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enby-hawke · 4 years

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Summary: Hawke loves dragons and this is his very first dragon fight. I made up some magic that doesn’t exist.

Word Count: 7815

Pairing: Lots of flirting mostly between oblivious Merrill, oblivious Hawke, and super annoyed Carver.

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Bethany was still not talking to Hawke and neither was Mother. That didn’t change the fact that rent needed to be paid and Hawke had only gathered half the coin needed for the expedition. With Carver in tow, Hawke circled through his usual contacts, trying to drum up some work. After one no turned into 8, and the morning slipped to noon, Hawke decided it was time to get a drink and ask Varric for ideas before his temper made him do something stupid.

“I have the usual escort and delivery jobs, but if you’re looking for something bigger, I’ve heard of another opportunity...but the patron is….”

Varric trailed off, and Hawke sighed into his glass, the growing headache an unwelcome guest. “What, he a templar or something?”

“Orlesian.”

Even Carver joined in the groan. “Maker, we’re desperate aren’t we?”

“When are we not?” Hawke chuckled back. “What’s the job?”

“Just to check on his mine. Apparently, none of his workers have clocked out of work since Saturday, but also none of them have reported home. He won’t say what the reward is only that it will “exponentially paid,” whatever that means. Eh, maybe count me out today.” Varric knitted his eyebrows as he pressed his pen to his tablet, but with two words written, he’d erase three. There were at least three drained mugs of spiked coffee that Edwina still hadn’t bussed, but whether they were from last night or this morning Hawke couldn’t tell.

“Why not? You always come along,” Hawke grinned. If anyone could use a break from his room, it was Varric.

Hawke continued to feed scraps of his sausage and eggs to Boof under the table. The mabari had his head on Hawke’s lap, begging for more with his big brown eyes.

Varric set down his pen, rubbing his temple as he adjusted his reading glasses. “Maybe cause “The Bone Pit” is haunted with ghost slaves and spiders and Maker knows what else. You want to get cursed? Be my guest. I’m good.” Varric grabbed a not drained glass of spiked coffee and took a swig.

“Already cursed. It’s not such a big deal,” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly, but mischief crept into his eyes. “C’mon, Varric, where’s your authorial pride? Think of it as a research trip. A haunted mine could be the perfect setting for your next book.”

“I write action thrillers with a dash of political intrigue,” Varric argued. He pushed Boof away when the dog tried to push his head in his lap.

“Y’know I’m kind of with the dwarf on this one,” Carver said, picking at his stew before pushing it aside.

“Hey eat, you’ll need your strength,” Hawke pushed the bowl back in front of Carver. His brother grunted but resigned himself to shoveling the stew into his mouth. Hawke turned back to Varric. “Besides we don’t have a car. It’ll take forever to walk,” Hawke gave his biggest puppy eyes and even left his chair to kneel on the sticky floor, both hands clasped pleading. “Pleeeeeeeeeease.”

“Maker,” Varric caved. He always did. “Fine, but only because writer’s block is kicking my ass.”

Hawke jumped up, a spring suddenly in his step. “Great! But I should drive. You’ve been drinking.”

Varric barked a laugh. “So have you, genius. We’ll put Donna on autopilot.”

They picked up Isabela since they were already at the Hanged Man and Merrill just happened to already be in her room. Isabela didn’t like the idea of traipsing through a boneyard but when Merrill wanted to go, she resigned to tagging along. It was kind of like that ever since Hawke introduced the two, and that worked out since it was fun to watch Carver attempts to talk to Merrill. Though he was rooting for them, he couldn’t help but join Isabela teasing them.

Varric introduced Hawke to Hubert Bartiere in the Hightown Market where he had a store that sold everything from high-end fabric, perfumes, and of course his featured item, polished gems and jewelry mined and crafted “locally”. The man knew Hawke was Ferelden as soon as Hawke introduced his dog. He was less than impressed. Both Carver and Hawke managed not to punch him.

“You’re a mercenary, right?” Hubert glared at the odd party of humans, a dwarf, a Dalish elf and a mabari.

“I do a bit of everything,” Hawke shrugged.

“Well you’re good at killing and that’s what I need. I sent a group from the Wicked Dawn’s to take a look and they haven’t returned. I’m starting to think they made off with my coin. You, I won’t pay until the job’s done.” He continued to primp the mannequin displays, trying to end the conversation.

Hawke wasn’t satisfied with that and tapped Hubert on the shoulder. “But what is the reward? The listing isn’t clear.”

The man looked repulsed at the fact that he had been touched and took out a handkerchief, patting himself down. “I don’t know the extent of the problem so it depends on what you find there. Rest assured you will be fairly compensated. I am a reputable and fair merchant.”

Varric snorted at that, which told Hawke what he needed to know. The mage crossed his arms, planting himself in front of the mannequin in a peacock dress. “Not taking one step out of Kirkwall unless we each get 50 silvers each and then we can discuss a potential bonus-depending on what I find.”

The man looked outraged, his temple vein popping. “Where does a dog-barbarian get off making demands like that?”

“I can vouch for him,” Varric offered. “Whatever’s going on in your mine, Hawke can solve it. He comes with the Tethras guarantee.”

Hawke grinned cockily, imagining his fist was knocking out one of the Orlesian’s teeth.

The man sniffed sharply. “If it turns out my workers are just being lazy I will want my money back.”

‘And you won’t get it,’ Hawke thought, but he nodded offering the man the peace of mind he needed.

The man reached into his pocket going for plastic coin chits, but Hawke held up his hand in refusal. “I prefer coin.”

“I will need to go to the bank to convert it over. That may take some time as I can’t leave my stall. Perhaps you should go and check on my mine while you wait.”

Hawke grabbed the chits angrily. “Taking these for collateral. You can exchange them after I come back.”

The Bone Pit was only about 15 minutes away flying on Donna. You had to pass it when you left the city to get anywhere else. “Oh don’t look so grumpy, Varric,” Hawke nudged the dwarf, Donna’s wheel automatically adjusting course. “Didn’t you say hanging out with me is always an adventure?”

“Don’t butter me up, Hawke. You’re just using me for my wings.”

When they piled out of the car, Boof galloped out, dashing wildly in a wide circle causing Merrill to giggle.

“Boof!” Hawke called out. The dog bounced off a boulder and bounded back towards Hawke, and sat at attention, his feathery tail quivering as it swayed from side to side. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the fresh air, bud, but we have a job to do. Lead us to trouble.”

Boof nodded instead of barking, his puppy demeanor shifting instantly to wardog. Then he dashed away, before dashing back, then dashed away again, impatient at the humanoids much slower stride. The mine itself was strangely abandoned, pickaxes and tools and even luggage and blood were strewn about but no people. They kept their hands on their weapons as they explored, sometimes jumping at the sound of some birds scattering as they approached. The wind whistled through the mountains carrying cries of creatures that they could not place. The air was cold, the veil felt thin. You could feel the Fade weighing down from the midst of haze that hovered overhead.

Boof led them to the foot of a cave, where they saw a miner still dressed in ratty clothes. He was lying face down, several spider punctures tore through his shirt, where the man had been drained of blood. Strangely, his back was also burned, his skin had bubbled and stinking the air with singed flesh. The corpse had been scavenged, huge chunks of his torso that had been chomped out, most of his organs missing, but all the days-old blood was dry and flaking. “Poor man,” Merrill said. “It might have been a rage demon.”

“Or a dragon,” Hawke whispered, his heart suddenly in his throat. The heat that had done this was intense, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Suddenly Boof crouched, growling menacingly. They all turned to hear several high-pitched screeches. Hawke recognized the cry and dashed after his dog, casting a haste spell to keep up.

“Hawke!” he heard several voices shout behind him, but he wouldn’t slow down. The bright lantern lights danced with the shadows in the cave, echoing with the pounding of his gait. He kept running until he saw a clearing where about 20 drakes of all at varying sizes huddled. At the head of the pack stood the broodfather, fully mature at about 10 feet tall, and he breathed out a territorial fire at the sight of the intrusion in his nest.

“Aaaaaww, Boof,” he groaned. “It’s not a dragon.”

The drake screeched charging, the other younger drakes following in tow. Hawke sighed, it was still a fight and he still had to take it seriously. Deciding to save bullets, he grabbed the staff from his back, unfolding the blades with a click of a button.

The mabari was eager to charge but Hawke put his hand up. “Not yet, Boof,” he said and the dog sat down, waiting.

He channeled his magic into his staff, building up energy. When he collected enough, he waved his hand, imagining where he wanted ice to form. All beneath the charging drakes, sigils of ice mines formed exploding some smaller drakes into the air. Crystal crept and spread across the dirt and stone covering the drakes path with slippery ice. The smaller drakes began to lose traction, sliding and falling, but the largest drake dug his claws into the ground, steadying himself, digging claw after claw as it pushed its way out of the ice field.

The others were just beginning to catch up when they gazed out towards the damage already done. “Boof and I got the big one if you guys want to take the smaller ones,” Hawke grinned, causing Carver to roll his eyes. Hawke then pointed at the broodfather. “Boof! Tear out his throat!”

The mabari yipped in confirmation and bolted from his seat charging for the enormous drake. It bellowed, breathing fire but the dog bounded and bounced out of the way. Hawke aimed at Boof, and cast a haste spell, speeding up the dog’s gait so the drake could not aim properly.

Bullets and magic and Bianca’s laser bolts shot past the broodfather picking off the still slipping lesser drakes. Carver had decided to opt-out of this fight. He was now turned away, the tip of his greatsword buried in some dirt. Boof was in front of the drake now, and it swiped at the mabari with its meaty claw. Boof yipped, bouncing off its arm and then back to the ground. The dog jumped back up, raking his claws into the drake’s skin and pushed himself upwards. Boof barked triumphantly, clamping down on the drake’s throat and started to shred. Blood spurted out of the wound and the dog wriggled, tearing open it’s tough leather hide.

Hawke nervously watched his dog swinging through the air, his staff following as he aimed a barrier at him. The drake was moving erratically, turning and twisting and slipping and Hawke could not get a clean shot. The drake kept swiping at its neck, and it was only a matter of time before Boof would get hit.

“Boof, return!” he ordered and the dog released his chomp and pushed off the drake. Hawke managed to cast a barrier as he landed just in time for the drake to swipe. The claw sparked against the barrier, sending the dog flying backward towards Hawke. Boof scrambled to his feet and shook his head all the way down to his feathery tail. That was close.

The drake was dying now, all the other lesser drakes almost picked off by the others. Carver was sulking. Sure Hawke was disappointed it wasn’t dragons, too, but at least they were in the same family. “You want to finish it off, little bro?”

“Go ahead,” Carver muttered, not turning towards Hawke.

Hawke shrugged. He didn’t know what he did wrong this time, but he didn’t feel like playing into Carver’s mood. The drake was approaching now, trying to breathe fire, but it could not manage it any longer and the flames only went a few inches past its mouth. Hawke chose an ice spike, aiming carefully. He shot it, the air whistling as the large chunk of crystal shot from Hawke’s hand and into the wound Boof had opened. The spike pushed through its spine and through the back of the dragon’s neck. The drake gurgled, swayed and fell with a thud.

“Is that all of them?” Merrill asked, breaking the sudden silence.

Hawke sheathed his staff onto his back. “There may be more. We should clear out the cave just in case.”

They had found the rest of the miners and the mercenaries Hubert had sent earlier. The corpses were dragged behind a knocked-down wall only days open strewn about the nest in a shallow pile. The bloody bones were in the process of being stripped clean with gnaw marks chewed in. Armor was scattered in shallow piles with a single torso still trapped stuck into its chest plate-dented from where the drakes had tried to peel it off.

Hawke and Isabela, of course, halted the group to check to see if they could find any coin or other valuables amongst the scattered body parts. Both of them dug through pockets and bags throwing whatever didn’t interest them over their shoulder which could either be a rock, a button, a shovel, or a foot. Isabela pried off a gold ring off a mercenary’s gloved finger inspecting it closely. Hawke collectively found 126 silver and split amongst the group. Isabela, like always, kept all the coin she found and the ring, but still was still happy to receive her share.

“Nice!” Hawke grinned as he divided up the piles. “It’s even.”

“I still don’t know why Boof needs money,” Isabela eyed the pile before Boof, who was busy cleaning himself.

“Oh c’mon. Boof deserves a king’s meal after taking out that drake.” He collected Boof’s share and put it on the money pouch on his armor harness. “I’m treating him to a special dinner after this,” Hawke grinned at his pup who looked up at him with his tongue still out. “Your pick.”

Isabela groaned as Hawke suddenly started baby-talking his dog showering him with kisses over his snout as Boof’s tongue would stretch trying to reach Hawke’s face. She didn’t bring up that Hawke was always treating his dog to “special dinners.” Boof’s happy booming bark bounced against the cave wall, as he rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs.

“Quiet, Boof, we don’t want to wake the nest.” Hawke said sternly.

Boof then boofed, his throaty bark muffled in his throat as he begged still belly-up.

After a short-ish belly rub session in which Merrill joined, they spent the next few hours exploring each nook and cranny. Hawke kept hoping for a dragon. There was a whole nest here, but he knew Mothers didn’t usually stay near the brood. She might be nearby, or anywhere in the mountains, if she was there at all. They kept going when they heard the sound of a cry. It was a man’s voice, and he was terrified.

“We’ve got a survivor,” Hawke told Boof. “Find him.”

Boof nodded, dashing forward and the party followed to find a man who had climbed on top of a rock. He was surrounded by 5 lesser drakes about as big as Boof. They clicked and growled trying to climb up the rock, but the red-haired miner kept kicking them back down with his lone spare boot, his other dirty pink foot bare.

He spotted the group and shot an arm out towards them. “Help me! Please!”

Boof corralled the drakes, herding them away from the miner. Hawke was about to shoot a fireball when he remembered he didn’t know this man and waved at an overly eager Merrill to put down her staff. Carver and Isabela understood and they charged alongside Hawke with Merrill lagging behind, her staff at the ready. Varric picked off drake after drake with throat and eye shots. There were only 2 left by the time Isabela, Carver, and Hawke arrived. Isabela grabbed one biting head and shoved her dagger in its eye. The drake squealed before keeling over. Carver chopped off the other one’s head and it rolled away, it’s tongue flopping. Hawke having nothing to do started helping the man down from the rock that he was trapped on.

“Oh thank the Maker. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Yeah you got pretty lucky,” Hawke nodded, steadying the man. “How are you? Need food? Water?”

“I’m thirstier than a son of a bitch. I’ve been trapped in these caves for days now,” the man replied causing Hawke to dig through his bag and bring out a thermos and some jerky. The man took it and greedily downed the whole thermos leaving Hawke with just the backwash and then inhaled the jerky.

“Thank Mythal you’re ok,” Merrill said, leaning against her staff. “How did you survive?”

“By hiding mostly,” he replied, coughing on the meat. “I spent most of my time in a crate, with the quarry, but my thirst got the better of me. I tried to make my way to the entrance but those dragons sniffed me out.”

“Actually, those were drakes,” Hawke corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“Drakes are primarily male with few exceptions, have no wings, and only grow a quarter of the size of-,”

The man held up his hand. “Sorry I asked. I just really want to get out of there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke felt embarrassed that he had gone into lecture mode about drakonis. “Sure, the way back should be clear.”

Hawke started to move forward but the man grabbed him by the shoulder his murky brown eyes manic with fear. “You can’t go through there. There’s a huge dragon.”

“We can handle it,” Hawke shrugged. He probably meant another drake.

“No, you don’t understand it’s much bigger than the others- with the horns and huge wings. You don’t want to go out there.”

Hawke suddenly lit up. One with wings? Could he be telling the truth? “Let’s go, Boof,” Hawke dashed off, his wagging dog yipping in agreement.

He could hear the others only barely turning the corner, their footsteps echoing against the cave walls. “Will you slow down?” Carver shouted.

“She might not be there if we wait too long,” Hawke called back over his shoulder.

Hawke’s ears were pounding with the thud of his heartbeat. His breathing was erratic and only Boof seemed to be able to keep up with his hastened gait. He dashed out of the cave and onto a rocky plateau where she lay, curled up like a cat, her head tucked into her hefty claws.

He was paralyzed, his heart galloping in his chest and for a few moments, he could only stare. “Holy fuck it’s really a dragon,” Hawke whispered just as the group caught up with him.

Hawke was visibly trembling. He thought he would disintegrate at this moment. She was young, only a few heads taller than a full-grown drake and her scales were a sandy color. She had two sets of outstretched horns that ended in sharp, bony points. Her claws were like obsidian and about half the size of his mabari and they twitched as the dragon slumbered, unaware of the intrusion. For a few moments, all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat and he breathed alongside the beast.

“This is the best day of my life!” Hawke’s voice was not quiet and there was a chorus of shushes.

The dragon stretched and moved and Carver pulled Hawke back into the cave before his brother could go charging. The Abyssal snorted, but settled back into its dream. “Elgar’nan, she’s big,” Merrill whispered, peeking around the corner.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you,” Carver told Merrill. Then he turned to Hawke, strapping his greatsword to his back. His voice was still low and wary. “This might get messy. Mind if I borrow Dad’s gun?”

Hawke’s eyes lit up. “The Armorwing?” He was too loud again and was shushed.

“Yeah, we never had a real chance to try it out,” Carver grinned back.

Hawke waved his hand excitedly, opening a portal, and reached into the white void. He called to his mind the image of the gun, trying to ignore the sudden ache as a soft memory of daily shooting practice bubbled into his thoughts. Suddenly, he could remember the first time he held the Armorwing and quickly squashed down the flood of memories that threatened to come crashing in. A few moments later, he felt it wrapped around his fingers and he pulled out a silverite assault cannon with a barrel about 2 inches wide. 6 different colored runes were into 3 buttons on each side.

Carver slipped the strap into place adjusting it to his size and as he fiddled with some of the settings while Hawke hovered over. The rest of the party was dumbfounded.

“Now remember we’re going to want to stick to ice settings for most of the fight. She’s fire-aspected.” Hawke pointed at the snowflake rune which made Carver snort, and he pressed it before Hawke could.

“I know how to use it. Just don’t get us killed,” Carver muttered. He clicked off the safety and stared down the sight.

“How in the Maker’s name did two broke Fereldens get their hands on an Armorwing?” Varric asked.

“Didn’t I tell you? My dad helped invent them,” Hawke shrugged.

“Oh, I guess that explains everything then,” Varric replied, his tone stating the opposite.

“Don’t worry, it's got nothing on Bianca,” Hawke grinned.

Isabela followed, exchanging her knives for her handguns. “Great we found the dragon- Let’s kill it while it’s sleeping,” she began to aim but Hawke shoved his way forward bounding like the mabari that trailed his feet- in front of Isabela’s aim.

“Oh sweet Maker,” Carver groaned.

Hawke didn’t even notice his party but was addressing his dog rather seriously, his arms crossed looking into the mabari mutt’s deep brown eyes. The mabari’s long feathered tail was wagging wildly somehow understanding. “Now this is our first real dragon fight, Boof. She’s young but it’s the real deal so keep up, okay. She looks maybe 50 summers at most, but don’t underestimate her. Her flame sac is fully mature. She will be able to create a gaseous flame that burns at about 1600 degrees Celsius. Boof! That’s hotter than lava!”

“Lucky,” Carver cleared his throat. He seemed more annoyed than horrified.

“Right, right,” Hawke nodded and then nodded to his dog. “Got that? No catch. Stay behind me if it gets rough-”

The dragon was starting to awaken because Hawke wasn’t exactly being quiet. The party fidgeted, with varying degrees of anger to fear, except for Carver who was just sighing and looking up to the sky for help.

“Uh, Hawke what the fuck are you doing?” Varric whispered not that it mattered if he was quiet any longer. The dragon slowly opened one scaly red-eye, it’s gaze fixating on the bubbly mage who was enthusiastically stretching his arms and lunging.

“Looks like it’s time.” Hawke clapped his hands in glee then placed them on the ground. Pebbles trembled and sudden spikes of boulders shot up from the ground, startling the dragon. A circle of spaced jagged rocks juts out one by one making makeshift barriers on the platform, while one boulder raised right before Hawke’s feet. The dragon crouched defensively, dodging the spikes as she took to the air with several wind-inducing wing beats.

The dragon bellowed the air grew stiff and dry and flames shot down at Hawke, who pressed himself behind the center boulder. Everyone dove undercover as the flames flooded the platform melting some of the rock. “Whoooooooooooooooo!” Hawke whooped as the flames split against the boulders shooting past him and blackening the rocks in front of him. He only had a small pocket where he and Boof huddled as the flames licked past them, the heat sweltering the air, making it thin.

The dragon finally stopped inhaling and swooping far into the air beyond the reach of bullets and laser bolts.

“Maker she’s so beautiful.” Hawke was shouting now. “Alright everyone barriers will last only about 4 seconds at best under direct fire so best stay undercover and stay light on your feet.”

Merrill chirped from where she was ducked under a rock near the mouth of the cave. Carver was guarding her with his body, the Armorwing clenched in his hands. He swore under his breath as Merrill drew her staff, her eyes wide and trembling but she just said, “Let’s try not to get cooked, everyone. It’ll smell awful.” Somehow she was just able to accept that this was happening.

“She’s magnificent,” Hawke laughed maniacally. “Aw man, does anyone want to record this?”

Isabela and Varric just glanced at each other from their cover, not sure if they should gang up to kill Hawke.

“You’re mad, you know that?” Isabela cried. She fired several shots at the dragon, as it circled around them trying to make runs in the safety of the skies, but the bullets just sparked against her underbelly. Varric shot a laser from Bianca but it only scorched the scale. Carver shot one hole in the center of it’s right wing. The dragon screeched, echoing through the mountains. It breathed flames again, and everyone dove back under cover of the boulders. But though its hide was blackened it didn’t seem to do much damage.

“Her underbelly’s harder than steel,” Hawke cried. “Aim for the fleshy part of her wings to bring her down.”

Hawke aimed an ice spike at the dragon’s eye but she tilted, veering left and the spike shot past her. Isabela shot up with her handgun, the dragon flinching each time a bullet bounced off the wing but one bullet went clean through, blood spurted from the wound. Merrill flung spells and bolts up at the dragon in support but the dragon seemed to be absorbing the magic.

The dragon gurgled, it’s mouth lighting up as it swooped down for another pass. “Cover,” Hawke called out. Boof barked and they both dove behind the boulder again everyone ducking for safety. The rocks were steaming still red with flame that slowly died into embers. Their cover would melt away if they took much longer. The dragon honed in on the dog, following it with its flame. Boof galloped towards the edge of the arena bouncing against the rocks to lift him just beyond her reach. Hawke shot at the dragon's head, another ice spike grazed her eye, scraping it and it’s turned its head, the fiery stream blasting away from the plateau.

“Boof, you alright?” Hawke called out, his voice high and panicked.

The dog barked from behind a boulder.

The dragon bellowed zoning in on Hawke, circling back around. Varric was following the dragon with Bianca, Carver with the Armorwing, Isabela with her handguns. They both took turns shooting holes in her wings whenever they had an opening. Some of Varric’s laser bolts bounced off the bone and impaled themselves into the rock with glowing red spikes. Isabela aimed for parts already bleeding, but Carver’s ice absorbed into the dragon causing it to shriek every time he managed a hit. The dragon hovered above, steadily losing traction, when a huge rock flew from what seemed like nowhere and smacked the dragon on it’s nose.

“Nice one, Kitten!” Isabela grinned in approval.

“Watch out!” Merrill shouted back.

Blood spurted from it’s nostrils as the boulder continued undeterred into the sky. The dragon tumbled down, crashing into the rocks which slid away clearing half the platform.

She shook her head, her red eyes a little glazed but quickly spotted Hawke and started slinking into range.She gurgled, her teeth glowing orange as she inhaled.

“Lucky!” Carver cried out as Hawke fleeing behind the lone center boulder still steaming from being hit from all sides. He could not get too close to the melting rock and he could feel the heat on his back.

The flames wrapped around the boulder scooping out and filling the space. The dragon continued breathing fire approaching the boulder, the flames curling around the side singing Hawke as it became a hot bowl of flames. Hawke cast a barrier absorbing most of the indirect heat but the dragon was determined to burn Hawke out of existence and kept breathing out.

His barrier was cracking, the protective glow quickly fading. The heat was getting through and his skin began to blister. He called healing magic to run through him, trying to keep up with the damage.

“Hold on Hawke!” Merrill cried. A sigil formed around Hawke and lighting him up with a soft blue glow underneath before another barrier encased his body.

The dragon held out for a few more seconds before she could breathe no more, and it took a long ragged gasp. “Carver, now!” Hawke cried, but the dragon once again began to inhale.

The dragon swiped away the melting boulder, leaving Hawke completely in the open. Carver cried out dashing from the dragon’s flank and buried his greatsword deep between two scales in the dragon’s neck where it snapped off. Blood squirted from the wound and the dragon breathed out short premature flames that Hawke was able to dodge. Carver then grabbed the Armorwing, aimed it at the wound, and shot several rapid ice bullets. The ice burst through the other side of the dragon’s neck, the bullet’s sizzling against the stone as they bounced off. The dragon bellowed, stomping all across the ground, causing an earthquake and Carver struggled to maintain his footing as he dodged the dragon’s swipes.

Boof barked, charging at the dragon his hackles raised and chomped down on the wound Carver just made. The dragon flailed, trying to shake the dog off as he shredded the wound. The ground shook, knocking Carver off his feet. Hawke dove forward while the dragon was distracted and rolled under her head where the soft underside of her mouth was exposed. He drew his staff from his back, and with mana-enhanced force he jabbed the blade upwards through the soft scales into the roof of the dragon’s mouth snapping it’s maw shut and snuffing out the flames. Hawke cried out, channeling all his energy into one large lightning bolt that amplified through Hawke’s staff and sizzled the dragon, frying its brain. The dragon’s head swerved and began to fall and Hawke rolled and kept rolling until her seventy-pound head shook the ground with a thud.

The dragon twitched, flapping its wings erratically as it tried to take flight again. She attempted to open her mouth, but the slick black staff held firmly in place. Flames shot through its teeth and nostrils as it rattled its last breath. It’s great red eye slit focused on Hawke, his reflection staring back as the life seeped out of the creature until the dust settled and all was silent.

Varric stepped out from behind his melted boulder, Bianca still raised at the creature. “Andraste’s flaming tits. You idiots did it.”

Hawke threw up his arms whooping as loudly as he could. Flames shot from Hawke’s mouth, a stream of triumphant fire blasting over the dead dragon as he mimicked her breath. Carver tackled him screaming excitedly, snuffing out the flame. Both of their cries bounced off the mountains of the Bone Pit. Soon Boof was shaking himself off and joined in howling on top of a boulder, safe from the heat of the hot stone. Hawke grappled Carver, trying to corral his head into a noogie, “Fuck yeah, little bro. First fucking dragon! Who’s kick-ass now!”

“Get off me,” Carver laughed twisting out of Hawke’s grasp quite easily since he was about a whole a head taller and twice as broad. “You idiot! You almost got us all killed.”

Merrill giggled, as the brothers wrestled for dominance. The mabari stayed barking at the brother’s, demanding one of them pay attention. The brothers twisted and squirmed, until Carver slammed Hawke into the ground, forgetting the stone still glowed with heat.

“FUCK!” Hawke’s scream echoed and he jumped to his feet, the back of his arms were singed and stinging. He had already been nursing burns and this just reopened them. Embers flaked off his leather armor and faded as they fell.

“FUCK!” Carver’s hands were sweltering where he had caught himself on the hot stone. His fingers trembled in the pain, parts of his palms bubbling.

“What kind of idiot gets more hurt after the dragon battle?” Varric chuckled. He was writing something in his travel notebook.

“The kind of idiocy that’s genetic,” Isabela rolled her eyes as the brothers nursed their wounds.

“You guys should be thanking me,” Hawke called back. “That was awesome!” He was already running his hands over Carver’s so they weren’t as much of an angry brown-red. Then he ran a spell through his whole body, the stinging easing just a bit. When he was done, he finally noticed that Boof was licking his paws, also bloody with burns. “Oh Boof, I forgot your shoes.”

“Are you all alright?” Merrill called out. Speaking of shoes, Merrill’s had no soles in spite of Hawke’s and Isabela’s insistence she get a sturdy pair of boots. Even if she did, everyone’s shoes were melting into the stone. She was still at the edge of the platform, safe, but trapped.

Hawke ran up to the boulder that Boof had taken refuge on. He was laying on his side panting, but with happy eyes. Lucky dug into his blood to fuel one more regeneration spell, his hands closing the burns on Boof’s back paws. Boof licked his dark gold snout, closing his eyes as Lucky worked.

The skin was growing, but it still looked tender.

Still need to visit Anders.

“You did great, bud,” he rubbed the dog’s floppy ear affectionately then hoisted the pup up over his shoulders so he wouldn’t have to walk on the scorched ground. The dog turned his head, licking Hawke’s cheek.

Then Hawke walked over to the dragon head and put one hand on its snout, the scales still warm. The Abyssal’s head was as half as big as Hawke’s body and he felt this great sense of peace as he gazed into the dragon’s eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of getting close enough for forever and...” he couldn’t finish his thoughts and turned to Varric, odd eyes gleaming with excitement. “You think we can bring the head with us?”

“Why in the Maker’s name would you want to?” Varric snorted.

“I don’t know. It’s cool.”

“Where in Gamlen’s hovel where would we store it?” Carver said.

“Fine, then I’m at least taking a tooth or else no one at the Hanged Man will believe me. Wait! Someone take a picture!”

“I got a selfie stick,” Isabela cried out digging through her bag.

“Um, you guys go ahead,” Merrill called out at the gathering group, still stuck at the edge of the platform. “I think I might just wait until the ground cools down.”

The group exchanged glances before Hawke nudged Carver. His brother looked annoyed that he was shoved. Boof licked Carver’s head as Hawke leaned in close. “Go be a gentleman,” he whispered, winking.

Carver blushed deeply, Isabela and Varric snickering. Carver undid the strap of the Armorwing, handing it back to Hawke to put away. “Uh…Merrill?” he started out awkwardly taking only a single step forward.

“Yes, Carver?” she called back.

“If you’d like I could…carry you?” Carver looked like he might keel over.

Her green eyes lit up in relief, but her pointy ears twitched slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t wish to be a bother.”

“Ridiculous!” Hawke cried, shoving Carver forward with his free hand,“Carver’s great a picking up beautiful girls.” Immediately Merrill went beet red all the way to the tips of her ears. Boof barked as Hawke’s grip slipped putting the Armorwing back into the portal. Quickly, he hoisted the dog back up onto his shoulders.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly, looking nervous as he gazed back at him.

“Go get her,” Hawke whispered.

The three of them unashamedly ogled as Carver, red-eared, walked up to Merrill his feet slightly dragging. He rubbed the back of his neck avoiding her gaze. She had a habit of staring intensely and Carver couldn’t seem to stand the scrutiny. “Would you like a piggyback or would you prefer bridal style?”

“Bridal style!” Hawke hooted, causing Carver to glare at him murderously.

“Oooh, swoop her up in those big strong arms!” Isabela teased.

“That’s my vote!” piped Varric.

“It’s not a vote!” Carver bristled, his brown freckled skin deepening all the way down to his neck.

Merrill seemed to look confused, not quite understanding what Hawke, Varric, and Isabela saw as so amusing. “Um…I don’t know what either of those mean so just…whatever makes you most comfortable.” She held out her arms straight out towards Carver, unsure what was going to happen.

Carver awkwardly leaned down since he was a head and a half taller, and placed her hands on his shoulder. “Kind of link your hands so you don’t fall-”

She removed her hands from his shoulders and clasped her hands together, waiting for her next instructions. Carver, not wanting to correct her, tried to push his head through the hole in her arms but his head was so big he just pushed her arms up, confusing Merrill.

“You’re brother’s real smooth, Hawke,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s like watching a drunk monkey pet a cat,” Isabela cringed.

“Yup,” Hawke replied. This was painful.

Finally, he thought to grab her hands, unlink them, throw them around his neck and then press them back together before he finally scooped her up by the knees causing her to yelp in surprise.

He steadied himself as she flailed squeezing onto him and then carried her back to the dragon where Isabela was fixing her phone onto the stick. “Finally, lovebirds,” she teased.

Carver glared at her in an effort to shut her up but she just waggled her eyebrows as she extended the stick and then held it up in the air. They huddled around the dragon head with Hawke sitting on top, gripping each horn. His dog still draped around his shoulders licking his lips and panting heavily. Carver was carrying Merrill to his right, Merrill smiling sweetly, but Carver’s face looked uncomfortably serious. Varric and Isabela were to Hawke’s left, both linked arm in arm and grinning. Isabela was making a peace sign.

“Say “dragon!” Hawke yelled out.

“Dragon!” only Merrill and Hawke called out as they snapped the picture.

They took several more photos since Isabela didn’t like how she looked in the first one. She held up the group for 5 minutes adjusting her hair and make-up in the camera on her phone. When they finally got a picture Isabela didn’t hate, Hawke insisted he has one with his head inside the dragon’s mouth. It took a bit to pry out his staff and he also got a lot of drool in his hair for that idea. Then Hawke picked the biggest, sharpest tooth he could find took 15 minutes of digging it out with his dagger. Boof scrambled off of Hawke’s shoulders and settled himself on the dragon’s neck, watching his packleader work. Finally, when Hawke successfully pulled out the tooth and put it in his pocket, the party turned to leave. But Hawke, instead of following, turned the dragon’s head on its side started sawing at the dragon’s throat.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly. “We’re not taking the head with us.”

“I’m not,” Hawke grunted, tearing the dragon’s throat-wound open gingerly, his hands slick with blood.

“Uh…Hawke gets a little crazy around dragons.” Varric stared at Hawke like he was completely unhinged.

“You have no idea,” Carver muttered.

“Just a sec.” Hawke couldn’t focus on talking. He set the bloody dagger down on the dragon’s head and used his hands to peel down the top of the muscles gingerly. Then when he had a big enough opening, he dug his hands into the dragon's throat. He didn’t have to go very far to find what he was looking for, the Abyssal’s flame sac. Carefully, he felt around until he could see in his mind exactly what the gland looked like. Then pulling out his right bloody forearm, he picked up the dagger again and slid it inside, carefully shearing away the tendons that held the firm sac in place.

The party watched in horror as the blood gushed onto Hawke, who seemed to not mind it one bit. The sounds of squelching and ripping filled the air and Isabela looked queasy. “Anybody bring a bucket?” she covered her mouth.

When it was free, he tucked the blood-drenched dagger back into his sheath on his belt and pulled out a small red fleshy ball that’s center glowed orange. Its thick skin was veiny, almost see-through and it beat like a heart.

“Isn’t it amazing? It’s her flame sac.” Hawke breathed excitedly. “Look her magic lives, but it’s not as warm as I thought it would be.”

“Uh…that’s great Hawke,” Varric replied. He was eyeing his friend, who was drenched with slick, steaming dragon blood from his face all the way down to his melted boots.

Isabela whistled, “Good call. An extinct dragon gland can probably fetch at least 100 sovereigns. Maybe more in the right circles.” She dared a peek just in time for it to beat. She gagged and turned away. “Glad I didn’t have to do it.”

“We can probably fund the expedition with this!” Carver said.

“I was thinking of giving it to Merrill, actually,” Hawke replied, causing the Dalish elf’s eyes to widen in surprise in Carver’s arms. “I mean we’re not too far off from funding the expedition and Abyssal flame sacs are especially potent at cleansing magics. Perhaps it will help purify your eluvian shard?”

Merrill’s green eyes were so wide Hawke thought he might fall in. “Oh, n-no, Hawke, I couldn’t. You need it more,” her face was red as she stammered.

“We can find coin anywhere,” Hawke shrugged, “but restoring an eluvian? That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides that barrier probably saved my life. I owe you,” He smiled at Merrill who was beaming back until he met Carver’s gaze. Somehow he had pissed him off.

“Um,” Hawke said awkwardly, “I’ll just put it away until we can store it properly.” He was suddenly feeling self-conscious. He waved his hand opening up an interdimensional portal and stuck the sac in the reflective portal before closing it, his brother still glaring coldly.

“Great, great,” Varric muttered. “Now can we go home. My pants are singed and I think all the rubber’s melted off my shoes.”

Hawke leaned on Varric, slicking blood onto him. “Buy me a drink, Varric. I’m a dragon-slayer now.” He waved his hand into a fist dramatically.

“It’s your turn, dragon-kook,” Varric groaned as he looked at his clothes, an impression of blood slick where Hawke had made contact.

They bantered and teased Carver all the way back to Varric’s car. At one point Isabela had to flee from one of Hawke’s blood-drenched hugs. Merrill had not noticed she was being carried the whole time until they arrived at the car which caused Isabela to hone in on Carver’s reddening face. “You didn’t realize? Really, Carver? Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“Ask me out to what? That sounds fun!” Merrill cried.

Carver looked like he would crumble under the laughter.

On the way home, Hawke had been forced to strip down to his small clothes and hose down with magic before Varric would let him into his car.

“You’re easy to get naked, Hawke. I just have to ask.”

Carver refused to look at him. Merrill was red, fidgeting with her seat belt refused to even glance at him the whole time. When Hawke tried to make conversation she would squeak and refuse to say anymore. Isabela stared in approval. “You do keep fit.”

Hawke refused to part with the dragon tooth and he refused to clean it. He wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was. Varric did made him put it in a plastic grocery bag so it wouldn’t drip and he clutched it happily. He rode home with one towel beneath him so he wouldn’t wet the seats and one towel draped over his shoulders. His curly hair was frizzing and messy. Boof’s head laid on Hawke’s lap as he sprawled across his brother and Merrill, his feathery healing paws now wrapped, and twitching in his sleep.

“You know, Hawke, I had a thought,” Merrill’s eyes were purposely averted from him, her voice high and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Merrill,” he looked over to her and she dared a peek. His one brown eye, one blue met hers, and she gasped. Hawke’s unbridled joy was spread in the biggest grin, his brown freckled skin warm and bright, and he was of course completely nude except the tight superhero boxers that clung to his drying skin.

Her eyes went wide and stayed wide as she slowly looked away, her whole body rigid and stiff with some expression Hawke could not decipher. “Uh,” she said and gulped. “Why didn’t you just put the dragon in your portal?”

Everyone’s expressions fell dark as Hawke’s mouth fell open. For a moment he just gawked at her brilliance. “I could kiss you!” he shouted, startling the slumbering pup who barked in protest. Carver clenched his fist, ready to punch him as Merrill suddenly fell and bonked her head on the car window. Hawke obliviously shot forward, placing one hand on the dwarf’s sagging shoulders. “Varric, we need to turn back!”

#hawke #dragon age fic #lucky hawke #dragon battle #day drinking warning #hawke is an autistic nerd #and unashamed dogdad #ok now to do some art until my sister calls or 2 hours have passed #i might see my niece today #nervous and excited

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kazcaldwell · 5 years

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On most mornings, Kaz would wake up before his parents. They told him he was the only kid in town who did so, that he was a maniac for wanting to say ‘good morning’ to the sun. He always countered with how good it felt to take a run before school. It set the tone for the rest of the day. He could stretch his legs, get his blood flowing, then come home to shower and stuff his face with eggs and bacon, all before he had to suffer through eight or so hours of eliciting disappointed sighs from the grand educators of Normal Secondary.

That particular morning, he slept in. It wasn’t something he did regularly, but it wasn’t uncommon enough for anyone to worry. It usually happened whenever Johnnie and the boys had him out a little too late. That day, it was on account of the insomnia that had overtaken him the past month. His brain had kept him awake until he couldn’t even call it nighttime anymore.

“I didn’t think I would see you today,” his mother said by way of greeting at the breakfast table. He smiled, still too groggy to make conversation. “I thought you had already left.”

Kaz opened the fridge to grab orange juice, which he would drink straight out of the carton. “Where’s Dad?” he asked before tipping it back.

“He has some work to do.”

Kaz furrowed his eyebrows. Graveyard upkeep in small town North Carolina was mostly a passive job. It involved keeping the grass neat and throwing away flowers that had long since wilted. Rarely did it mean his dad had to be out and about before noon.

Noticing his confusion, his mother continued. “He has to get the equipment out to start working on the plot for the Tiller girl. They haven’t sent her body over yet because of the investigation, but he wanted to get ahead of schedule in case it takes me a while to prepare her.”

Suddenly the juice tasted sour and rotten in his mouth. Kaz shoved it back into the fridge. “I’m late. I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”

Outside it was scorching. The Carolina summer had started early and it was relentless. Kaz whipped his shirt off at the first burn of sunlight, carelessly leaving it on one of the rails of the graveyard’s iron-wrought fence. He caught a glimpse of his father working with their old backhoe, but bolted before he could be seen in return. He ran the way he always did. The feeling of his feet hitting the ground was almost enough to distract him from the ghastly images of Darleen’s corpse that Jamie had sent them all, which flickered through Kaz’s head like a bad horror movie.

He ran for a few miles without stopping and with no direction. He ran hard and fast, until he could hear his heart beating in his ears. It was only when he slowed down that he realized he’d run straight to North Normal, to the Tiller house. It was weird because he expected there to be yellow CRIME SCENE tape wrapped all over it, but it wasn’t there. Maybe for her parents’ sake.

Kaz wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavily and staring at the house from the street. What had they found inside? Besides her body. Maybe there was something the cops had overlooked, because they weren’t Jamie and didn’t suspect ghosts. His phone burned in his pocket, but Christ, he really didn’t want to engage the others right then. They’d been fighting so much lately and he wasn’t sure he could stomach another argument.

He started running again, lest someone catch him looking like a murderer returning to the scene of the crime. This time, he ran all the way to Marie’s.

Maybe someone would be there. A member of the Murder Club usually was, at any given time of day. They were well known patrons of the diner by then, whether it was Holly with her laptop in the back, Frenchie grabbing everyone’s milkshake order, or Violet grabbing takeout for her and the Sheriff. On that day, Kaz caught sight of Raquel sitting in a booth next to the windows.

Why she was there without Edwina, he couldn’t say. Probably waiting for her to get back from church. Kaz approached the door, only to be dismayed by the NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO SERVICE sign. He looked down at himself. Sans shirt.

He walked around the outside of the diner instead, over to where Raquel was leaned up against the window. He reached forward, banging his fists against it to get her attention.

“Hey!” he yelled, hoping she could hear him through the glass. “Hey! Come outside! I need your help with something!”

@raqueltorrance

#// THIS IS VERY LONG but mostly bc of exposition lol my bad #dash #raquel

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jghouse-asia-pacific · 3 years

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New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2021/07/28/big-city-small-world/

Big City, Small World

On the third floor, Sylvere found himself in a wide, unexpected space similar to the one on the second floor. The difference was the collection of small circular tables surrounded by chairs and other office equipment which he now saw. Perhaps 15 people huddled together in small groups, typing on computers.

A young man stepped out of a small room, apparently a lavatory, on the eastern side of the room and told Sylvere where to find Bénédicte. When Sylvere approached the northwestern corner of the building, he saw a large circular table under a tall window. At the table sat a child-like figure hunched over a stack of files.

Inexplicably, Sylvere recognized the woman who, noticing the appearance of someone she expected to be a stranger, put down the piece of paper she held and rose from the table. As she walked toward him, extending one hand, Sylvere recalled a scene almost 40 years previously in a medical clinic atop a muddy hill on the outskirts of Beni, a city of 250,000 people in the northeastern corner of Congo 75 kilometers from Uganda.

On an overcast day in 1982 outside Beni, Sylvere had traveled with his friend, Ronald, to the medical clinic’s primitive facilities where they encountered a diminutive woman wearing the habit of a Dominican nun. She stood next to a group of Mbuti people, commonly known as pygmies. She was no taller than any of the four Mbuti men accompanying three Mbuti women and one of their children who came from the nearby Ituri rainforest so the child could receive treatment for an acute case of dysentery.

Standing in the offices of Le Carrefour and shaking the tiny hand of the woman, who no longer wore a habit but who now wore an austere black dress, Sylvere recalled that Ronald, a young medical doctor returning from Europe to Congo with plans of opening his own clinic, eventually had chosen the city of Rutshuru, 300 kilometers south of Beni, as the site of his new practice. But both Sylvere and Ronald had been impressed by the nun, who although diminutive in stature was commanding in presence.

“Ronald was a good man,” Bénédicte commented, seemingly reading Sylvere’s thoughts. “True, he didn’t fully grasp the severity of his situation caught between a desire to help innocent men, women, and children and a need to co-operate with scrupulous business and political operators seeking power and wealth.” Bénédicte directed her gaze upward into Sylvere’s face with an intensity and coldness which plunged his thoughts into a state of confusion. The gaze had a profound impact on Sylvere, simultaneously surprising and repulsing him.

Meeting her gaze, Sylvere calculated the small woman before him was at least 85 years old. He wondered what sustained her over so many years in her work. He didn’t think her efforts were born of empathy or even love for fellow human beings.

“Of course, Ronald also was a good doctor,” Bénédicte continued, leading Sylvere back to the table. Through the tall window, Sylvere saw a view of the streets in that ancient quarter of Paris he had not seen before. He wondered if the building was owned by the Catholic Church or else one of its wealthy and loyal adherents.

Bénédicte gestured toward one of the chairs at the table, directing the intensity of her gaze at Sylvere again.

“But the Lord had other plans for Ronald in Heaven,” the small woman added. “Who are we to question the designs of our Heavenly father?”

Old Woman on the Street

***

The dark clouds massing in the skies some distance north of Paris during the late morning now extended southward to the skies above the city. Still Sylvere thought he could make it back to Combs-la-Ville before the rain started falling.

Standing on the sidewalk next to the street, Rue Montmartre, on one side and on the other side the set of two tall wooden doors at the base of the building which housed the offices of Le Carrefour, he looked at the watch on his right wrist. It was almost 2:15. He wanted to return home as quickly as possible. He hoped to stop at Pinto’s house, which was just four blocks away from his own house, to report on the meeting with Bénédicte. However, Sylvere didn’t hurry down the street in the direction of the train station, Châtelet–Les Halles. Instead he looked up at the sky again, recalling the words spoken to him by Bénédicte half an hour earlier.

“We will do everything we can to help Claudette,” Bénédicte had stated. “The process likely will be a long one,” she had added before looking across the table at her assistant. “Edwina will contact you on Monday for the rest of the information we need to open an asylum case,” Bénédicte had continued. Although Bénédicte had expressed her sympathies, she had explained that her organization did not have the ability to arrange immediate admission to France for Claudette despite the threats on her life in Congo.

The meeting had dashed his hopes. He had failed.

“It’s clear now,” Sylvere said out loud in Kikongo. “I will not be able to rescue Claudette from Congo and bring her to France in time.” Abruptly, Sylvere, a different thought entering his mind, removed his mobile phone from the pocket of his red windbreaker. He made a call. “Tell Jim not to accept the job offer from the company in Switzerland until I’ve had an opportunity to talk with him,” Sylvere said in Lingala when Josephine had answered. “I’ll be home by 4:30,” he added. He hung up. This time, still grasping his phone in one hand, he pushed his body as fast it would go through the streets leading to Châtelet–Les Halles.

When Sylvere arrived at the massive transit hub in the heart of Paris and made his way to the platform designated for the train to Combs-la-Ville, he stopped 20 feet away from a rectangular concrete structure to which a long plastic bench had been attached to each of the four sides of the structure. He could see as many as 30 people sitting on the benches or standing in front of them. As Sylvere brought his small phone up to his face and started to reply to the text message he had received from Pinto during lunch, his attention was caught by someone standing directly up the platform from him. Sylvere looked at the person.

Serge was looking back at him. Sylvere opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again. No, it was not Serge who was looking at him. The man, who bore a resemblance to Serge, flashed a smile at Sylvere before averting his gaze to a point somewhere down the tracks. Startled by the resemblance and reminded of the events from earlier in the day, Sylvere directed his attention back to his phone. He found the phone number he wanted. He dialed the number.

“Can you think of any reason Serge would be following me?” Sylvere said in Kikongo when Pinto had answered. Both men belonged to the Kongo ethnic group which originated in southwestern Congo. They had the same mother tongue. Also like Sylvere, Pinto had socialized with Serge at many events, both large and small, in the Congolese community over the years.

“Can you think of any reason Serge would be talking with Quentin?” Pinto replied, referring to the bodyguard of Anthony Lukambo, whose coltan and cassiterite mines in eastern Congo had made him a rich and powerful man at the expense of the lives of many other people. Pinto described how his wife, Bernadette, had overheard Serge and Quentin talking in an alley behind a Congolese market in Combs-la-Ville the previous day. “Meet me at my house tonight after dinner,” Pinto added. “I’ll be in my workshop in the back.”

Young Woman on the Street

***

The first drops of rain began hitting the pavement as Sylvere hurried along Rue Gustave Hervé in the old section, built in the 1970s, of Combs-la-Ville and came in sight of his house. He could feel the raindrops soaking through the thin sleeves of his red windbreaker and spreading across his skin. Then he could feel a different sensation through the worn fabric of his jacket. It was the vibration of his phone.

“Sylvere stopped on the side of the road next to a tall mulberry tree, removed his phone from the pocket of the red windbreaker, and looked at the caller ID information. He saw a number which included three characters, +49, indicating the country code of Germany. He didn’t recognize the number. But he answered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sylvere,” a woman said, speaking slowly in French, “we are prepared to help you transport Ms. Claudette from Goma, Congo, to Paris, France.” Sylvere realized he had heard the woman’s voice before. It belonged to the fifth contact and sole woman referred by Pinto. The woman continued: “We would like to invite you and Mr. Pinto to Tervuren, outside Brussels, to discuss our proposition. We understand the urgency of the situation. We will send a car for you tomorrow at noon. Please stand by for further details.”

The connection was cut.

Sylvere didn’t move, standing on the side of the road in the rain next to a mulberry tree while holding his phone to his ear. A car passed. A second car passed. A third car approached, its horn honking. Sylvere felt small streams of water running down his back, his legs, his whole body. He brought the phone down from his ear and started composing a text message.

“You came through,” Sylvere wrote in Kikongo. “We’re going to Brussels tomorrow.” He sent the message. Then he walked home.

***

#Europe, #France, #LifeCulture #Africa, #Art, #Beauty, #Culture, #Paris

#Africa #art #beauty #culture #Paris

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jeremystrele · 4 years

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11 Affordable, Emerging Painters To Start Collecting Now!

Art

by Sally Tabart

‘Sunday Morning’ by Lucy Roleff.

‘Satin and Blueberries’ by Lucy Roleff.

Artist and musician Lucy Roleff in the studio. Photo – Kim Landy.

‘Heirloom’ by Lucy Roleff.

Left: A Window. Right: Gemini by Lucy Roleff.

Lucy Roleff

Inspired by objects and arrangements in her daily life, Melbourne based Lucy Roleff taught herself how to paint from YouTube videos! Describing her style as ‘painterly realism’, Lucy likes to paint simple, domestic spaces that straddle the worlds of familiarity and grandeur. ‘I really enjoy the meditative practice of mixing colour and laying down brushstrokes’, she says. ‘There’s also a particular pleasure that comes when a painting starts to work – it’s very special!’

As if being a supremely talented painter wasn’t enough, Lucy is also a classically trained folk musician and composer! There’s a melodic feeling to her still life scenes as well – you can almost hear music drifting through an open window just out of frame. Dreamy.

Price point

Ranging from $780– $2,400

Where to find it

A TDF Collect solo show later this year… stay tuned!

Artwork by Bronte Leighton Dore.

Artwork by Bronte Leighton Dore. Right: Portrait of artist Bronte Leighton Dore. Photo – Robin Hearfield.

Artwork by Bronte Leighton Dore.

Bronte Leighton Dore

Bronte Leighton Dore paints landscapes, still life and portraits. Her works are spontaneous and gestural, with an intuitive use of colour. Citing nature as her primary inspiration, Bronte’s work captures the ‘immersion of being in a moment’.

As a shortlisted artist in the prestigious 2019 Wynne Prize (the Archibald Prize’s cousin for landscape painting), Bronte is certainly on the rise!

Price point

Smaller pieces are $1,100 while the large scale works are around $4,800.

Where to find it

A solo show at Martin Browne Contemporary in April and Edwina Corlette Gallery in November.

Artist Charlotte Alldis in her Brunswick studio. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Artwork by Charlotte Alldis.

Charlotte at work in the studio. Photo – Henry King.

Charlotte Alldis

Young Melbourne-based artist Charlotte Alldis likes to make a mess. ‘My work is playful, silly and imaginative’, she describes. ‘It involves storytelling of characters and feelings’. Wobbly flowers, sunbeams and rainbows in wonderfully bright colours are frequent guests in her paintings, murals and textiles, bouncing into each other and welcoming the viewer with big grins and sleepy, starry eyes.

Look out for a more in-depth profile on Charlotte and her work on TDF in next few weeks!

Price point

Varying depending on size and medium.

Where to find it

Charlotte and two of her best friends recently started their ‘Making A Mess’ workshop series for people to come together and explore mark making, constructing and creative expression, all free of judgement. Keep up with them via their Instagram.

Artwork by Charlie Ingemar Harding.

Portrait of Charlie Ingemar Harding. Photo – Tim Hardy.

Charlie Ingemar Harding

Charlie Ingemar Harding’s artwork feels both casual and serious at the same time. There is a sincerity in his paintings – these are works that don’t immediately announce themselves, but draw you in the more time you spend with them. Like a comfortable conversation, without many words exchanged.

Working across a variety of different mediums, from oil paintings to raw textile compositions, It’s hard to pigeon hole Charlie’s style into a specific genre, because it changes all the time. At the moment, he’s found himself consumed by textile works. ‘The works are large and immersive, whereby the viewer can traverse freely across vast areas of material until reaching a loose thread or seam solidified in composition,’ he explains. ‘They sit in space, unobtrusive, quiet, breathing in and out contemplative air.’

Price point

Varying dependent on the work.

Where to find it

Charlie is building a body of textile works that he plans to show in the near future. In the meantime, keep up with him on Instagram.

Artwork – Elynor Smithwick.

Elynor Smithwick

It’s hard to believe that Elynor Smithwick only graduated from her Honours year at the Victoria College of the Arts in 2019!

Her quiet, intimate oil paintings have a nostalgic quality about them – places that you might have been before, or scenes that feel a bit familiar. ‘The settings are usually in a time and place you can’t quite put your finger on’, Elynor tells. In her last two bodies of work, she’s looked to old family photographs as her anchor. ‘Usually I find my inspiration in small things, looking out windows, going on walks, returning somewhere, closing my eyes’, she says.

Price point

Around $400 – $800

Where to find it

A group show of 12 painters at George Ponton Gallery, opening on May 20th. A joint exhibition in Mount Buller showing works created on a six-week residency from the Mount Buller Residency award, opening July 18th. And, a group show at Stockroom Gallery showing works created in Kyneton under the Macfarlane Fund residency, opening November 14th

Emma Currie working on a large piece in the studio. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Artwork by Emma Currie.

Emma painting in the studio. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Emma Currie

We first profiled Melbourne-based artist Emma Currie’s work in late 2019, ahead of her inclusion in our end of year show, ‘Art and Artefact’, where her painting was one of the first to be sold! Emma makes abstract figurative oil paintings, using bold, geometric shapes and colours to depict the female form. Dynamic and soft at the same time, Emma’s work is a beautiful balance of hard edges, and feminine fluidity.

‘I’m inspired by the geometric lines found in Picasso’s cubist work, and I often reference Matisse cut-outs’, Emma says of her key references. ‘I also love contemporary Spanish photographer Carlota Guerrero‘s work and find myself drawn to her Instagram feed when I’m feeling creatively blocked.’

We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again – Emma Currie is one to watch!

Price point

Anywhere between $800 and $4000 depending on size.

Where to find it

A TDF Collect solo show… just around the corner!

Artwork by Gabrielle Penfold.

Left: Portrait of artist Gab Penfold. Right: Artwork by Gabrielle Penfold.

Artwork by Gabrielle Penfold.

Gabrielle Penfold

Gabrielle Penfold’s joyful work feels just like drinking a cocktail at sunset on a beach in Italy – bright, carefree and full of potential! Bouncing between still life and landscapes, and sometimes dabbling in abstraction, Gabrielle’s sweet scenes are inspired by traveling to places rich in history and culture. ‘It’s in those places ideas are fed to me’, she says. ‘I will always refer back to my photographs, sketches and books when in the studio.’

Price point

Smaller works start at $800

Where to find it

Contact Gab via her website.

‘Horse-tail sheoak beneath clouds’ by Ileigh Hellier.

’24 hours at Henbury Meteorites Conservation Reserve’ by Ileigh Hellier.

‘Small Trees’ by Ileigh Hellier.

‘Sky Trees Pool’ by Ileigh Hellier.

Ileigh Hellier

‘I’d describe my work as playful, colourful representations of the Australian landscape’, says Newcastle-based artist Ileigh Hellier. Her smudgy, colourful paintings depict loose representations of the natural world – not just what she sees in front of her, but what’s up in the sky and below the ground. Layers of topography are laid flat in a brilliantly fresh and elegant, yet childlike way.

There’s a little bit of abstract Ken Done present in Ileigh’s paintings – and as it happens, Ken is at the top of the list of artists she admires. Ileigh is a finalist in the 2020 Glover Prize, an annual art prize for landscape paintings of Tasmania.

Price point

Around $300 – $850 (and varied depending on gallery commissions)

Where to find it

You can see Ileigh’s work in the Glover Prize finalist exhibition, opening March 6th at the Falls Park Hall in Evandale, Tasmania.

An abstract group show at Allison Kate Bellinger Gallery in Inverell, NSW.

A show Purple Noon Gallery on the Hawkesbury River, NSW, opening on April 4th. A show at Back to Back Galleries in Newcastle, NSW, opening July 10th.

Artwork by Niah Mcleod.

Niah McLeod

From a distance, Niah Mcleod’s paintings look like broad patterns in subtle gradient hues. Look closer and you’ll notice each tiny dot or line painstakingly pressed to canvas, to form incredibly powerful rippling movements. Inspired by the sky and the stars, water and the earth, Niah’s works are meticulous and moving.

As a mum of two kids, painting is what gives Niah a sense of belonging. ‘I feel like I can show the world just a tiny, beautiful piece of Aboriginal culture’, she describes. ‘I’m also very lucky to learn my native Language (dhurga) and to teach it to my children through painting, and that to me is everything.’

Price point

Between $550 – $14,500

Where to find it

A group show at Kate Owen Gallery in Sydney opening on May 9th.

Artwork by Seth Searle.

Seth Searle

Seth Searle’s oil paintings including portraits, still life and interiors demonstrate excellent control of her medium. Her moody, quiet works elegantly highlight hand gestures, distortions through glass and pattern with apparent ease!

Seth finds inspiration in writers who explore the confines of gender roles, like Maggie Nelson and Virginia Woolf.

Price point

$900 – $1400

Where to find it

Seth will be in a joint exhibition with her good friend Lucy Roleff (see above on this list!) at BOOM Gallery in September.

Photo by Thea Anamara Perkins.

Thea Anamara Perkins

Thea Anamara Perkins explores her identity as an Arrernte and Kalkadoon woman, but her practice also forms an investigation into art-making itself.

Thea brilliantly captures light and a surprising level of detail in the thick, broad brush strokes of her landscapes and portraits. Inspired by the art of Central Australia, she has worked with Tangentyere Artists including Sally M Nangala Mulda over the last couple of years.

‘I think of art as a forum of ideas, and creativity is a way of grappling with the vast abstract world’, says Thea.

Thea was listed for the Archibald Prize in 2019 for her portrait of contemporary artist and family friend Christian Thompson. An incredible feat for an artist still in her 20s!

Price point

Around $2,000 – $3,000

Where to find it

My Imagination group show on NOW until March 14th at Edwina Corlette Gallery.

**Please note that the price-guides quoted here are representative of the time of publication, and may be subject to change.

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