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[You don't say no if the Inquisitor requests to speak to you.

It was an unspoken rule that was more common sense than anything. If the head of the organization you are part of wants to see you there are very few reasons in which you would say no. That being said, if the only reason you're with said organization is because you were very graciously granted asylum after being captured by very angry guards who were bent on sending you to the nearest group of Templars at their earliest convenience you absolutely do not ever refuse a request from the person in charge.

Shael had only ever spoken to the Inquisitor once after he was conscripted and that was to thank him. He'd since seen him around Skyhold, but never spoke another word to him other than a brief hello from time to time. The man seemed affable enough, but to be honest Shael had no desire to talk to him. He liked the relative solitude Skyhold afforded him. The rumors about Shael's rather abrasive personality as well as the circumstances surrounding his conscription had spread through the hold like wildfire so he was often left to his own devices. With the exception of Leilith who had no concept of personal space or an ounce of tact, there weren't many people who wanted to go out of their way to talk to a surly, potentially dangerous, apostate.

He found it curious, and a bit frightening, when he heard rumors that the Inquisitor was looking for him and wanted to speak with him. Shael being Shael, he immediately assumed the worst -- that he was going to be kicked out. He hadn't shown himself to be useful enough. He wasn't worth the trouble he brought with him.

He starts a little when the man approaches him, swallowing thickly and bracing himself for bad news.]

... Is there something I can help you with, Inquisitor?

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Because you could.

[Shael repeats the words slowly, incredulously.

It was compassion, he said. Compassion. Caring about his situation simply because he was a person and people should be cared about regardless of deeds or details. Caring without expectations or motives other than to do good, to ease the suffering of another life on this earth.

A bitter, hollow laugh escapes him and he shakes his head, rubbing at his face.]

You people... you all keep spouting the same nonsense about compassion and goodness. How there's still some to be found in this miserable world. Tell me, do you think I’m a fool? Nothing in this world, no action good or otherwise, comes without a price. I learned that very early on.

Before Ci--

[He stops himself, forces the name of the man who found him trembling and alone in the woods back down his throat.]

Before I was found by that group of apostates my very existence was treated as a sin by the world around me, but they took me in. Showed me kindness. Treated me well. Told me I’d found somewhere to belong. Taught me. Cared for me. Showed me compassion.

Do you know what that compassion did for them in the end? It got them killed. It turns out that no matter how well you try to prepare an apostate child for the inevitability of dealing with Templars, being faced with one is still enough to scare him senseless and unwittingly lead said Templar and his friends right back to camp.

So you’ll have to forgive me for not putting too much stock in something as quixotic as “compassion”.

[Shael had mentioned that group of apostates before. He hadn’t mentioned what had happened to them, though considering the fact that the young elf was on his own now, Taliesin had already assumed the worst. It was a harsh world they lived in, after all; he’d meant it when he’d said that.

But the fact remains that he’d meant all of what he’d said. Which is why he can’t let Shael’s cynical outburst go unanswered.]

And yet you said it yourself. Those apostate mages showed you compassion. The fact that they weren’t shown any themselves doesn’t change the fact that they took you in for no reason other than a desire to help you.

[Taliesin shifts in his chair, eases himself fully upright, still never looking away from Shael, though his eyes do narrow slightly.]

Compassion, like mercy, isn’t weak. It requires an acceptance of risk. An acknowledgement of possible danger...and the resolve to carry through with it anyway. There’s nothing quixotic about it.

[That wry smile is back, almost a little mocking this time, because drunk or not, Shael should know better.]

Or do you really think a former Circle Mage doesn’t know the risks of welcoming an unknown apostate into the ranks of his army?

I never said it was weak. Foolish, perhaps, but not weak. I only said there was a cost. There's always a price to be paid. How could you be so sure that letting me live was the right choice? Why choose kindness when it would be easier, safer, to do otherwise? I didn't have the training or education that you did. I'm sure there's still so much I don't know or understand, so why take that risk? Why let me stay when I'm wholly unremarkable? When all I'm good for is destruction?

Maybe I've just been on my own too long. Maybe I don't understand the concept anymore. Maybe I've seen that kindness turn sour one too many times for it to matter. Be it by my own doing or... things that are beyond my control, compassion has never worked out well for me or those who dare to try.

[Just like today. Just like with Leilith. She showed him kindness. Told him she cared. Worried about him. Talked to him. Tried to show him that there was more than just darkness in the world and look at how that was repaid. He looks down, wringing his hands and, for a moment, staring at them pointedly before looking away.]

If my only choice is to be cruel, or to be foolish, then I choose to be the fool.

[Or at least play the fool. Because he's far too calculating to truly be one.]

You speak of things with such certainty--and yet I should argue that the only real certainty is that the future is uncertain. I had no way of knowing what sort of price I might pay in return for your life, 'tis true--but life itself is worthwhile, and saving it doubly so. Being paid back pain or some other inconvenience in return for kindness isn't so terrible as to prevent me from making future attempts. If it were, then I would have lost something even more precious than whatever payment might come due in return for my compassion.

[Death before loss of self. Compromise was necessary to survive, but it's undeniable that some things were worth taking a stand. Some compromises were unacceptable, and some things were worth dying for.]

Also: consider the fact that an army is made up of individuals. Perhaps taken alone, no single one of them is particularly powerful; but together, fighting as one, they are a force to be reckoned with. If I turned away everyone with a slightly suspect past, there would be no army for the Inquisition to command, for we all of us have our secrets, our shadows, our skeletons in their closets.

[...Speaking of which...part of what Shael said before is still bothering Taliesin. What he'd said again just now, really: that he is wholly unremarkable. It's all a part of that deep self-hatred, the way the younger man internalizes everything and makes it his own fault...and so Tal decides to press the issue, as one might squeeze a wound in an attempt to drain it.]

...Truth be told, I do take issue with something you said before...rather, an accusation you leveled at me, that this is naught more than a "charade of concern". Are you truly so desperate to blame yourself for everything, so lost in your own miserable cycle of self-hate, that you honestly can't believe that anyone can care about you without some sort of consequence? That you don't deserve to be cared about?

[...Then again, perhaps at times Taliesin does choose to be cruel, if only to be kind.]

Edited 2017-11-10 02:05 (UTC)

Are you telling me that I do?!

[Taliesin sounds like Leilith and he hates it. This is pointless. What is he hoping to accomplish? Why does this matter? Why is he trying? Why doesn't everyone see that's he's not worth it? Why do they keep pushing?]

Knowing full well what I've done and what I've been running from how can you look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that someone can really truly care about a person like me?! I'm selfish and cowardly and all I ever do is run, and run, and run, and I never... I never stop running! I'm a fool who has never once done anything right in the entirety of my worthless existence. I don't deserve the chance you've given me! I don't deserve compassion, or mercy, or friendship.

Why... why do you keep trying... both of you... you keep trying to tell me that I'm worth the effort when all I do, when all I've ever done, is hurt everyone who cared about me? My sister blames me, my parents most assuredly blame me, why does it matter so much to everyone else that I willingly take blame that I rightly deserve?

["Are you telling me that I do?!"

The sheer amount of raw pain in that question plays havoc on Taliesin's empathic nature--not because he can in any way "feel" what Shael feels, but because he's observant enough to see it. And as Shael throws out those two questions, flinging it down like a gauntlet, all that pain is enough to bring the Inquisitor swiftly to his feet, green eyes sharp and flashing, his voice equally sharp, each word spoken with all the careful precision of a rapier thrust.]

Because. You. Don't.

You don't deserve that blame. Not all of it, at least, which is what you're so bloody determined to take on.

[Taliesin tilted his head back a bit, the snapping heat of his gaze fading back into his more usual cool observation.]

Those men who threatened your sister were the cause of your first outburst and, frankly, the lives of scum like that aren't worth even a fraction of the weight of guilt you've been carrying around all these years. I'm not saying that we aren't responsible for our actions--or that you made all the right decisions--but you can only choose from the options that are granted to you. As an elf child trapped in an alienage with no real knowledge of the Circle, your choices were painfully limited. If your family faults you for running when there was absolutely nothing that they could have done to protect you, then that's their own selfishness and cowardice showing...and believe me, I know a fair bit about selfish and cowardly families.

[He'd been a Circle mage. But of course, he hadn't been born in the Circle. Even while drunk, it's not impossible for Shael to put two and two together there. But then again, Tal has never seemed bitter about his time in the Circle, so maybe that's not quite what he's saying...]

'A person like you'...someone who merely tried to protect his sister, you mean? [Taliesin can't help it--he gives a low, dismissive snort.] I'd bloodied my hands even before I was marked so, and came to lead the Inquisition. If your accidental murders of the would-be rapists of your sister mean your mortal soul is damned, then how black must mine be--and so many more in this august company? No, Shael...your past sins are not nearly the worst I've chosen to overlook. And as for your running...

[One shoulder hitches upwards in a casual half-shrug.] Well, you've stopped now, haven't you? And despite your claim of only ever harming others, there are more than a few members of the Inquisition who have your healing talents to thank for their continued existence on this plane. In any case...magic aside, I've seen the care you take in dressing wounds. I'm a healer myself; I know skill when I see it.

[The Inquisitor blinks, slow and deliberate, offering the faintest lopsided smile, more of a smirk really, that dares Shael to disagree with him on this again.]

So, in answer to your first question...yes. Yes, you do deserve to be cared about. But even if you didn't, you couldn't stop me from doing so.

[Once upon a time Ciaran had told him similar things. He too had tried to convince Shael that his actions were more than justifiable, that they had been noble in intent. If he wanted to stay alive the only thing he really could have done was run. Leaving Denerim was only way to assure his safety and if they blamed him for that, no matter what the situation he had left them to deal with, it was a fault of their own and not one of his making.

He couldn't quite believe it then. He believed it even less after leading the Templars to their camp and watching as everyone he cared for was slaughtered and after he found his sister that sliver of belief that he clung to faded away completely.

He doesn't believe it now.

He can't. Not after he's lead the lives of those he cares about to ruin. Not when he's seen villagers turn on him in an instant. Not when only moments ago he hurt yet another person who believed there was something in him worth saving.

He doesn't want to believe it.]

You're wrong. I'm always running from something and the world seems intent on seeing that my face never leaves the dirt. I've ruined the lives of my family, I'm to blame for the deaths of the entirety of the clan that took me in, and --

[he laughs again, quiet and bitter]

-- do you know why I was in custody before I was conscripted? Have you heard that little gem? I was arrested because I used magic to heal.

I'd come across a hunter in the grips of death, far beyond anything herbs could take care of. I should have let him die. I should have left him where he was and went on my way, but instead I healed him. He thanked me, all but prostrated at my feet telling me how he owed me such a great debt for saving his life. Do you know how he repaid that debt? By tracking me down with a host of guards. You know how it is, right? If you use magic and you're not a Circle mage, then clearly you're up to no good.

If I show kindness it blows up in my face and if someone tries to show kindness to me then they're the ones who end up hurt. The world has all but screamed at me that I'm not worth it!

[Time and time again he's seen it happen. It's safer not to get close to anyone. Safer to push them all away. Safer to keep his distance and be cold and cruel. It's what's kept him alive.]

So who in Andraste's name are you to tell me that it's wrong?! I have fought and clawed my way through life and you just think you can make it all better with a few words and bottle of brandy?!

[His hands clench furiously at his sides and between the lingering drunkenness brought on by the brandy and his own tumultuous emotions, doesn't notice the flames that have begun to lightly encircle his fists.]

[Shael might not notice the flames, but Taliesin certainly does.

After hearing how the other mage had first used magic, and particularly after hearing about what he'd done to Leilith earlier tonight, he'd be a fool not to be looking for it. And while he plays the fool often enough, he's not still alive after becoming the Inquisitor for nothing.

And even before he was the Inquisitor, Taliesin Drake was a peculiar sort of mage. Most others tended to focus on the flashy spells, the fire and lightning and ice, or else the healing; a few focused on more subtle attacks, things that twisted the memory or clouded the mind or allowed them special power through dreams. But as for Taliesin...]

I can't change the past, and neither can you. But-

[The tall mage makes a deceptively small but quick movement with his hands, and a flash of blue-white energy envelops Shael--an Anti-Magic Burst--and the flames flickering around the elf's hands sputter and wink out, as abruptly and decisively as if all the oxygen in the room had suddenly vanished.

...As for Taliesin...aside from healing, he's primarily dedicated himself to learning how to nullify and subdue other mages without harming them ~~well, not harming them too much, anyway~~.

And right now, he's only getting started.]

I can offer you another chance. A chance for change. I have, in fact, by conscripting you into the Inquisition--but what you do with that chance is up to you. Keep feeling sorry for yourself, keep dwelling on your past mistakes, keep thinking that it isn't fair and that your life has just been so much more difficult than that of every-bloody-body else. It won't make you happy, but that's your prerogative.

[He lifts a hand now, pointing a finger straight at the other mage, his face set and serious. He has more to say about what Shael had told him just now, particularly how he'd been captured, but--first things first.]

But I'll tell you right now that your habit of running stops here.

[Another flash of blue-white light fills the room; this time a rush of spirit energy bursts out of Taliesin's hand and crashes into Shael--Mana Clash, a spell that completely drains enemy (or in this case erratic, drunk, and emotionally compromised) mages of mana, and inflicts a hefty amount of spirit damage on them in the process. Tal regrets that latter part a bit, but certainly not enough to not cast it. Shael is out of control, and Taliesin won't have him burning anything or anyone else tonight.

TL;DR WHO AM I?

I’M THE INQUISITOR, BITCH.]

Edited 2018-01-07 02:56 (UTC)

[Feeling the presence of the Fade was key for mages. They were always connected to it--working with it, shaping it, molding it, feeling it, being a part of it without really being there. That connection to the Fade was as normal as breathing, it was a presence he’d felt all his life and as a child he never really understood what it was or that other people--people like his mother, father, and sister--couldn’t feel it the way he could. It was like another layer of atmosphere-- something you never really notice the presence of unless there’s too much of it or too little because it’s always, always there, and quite suddenly…it was gone.

It was just a blip. A quick, sharp pull as a flash of blue-white energy envelopes him and the flames that he hadn’t been anywhere close to realizing where licking at his hands vanish, but for a moment as that magic crashes down on him he feels terrifyingly…empty. Hollow in a way he’d never felt before. The Fade was gone. For a second it was gone. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t sense it. His connection had been completely severed and he feels a sickening wave of panic wash over him--fear sticks to the back of his throat, ice cold dread trickles down his back, and it’s not right. It's not right. He struggles to breathe, struggles to think even as that connection comes back and he can hear Taliesin talking, can hear the words he’s saying, hears him admonishing him, but he’s too horrified to really process it.

Because then it gets worse.

Shael has been in the unfortunate position of having drained all of his mana before. He knew how much of a toll it took on his body, how exhausting it was, but this...this was somehow different. More intense, more visceral. The rush of spirit energy that bursts forth from the Inquisitor’s hands quite literally takes his breath away. His eyes widen in terror as all of it--every last bit of mana in his body--is ripped away leaving him completely exhausted, defenseless, and once again at the Inquisitor’s mercy.

The apostate staggers in place, his legs turning to jelly and giving out from under him as he stumbles forward and hits the ground hard on his hands and knees. Too scared to move, Shael stays on the floor--cold sweat running down the back of his neck, his breathing heavy and labored, utterly terrified of what had just been done to him. He swallows thickly, unable to bring himself to look up, but the anger in his voice is gone. It’s softer, wavering with quiet fear.]

What...what did you do to me?

Edited 2018-07-25 00:13 (UTC)

What I did was make certain that you won't do anything else that you'll regret tonight.

[Taliesin knows all too well that there's a definite difference between the feeling of simply exhausting all your mana, and having it drained from you, siphoned away by force. The former leaves you weak in the knees, gasping, black spots flickering at the edges of your vision; the later can strike you nerveless, as if a part of yourself was suddenly torn off, ripped away, leaving you feeling as if every muscle in your body had been turned to water. That's the spirit damage, the part of this spell that can really lay a mage out flat...or bring one to their knees, like Shael.]

Never fear, it isn't permanent. Though as much as you hate yourself for your magic, I'm surprised at how much fear you're feeling now that it's gone.

[Taliesin slowly starts to close the distance between them, pausing ~~dramatically~~ slightly between each step that he takes.]

...I know about what happened earlier tonight. I know that it upset you. But your behaviour, your reaction to that mistake...

[Huffing out a breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a snort, Taliesin shakes his head.]

You might be able to get away with burning a magicless girl and then running away without stopping to apologize or doing anything to try to fix what you'd done. But, accident or no, you’ve got another think coming if you sincerely believe that it'll be that easy to do the same to me, or if you think it's all right to not face the consequences of your actions in a situation like this one. Which brings up another point, actually...

[Step. Step. Step. The sound of his boots on the stone floor is quiet, steady, a pronouncement of approaching judgment, and he's close enough now that even if Shael hasn't looked up, even if he's staring at the flagstones beneath his hands, he can still see those boots.

Taliesin isn't certain how much of any of this is actually getting through to Shael--but since gentleness and compassion, the offering of a second chance, didn't seem to garner any sort of response other than more bitterness and rejection, Taliesin will try another tack, and see what sort of reaction he gets this time, now that Shael can't do anything but listen to him.]

To be entirely honest, I don't particularly appreciate your thinking that I'm not capable enough--or strong enough, or powerful enough--to pay the price for my own decisions. Since you don't know me all that well, I'll let it pass this once, but you should know that I don't make decisions lightly, or without a great deal of thought.

I chose to spare you, to add you to the ranks of my army. As I said before, I knew the possible cost of doing it...but even so, it's nothing so steep that paying the piper if he comes to collect is anything that I'm the least bit concerned about.

[He spreads his arms and gives a wry smile.]

After all, I am the Inquisitor. I've an army at my back and powerful counselors at my sides. [He smile shifts into a tight, sharp one, and his eyes spark with the gleam of a predator.] Who, then, is more fearsome than I?

Edited 2018-07-25 02:08 (UTC)

[Shael brings a shaky hand up to his chest, fingers twisting in and clutching at the fabric of his shirt, trying to work out just what exactly the Inquisitor was telling him as he continues to deal with the dizzying, horrible feeling of having something so vital--because no matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he didn’t want it, it was still a part of him--get ripped away. It was like losing a limb, losing a part of himself, and it made it hard to breathe, hard to concentrate, and the Inquisitor is saying something about what happened with Leilith earlier and Shael isn’t surprised that he already knew about it, but what did he mean about doing the same to him?

A slow, horrified creeping realization crosses his face as he pieces the situation together in his mind. He...he must have almost done the same thing again. He had come close to losing control again.

It makes sense if he takes into account that the initial burst of magic was likely used to cut off his connection to the Fade to stop him from, well, doing something else he’d end up regretting. Had he really been so far gone that he didn’t notice? AGAIN? And for it to have been directed at the Inquisitor of all people...

Pathetic. He’s pathetic. All it took was a bit of brandy to loosen his tongue, for his grip on his emotions to slip, for him to...to burst in here like a storm and demand answers and he realizes with every step the Inquisitor takes towards him that he had made a terrible, terrible mistake. He wants to get out. Wants to pick himself up off the floor and run out the door, but he’s still too scared to move, too miserable and horrified and he knows...he knows that Taliesin’s right. He can’t just run away again. He has to face the consequences of his actions and that frightens him perhaps more than anything else.

Sick dread swirls in his stomach, his heart nearly suffocating him as it beats hard and fast in his throat, the Inquisitor’s words slicing into him like knives. His breath comes in shaking gasps, his arms trembling both with effort and fear as those boots come to a stop in front of him, but still he can’t bring himself to look up. Doesn’t dare lift his head or his eyes and he’s barely able to collect his thoughts let alone communicate them, his words strained and shaking.]

I...I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to...I didn’t realize that I was...

Edited 2018-07-26 17:30 (UTC)

[Taliesin stands there for a moment in silence, looking down at the floundering elf, letting the tension stretch and build...and then the Inquisitor drops to one knee in front of him, reaching out to settle a friendly hand on Shael’s shoulder--and smiles at him, this new expression warm and sincere, empty of all the thunderous menace from before...and perhaps all the more frightening for how suddenly he’d shifted between those two extremes.]

...So, it’s a good thing I’m on your side, isn’t it?

[He doesn’t remove his hand, maintaining that amiable contact, though the look on his face does grow a little more serious.]

Whether or not you realized it, even if it wasn’t what you were trying to do...that doesn’t really matter, does it? I think we both know that quite well. Magical mishaps are nothing to laugh about, but neither are they something to ignore.

[He gives a little sigh, patting Shael’s shoulder in a way that’s half-comforting, half-fortifying.]

I’ll confess that I played a part in tonight’s events, having provided you with the brandy, but irregardless, the responsibility of keeping control of yourself is still your own. Some mages can drink until they pass out and never so much as waver in their sense of control. Some, like myself, aren’t willing to test their limits, and only ever allow themselves one drink. And some...some drink like fish but can’t hold their liquor, and keep proving that over and again.

[His voice softens, a gentle reprimand, and the hand still resting on Shael’s shoulder gives a squeeze.]

...Drinking is just another way of running. You’re better than that, Shael. And whatever you might think, you don’t need to run anymore.

[...There might be just the faintest undertone of I won’t let you run anymore in there as well...but perhaps that’s just the alcohol shading things.]

[Shael starts visibly at the hand on his shoulder, lifting his head up sharply, a note of panic clear in his eyes. He studies Taliesin’s face for a moment, almost as if he’s not quite sure if that smile is a trick or not, trying to figure out if the panic he felt when that hand came down on his shoulder was justified. He seems sincere--there’s not so much as a trace of anything that would have fit the sound of his voice just moments before in his expression--but that doesn’t do anything to ease his fear.

All he wants is to leave. He wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere where he doesn’t have to see the Inquisitor’s face or listen to his voice or his words that are suddenly making him feel like he’s starved for air, that are trying to fill the void inside himself with kindness and compassion, but he doesn’t want it.

No, that’s not right. He doesn’t deserve it. No matter what Leilith says, no matter what the Inquisitor says, he knows he doesn’t deserve it.]

No. No I’m not...I’m not better than that. I’m really not.

[Hesitantly, shakily, he pulls himself up a little and sits back on his heels before pushing himself up off the floor, his voice tight and strained.]

...I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused. I...I should go.

[Taliesin looks at the other mage’s face, pale and pinched with fear, and his own goes pensive, considering.]

...No. No, I don’t think you should. Not yet.

[He pushes himself to his feet as well, which leaves him looking rather down at the other man, but his stance is relaxed and easy, not threatening--he isn’t trying to lord his (rather tall, for a human) stature over the elf.]

As I said, I had a hand in tonight’s...imbroglio. I didn’t think it would cause the trouble it did, of course, or I never would’ve left you that brandy, but even so, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m at least partly responsible for it.

[His eyes fall half-closed as he reaches out to get a sense of what Shael is feeling in that moment, though...honestly, Tal doesn’t need to make use of magic to know. It’s written all over Shael’s face, it’s clear in his body language, in his nervous hands, in every shaking breath.]

I know what you’re feeling. Plenty of folk say that, whether in a misguided attempt at empathy or because they truly believe they do understand, but...I mean it quite literally, Shael. I know what you’re feeling. [He places careful stress on that word, his expression meaningful.] I can sense your fear, and I’m aware that my particular magical talents can have unpleasant effects, so I can’t blame you for that. But I also know you don’t think you deserve the chance I’ve given you.

[Turning to the side, Taliesin gestures farther into the room, towards a comfortable-looking couch: an inviting gesture, one that matches the slight smile he’s giving Shael again.]

If you’re truly sorry for the trouble you caused, if you actually want to be better than you think you are...then show me. Stay a while longer--don’t run away. I’d like to speak with you, to understand more about you. And...you look like you could use a drink, so I’ll make us some tea, while you make yourself comfortable.

[He doubts Shael is ever really “comfortable” much of anywhere, but the Inquisitor clearly expects to be obeyed, judging by the way he turns to cross the room and busies himself with that tea. As he works, he calls back over his shoulder,]

And don’t worry. You won’t be the only one sharing, and I won’t be the only one allowed to ask questions.

[He doesn’t want to show him. He doesn’t want to stay. All Shael wants to do is get out and the impulse to do so gets stronger with every passing second. The way Taliesin said that he knows what he’s feeling only makes things worse. For someone as closed off as Shael, for someone who normally keeps his emotions sealed away under lock and key the fact that the Inquisitor can literally know what he feels is low-key horrifying. Shael normally keeps his true feelings and thoughts buried deep for a reason. He’s worked hard to make himself an unapproachable person, worked hard to keep anyone from having a reason to like or care for him if only so they don’t try to pry.

And yet deep down there’s still a part of him that does want better. He doesn’t think he deserves it, not in the slightest, but he wants it. Even though it’s impossible, even though he knows nothing will ever truly get better, he still wants. So despite the sinking feeling in his gut, despite his body and mind screaming at him to turn around and walk away no matter what the consequences are, he doesn’t.

The apostate doesn’t say anything as he crosses the room and takes a seat, burying his head in his hands and wishing he’d never touched that stupid brandy in the first place.]

[Being an empath isn't always easy, though generally speaking, Tal has to extend himself, has to reach out to touch the emotions of others. When they're particularly strong, however, it can be a little...loud, perhaps, is the closest word he can settle on. And right now, there's a roiling boil of emotions inside the apostate mage hunched over on his couch. It's impossible not to sense the fear, the desperation, the resentment at having his true feelings given away.

It's also impossible for the Inquisitor to miss that slight ripple of hope, of longing for something more, of aspiring to be better. However faint, it's there, not quite drowned out by the cacophony of all Shael's other, more familiar, more negative emotions.

Despite himself, Taliesin smiles as he pours the tea, his own fundamental hopefulness only encouraged all the more by finding seeds of itself in another soul, however different and infertile-seeming the soil might be at this point.

It doesn't take long for him to prepare a nice, soothing herbal tea, to which he adds a spoonful of honey, each. He carries both cups back over to the couch, and holds them both out for Shael to take his pick--not that he thinks Shael would suspect him of attempted poisoning, of all things, at this point.

No. If the Inquisitor wanted him dead, he already would be. Shael is certainly smart enough to recognize that.]

Here. I added a bit of honey already, but there's more, if you'd like.

[He nods towards the little jar of it sitting on the nearby table, and folds his tall, rangy body into a comfortable position on the opposite end of the couch, wanting to give the other mage plenty of space. After taking a long, satisfying pull from his own cup-]

...Now then. I know a fair bit about your past, as you've heard for yourself. Anything you'd like to know about my own?

[They'll ease into this, start with questions about Tal, and hopefully Shael will relax at least slightly.]

Edited (....COUCH not cough LOL) 2020-02-14 03:01 (UTC)

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PREPARE TO BE TERRIFIED, SHAEL

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: 10000th WORST DAY EVER IN A ROW FOR SHAEL

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