broodypants | @kirkwalled.

@kirkwalled.

They say there's a ghost in the old manor at the end of Broad Street.

There are a lot of ghosts in that area. The ghost of industry, mostly. The steel mill closed down, and all the good jobs went with it, and that part of the city's just collapsing. All the capes steer clear of it, mostly because the only thing you'll find is a mugging, it's not the sort of thing that'll get you on the news, get endorsements, funding.

Rumors haunt this place as well. Tales of what the inhabitants of the old manor used to do. The Alexius Coven, they called it, and street children disappeared into its dark depths with worrisome regularity. But the inhabitants had the money to buy a blind eye from the law, and people learned not to ask too many questions, or get too close to the manor at night.

They, too, left this part of town. All that remains is a haunted manor, and a missing child. The mother, frantic, calls whoever she can, finally catching up with an old friend, someone who will do the work pro bono. She says the covenites, the witches and wizards of Alexius are still around, lurking in the manor's depths. She says her son went in the manor on a dare and never came out.

Fenris has heard it all from the vagrants that he allows to sleep on the bottom floors in exchange for food and information. It's a brisk trade, so long as they don't get rowdy. For himself, he takes the master bedroom, and keeps everything locked up tight. This manor is dead, but it isn't safe.

Thankfully, none of his vagrants (his vagrants? When did that start?) are around when someone tries sneaking in a window on the ground level. The old oak doors are bolted shut, but several of the windows are blown in and boarded up. It isn't hard to get in, but it is inadvisable. Most don't, either from fear or genuine disinterest.

Fenris perches at the top of a winding balcony caked in dust. He knows just how his voice will echo into the foyer. "I suggest you leave."

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As it happens, Hawke probably wasn't supposed to be here. She isn't supposed to be most places -- a few bars, the Natural History Museum, a good portion of Queens -- but life takes you places that you're not supposed to be all the time and who was Hawke to deny the whims of the Maker? Or, ah, something like that. (She wasn't particularly religious either.)

No, Hawke wasn't supposed to be here because this place was haunted, magic creeping into the brick that held this place together and making wayward vagabonds disappear in its darkness. The place was cold, abandoned, and dripped with an empty hunger that made passerbys shiver in the hot heat of the middle of summer. It makes Hawke remember her father's warnings, about not trusting the whimsy of wild magic, of just letting it be. Bethany listened intently, of course, never wanting to disappoint Malcolm and Carver dismissed them both -- magic had no place in his life from the get go.

Hawke though, she was somewhere in the middle. Not wanting to anger but feeling the desperate urge to poke, of course. And she always thought of his lessons when she took on cases like this. She's a bleeding heart -- one missing child case and she accepts doing it for the payment of a large batch of cinnamon buns. It doesn't matter that she can't afford rent next week but the woman was so desperate, so hopeful that Hawke found herself agreeing regardless. Maybe she'll couch surf for a bit -- Varric owes her a favor, right?

Her entrance into the manor isn't at all graceful. A pocket knife, a rusted crowbar she found in a trash can nearby, and her own fists are what gets the boards open enough for her. Not all the way though, not nearly enough, and Hawke's caught between shoving a fist in one way and then tumbling straight through and onto the marble a moment later. The shock of it all has her gasping in dust and she's busy coughing up a storm when a voice calls out to her.

Oh, just her luck.

"After," A cough. "all that effort --" She wheezes, "to get in here?" Another few hacking coughs and Hawke's pushing off the ground, brushing dirt off her jeans. "I should think I'm due a drink first, actually."

Again, somewhere Malcolm Hawke turns in his grave and wants to beat Marian over her ignoring obvious warnings. She's wondering already if this is a malevolent spirit but well, she's survived worse, probably? Ah, hell.

The light in here is terrible. The Coven had a huge window over the roof, making the foyer boil in the summer, and when the mansion fell into disrepair, the windows didn't shatter, but they became grimy with mold and rotting leaves. The result is a very dingy, dusty main room.

Fenris stands at the top of the stairs, and he's decked out in so many rags and scarves and cloaks (piled on to hide the faint glow of his skin), he wonders if he looks like the ghost they say haunts this manor. Isn't that what Alexius called him in life? My ghost, my wolf, mine, mine, mine.

He folds his arms over his chest. "If you want shelter," he says, "you owe me a drink."

But it's annoyingly charming, he has to admit. None of the vagrants ever joke with him. They don't say much, really, just what do you want, what's the price for shelter. Which, honestly, he can't blame them for; he's been homeless, he knows how the world shrinks down to needs and wants. But this, this is different, and it's refreshing.

Fenris doesn't move from the top of the stairs, though. He's not about to be lulled into a false sense of security by this idiot.

Despite the nonchalance in all of Hawke's body, her mind is whirring. She didn't expect life in the manor -- or rather, sentience. Magic, rogue and wild, would be the most likely outcome considering the history of this place but actual life? That chances things a little. She's sure this man isn't the boy she's looking for, or at least that's the assumption she's going to run with (she hopes the boy is still just that, a boy -- time disruptions always lead to an uncomfortable and heartbreaking ending) but she doesn't know if he's foe or friend just yet.

Still, his response does give her an opening and she plasters on her most charming of smiles as she stands up straight, hands on her hips as she looks up the stairs to the stranger at the top. In contrast to his rags, Hawke is dressed simply. A pair of converses, worn jeans (albeit with some tears on the knees and a few bloodstains), and a simple red t-shirt. The heat outside made the t-shirt stick to her and the journey on the subway arduous and annoying, yet inside the manor, she can't help but feel a little cold. Across the bridge of her nose is still the streak of blood she keeps on always, the thing that most people don't realize is what keeps the Reaver power in her in check. She can take a hit, she can take so many hits, but as long as she's still standing and bloodied -- she'll never go down.

"I was actually looking for information, rather. No need for a roof over my head just yet, ser, but only a word with the master of the manor. I take it that's you?"

And then she pauses just slightly, tilts her head and wonders if the friendly approach is what will work. She can't be sure, can never be sure until she tries, so just as light and breezy she tacks on --

"Oh, and I go by Hawke."

Fenris has been given names very rarely in what he remembers of his life. He's more often given titles. I'm Alexius, your master. It's quite different. Even the vagrants don't want to know his name.

He hesitates a moment, unsure how to proceed. Of course he could just give the name, but is that a trap? A weakness? It's something he'd sure he'd know if he were better socialized. This woman is charming, yes, but she doesn't seem to be the type to set up intricate traps, and... then, what's the harm? He's just... afraid of giving his name to someone who's politely asked?

Well, no one ever has before.

"Fenris," he grumbles. "And I am no master of anything."

Information, though, that's another thing entirely. She wants to know about the coven, learn its secrets, become some sort of witch herself. That's a shame, Fenris thinks. It means he'll have to kill her.

But at least it means he'll know what to do. That more than anything brings him slowly down the stairs. The scarves are piled high enough on his shoulders to hide the glowing tattoos on his chin, and worn Nikes hide the tattoos on his feet. His hands are covered with thick leather gloves. She won't see anything she doesn't need to.

"What sort of information?"

This is a great start, she can't help but think and the optimist in her blossoms instantly and suddenly, Hawke is seeing potential. Her smile turns more genuine as Fenris gives his name and begins to approach and she doesn't sense threat -- doubts the man wants to, just a feeling in her gut. No, she's playing this just the right way and it's a relief. Something's going right for once.

"Ah, but everyone's a master of something, don't you know? Their home, their words, themselves even. I like to consider myself a master of... dogs, perhaps. I'm particular fond of them? Maybe less dogs and more dog loving."

She is, ah, nattering. She realizes that then and stops, instead taking in the look of the man who approaches her. He's tall and thin and she wonders what's underneath those rags, wonders if he's hiding something, but she can't quite make it out. Instead she sees only up to to the top of his mouth and can barely see if he's smiling or not. He must be terribly overheated, she thinks.

"I'm looking for a child," Might as well be forthright about it. "A small boy, might have came to this manor and his mother is worried he's got caught up in some magic he isn't supposed to. She hired me to find him. Well, less hired and more she promised me some cinnamon buns if I found him for her and I'm weak to sweet things. It's a failing."

What she doesn't say but is clear enough -- the mother is scared rogue magic has trapped her boy in the Fade. The mother doesn't mind sending Hawke into something that might be dangerous in her desperation to find her son. Hawke has a reputation for surviving things even mages can't, for surviving miraculous falls or insane fights or temptations of madness that Hawke just shrugs off with a laugh and a smile. Hawke isn't quite sure how to explain it either, if pressed. Perhaps the Maker just smiles down on her? Who knows.

(More realistically, perhaps life's just turned this way for her because the universe knows how alone she is. Her siblings have disappeared. Her parents are dead. Both things she blames herself for. She drifts through life with nothing but the clothes on her back and little attachments these days. She spends most of her nights looking for fights or a drink because what else does she have? So, flinging herself into mortal danger -- why not? No one's going to miss her, after all. Maybe her dog but Varric will see to him, of course.)

The way she natters on, Fenris wonders if this is some kind of play. She seems... nervous about something. Is this a trap?

Alexius and his coven would never pick someone so flippant. If this is a trap, it's being sprung by a new player. Fenris will meet them head on, like he always does. He's yet to see someone who he can't beat in a fair fight. Or an unfair fight. Poor, dead Hadriana. He always hated her, and she got exactly what she deserved. Poor, dead, stupid Hadriana.

He's knocked from his reprieve by the mention of a boy. Fenris furrows his brow, thinking. "There was a boy... a few nights ago, he came by. Left in the morning."

So, not Fenris' problem? Beyond the vague concern: the kid was far more polite than the average vagabond. He'd dislike it if something happened to him. But: still not Fenris' problem. Unless he could have a cinnamon bun, maybe, he's never had one, and hot food is a rarity... but Fenris won't demean himself by asking. He moves under his rags and scarves, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"You have the information you wanted." Now go away.

-- And then she's done. It's a little blindsiding, honestly, because Hawke expected a bit more work, a bit more banter. Maybe even a scuffle or a deal of some sort. But instead Fenris gives the information freely and flatly and Hawke looks a little astounded.

Is that... it?

She feels then a sudden hope that it's not. She was enjoying herself for a moment there and so very curious about the stranger that now she can't imagine leaving. Or rather, she wants an excuse to stay, to keep talking to him, to keep asking what his deal was. Her hands twitch, almost lifting to reach out before falling flatly to her sides and she feels bereft. So, there's a moment here where she just stares at him surprised before shifting her weight on her feet and rubbing the back of her neck.

"Ah," she starts, almost buying time here. "Did you see which way he went?" That's probably what she should ask first before he pokes further into Fenris' story.

Fenris is so accustomed to regret, that lingering emotion when someone good and interesting disappears from his life, he barely notices it. He's numb to the feeling he's stewing in, just then. He's more caught up in the way Hawke looks entirely flabberghasted by his answer. Did she really think he kidnapped the child? What do they think he does, here? Eat children?

(He mostly drinks.)

Fenris rolls his eyes and spreads his arm in an exagerated shrug, the first real gesture of any consequence he's shown since Hawke arrived. Alexius always used to tease him-- or worse-- for talking with his hands. He keeps a close lid on his movements around strangers as a result.

"I didn't," he says. But he does have more information, as luck would have it. And why is that lucky? The thought makes his nose wrinkle, but he ignores it. "But one of the other squatters told me he was looking for something. He thought it would make his family rich."

Nice work if you can get it.

Yet for Hawke, the movement only helps to endear her -- shows a flash of personality under the flat responses, the many layers. Hawke finds herself even more intrigued than before and burns with the energy of it, it takes all her strength to not bounce on her heels and throw questions at him in her eagerness. Instead, she looks excited -- but still subdued, curious.

"And you don't know what this could be? The squatter too?"

Still not the line of questioning she wants to follow, but knows she must. Whatever her fascination with this weird man in this hollow house, she is worried for the boy. Get rich quick schemes involving magic never end well, the discovery of Red Lyrium was obvious enough of that (a discovery that involved Hawke, though anyone who could attest to this is dead or doesn't want anything to do with her). So, she has her own fortune, one she never touches, will never touch, because the cost of it is too high. And so, she couch surfs and trades for cinnamon buns and chases after dumb kids who just want to help their families instead.

It makes her think to ask something else too, brow furrowing as she considers Fenris.

"... You aren't a mage, are you? I'm not one to go templar chasing so you needn't worry -- it's just, it would help me a lot if I knew what type of people this kid encountered before he disappeared."

"No," he says with a hard edge to his voice, all other discussion forgotten. "And you aren't, either." The lyrium in his skin would have crackled with sympathetic magic, let him know immediately. The squatters who crawl around the Alexius House know no mages are allowed. Then again, very few drifters are mages. They have other opportunities, other fears, that drive them off the streets.

He turns away from her then, to begin walking down one of the manor's many curving hallways. She's welcome to follow him. She's welcome to stab him in the back. If she tries the latter, he'll be ready and waiting. And if he follows, well... It's been a while, he has to admit, since he's had a conversation that was unique, interesting, not some kind of transaction. He'd like to drag it out.

"Let's leave Leopold out of this," he mutters, referring to the vagrant who gave him the information. "I couldn't find him if I tried. But if the boy was looking to get rich, and he spent some time here... there are several artifacts he could have been sniffing around for."

The hardness surprises her, makes her lift an eyebrow in question but she says nothing. So, definitely not a mage but perhaps anti-mage? She knows there's still conflict there, discussions over mages and their ability to roam freely. There are some countries where it's live and let live, some where the mages are in charge, and some like their own where the Templars work to keep them in check, for the most part. It's not illegal to be a mage anymore per se but, ah, men with power as it were...

Still, she does lift a shoulder in a shrug when he states that she isn't. She's seen mages at their worst and at their best, hasn't really decided where she lands yet. She trusts her father, that's as far as she can say. No, she learned other ways growing up -- fighting with fists, knowing how to swing a bat, shoot a gun. She was in the military for a while before deciding it wasn't for her. She drank dragon blood as a teenager, felt the power course through her veins and knew she'd only use it to protect. It wasn't much use for her in the end, but she still tries her best.

Without really thinking about it, she starts following Fenris does the hall. She should probably be on the defensive -- if he's leading her into an attack or something, but... she can't bring up the sensation that he is. He seems as straightforward as anything else and she'd honestly be terribly disappointed if he tried to kill her. She'd kill him in turn, yes, but she'd be sad about having to do it.

So, she falls in step with him, hands sliding into the pockets of her jeans as she watches him curiously as he talks. She wishes she could see his entire face, thinks there might be a handsome man under there but all she really has are his eyes, his nose, the tuffs of white hair poking out of his rags.

"You make a habit of keeping valuable artifacts lying around your manor, Fenrs?" His name is nice on her tongue, she thinks she'd like to say it again.

Fenris walks with calm through the cobwebbed halls of the mansion people now think is his. Maybe it is his. No one else has any real claim. But this manor used to be his prison; it's hard to think that he owns it.

And does that make him its jailer?

He keeps walking. "It wasn't always mine," he says, gruff and grim. He wants to dissuade this notion of involvement in the black pit this place is, the weight of corruption pulling the alone and lonely into its orbit. Maybe he owns it, but he did not make it the way it is. Of course, that begs the question: why does he care what she thinks, if he's never going to see her again after today?

He puts the thought from his mind, and opens a door into an expansive room filled with... nothing. Darkness. It's dark enough that the floor and roof can't be seen. There is simply a wall of dark, and sound does not even echo from its depths. Light disappears into it, sound becomes lost, and heat slips away.

Alexius called it 'the hungry darkness'. Fenris calls it a good example of why not to open random doors in this place.

"The previous owners had interesting taste in interior design," he says, dry. He closes the door. "I've destroyed what I can. The rest can only be watched. Some can grant power, not riches, but the two are often confused."

Hawke has to wonder for a moment if Fenris is trying to dissuade her from sticking around or interest her enough to do so. She has a feeling that the man might not know himself. No, she's almost certain that the two of them are in the same spot -- curious but guarded, hers through humor and his through a frosty attitude. Yet, he continues to show her more, continues to engage her, and has let her tag along with him as they walk. She decides then that she should keep Fenris as a contact, if nothing else. She has a network of people who she can go to for things (though few in the way of actual friends) and he'd be a good resource.

When Fenris opens the door, Hawke's reaction is quick -- a squint into the darkness and she picks up a small piece of debris from the ground. Tossing it into the darkness, she waits to hear it hit the floor. It... doesn't and all Hawke can do is let out a soft huh as Fenris pulls the door shut.

(She thinks she hears an echoing huh before the door snaps tight. It sends a shudder through her and if she steps a little closer to Fenris as they walk, that's her business.)

They're moving on and Hawke runs a hand through her hair, scrubbing at the dark fluffy hair as her brain processes everything. The kid left, Fenris said, and yet she wonders what else is there. Did he find something? Did he get lost? Did he... not actually leave? This is starting to feel more complicated than she thought it would be and maybe she should've haggled for more than a few cinnamon buns. Hell, some milk would be nice too.

"Alright, house isn't yours. You're just here for reasons you probably don't want to tell a complete stranger. I can understand that much, at least."

She shrugs and tries to shoot a friendly smile at Fenris, wanting to be approachable. She knows he'd hiding something -- you don't wear that many layers in the middle of August unless you're covering something up, good lord. So, she focuses on something else. The kid again. She begins to talk, just sort of thinking out loud as they go.

"I'm starting to feel there was more going on in this kid's head than he let on. If you were a young kid who needed to get rich quick, quickly enough that you'd chase ghosts, what would you find valuable in this place? It's all black magic and fade nonsense. Is there a store of red lyrium in here? That junk goes quick and gets a lot of money but it's hard to handle for even non-mages. If there was nothing noticeable off about him when he left, that's probably not it."

She scrubs her face then, letting out a frustrated noise. What's up with this kid? What the hell did he find and where the hell did he go? She can't help but mutter then, kicking at the ground -- "Fucking moron doesn't even realize how worried his mom is, I bet."

"Red lyrium?" That stops Fenris in his tracks... and then speeds ahead. Not at full pace-- he doesn't want the markings to shine through his clothing and give him away. But he's still quick, even if it's just as quick as an elf is, not preternatural. Not yet. "We must check the stores."

When did this become we?

"I did not think anyone foolish enough to steal- to sell-" In case it wasn't obvious, Fenris doesn't get out much.

There's a raised eyebrow at Fenris' sudden change in demeanor and she skips forward to keep pace with him, walking quickly as she follows him deeper into the manor. For a moment, Hawke wonders if she should be a bit more careful -- following a stranger deep into a cursed manor to check on a store of red lyrium? This is why Varric took out life insurance on her, honestly. Which is fair and someone might as well get paid if she super dies.

"You don't get out much, do you?" She asks, amused despite herself. Yeah, it's pretty obvious. "Red lyrium is the most expensive form of lyrium on the market at the moment. Illegal ten times over because of the poisoning but it's so rare it's hard to monitor it. Some people have found stores of it pop up in their basements and you think they're going to call the Templars when just a handful of the stuff can set them for life? Of course not."

It's the purest get rich quick scheme these days and it's -- well, it's all Hawke's fault. She found the first store and fucking Bartrand is the one who spread it. She didn't know, she never could have predicted what would happen with it and every time someone dies on account of the stuff -- it's on Hawke. She has to live with that weight and that's why she does... this. She lays low, she solves problems, she waits for her time to come.

God, if this kid got his hands on red lyrium and something happens to him --

... Well, it'd be pretty par for the course when it comes to Hawke's life, huh?

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