Prey Turned Hunters

Log Info

• Title: Prey Turned Hunters

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Dolan, Ravenstongue

• Place: Andelena and Dolan's apartment

• Summary: Ravenstongue drops by Dolan's apartment with a basket full of sandwiches on an out-of-the-blue visit... Or so it seems. Once inside the apartment, Ravenstongue and Dolan reveal parts of the traumas they've both endured to each other. This deepens their understanding of each other as friends and as allies, and they both discuss their plans going forward about how to handle Kol and Zalgiman.

The Donnely apartment is quiet as the fading light of Daeus inches downward toward the horizon. The redhead Sunguard that normally brightens up the place left for her shift only two hours before, and Patches the kitten slumbers in a spot on top of the bed that lit in a brilliant orange--the kitten choosing to take advantage of the Sunlord's light while it lasts.

Outside of the apartment, however, Cor'lana approaches. She's dressed down a little today in the sense that she's traded out her trademark violets and purples for a thick gray cloak and a high-collar black dress--likely as a result of some of the recent animosity towards adventurers, as Pothy isn't with her, either. Her gloved hand carries a small woven basket by its handles.

There's a moment where she pauses by the door and considers it, giving it a look before she breathes in, exhales deeply, and tosses the hood of her cloak down. Then... she knocks. Not loudly, not urgently--just a knock.

Left alone for the first time since the events of Eliday past, Dolan has left Patches to sleep on the bed, and has taken the time to quietly clean up the place. Gear is cleaned and tucked into its corner, the garbage is removed, the dishes are washed, and the dirty laundry removed to a cloth bag in the bedroom for supply to their laundress down the street. The hearth brought upstairs is burning cheerily away in its stone fittings. This all done, Dolan doesn't have much else to do, and he's seated on the sofa, staring absently into space.

That is, until the knock comes at the door. Who could that be? Frowning, Dolan, dressed only in shirt and trousers, no hose or boots, grabs the cleaned and harnessed greatsword from its spot amid the adventuring gear and sets it on the inside of the door, where it will be conceaned by the opening door but readily reachable should he need it. Only then does he open the door, a crack at first, and then more when he sees who it is. "Lana, what are you doing here?"

Cor'lana smiles a little as Dolan opens the door. "I wanted to come over for a visit," she says, holding up her basket. "I brought some sandwiches from Pothy's favorite spot at the market."

Her violet eyes lock onto Dolan's own--both the natural and artificial. Her gaze is that of warmth with a touch of concern, a slight curve in the brows that make them read that way. "I kind of had a feeling you needed a friend over," she explains herself, not looking away. "A room full of friends is nice, but sometimes it's better to be with just one friend, you know?" It's said in a way that suggests this is true for herself, at least.

Although Dolan doesn't acknowledge the truth of her observation in words, the shift in his expression, the surprise and worry behind his flesh-and-blood eyes is affirmative enough for those sensitive to it - or looking for it. He steps away from the door, allowing her to enter. "Thanks," he answers quietly, turning away to allow her to close the door. "I'll put on some tea. We don't have a whole lot right now, just a regular black tea," he offers. "I hope that's okay."

"I quite like black tea, actually," Cor'lana responds as she walks in. She closes the door behind her, taking a few steps in to allow Dolan to lock up behind her and put the sword away--neither of which get any awkward glances. "It reminds me of... my childhood home. Mother liked her black tea."

She adjusts the weight of the basket in her hands and follows Dolan to wherever he indicates (if at all) he'd like for her to sit and dispense the sandwiches from her basket. There's three sandwiches in total, although they are cut diagonally into two halves to create six sandwich triangles, made from a rustic bread, roasted meat, and a light cheese. "I wasn't sure how many to get," Cor'lana confesses, "because I tend to eat quite lightly."

There's a small table near the hearth where the pair of them quite clearly eat, and once Dolan has put the kettle on and stoked the fire, and added a healthy amount of black tea to a teapot in preparation for the kettle, he gestures towards the table, setting the teapot down on it and leaving room for the sandwiches. "That's very nice of you, Lana." He surveys the sandwiches with a raised remaining eyebrow, clearly quite impressed. "You've brought plenty, thanks. Pulled something in my shoulder getting out of there, so I haven't been doing as much work as I am used to." Reflexively, he rubs at the front of his left shoulder, then across the deltoid, carefully, but then sits down, waiting and watching the half-sil intently.

There's a slight pause--ever so slight--as Cor'lana nods to the injury remark. "Pothy thought you were a bit stiff compared to normal," Cor'lana replies, a tiny, tiny hint of a smirk on her face. "I'd normally have brought something for the muscle pain, but I figured you already had your preferred methods for that, and nobody likes a cream or salve given but unasked for unless you're a packrat." She takes a sandwich half and bites into it--although it's more accurate to say she nibbles. Slow, methodical, like it's something to be performed, savored, or both, even if it's just a sandwich from the market.

Then she nods again, confirming something to herself in her head. "Allow me, first, to... Apologize isn't the right word, because he really ought to do the apologizing himself--I am not a great lover of apology-by-proxy--but to speak a bit. Telamon is a good person, but sometimes, his glibness gets ahead of him, and he can occasionally try to bring light to something that's still rather raw."

Cor'lana finishes her bite of the sandwich. "More importantly, he hasn't dealt with great darkness. And while he understands from an intellectual perspective, he doesn't understand from a personal perspective. But... I do. And I couldn't help but notice--and so did Pothy, sweet bird that he is--that you were different that day and at dinner the other night."

Ah. So that's it. "Then I beg your pardon. I hadn't meant to drag everyone down with my troubles." Dolan picks up one of the half-sandwiches and nibbles carefully at it, a move that is absolutely nowhere near his usual hearty-eater style. "We've got enough problems without me adding to it." Still, there's something haunted behind those eyes, try though he might to downplay it. He's a terrible liar, and seldom does he even try. "These are really good, Lana. I see why Pothy likes them."

He starts to rest his elbows on the table, then quickly picks them up, opting for forearm instead.

Cor'lana shakes her head. "No, Dolan," she says, firmly but gently. "You weren't dragging people down. People were glad to see you at the dinner party, and we invited you because we wanted to see you and give you a nicer evening than the one prior. You went through something life-threatening, and the consequences feel like they hang on your head."

She takes a little breath and lowers her sandwich. "I in particular wanted to invite you, because at Mother Ariana's house, you looked far away even though you were right there. I'm your friend, Dolan, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to--I'm happy to shut up forever on this and tell you all about the silly things that the garden pixies say about the men that walk by--but I cannot ignore someone who is in pain or suffering when it's something like the kind I've gone through myself."

The silence hangs for several moments, waiting, once Cor'lana is done speaking, and Dolan's gaze again goes faraway, as if seeing something that isn't there. "Look, Lana," he says finally, taking another bite of the sandwich, chewing, and swallowing before continuing. "I committed myself to rescuing innocent people from evil assholes. Out there - there wasn't a damn thing I could do for that poor sod. We were in way over our heads, and I damn well knew it. I know Patch wanted to try, and I don't blame her - but the truth is that we didn't stand a chance against Zalgiman and that vampire. We had to get out alive. We had to warn the city, or we'd all die for no damn reason. Doesn't mean I can forget that poor sod we had to leave behind."

Cor'lana nods soberly, looking at Dolan with a look of understanding. "It's hard," she agrees. "That man deserved to live just like everyone should, in a good world where nobody bad ever happens to people. But... evil exists, or people die for no sensible reason, and... the people left behind are scarred for it."

She leans in a little against the table, letting the sandwich just rest in the palm of her hand, looking at it for a moment before she looks back up again at Dolan. "You shouldn't forget, and I think--as someone who was made to forget what happened in the past--it doesn't help anything to push it down and to forget. But if you can't forget, you might as well turn it into something that will put fire in you. If you haven't already." There's a note suggesting she speaks from her own experience in her voice, but her sympathetic and focused gaze speaks louder. This is about him and not her.

"I'm not giving up, Lana." Dolan immediately shakes his head, waving a hand in dismissal. He's about to say more when the kettle abruptly whistles, and he gets up, reaching for a pad to take it off. In short order, boiling water is in the teapot, and the kettle is set to the side of the hearth to keep warm while the first round steeps. He goes, too, for a pair of teacups, nothing fancy, simple clay rather than porcelain, and sets them out before the pair of him. The tea needs a minute more to steep, so he doesn't pur yet, instead settling back down. "Just - you ever been that man?"

Cor'lana pauses for a moment. "Someone hunted? Once. The necromancer," she says. "The one you helped Telamon find. My memory of that time is hazy due to the spell he put on me--but I remember the terror of being awakened in my bed by him. The blood. The pain. His grin." She recounts these quickly, her voice going softer and softer--and then she shakes her head, snapping out of it. "Sorry. Had to stop before it just... poured out of me."

She looks at Dolan for a moment, sort of a weary look in her eyes from nearly averting whatever she just stopped. "I've... coped with that incident in my own way," she says. "But it's not the same. That man's going to rot in the prisons in the Mythwood forever. Kol is still out there. Zalgiman is still out there."

Dolan remembers that, all too keenly. That scrying had been - intense, and he nods slowly. "Yeah. We saw some of what he did to you." He wears a grim expression. "I just have to make sure I'm not the prey this time. The hunter's got to become the hunted." He sighs. "Just don't know how I'm going to do that,"

"You said something about that at Mother Ariana's house," Cor'lana says calmly--evidence she's gathered herself back together. "Being the hunter and not the prey. It... sounded like a refrain. Like a prayer but not quite. You don't need to tell me if I'm right or if I'm wrong--I'm not here to demand you lay bare for me all that's happened to you, nor would I lay bare all of the pains of what happened to me before I came Alexandria onto your shoulders while you, yourself, are still dealing with so much--but I want you to know if you need to talk to someone about it, you can talk to me."

She offers him a small smile. "I don't know how we're going to hunt Kol or Zalgiman, either--not right now--but that's what information gathering is for. We can forge the blades we need to turn them into prey. And if anyone can wield that blade, I know it'd be you, Dolan."

"He's obsessed with me. Damned if I know why. Between him and that demon, and whoever hired them-" Dolan finally sets aside the sandwich and rests both elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. "I don't want to scare Andie, Lana. She's still idealistic, and I want to keep her that way. I don't want her to ever have to see what I did, or have that happen to her. Came way too damn close, a couple of times." Beat. Beat. "He was trying his damndest to get to me, Lana."

"We never want the people we love to experience the darkest things we've had to see," Cor'lana replies gently, reaching over the table with her free hand. It's a gesture that indicates she'd like to comfort him with a squeeze of the arm or perhaps even hold a hand, but she knows better than to touch someone who's reeling from the feeling of being hunted. "The thing that happened to me in Rune--if Telamon had it happen to him, my heart would break a million times over. And if he were to be hunted--I might just go blind with fury."

Her eyes are soft now. "He's trying to get under your skin. He wants you to be prey, I think. It felt... like a sadist to me, that Kol. Zalgiman does things out of pride or ambition, I feel--but Kol is different from that. I only encountered him briefly compared to you, but he feels so much more... methodical. Calculated."

"I - don't even know. That's the first time I'd seen him for more than a minute or two. Verna knows way more about them than I do. " Dolan remains where he is, seemingly unaware of the touch or attempt at it. His head remains in his hands. "I know that Zalgiman is a threat. I know he needs to be dealt with. But - I don't think Patch and Dirk understand, Lana. I'm in serious trouble, and it's worse than a demon this time. I took that one out. I'm no match for Kol."

The teapot sits forgotten between them, still steeping. "I - felt like I was back there. I don't know how long they were trying to talk to me. I didn't hear a thing. All I could feel was the chains and the stone of the altar. The metal of the knife they had ready to cut my throat." Without warning, the words burst from him.

This, Cor'lana recognizes--in a sense. She takes her hand back, although it's a reluctant motion. As a person, it's hard to see someone suffering and not want to comfort them physically, but touch is a difficult thing for some.

"You're okay, Dolan," she promises him, gently. "I'm listening." There's a genuine warmth in her words, a weight of an anchor back to the current day, the current moment. "You're here." He's here. She's here.

Dolan doesn't answer immediately. He has fallen silent, staring at the inside of his hands. "It's over," he tells himself. "The demon's gone. You found a way to deal with that. You can find a way to deal with this." His heart's still pounding in his chest, though, the adrenaline rushing through him. "We need more information. I - I'll leave Zalgiman to Patch. She seems to know way more about him. I could hurt Kol. I got his attention. He's not invincible. I'll find a way."

"We can find a way, Dolan," Cor'lana says, still just as gentle as before. "You are not alone now. You were never alone, but it's hard to let people in. I'm not asking you to let me in--but I am telling you that if you want someone else who knows what it's like to be the prey and has decided to never be prey again, call on me as an ally and as a friend."

She pauses for a moment. "No person is ever alone in this world, not truly. The problem is oftentimes finding the ones who share the darkest parts of ourselves in addition to the lighter parts. Not everyone wears them so visibly on their shoulders. I apologize that I haven't seen it before now, Dolan--but know that if nothing else, I will always listen."

"I'm not alone. I've been alone, Lana. This isn't it. It's just - not everybody gets it. I -" Dolan looks up, his hands lowering, and studies her as if for the first time. "Yeah. I haven't told Tel all of it. The demon that's after my family is the one I almost got sacrificed to. I think it wants revenge."

He rubs his hand across the unscarred side of his face, and a little bit over the scarred side. "It's a damned hard thing to forget. I'm not going to be the prey again. I found out something, Lana. What Kol is doing to Dirk is easy to stop. There's a spell the clerics know, and I'm going to work on learning, that prevents all mental control from evil creatures. I think sorcerers can learn a version of it too, kind of like a magic circle except directed outward against evil things."

"I believe I know of that one, although I don't know it from heart," Cor'lana replies with a nod. "Both Telamon and I need it if we're going to keep dealing with evil. Kol may not be the only entity we meet that could require it in the future--and it's high time we start protecting ourselves properly. Past time, really. That ward on the house is one measure, but only one."

She glances at the teapot and... well, she certainly seems to realize it has steeped there for longer than Dolan probably intended. But her attention returns to the Redeemer. "The demon--maybe it wants what it's owed," she says. "The sacrifice it almost got. But it's not getting you."

"No. It's not. But, if won't get the chance if I can't deal with that vampire. I'm going to need help with that one, and I'm going to have to work on my spells." Dolan finally nudges the teapot down with his hand, and immediately pulls it away as if surprised. The hair is starting to grow back on his arms. He picks it up and starts to pour both cups. This is going to be one strong tea.

"I think we both have spells to work on," Cor'lana says, with a small smile. "On that note--your arm's looking better. I'm sure Pothy will be glad to hear of that. The sweet boy was quite worried about you; he'll be happy to hear that we talked."

Cor'lana looks down at the tea and then at Dolan as he pours it as she, too, seems to realize how strong that cup's going to be. "Don't worry," she says. "Mother used to forget the teapot frequently, too. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Was there a hint of a question at the end of that word? It had, after all, been quite some time since Cor'lana last had Mother's unattended black tea. But as the sandwiches on the table remain, it's at least a sign that there is daily life even in the wake of Kol for the prey-turned-hunters.