Hawke takes a shaky breath. The adrenaline fades from his system, leaving him feeling exhausted and unsteady. “No, I meant—Never mind.” It’s probably unwise to tell Emmrich about his encounter with Not-Bethany, both because he still isn’t sure whether Emmrich is human and because the subject of his sister’s death is still painful, even after all these years.
If he is a demon, then Emmrich is a remarkably patient one. Two encounters now, and still there’s been no overt attempt at possession. Despite his misgivings, Hawke is beginning to give serious consideration to the idea that the Mortalitasi may really be who he says he is.
That tidbit about Isabela helps to drive away his remaining doubts. “That’s not fair,” he grouses, though there’s no real bite in his tone. “I didn’t just run around. I did a lot of hiding behind pillars, too.”
He’s not sure what to make of the fact that his old friend has apparently turned over a new leaf. “The Isabela I knew would have gleefully snatched up any bauble that caught her eye, cultural importance be damned. Then again…” He shrugs. “...People can change. For the better, even. I’m glad for her.”
The words aren’t empty platitudes. Hawke truly believes that people can become more than what they were before—and that initial judgments can be faulty. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t balk at Emmrich’s offer. He’s tired of assuming the worst. And if he’s being painfully honest with himself, he’s tired of being alone, too.
He’ll take his chances. If he ends up possessed—well, better to end up a host for a gentlemanly demon than the likes of Rage or Despair.
“Unprecedented, you say? I do have a way of keeping things interesting. I’ll try to make it worth your while.” How he could possibly make this worth Emmrich’s while is a problem for future Hawke. He’ll figure something out.
In spite of his exhaustion, he can’t suppress a smile as he watches the wisps flit around Emmrich like ducklings following their mother. “You weren’t lying. You really are good at this.”
He holds out a calloused hand. “I don’t claim to possess any special knowledge of the Fade, but if you’re willing to put up with my ineptitude, then you have yourself a deal. As for my armor, the most that I can tell you is that I left it by a river, which is somewhere in a general… that way… direction.” He gestures vaguely at the Fade landscape behind him. “The river was strange. I tried following it while you were gone, but it seemed to go on forever. Maker only knows where it leads.”
no subject
If he is a demon, then Emmrich is a remarkably patient one. Two encounters now, and still there’s been no overt attempt at possession. Despite his misgivings, Hawke is beginning to give serious consideration to the idea that the Mortalitasi may really be who he says he is.
That tidbit about Isabela helps to drive away his remaining doubts. “That’s not fair,” he grouses, though there’s no real bite in his tone. “I didn’t just run around. I did a lot of hiding behind pillars, too.”
He’s not sure what to make of the fact that his old friend has apparently turned over a new leaf. “The Isabela I knew would have gleefully snatched up any bauble that caught her eye, cultural importance be damned. Then again…” He shrugs. “...People can change. For the better, even. I’m glad for her.”
The words aren’t empty platitudes. Hawke truly believes that people can become more than what they were before—and that initial judgments can be faulty. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t balk at Emmrich’s offer. He’s tired of assuming the worst. And if he’s being painfully honest with himself, he’s tired of being alone, too.
He’ll take his chances. If he ends up possessed—well, better to end up a host for a gentlemanly demon than the likes of Rage or Despair.
“Unprecedented, you say? I do have a way of keeping things interesting. I’ll try to make it worth your while.” How he could possibly make this worth Emmrich’s while is a problem for future Hawke. He’ll figure something out.
In spite of his exhaustion, he can’t suppress a smile as he watches the wisps flit around Emmrich like ducklings following their mother. “You weren’t lying. You really are good at this.”
He holds out a calloused hand. “I don’t claim to possess any special knowledge of the Fade, but if you’re willing to put up with my ineptitude, then you have yourself a deal. As for my armor, the most that I can tell you is that I left it by a river, which is somewhere in a general… that way… direction.” He gestures vaguely at the Fade landscape behind him. “The river was strange. I tried following it while you were gone, but it seemed to go on forever. Maker only knows where it leads.”