It's during standard post-chapel office hours, and due to the relative irreverence of Riftwatch as a whole, Brother Gideon has spent them alone as usual.
It's fair to assume he hasn't been sleeping well, with dark circles appearing under his eyes over the last few days, a restless twitch overtaking his features as though he's constantly on the verge of nodding off. It would seem that he has done so, at the moment, with his chin dropped to his chest, his eyes closed and breathing steady, his hand still lightly grasping a quill that has since blotted the parchment on which he's writing a new sermon.
Tiffany respects privacy. She is also accustomed to a certain lack of it, having grown up surrounded first by siblings and then by her fellow Seekers. And while neither of these were notably nosy, you can't help but to read over someone's shoulder from time to time, or overhear a conversation not meant for you, when you're living elbow-to-elbow.
She is here for an evening prayer, something she'd normally do in the privacy of her own room, but the chapel was there as she was walking back from the training yard. She'd felt the pull and had given in readily enough, and ducked inside the dim quiet sanctum, only to find that she wasn't alone.
She gives Brother Gideon a fond little smile as she starts down the aisle. Poor man, is what she thinks. He looks exhausted. And the ink on the page--should she wake him? Or try to move the quill so what he's written isn't entirely ruined?
The chapel isn't that large. She's there behind him in only a few quiet steps. The candlelight is bright enough that she can see what's written on the page--and she's not nosy, but she looks.
It's not uncommon for Brother Gideon's sermons to have an intensity to them, which can be off-putting to those with a quieter idea of Andrastian faith; although soft-spoken and small of frame, the man's beliefs resonate through his being, his dark eyes glittering with fervor when he's speaking to a congregation.
That said, certain words often find themselves in his compositions: flame imagery, in tandem with Andraste's sacrifice, the notion that we should all be so selfless. The ills of the world can only be cured by radical change and purity of heart, so on and so forth.
The new document seems to follow along this same pattern, but with a few notable keywords that leap off the page in the candlelight: Promisers. Churneau.
A cold chill finger of misgiving presses on the back of Tiffany's neck. Whatever she was planning to do--move the quill, give a gentle shake to the brother's shoulder--her hand stalls.
Churneau is the dusty library in her head, lessons with her boots off and her feet on the warm stones of the hearth. A kind of ghost story. It was a lesson then. It could be a lesson here, but for the words that cluster around it like flies around a corpse--
She looks back to the door, the way that she came.
What Tiffany misses when she turns away is how the Brother's eyelids flicker, the sense of someone nearby jarring his exhaustion back into its usual vigilance. He lifts his head; should she turn back and meet his eyes, what she sees there will tell her all she needs to know.
"Yes," Gideon replies, cryptically. He's perfectly still, like a spider caught in the light, eyes glittering. At first, it seems like Tiffany is about to leave without incident. But moments after she turns to go, there is abruptly a weight on her back, the elf's remarkably strong forearm curled about her neck, pressing on her windpipe in a tight chokehold.
Her hands grab at his arm, an instinctive human response. He isn't wearing armor and her fingers find purchase on cloth, fingernails bite into skin--but she isn't wearing armor either, not at this time of day, throat bare and unprotected. Panic spikes in her for a moment before she overpowers it, squashes it down--squares up, digs in, and tries to throw him over her shoulder. Real effort. Maybe she's stronger but he is strong, stronger than she would have expected, and he had the advantage of surprise.
It would be comical, if his intentions weren't so grim, how quickly Gideon flings his dangling legs into a straddle, hooking them around the tops of her knees to try and buckle them, making them more difficult to plant.
He levers his choking arm back with the free one, teeth gritted as he bides his time and tries to hold on. She'll run out of air soon, he knows, and will grow weaker the more she struggles.
Without that grounding, she can't get the momentum she needs to throw him off. It is almost unfair, if this is it--but it can't be, and Tiffany digs down deeply, grasping at hope even as darkness begins to gather at the edges of her vision.
Her knees go weak and her fingers tighten before they begin to loosen. You who stand before the gates, You who have followed me into the heart of evil, The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat. She looks up to the ceiling, desperately grasping for that centering thread, even amid the panic of starvation, the burning in her throat. Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: Not alone do we stand on the field of battle. The Maker is with us! The moments pass with every thud of her heartbeat, which is growing weaker as the darkness comes over her, as the buzzing in her ears gets louder and her knees fail her.
As she weakens, so Brother Gideon lets his weight do more of the work, dragging down against Tiffany's neck until her collapse. His knees hit the flagstones with an unpleasant crack, but still he maintains his grip, waiting to release the Seeker only after she has gone completely limp. It's then that he allows her to breathe again-- this isn't a murder, not yet at least, not so early. But something has certainly been set in motion.
---
Tiffany likely awakens again with the awkward jostling of her bound person being conveyed down a dark stairwell. Her hands and ankles are wrapped tightly, a cloth muffling her mouth but allowing her freedom to breathe through her nose, and her eyes blindfolded, though it's apparent enough that stairs are involved by how her heels drop from one to the next as she's dragged by the shoulders from below. Gideon really is remarkably strong, though his breathing in Tiffany's ear is somewhat labored with the effort of his hauling.
She comes to slowly--starts, begins to struggle. Her throat burns, still, and the cloth over her mouth has a dampness to it from her recirculated breathing. Disorientation comes first--where is she, why is she here, who is she with--and memory comes second. The dark glint of Brother Gideon's eyes. The pressure around her neck.
She falls still, then. Trying again to find that center She is alive. That is a better start than it could be. Now what clues are there? Stairs, and the pitch of gravity tells her that they are headed down. The brother's strength is obvious, but she is a burden, and maybe she can use that. Carefully, quietly, she flexes the fingers of one hand, testing the tightness of her bonds.
The struggling won't do at all, not while he's already working so hard. Gideon pauses, shifting Tiffany's weight in his grip, as though he's about to do something-- but then she stills, and he waits a moment before continuing their journey.
"The time for that is past, Seeker," he whispers, so quietly that the words are barely more than the sound of his lips, tongue and teeth touching to mouth the words. They arrive on level ground at last, a place that smells of damp stone and lamp oil, Tiffany's feet bumping over the cobbles as she's drawn into a smaller chamber. The air is closer in here, and Gideon sets her down for a moment to move things around, wooden crates by the sound and smell of it.
It only takes a minute, and then she's being dragged again. Should she roll, Tiffany will find that she has walls on all sides-- wooden ones, likely the crates-- and little room to move. But there isn't much time to make sense of the new space before the gag is lifted from her mouth, and a glass vial pushed to her lips.
Whatever's in it, she doesn't have much choice in whether or not to consume it.
Whatever he'd said to her had been imperceptible, too hushed for her to make out, though she'd strained to hear it. Would it have done any good? Would it have given her any clues?
It doesn't matter now. Now she's on the ground, and just as she's noting the closeness of the air and the sense of the walls around her, and the smell of the stone, that glass vial is at her mouth. Spurred by desperation, Tiffany wrenches sharply back, trying to move her head, bump her chin against the vial, anything, anything to stop whatever is being pressed on her from going in her mouth.
"No," is the word she manages, raggedly--why would be next, but she can't get that out.
The word is smothered by the liquid pouring into Tiffany's mouth, Gideon forcing her head back to tip it down her throat. It only takes about ten seconds for the medicine to take effect: her vision clouds, blackens at the edges, and then all is silent. A dreamless sleep, keeping her unconscious for hours on end.
When she wakes, which she eventually will, Gideon is already there. He almost always times it perfectly, allowing very little time for her to stir before he puts her right back to sleep-- sometimes he'll give her a bit of bread, a few sips of water. She's not meant to die, at least not yet.
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timeasmymeasure
SECRETS
Date: 2021-10-20 07:31 pm (UTC)It's fair to assume he hasn't been sleeping well, with dark circles appearing under his eyes over the last few days, a restless twitch overtaking his features as though he's constantly on the verge of nodding off. It would seem that he has done so, at the moment, with his chin dropped to his chest, his eyes closed and breathing steady, his hand still lightly grasping a quill that has since blotted the parchment on which he's writing a new sermon.
There are a few paragraphs of it already.
:]]]]]]
Date: 2021-10-21 10:35 pm (UTC)She is here for an evening prayer, something she'd normally do in the privacy of her own room, but the chapel was there as she was walking back from the training yard. She'd felt the pull and had given in readily enough, and ducked inside the dim quiet sanctum, only to find that she wasn't alone.
She gives Brother Gideon a fond little smile as she starts down the aisle. Poor man, is what she thinks. He looks exhausted. And the ink on the page--should she wake him? Or try to move the quill so what he's written isn't entirely ruined?
The chapel isn't that large. She's there behind him in only a few quiet steps. The candlelight is bright enough that she can see what's written on the page--and she's not nosy, but she looks.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-21 11:03 pm (UTC)That said, certain words often find themselves in his compositions: flame imagery, in tandem with Andraste's sacrifice, the notion that we should all be so selfless. The ills of the world can only be cured by radical change and purity of heart, so on and so forth.
The new document seems to follow along this same pattern, but with a few notable keywords that leap off the page in the candlelight:
Promisers. Churneau.
Pretenders.
Sacrifice.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 01:11 am (UTC)Churneau is the dusty library in her head, lessons with her boots off and her feet on the warm stones of the hearth. A kind of ghost story. It was a lesson then. It could be a lesson here, but for the words that cluster around it like flies around a corpse--
She looks back to the door, the way that she came.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 05:41 pm (UTC)"Good evening," she says, and turns to leave. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just leaving."
no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 06:07 pm (UTC)At first, it seems like Tiffany is about to leave without incident. But moments after she turns to go, there is abruptly a weight on her back, the elf's remarkably strong forearm curled about her neck, pressing on her windpipe in a tight chokehold.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-22 07:58 pm (UTC)He levers his choking arm back with the free one, teeth gritted as he bides his time and tries to hold on. She'll run out of air soon, he knows, and will grow weaker the more she struggles.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-26 02:34 am (UTC)Her knees go weak and her fingers tighten before they begin to loosen. You who stand before the gates, You who have followed me into the heart of evil, The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat. She looks up to the ceiling, desperately grasping for that centering thread, even amid the panic of starvation, the burning in her throat. Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: Not alone do we stand on the field of battle. The Maker is with us! The moments pass with every thud of her heartbeat, which is growing weaker as the darkness comes over her, as the buzzing in her ears gets louder and her knees fail her.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-26 06:15 am (UTC)His knees hit the flagstones with an unpleasant crack, but still he maintains his grip, waiting to release the Seeker only after she has gone completely limp. It's then that he allows her to breathe again-- this isn't a murder, not yet at least, not so early. But something has certainly been set in motion.
---
Tiffany likely awakens again with the awkward jostling of her bound person being conveyed down a dark stairwell. Her hands and ankles are wrapped tightly, a cloth muffling her mouth but allowing her freedom to breathe through her nose, and her eyes blindfolded, though it's apparent enough that stairs are involved by how her heels drop from one to the next as she's dragged by the shoulders from below.
Gideon really is remarkably strong, though his breathing in Tiffany's ear is somewhat labored with the effort of his hauling.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-28 06:58 pm (UTC)She falls still, then. Trying again to find that center She is alive. That is a better start than it could be. Now what clues are there? Stairs, and the pitch of gravity tells her that they are headed down. The brother's strength is obvious, but she is a burden, and maybe she can use that. Carefully, quietly, she flexes the fingers of one hand, testing the tightness of her bonds.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-28 07:40 pm (UTC)"The time for that is past, Seeker," he whispers, so quietly that the words are barely more than the sound of his lips, tongue and teeth touching to mouth the words.
They arrive on level ground at last, a place that smells of damp stone and lamp oil, Tiffany's feet bumping over the cobbles as she's drawn into a smaller chamber. The air is closer in here, and Gideon sets her down for a moment to move things around, wooden crates by the sound and smell of it.
It only takes a minute, and then she's being dragged again. Should she roll, Tiffany will find that she has walls on all sides-- wooden ones, likely the crates-- and little room to move. But there isn't much time to make sense of the new space before the gag is lifted from her mouth, and a glass vial pushed to her lips.
Whatever's in it, she doesn't have much choice in whether or not to consume it.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-29 11:22 pm (UTC)It doesn't matter now. Now she's on the ground, and just as she's noting the closeness of the air and the sense of the walls around her, and the smell of the stone, that glass vial is at her mouth. Spurred by desperation, Tiffany wrenches sharply back, trying to move her head, bump her chin against the vial, anything, anything to stop whatever is being pressed on her from going in her mouth.
"No," is the word she manages, raggedly--why would be next, but she can't get that out.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-30 12:07 am (UTC)A dreamless sleep, keeping her unconscious for hours on end.
When she wakes, which she eventually will, Gideon is already there. He almost always times it perfectly, allowing very little time for her to stir before he puts her right back to sleep-- sometimes he'll give her a bit of bread, a few sips of water. She's not meant to die, at least not yet.