dreadinquisitor | Mask or Menace

[Maxwell wouldn't have thought it possible that he could somehow sleep even worse than he had been, but the house had managed it. Even the phantom ache of the Anchor paled to the memory of that nightmare. To the figures he could still see even now, so much later, whenever he closed his eyes.

The promise... and then the reality.

Alone. And he pressed on because that was what he did. That was what he needed to do.

He'd seen Poe, once, since. Across the distance between their row houses, and while Maxwell had thought he looked perhaps as pale and tired as he did and he'd thought about calling out - thought about going over, at least, it had almost immediately brought a choking heat up into his throat. Just the mere idea of the words; of the excuse that would be the only thing he could give to explain...

So he dealt with it as he did so many things. Alone.

Working, eating, one foot in front of the other, one task at a time.... And now, gently smoothing a curve of wood that could roughly be called the idea of a bow to distract his mind and his hands when the knock came.

His hands pause, and he glances toward the curtained window. There wasn't realistically anyone else it could be, and he still dreaded it, but it would have to be sooner or later, wouldn't it?

Setting his project aside, he crossed the room and drew back the fabric, pausing only a moment before sliding the glass up.]

[Poe sat on his carpet, hovering at window height, looking off toward the city while he waited. When the window slid open he turned his head to the sound.]

Hey. [There was a small pause, then a small, sheepish smile as he raised the bottle, and the tea.]

Couldn't sleep. Didn't look like you could either. You want a drink?

I wasn't expecting--[But Maxwell nods and steps back, holding the curtain open for Poe to slide in.] Let me clear this away.

[He leaves the window open to the night, but the lets the curtain fall back in place as he turns to pick up the dream of a bow and the tools scattered about the simple table he'd been using in want of a proper workbench.]

[He slid in on the carpet, landing it on the floor mostly because he had the bottle and tea still in his hands. He put them down on the table then rolled up the carpet, setting it aside.]

I uh - I never thanked you for the tea. [He frowned slightly, wetting his lips.]

It's been kind of... a rough few weeks. But pretty sure that applies to both of us. [What a stupid thing to say. Sure, he might not know about Bodhi and he might not have known Bela, but that wasn't the most of it. The house. The house was the majority of it. And Maxwell definitely had that.]

But thanks. It meant a lot. Anyway I figured - hey, if he doesn't want to drink himself into a stupor the way that I have been, at the very least I can offer him tea.

[Maxwell pauses as Poe starts speaking, glancing up, a tool in each hand. Rough was an understatement. But sensing - knowing - how the man meant it, he bit back his bitter reaction to it.

It wasn't Poe's fault. Poe had even tried to save him from it in the first place. If he just hadn't looked....

He set the tools into a box and tucked them away with the bow under the table. Scrapings and dust remained, and a dark stain born of fatigue and carelessness, but there wasn't much he could do about any of them.]

I didn't mean it as a debt. I saw, about the woman, and figured-- [He breaths a long exhale.] It was nothing.

I know you didn't. And it wasn't nothing. It was kind. [His voice is quieter than usual, but he sounds very sure of this point. There's no room for argument. It was kind. Whatever Maxwell thinks. He looked at the bottle, running his fingers over the neck of it.]

And I- wanted to check on you. That place--

That place was enough to do in anyone. And I promised I would help you get out, and then I went through the wrong door- [He cut off with a sharp intake of breath. No. That's not what he came here to do.]

The point is - I figured we could both use a drink. That's all.

[He takes a breath, starts to speak 'I'm al-' but stops. It doesn't seem fair, even that small dishonesty in the face of the moment; after everything else.

Instead, he gestures for the bed. He has no chairs. Little furniture at all. Little of anything, outside necessities. He was a little afraid of putting such marks down, knowing they'd only make it all the more real, and it hurt.]

I didn't help. I didn't even look to see which way you'd gone, I just saw the door and- went. [He leans against his headboard, and looks up to the pocked ceiling. Sometimes counting the bumps at night helped.] Did the others make it out? The people you mentioned.

Yeah. Everyone did. I don't know what happened but the house doesn't exist anymore. At least - not like that. [He looked at the bottle, considered, and then brought it with him as he slid onto the bed and put his back up against the wall next to Maxwell.]

So that's one small mercy.

Good. [And he means it, on both counts. But then, after the nod, he fell silent and remained so for a long moment. He was still but for the rise and fall of his chest, and the working of a muscle in his throat. Then finally--] I'm sorry. For everything. Everything I said and did. I didn't--[He breaks off. No explanation would make it okay.] There's no excuse.

[He let out a sigh. It was a theme, people apologising to him. Him apologising. But not this time.]

Maxwell. [Kindly, but firmly.] Of course there's an excuse. We were in a magical house controlled by a psychopath that was giving you fever dreams. If I held anything against you, from that house, I'm pretty sure I would be a massive dick.

[He didn't rub at his neck. Would that image give him nightmares? Sure. But he couldn't blame Maxwell. Couldn't blame any of them.]

So I'm not taking that apology, because you don't owe me one, alright?

[But Maxwell shakes his head, unable to leave it at that.]

You don't know me, Poe. You don't know the world I come from. This-- fighting demons, resisting their temptations... I should have known. I was able to tell Imshael no-- [But then, it had been before Dorian had announced his plans to leave. Imshael had tried to tempt him with power, wealth, and lust, but not his family. Not with love.] I should have been stronger than that. Better.

[Quietly.] I used to be.

I know you well enough to know that if a creepy house wasn't fucking with your mind, it wouldn't have happened. [He's still being firm about this, but he takes a swig from the bottle and then holds it out to Maxwell.]

We're both alive, and that's all that really matters. If you let it, it's just going to sit like a worm inside your head and eat you from the inside out.

You're a good man. Your - your dream proved that, even if I wasn't supposed to be in it. There's a lot of other things someone could see in that place.

That's what demons do, Poe. They see your weaknesses, your desires, your good intentions and they twist them up to serve their own ends. To get what they want. They specialize in taking in good people and spitting out monsters.

[Maxwell took the bottle, not so much because he wanted to drink, but because it was offered and it gave him something to do with his hands.]

It wanted me to kill you and I almost did.

[He shakes his head. Snorts derisively.]

Clearly I'd have made a piss poor mage.

I still don't see how that's your fault.

[He frowns, and looks at him.]

Would you blame a mage, if it had happened to them?

[Maxwell is silent for a moment.]

Do you remember, I mentioned a man who tried to kill me in trade for his son's life?

[He looks sadly at Poe, the weight of the man he'd had to become in his eyes. The choices.]

Corypheus promised that he could cure his son's disease, if he helped him. He sold everything that he was, everything that he believed.

[He looks away again, and takes a long swallow from the bottle.]

I didn't kill him, like some called for. But he did have to pay for his crimes. The harm he did not just to me, but his fellow mages - the men and women he tried to enslave for his Master.

Was Corypheus a demon?

[He frowned, brow furrowed.]

Did he just promise that guy something or did he actually twist his mind to believe it? Because when you saw me - you didn't even recognize me. It was like you thought I was someone - or something - else entirely.

[He makes a sound like a laugh. Wry and low.]

The million sovereign question. I still don't know.

Corypheus was human, once. A powerful mage.

When he first revealed himself, we thought perhaps he was an Archdemon - he all but claimed to be, but... Whatever he was, he was powerful. He did things-- no one has ever seen. Or should have to see.

[He holds the bottle back out.]

...I see the point you're trying to make and truthfully, were it the other way.... Unfortunately, it isn't as easy for me to absolve myself.

Especially once I saw-- it was so clear after.

It isn't just guilt, it's foolishness.

[He took the bottle back, but didn't take another drink. Not yet. He had no idea who the people Maxwell had seen were, but he could make a guess. Based on Kay's dream. He could assume they were his family. Either by blood or by love.]

... I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that back home, things don't look so rosy. [It was quiet.]

But seriously, Maxwell. In mine - Mine gave me a whole six years that didn't exist. I still remember them as if they happened, but full of holes. What I saw - it wasn't even real to begin with. And I still believed it completely.

[Maxwell meets his eyes, and says only--]

Neither was mine.

[He's quiet for a moment, before taking another drink and passing the bottle back.]

... Who were they? If you don't mind me asking.

[He takes a breath. When he finally takes the bottle, he holds it just a little too tight.]

My parents. They've disowned me. They'd been wanting to-- Maker, I don't even know how long, but after the Chantry labelled me a heretic and I offered sanctuary to the rebel mages, well, that gave them all the final excuse they needed, I suppose.

...The other was Dorian. My-- one of my inner circle. ...And I thought more, but not long before I was brought here, he told me he was leaving. Returning to his homeland and I was not welcome to come along.

[He smiles then, a tight and bitter flash.]

Not quite the same picture, is it.

I'm sorry, Maxwell.

[It was said with the solemnity of truth. He was sorry. Sure, he and his dad fought sometimes, but it was nothing on that scale. And he'd never had a relationship serious enough to severely regret its loss.]

Even if I go back, and even if it's true that it's the same breath and nothing's changed, what I saw in that room can never be.

[The smile, such as it was, is gone again.]

That's how I figured it out. The way they were looking at me.

That's why I should have known from the start.

Edited 2017-11-01 01:58 (UTC)

That's not how it works. [And he knows it.]

You can only figure it out if someone else points it out. Left alone - Well. Eventually you'd have turned to stone, still living in a dream.

[Maxwell looks away, falling silent again. Guilt is never so easy to absolve, as the house's other rooms made so apparent, but he doesn't argue this time. Some part of him recognizing the logic in Poe's words.]

How many times were you there?

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