trip is thankfully quiet, a blessing of the hour. Once they're inside, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, she finally breaks her silence as she takes his face between both hands and truly looks him over. Dreams, he's a mess, all the ice from before gone, a mirror of her own dampened fire. It makes her frown softly, but it's not what she remarks on when she speaks.

"How are you feeling? I thought I lost you for a moment when Chris found us."

He allows her to lead him away, replying with quiet assent and something that sounds like both thanks and an apology as he follows mechanically. It's an effort to put one foot before the other now that he's allowing himself to feel his state instead of pushing through it. He loses track of the time, only feeling Amelia's hand reassuringly in his and trying to sort through the mess of his head and heart. He's missed something, he can tell. Something important. Perhaps more than one thing but his mind slides off what it could be and the tangle is all but forgotten when he finally smells shadow and realized that Amelia is already leading him upstairs.

He sheds the cloak first, then his shirt without preamble as she leads him to the bathroom and pauses to bring her fingers against his cheeks, burning hot to his chilled skin even if logically he knows she must be cold as well. There's still snow on the ground outside.

He takes a moment just to breathe, to find himself again and force himself to be here, now, with her and a softness comes over his eyes when he opens them again, his cheeks gaining back some color. He brings his hands around hers and moves to kiss the fingers of one, lips warmed as he makes himself settle. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me; I just couldn't stand him leaving like that. Shutting down..."

He shakes his head, not sure what else to say. She probably needs reassurance too. He's not the only friend Chris has, not even here in this room. "He'll be alright. He's strong and he won't let this beat him."

Doubt threatens that statement. What had he said to Amelia when they'd panicked about this before? That Chris would be alright. That he can protect himself. He can, on any given day, but.

But.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Amelia's and sliding his arms around her. He can't handle anything more painful tonight. He'll grieve and he'll feel guilty tomorrow but for now he just needs to feel peace. "Let's get cleaned up, alright? You've got red in your hair."

"You were worried, same as we both are now." If it's lingering on her mind, she can only assume it's lingering in his. He's trying to press on from it, to let it go, and she doesn't want to let him. This feels important, even more so after what she saw between him and Chris. As she lets herself be drawn in, though, she can feel his exhaustion all the more. It has to wait, at least 'til morning.

She allows her eyes to close briefly as she leans into him, exhaling a heavy breath. She can't set everything down yet, not until she's certain he's in bed and resting, but she can start. They're both inside now, away from any guards, far from the scene of their vengeance. They are, for the moment, safe.

Another breath, and she opens her eyes and finds a small smile for him. "Take off what you're wearing. I'll get the water running. You can tell me if it's too hot when we get in."

She's slow to draw away, but once she manages, she walks over to the shower and start the water running. Her weapons, pouches, and belt get deposited on the stone vanity, her boots ditched in a corner by the tub. Her bodice gets a little more care, laid across her things on the vanity after it's unlaced, but the remainder of her clothes are tossed without a thought into the tub. It's where they'll start getting washed tomorrow anyway.

Her hair comes down last, her tight braids let free with a single tense breath. It feels vulnerable, letting her tresses loose in this way, and she has to remind herself that Wolfe is safe when the ingrained fear threatens to rise up in her. Her breaths are harder than she means them to be when she faces him again, and she hopes he's too tired to notice as she takes his hand and leads him under the cascading rainfall of water waiting for them on the other side of glass doors.

"We can sit, if that would help," she tells him, motioning to the bench as the water starts to seep into them, washing away the first layer of blood. Her hands find both of his again to get his attention as she looks up at him, so much taller when she's barefoot. "Anything you need, I want you to have right now. I'm here for you, and only you."

Edited (switched out a descriptor) 2023-02-20 06:06 (UTC)

IC Contact

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cw: torture, humiliation

cw: torture, humiliation continued

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Wrap <3