The Amell Legacy: Transgressions

[Aveline Vallen]

"His real name, or as close as mortals can get," Aveline explains to Beth, then smiles at Carver. "Good. Send word when you're ready, I do my exercises starting at six bell. I'm going to push you- the best bodyguard in the world can't always be there and you have a firm grasp of how to defend yourself," her eyes flick to the elf cuddling him, "or others will keep you much safer."

[Carver Amell]

Carver nods, resolve firming in him. I'm going to be good enough. We're going to be good enough. When the battle comes, I 'll be prepared. I'll fight, this time, instead of surrendering.

[GamesMaster]

Over the next few days, some of the chaos dies down in the Orzammar group. Marian's appearance continues to change; she ends up cutting her hair shorter, putting white streaks into it, wearing bold lip colors like black or violet, piercing her eyebrow, lip, and nose, wearing a thick black choker around her neck. But she splits her time between casual, friendly outings with Lightsong and intense sessions with Tanna, mixing it up with the occasional threesome with Bela and Zev when she can.

Varric doesn't ask her to help him in the next few days, which is good for both of them, as she doesn't have to figure out if she wants to refuse or not. She does, surprisingly, volunteer to sit with Helene a time or two, reading the samsaran stories or telling nem about her alchemy plans. Helene becomes verbal again, though nir voice is thick, nir thoughts sluggish, nir ability to reason out logical trains of thought clearly impaired. But it's still Helene in there -- ne is still eager to learn things, though nir ability is hampered, and ne still cares very much for Varric, is still irritated with Marian. 

One of the outings Marian and Lightsong go on is to the rare books shop; Lightsong returns with an armload of books about Astean dogma and Astean paladins, giving her something to focus on when she's not helping Varric. Bela picks up some work, putting out feelers for rumors as she serves drinks among the lower-class dwarvens, the ones for whom a Clan is more like a Guild on the surface than a true family. 

It's Zev that ends up Varric's backup the next Caelday -- the next time he can see Bianca. This time, he plans to do more than just gape from across the street. This time, he has plans to get up close to her, to her balcony, past her security, so they can truly speak in private.

[Varric]

Humming- mentally of course, he's not daft- an invisible dwarf drifts from shadow to nook to shadow as he follows Zevran to the cafe Dandy had taken them early. Zevran gets a table, making sure to mention he's possibly meeting someone, if his master finishes his meeting on time. Amused at the merikos drow's acting skills- trifle overdone but that's such a natural part of him it feels more honest than sincerity would- Varric makes his way up the side of the building twenty minutes before Bianca is due to arrive and finds a place to hide where he won't be spotted even if his invisibility fails him.

[Bianca]

She's no less radiant when she enters today; her gown is deep blue, with contrasting green patterns stitched into the hem, and her belly is no less huge than it was before. She has to stop when she gets to the top of the stairs to catch her breath, her fingers sporting four fine rings each, thick and blocky and dwarven. When she catches her breath, she moves forward again, waddling, but the same quick intelligence is in her eyes, despite her distant, far-away expression. 

She sits with her back to the wall, beside the door, the table a bit offset to accommodate her belly. She orders "the usual" with a wave of her hand, dismissing the waiter. And then she is alone, for the first time all week, her guard standing at the foot of the steps instead of beside the door. There's only one way up, after all, and the balcony was empty. She must be safe.

She lets out a long, slow breath, as though mentally unwinding, taking a bit of the weight off her mind as well as her feet. She stretches a bit, grimacing a little -- she can't let the pain show too much on her face, but a little pain is expected when she's so heavily pregnant. Rat bastard. At least when it's the face he heals me. Got to make sure I provoke him enough to get slapped next time. 

[Varric]

Should she be moving that gingerly? She was always light on her feet (she's huge!) though... well, fuck if I know much about pregnancy and such. Moving slowly, he moves to a spot just outside of vision of the door and starts to hum out loud. Very, very quietly, but slowly increasing in volume, he hums a very old song. Her favorite song, the song he'd once built a clockwork device to play for her thirtieth birthday- and he takes care to get the melody just a little wrong, exactly like the device had done it thanks to a slight defect in one of the pins.

[Bianca]

Despite herself, despite everything, her heart skips a beat, her breath catches in her throat. In that moment, none of her plans and schemes matter; in that moment, she's a young, bright engineer, in love for the first time. She responds at a gut level, her mind sighing his name like a caress: Varric. In that moment, all the love she's convinced herself she feels for Bartrand is washed away, shown to be no deeper than chalk dust on a slate.

She collects herself a moment later. It doesn't do to lose herself to whimsy and fantasies, not in Clan Davri and doubly not in Clan Tethras. Dwarves have to be made of harder, sterner stuff than that. Not a flicker shows on her face; she rests her cheek in her hand, staring off into the distance as though deep in thought. As has been her habit, she murmurs to herself, doing nothing out of the ordinary.

"Lovely day, isn't it, Tethras?" she asks, casually. 

[Varric]

"Seen better," he murmurs, the voice coming from an empty spot near the railing. "How safe is here?" Can't think about- focus on now. Focus here. Focus on (Helene) getting this done. Task at hand.

[Bianca]

"Safe as I can make it," she says, with a faint smile. "Paid extra for the Silent Table effect. How's the prototype? If I'd known you were coming I'd have brought my designs." 

It's a lie, of course. She'd never commit anything that important to paper. The prototype, the crossbow that was to bear her name, isn't just another piece she's been working on, to leave blueprints and theories lying about her workbench casually. It's one of her escapes, one of the many schemes she has boiling on her mind's forge. Bartrand may own her body now, may command her loyalty, but he can't own her mind, her vivid imagination and her keen memory. She's learned to keep everything she cares about in her head, no notes, no external proof it ever existed. 

But it's better to let him think she still needs paper to sketch on, to do long sums. Better to let him picture her working away, pining for him, detailing mechanisms and carving stocks in his absence. Better to let him think she was doing well on her own.

Though not too well,  she reminds herself. You need him to care. To rescue you. Gods, but she hated needing him. Better to work the system, putting in subtle touches here and there to get herself loose. If I had another year, only another year, I could have done it alone.

[Varric]

Gods, she sounds... just like she used to. Which is (suspicious) interesting. Trying to think of good things? Reminded by me? Needs to hide in past to avoid present? Things not as bad as I thought? I hate working (biased) blind like this. "Done actually," Varric says carefully. "I going to need it? Your message was... vague."

[Bianca]

As if I didn't dream of skewering that rat with my design every day, she thinks, but she keeps a pleasant smile on her face. "Depends, I suppose. Too many variables involved. Keep her handy, but let's try a less violent plan A, shall we?"

She sounds right, she knows she does. That mix of curiosity and eagerness, as if the ideas are catching fire in her mind instead of being well-trod paths by now, grooves worn in the stone. It will get Bartrand to tune her out -- he has no head for the stuff, and she's always careful to delve immediately into the most advanced terminology she can find so he gets bored. 

"I need out, and fast. I'm due in a month." Set a clear deadline, lay out the parameters, hope he takes the bait. Then I can steer him towards the better options.

[Varric]

'It handy.' It's a crossbow, not a pet. Pronoun precision is important. "Got a destination in mind?" is all Varric asks as he studies her carefully. A month... gods be damned, she was pregnant when I last left (and not a word to me).

[Bianca]

Now that's a loaded question. She does -- several, in decreasing order of desirability, filed away and cross-referenced by advantages and disadvantages. But she knows better than to tell Tethras what to do. His stubborn, clever mind will throw it off, lead him to try and improve on her suggestion, to balk at the harness simply because it's there.

(he's not Bartrand),  some part of her scolds. But she pays it no heed. Varric might not be Bartrand, but they share several key flaws -- some of which she can exploit. 

"Anywhere," she whispers, as if guilty, desperate. She swallows, as if forcing herself to speak louder. "Away, for starters. We can work out the details later."

[Varric]

"Anyway I can do," he murmurs, figuring to head back to the Oak to start at least. For one, got some loose ends there. For two, sanctuary yet again. Plus it's close to Nyra (and Glaley). "Can you be ready to go next week? Here, with everything you need to take?"

[Bianca]

"Depends -- can we buy b-baby things on the way?" 

It's not hard to let the quaver come into her voice. The idea of giving birth fucking terrifies her -- and giving birth to Bartrand's Baby doubly so. About the only thing worse is the glimmers she's picked up about what Bartrand might do once the birth is complete -- or perhaps during the birth. Give him something to chew on, some indication how bad things might get. Drag him into this one way or another.

She swallows, shifting just a little. I did love you, once. I'm sorry it came to this. But I have to look out for myself, one way or another.