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[spiteandcoffee]

"The Antivan Crows send their regards."

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[spiteandcoffee]

[ ooc: continued from here. ]

[ He is not the only one. And that may be a coping method more familiar to his host. ]

Good. You're awake.

[ From the doorway, Lucanis leans against the frame with a steaming cup in his own hands, watching Tony slowly return to the world. He could advise the man against wandering around in an unfamiliar city currently being occupied by a hostile force, but? Tony is a man grown.

He'll make his own mistakes as needed, as they all do. And he has the distinct feeling any well-meaning advice would be rejected and likely acted against on principle. ]

[myheartglows]

Not gonna lecture me, are you? [ tony mutters into his cup without raising his eyes. he should he more respectful to the guy who's taken him in and helped best he can, but right then tony can't seem to bring himself to care. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ He gives a half-shrug. ]

Would it make a difference?

[ If Tony had disappeared, he'd have gone looking for him. But he hasn't, and here they are. ]

[myheartglows]

Probably not.

[ tony finally meets lucanis's eyes, more a roll of his head, lax as can be while slouched back into the couch. ]

So. Where do I find a job?

[spiteandcoffee]

[ There is a finality there that says his efforts of finding a way home are at an end, at least for now. Lucanis has his own leads he is following, but he does not imagine waiting for news will improve Tony's state of mind. ]

Mm. That depends. Do you have something particular in mind? You do not seem the sort for menial labor.

[myheartglows]

I can build--things. [ a hitch to his speech there; tony was about to say something else. looking away, he waves a hand. ] Fix things. Anything mechanical. I doubt Thedas has anything I can't crack.

[spiteandcoffee]

Mechanical? Hm.

[ The coffee swirls lightly in his mug before he takes a slow, thoughtful sip. ]

We could use someone looking over the mechanical aspects of the ziplines we keep along the rooftops. We've been spread a little thin as of late, and less glamorous matters like simple maintenance may suffer for it.

I'm sure the other Crows would be grateful for someone helping to keep them in the air and off the streets.

[myheartglows]

You mean the other assassins?

[ the way tony emphasizes assassins speaks of his distaste for them. not great enough to leave their estate and care, no, and at the time and now what choice does he have? the profession still rubs him the wrong way. lucanis explaining the particular contracts he took was his saving grace, but no guarantees other crows are as...altruistic. he'd prefer to have zero risk of having his throat slit during his sleep.

not that his own (previous) profession was all kittens and rainbows, but no matter what some reporters may claim, tony did it for more reasons than just the money. it boiled down to having protection. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ It's not an uncommon reaction, and Lucanis smiles in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. ]

Yes. The other assassins.

[ Tony can judge all he likes, but the Crows are the only life Lucanis has ever known. They are family, above all else.

Outsiders are not required to understand or approve. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ Eventually, as the hope of finding Tony a way back to wherever he'd come from began to dwindle in earnest, Lucanis watches Tony come to grips with that fact on his own terms. He doesn't begrudge him the late nights and...other activities. As coping methods go, that's more or less reasonable.

But what he's really waiting for finally occurs. Tony gets bored of the busy work that Lucanis has given him to occupy his mind, and sought out work from a local blacksmith. He's started to settle in, and now he has work that hasn't been given to him by the assassin he still clearly -- and perhaps wisely -- does not trust. Lucanis gives him free rein to take the position, of course...and ensures that one of the Crows keeps an eye on him from nearby.

The Grande Market is usually a bustling, vibrant place even at night, crowded and colorful. Stalls line the streets crammed side-by-side, selling fruits and vegetables, herbs and crystals, clothing and armor. The blacksmith's wares are among the best-selling. Man knows his craft, enough to recognize the talent Tony has and let him tinker and create between orders.

It lets Lucanis focus on a few other matters he's been tracking in the meanwhile, knowing that for the moment? Tony has what he needs to start truly putting a life together here. One out from under the thumb of the Crows, whose presence he obviously still doesn't care much for. ]

[myheartglows]

[ lucanis sees little of him the next few weeks, whenever tony has any say in it, since his first day on the ziplines. out of estate grounds more often than not, along the crow's road, or at the taverns, the markets, the docks, any dances—wherever there's a crowd of people he can gather around and lose himself in. tavern regulars begin to greet him, know him by name, buy him rounds. he infiltrates a group of sailors at port who gamble on a card game called wicked grace. (tony loses a lot at first, which they take delight in, with aplomb, but once he learns the ropes, he begins to earn his coin back.) he wins the hearts of different women who are content with no-strings-attached and he laughs loudly and drunkenly with men singing tavern songs, his head thrown back, until one slams him against the wall in private, him still giggling until he's kissed. those nightly conquests he never brings back to the dellamorte guest house like the first time, but rooms are aplenty elsewhere. ones he can easily vacate afterward. antivans are a passionate people. tony takes advantage of that.

he meets william the blacksmith at the tavern, too, a bald man with a handlebar mustache who smells like coal and metal. at the table, after they're introduced, tony throws out an offhanded joke his drink annealing him and only william catches it. the next time they meet they talk about blacksmithing techniques, which tony read about two decades ago, and william is impressed enough to offer him a job.

the one time tony approaches lucanis is for that. the past couple weeks he's spent his days more in the markets than the crowd's road, amassing his own clothing and other goods (trousers and simple embroidered shirts, for the most part—prefers normal collars but treviso likes its deep v-necks—and belts and sashes to cinch them at the waist). some of the dark clouds over his head have lifted. he stands on sturdier ground. the ziplines need weekly maintenance at most, and now he's bored of the work. "so, got an offer to work at the blacksmith's, and i'm gonna take it. that cool? that allowed? no crow's gonna come out of the shadows and snuff me?" he asks lucanis. nothing of the sort will happen apparently; his choice to work where he pleases. "good," tony says.

he keeps up the weekly maintenance on the crow's road. gotta nurse his newly found parkour skills. that, and to fill his time with as much work and play as possible. and avoid pissing off any assassins.

after a couple more weeks, once the heat of the blacksmith forge has settled into his bones and tony's adjusted to working under someone for once, william permits him time and materials to create his own pieces. that's when it starts.

small at first—like a crossbow, made a mite smoother and of steel instead of wood like he's seen. it packs more of a punch. higher draw-weight, sinks deeper into its target. the next crossbow takes much longer because he has to forge every individual component himself with his own two hands, but it's repeating and can load bolts from a magazine fitted on top (seven total in a clip). its demonstration draws the biggest crowd the blacksmith's stall has seen in some time, and it sells for a ludicrous amount when adventurers start calling out bids over the initial price.

afterward, in the relative privacy of the forge behind the stall, open-air as it is, william asks him, "where did that, and you, come from, son? and more importantly...what do you need to make more?"

tony negotiates a higher cut on sales. with a small, secretive smirk, he promises william that he hasn't even started.

from there it escalates. out of the blacksmith's shop in treviso comes a new, more resilient type of steel, then daggers that can retract into their handles, small and compact, easy to hide, and a foothold trap with more elaborate jaws, easier and less dangerous to place...dual swords that can interlock at the handles, a blade that with a flick can segment into a lethal whip, an upgrade of the repeating crossbow that can not only hold a clip of smaller bolts, but manually transform to load and fire a much larger one. each new piece takes time between requests for more of previous ones and the regular orders, but tony hands each creation over like it's nothing—and they are all nothing to him. he can go so much bigger, so much deadlier, but he's challenging himself to stay within the lines of the weaponry in thedas; to keep to the resources available to him. challenging how far he can push them.

three months into the job, tony has access to the forge outside of his normal hours, but this night it sits cold, the fire already out; only candles light the workspace. he's made molds for tiny, intricate pieces, some gears the size of a fingernail, and he's waiting for them to cool enough to carry. he'll dump the pieces next to the goldsmith tools he's collected on a table in the dellamorte guest house, and then he'll wash up and go out. while he waits he sketches out a new crossbow idea on parchment. ranged weaponry is so much easier to play with.

he's found that quieter, stiller moments like this, the moments when he's alone, are when his mind wanders to home—his real home. earth. america. to things like rock music and car engines (the ford flathead), to cheeseburgers and stripper poles, electricity and the internet, and jarvis, and... tony tries not to think about those things. his life is in treviso now. this is his world.

he still doesn't call the dellamorte estate home.

he focuses on detailing the crossbow components. tactical, multi-functional, it'll operate akin to a sniper rifle, complete with a scope. william will love it, and the money it'll earn them even more so. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ Attention has been drawn to this humble blacksmith's, and the people have taken notice. His clientele is largely adventurers passing through, a few curious Crows in plainclothes, but also? A much more dangerous variety of attention has been drawn his way.

They converge on the smith's now, quietly, in the still of the evening. Their robes barely make a sound on approach, until a delicate feminine voice clears her throat near the entrance. ]

I confess, I didn't expect the lights to still be on.

[ The woman has tanned skin, bright silver eyes, and incredible cheekbones. Her long dark hair is pinned up neatly with an ornate pin, her robes a combination of black, scarlet, and gold that somehow make her look more striking than she already would have been. And her painted lips curve as she observes Tony where he's bent focused over his current project. ]

Working late, are we?

[myheartglows]

[ many pieces he and william make-to-order, especially plate armor (only one fitted onto a standing base for show), but the stall displays enough to intrigue and sell to passersby: ornate daggers and knives on the counter, a shield propped up against the post, various polearms stocked into a barrel, and a few weapons hung vertically on racks—maces, mauls, axes, and swords.

he sits at what's become his personal workbench in the corner of the two stone walls, his back to the open market. william is the more customer-facing one between the two of them; allows tony the time to design and create. that's where the candles are lit, the stall elsewhere dark save for the market's usual hanging lanterns outside. steel parts bent into different shapes are scattered across the wooden table, along with blacksmithing tools and a short sword with a spiral handle and a flowing engraving on the blade: one of tony's first independent creations here.

when he handed it off to william months ago, the man turned it over in his gloved hands and said, "beautiful. fine work," and tony, already returning to the forge, drawled, "it also glows blue when orcs are near." he never saw what possessed the man then, but after a moment filled only by crackling fire, william told him to keep it. reward for tony's hard work so far, he explained.

tony skeptically set it onto the workbench out of the way, where it stayed. some day later he was staring at it, waiting for metal to heat, when the thought came to him: i can do more for these people. so more he did.

at the woman's voice, tony pauses and turns at the waist. after assessing her with a squint, he says, ] That depends, [ and approaches the counter to rest his forearms on it. ] Are you here for business or pleasure?

[ another reason william is the more customer-facing one between the two of them: he's noticed tony's inclination to flirt. "keep it to your nights out, son," he sighed once, and tony laughed. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

Both, I hope.

[ The two other figures hung back in the dark as she let herself in, her eyes cast around the shop almost idly, before coming to a halt a few feet away from Tony. She appears to be sizing him up, appraising him from head to heel, and whatever she sees seems to please her. ]

You've been making quite the name for yourself...Stark, wasn't it?

[myheartglows]

[ oh, tony thinks, keeping his bowed pose (like supplicating a noble, but casual, inviting, interested—and shows off his arms), might not even need to hunt anyone down tonight. that's lucky. ]

'Twas. What can I do you for? Turnaround's a few days for my special orders. 'Sides that, [ he motions to the weapon displays, ] everything you see's up for grabs.

[spiteandcoffee]

Everything, you say.

[ She lifts her head with an 'ah' expression, before her smile widens and she glides closer. ]

Let's say I wanted a more...personal touch. Something you don't just run out for all the girls.

[myheartglows]

[ a smile teases at tony's mouth in return. she's interested in him. time to drop the pretense. ] Honey, [ he says lowly, ] I can get as personal as you want me to.

[spiteandcoffee]

[ Weeks pass, after the incident with the Venatori. Tony is left to recover in relative peace, though Lucanis makes his presence known. Meals that are left, or books he thinks the man might find interesting left out on the library table, along with the stacks of tomes Tony has already been going through. Surveying the topics he's already chosen for himself helps the Crow narrow down the field of what he might find useful, at least, though the pace at which he seems to be going through them is almost ravenous as his previous appetite for pleasurable company.

Something new has stirred in him, that much Lucanis can tell. He is starting to understand the dire situation he is in a little more than simply being displaced from home and having no way back. But there is no easy way to explain to someone the state of a world, the politics at play, and the fact that two ancient elven gods are planning to destroy it all if he and his companions don't stop them.

For now, he has business in Treviso. As do the gods, it seems. The Venatori are taking their orders from Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain as far as they can tell, and if they have a presence here alongside the Antaam? It only means the fight will be brought home, sooner or later.

But he is not the only one curious about Tony.

Lucanis has been careful not to sleep more than an hour or two, at the very break of day, somewhere secure enough that he doesn't risk Spite wandering off. But it only takes one night of drifting off before he remembers to lock the door. Just past midnight, and the halls of the guest house are dark, save for the fires Tony might be using to read by.

There, in the dark, luminous violet eyes flare to life. And the demon smiles. Now they will get to talk. ]

[myheartglows]

[ before, when tony normally read, he skipped through the text until he found something he deemed important or at least interesting. newspapers and magazines he flipped through until an article caught his eye. paperwork for his company he barely checked before he signed; pepper and obie vetted most of it. scientific papers received more care, but often they explained way more than what was necessary for him, or concluded what he could have told the author beforehand, so a quick scan by him and jarvis sufficed. tony gave things the time and attention that he felt they were worth, which usually was not much.

it's different in thedas now. for one, he has nothing but time to spare. there's no paperwork to sign, no party to host or attend, no arms race to stay on top off. for another, the night in that cellar proved him wrong. he's not as above everything here as he thought.

so when tony spreads his collection of chosen tomes on the study's central table, he picks a book out, slouches back into the loveseat, and reads it page-by-page, front-to-back. once he finishes it, he sets it aside and begins the next.

there's no real plan or order to the books he reads—just whatever he chances across that fills in the (considerable) gaps in his knowledge. one book covers various countries and cities in thedas and their state of affairs; another reaches back to discuss the history, the metaphorical architect of the world, and how it shaped and built the thedas of today. yet another focuses on tevinter, the empire the venatori strive to resurrect. later he branches out to books on the fade; on the spirits and demons within it in particular, which at one point prompts a thoughtful glance at lucanis.

lucanis is the only reason tony hasn't gone full-hermit mode. he brings tony meals—every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. snacks sometimes, too, and if tony isn't wrapped up in his reading, lucanis even offers insights into his current book's topic, if he has any to share. after so many visits and familiar meals, tony finally considers that the food left out for him in months past might not have always been from the servants.

he lasts for seven of those meals (or is it eight?) before he succumbs to his body's demands for a bath and sleep, when the coffee that lucanis includes with every delivery doesn't cut it. tony wakes up in his bed cold.

after that first crash, he grabs sporadic but more frequent hours of sleep, sometimes in the study, sometimes in his bed. around the day-five mark, lucanis finds him curled up on one of the study's loveseats, a book titled a dissertation on the fade as a physical manifestation fallen to the rug beneath his hand and arm, which hang over the loveseat's side. at the clink of plates, whether the removal of the old or placement of the new, tony stirs and mumbles, "pepper?" before the fog of sleep clears and he opens his eyes. he doesn't elaborate if asked. doesn't even remember saying it.

as the days continue and the stacks of tomes multiply and grow taller, now accumulating on the floor as well, tony adds one of his own: a blank leather-bound book from his room with a quill stuck inside and an ink pot nearby. the first several pages of it are filled with simple weapon schematics, first iterations of his creations at the blacksmith's, plus drawings and measurements of the replacement parts for his broken wristwatch. he wonders if the pieces he crafted are still at his workbench in will's shop, and how long william will wait before he clears it all out. tensing, tony flips the pages till they're blank.

on the untouched parchment of that book, he draws. he engineers. his mind is crammed full of new truths: blights, darkspawn, grey wardens and templars, the chantry and circle of magi, the fade and the veil. spirits and demons. engineering allows him the space to absorb and put some order to everything; get it into the appropriate files in his brain. mostly, it gives him something to solve. it's something he knows.

the first design pertains to the ziplines of the crow's road, an old idea finally seen to fruition: a trolley of wheels, latches, and coil springs to supplement the current handlebars. exploded views of the mechanism depict how the weight of a rider pulls down the bars, which unlatches it, and from there gravity takes hold. then, during the ride, the spring in it stores potential energy like a wind-up toy, and once released, it self-resets to the start. a current pain point, getting the bars back. below that, in a drawing of the bullwheels with the rope as simple lines connecting them, a second pulley system with a counterweight for the uphill paths is attached to the starting brake block. the margins, too, have scribbled calculations for velocity and the pounds of force required for the coil springs in a series of numbers and mathematical symbols, but they're spotty, missing sections that are done entirely in his head. the ending answers are circled.

his eyes lift from the page. a bowl of spiced figs that lucanis brought him as a snack sits on the table. maybe these trolley designs can pay back some of what tony owes him. or begin to, at least.

an idly drawn weapon covers the next page. though with a size and a likeness of a cannon, its parts are blocky and squared, and it sits and swivels like a turret on a base. the barrel flares out like a megaphone, but with no visible exit point; on the face instead is a grooved pattern, inked black, with a bright white circle in the center. tony knows what it is: a sonic weapon. something that thedas is centuries away from. even if he were to draw out the circuit diagram and write out the frequency calculations in detail, he couldn't build it here. not by hand in a forge. it wouldn't work.

he needs to know what's possible. tony is stuck in thedas; he feels that in whatever's left of his soul. if he's going to do anything in this world, whatever that ends up being, he needs to know what he has to work with.

new books join the stacks, ones about materials and resources, botanical and mineral compendiums, even one about the alchemical applications of dragon's blood. lucanis procures a series on metallurgy, too, and tony scours each volume. sometimes he jots down notes in his book like "BLEEDING RUSSULA - HINGE LUBRICANT" and "SELA PETRAE - SALTPETER." the names are written in common, readable by anyone in thedas, but his personal notes he keeps in english. glitterdust, rashvine, and silverite are among the rest. of them, the longest note says, "LYRIUM - Hg?" with the "Hg?" struck through. replacing it: "DIFFERENT. TOXIC, DANGEROUS TO HANDLE. MAGI" with a half-written C to finish. the ink bleeds from the C into the I, the word abandoned.

two and a half weeks have passed since tony's rescue. his arms are still wrapped in bandages, now by his own hand after a bath (he faces the undersides downward when he washes and rewraps them, doesn't want to see—). the fireplace crackles and pops, large enough to throw a low light across the study, and a cooled plate of sauteed pork with a black grape sauce rests on the table. tony has remembered its presence long after lucanis left it, while the accompanying coffee is already depleted. he manages a few bites before he grabs the empty cup for a refill in the kitchen.

the hallway outside the study is pitch black save for the pinpricks of candlelight on the walls. he knows the way, has traveled it often, but his feet slow to a stop. farther down the middle of the hallway glow two dots like eyes, framed to either side by skeletal wings, colored a vibrant purple. all of a sudden, tony remembers: he's seen that silhouette before, but this time, he knows it's no angel. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ The demon scents the air, listening as those footsteps stutter to a halt. Heartbeat catching. Smells like ink and iron.

Tony's eyes have been glued to a page of some sort or another for weeks, but now Spite has his attention, and the demon hums a pleased little purr to itself. ]

There. You are.

[ It is Lucanis's voice, and when it advances enough for the one flickering light nearby to pass over his face, that is Lucanis's too. The same crooked nose that had broken once and never healed quite right again. The same sleep-deprived shadows under his glowing eyes.

But he has never smiled like that, wide and manic.

What approaches is wearing Lucanis but is not Lucanis, not even a little. And by now, Tony has had the chance to read about spirits and demons, and the nature of possession. He knows that Lucanis keeps himself awake with coffee to keep Spite at bay.

Which means something has gone wrong, for him to be out and about like this. ]

[myheartglows]

[ tony's heart skips a beat at the uncanniness of that smile (not lucanis, not safe), but their conversation from over a week ago eases his shoulders like a blanket around them. "don't fight him. or run," lucanis explained; it was the plan should his precautions as he sleeps ever fail and the demon gets loose. in that event, tony just needs to try and wake him up, and lucanis will retake control.

there's a plan. he knows what he needs to do. ]

Not hard to find, [ tony projects back down the hall. he swallows. ] Lucanis sleeping? [ he asks to confirm it's not something worse, like the demon deciding to end the bargain between himself and his host. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ Spite doesn't answer the question at first, as it seems obvious enough. They both know it's the only reason he'd be out and about like this, because Lucanis doesn't trust him. He'd never let him close to Tony if he could help it, rebuffing every effort on the part of the demon to wheedle, beg, and finally demand that he be allowed to do so.

Now? He doesn't get a say.

Those eyes bear closer, the edges of his features falling in and out of shadow again as he passes the candles in the hall. ]

For now.

[ By the time Spite comes to a halt, there's barely a foot of distance between them. ]

Now we get to talk.

[myheartglows]

[ as the demon wordlessly creeps closer, the tension in tony's muscles ratchets up. he's ready to swing the cup as a weapon if he has to, in case the thing attacks. he doesn't really believe it will; lucanis wouldn't have said not to run if he thought spite would. but this is definitely too close for tony's comfort. ] Personal space, Beelzebub. Back it up, [ he intones. ]

[spiteandcoffee]

[ His head cocks, almost bird-like. But he does come to a halt. ]

Smells of...iron and ink. Smells like fear. But not blood this time, no. Not his, not theirs.

[ The wet splatter on the stones lingered, a delightful memory. A fate he'd gladly visit on every Venatori he could lay his -- Lucanis's -- hands on. Perhaps the one thing he and his host truly agreed upon. ]

[myheartglows]

[ it's not backing away. if it's not going to listen to him, why should tony listen to it? ] I'm not really in the mood for riddles. You have thirty seconds before I shout for Lucanis to wake up.