[And just like that, the defenses are back. Anders' expression goes as blank as he can ever manage as he stiffens. There's no wonder in his eyes anymore, and not a trace of the smile is there. Relax his guard, breathe for a moment, and this is what happens.]
Right. Because I'm a killer, and that's all.
[It stings and reminds him of how much of a mistake it is to think anyone sees him as more.]
Excuse us.
[The kitten is gently gathered up and Anders stands. He'll plant it and hope for the best, and if it dies, well. Then that's proof for her, right?]
[It would be easy to simply wrap himself in his anger and keep walking. He's done it a thousand times before, listening to Justice's condemnation of whomever it was that time. But he's trying to live here. He can't stalk away from everyone.
Anders stops and takes a breath, trying to refocus his frustration while not letting his guard down too quickly again. Balance is not something he's good at anymore. He closes his eyes and turns, opening them only after the move is complete.]
I would like to know how to plant it.
[He's still stiff, but he's trying not to be. She'd apologized. There's really no way to help what's being said about him, or what impressions have been made by rumor and people who weren't there.]
I didn't do it for the sake of killing, [Anders says after a short beat, in a quieter voice.]
If...if it was an elf who did it, I would have understood immediately. Wouldn't have been surprised or even blamed them. But I've been a free mage all my life. I never felt like I had to hide from shems for being a mage, just for being an elf. And Sam makes Circles sound like ivory towers where you can gorge yourself on knowledge and take hot baths every day and have food delivered to your door and cooked for you. I can't...I don't know what it was like for mages, so I can't dictate whether you were oppressed enough to murder a cleric. I just know shems are capable of that level of oppression, and they do worse things than you did every day. But nobody's calling for their heads.
They did cook food for us, in Kinloch Hold. I've even got a rather refined palette from that. For instance, freshly-waxed floors have a coating that lingers on the tongue for a time, but it's a more reassuring sensation than you get from the taste of outside-patrol residue.
[The bitterness in his voice is impossible to hide, as much as he's trying to make the conversation lighter.]
Sam was in the Circle known for being nicer than the rest, and even they had vanishings. Mages who disappeared for unknown reasons, simply forgotten and stricken from the records as if they'd never been there, lost. Likely dead from a little bit of Templar 'fun' that went too far. Kinloch Hold wasn't even the worst. That was Kirkwall, and every mage knew it. Where there was a daily death toll, a daily threat of Tranquility.
[He exhales again, kneeling to let a wriggling Purrelden return to poking bugs.]
I don't know what all they do to Elves, the Dalish. I've heard of some. Slaughters, hunting. It doesn't seem too dissimilar at the end of the day, except that there's no fear directed at the Dalish. Pure cruelty drives it, and it's the cruel who are in power. But because they've the power, they don't tend to face consequences.
[And wasn't that really a large part of why the upper class was upset? One of their own had died for being callously indifferent to the point of cruelty. If that could happen, they were all endangered.]
no subject
Right. Because I'm a killer, and that's all.
[It stings and reminds him of how much of a mistake it is to think anyone sees him as more.]
Excuse us.
[The kitten is gently gathered up and Anders stands. He'll plant it and hope for the best, and if it dies, well. Then that's proof for her, right?]
no subject
[she trots after him, angry with herself for messing it all up again.]
I'm sorry! I meant you taught me something, not--Mythal'enaste. At least let me show you how to plant it!
[Negotiation. Trying to chase after a swiftly fading connection instead of letting it die. She's growing.]
no subject
Anders stops and takes a breath, trying to refocus his frustration while not letting his guard down too quickly again. Balance is not something he's good at anymore. He closes his eyes and turns, opening them only after the move is complete.]
I would like to know how to plant it.
[He's still stiff, but he's trying not to be. She'd apologized. There's really no way to help what's being said about him, or what impressions have been made by rumor and people who weren't there.]
I didn't do it for the sake of killing, [Anders says after a short beat, in a quieter voice.]
no subject
If...if it was an elf who did it, I would have understood immediately. Wouldn't have been surprised or even blamed them. But I've been a free mage all my life. I never felt like I had to hide from shems for being a mage, just for being an elf. And Sam makes Circles sound like ivory towers where you can gorge yourself on knowledge and take hot baths every day and have food delivered to your door and cooked for you. I can't...I don't know what it was like for mages, so I can't dictate whether you were oppressed enough to murder a cleric. I just know shems are capable of that level of oppression, and they do worse things than you did every day. But nobody's calling for their heads.
no subject
They did cook food for us, in Kinloch Hold. I've even got a rather refined palette from that. For instance, freshly-waxed floors have a coating that lingers on the tongue for a time, but it's a more reassuring sensation than you get from the taste of outside-patrol residue.
[The bitterness in his voice is impossible to hide, as much as he's trying to make the conversation lighter.]
Sam was in the Circle known for being nicer than the rest, and even they had vanishings. Mages who disappeared for unknown reasons, simply forgotten and stricken from the records as if they'd never been there, lost. Likely dead from a little bit of Templar 'fun' that went too far. Kinloch Hold wasn't even the worst. That was Kirkwall, and every mage knew it. Where there was a daily death toll, a daily threat of Tranquility.
[He exhales again, kneeling to let a wriggling Purrelden return to poking bugs.]
I don't know what all they do to Elves, the Dalish. I've heard of some. Slaughters, hunting. It doesn't seem too dissimilar at the end of the day, except that there's no fear directed at the Dalish. Pure cruelty drives it, and it's the cruel who are in power. But because they've the power, they don't tend to face consequences.
[And wasn't that really a large part of why the upper class was upset? One of their own had died for being callously indifferent to the point of cruelty. If that could happen, they were all endangered.]