[The disorientation of consciousness comes with a painful headache, sharp behind his eyes, intermittently pulsing. When he recovers enough to look up, he's blinded by the flicker of an overhead light, grimacing and turning his head away. He closes his eyes, seeing only bright spots. His cheek presses against something stiff and cold. It has a strange texture that reminds him of leather.
After a long moment, Fenris forces his gaze back on his surroundings. Everything is alien and unfamiliar. The nightmarish quality of the room comes with its own sense of nostalgia - there's an awful taste like metal on his tongue. He's never been here before, but it feels like it. The panicked churning of his gut only makes it harder to concentrate on getting out.
His wrists and ankles are bound. He strains against them, lyrium flaring in the dimness, but he's not focused enough to fade through it. His thoughts are all slurred and loose, slippery in his mind. Was he drugged? Blinking to clear the fog, Fenris rolls his upper body up, head bent forward, eying the tight straps as if to determine whether his teeth will be able to get through it.
At the sound, he goes rigid, eyes narrowed to slits.]
Show yourself.
3 | hope
[There isn't much in the shop that he recognizes, an otherworldly strangeness to the items lined on shelves. It feels more like a dream than anything real. He pauses to eye an assortment of small animal toys, brow arched. He's more wary than calmed by the brightly decorated atmosphere.]
What is the point of this?
[Fenris says it aloud, irritation coloring his tone. When he turns, it's as though he's noticed his companion for the first time, his glance uncertain.]
fenris | dragon age
[The disorientation of consciousness comes with a painful headache, sharp behind his eyes, intermittently pulsing. When he recovers enough to look up, he's blinded by the flicker of an overhead light, grimacing and turning his head away. He closes his eyes, seeing only bright spots. His cheek presses against something stiff and cold. It has a strange texture that reminds him of leather.
After a long moment, Fenris forces his gaze back on his surroundings. Everything is alien and unfamiliar. The nightmarish quality of the room comes with its own sense of nostalgia - there's an awful taste like metal on his tongue. He's never been here before, but it feels like it. The panicked churning of his gut only makes it harder to concentrate on getting out.
His wrists and ankles are bound. He strains against them, lyrium flaring in the dimness, but he's not focused enough to fade through it. His thoughts are all slurred and loose, slippery in his mind. Was he drugged? Blinking to clear the fog, Fenris rolls his upper body up, head bent forward, eying the tight straps as if to determine whether his teeth will be able to get through it.
At the sound, he goes rigid, eyes narrowed to slits.]
Show yourself.
3 | hope
[There isn't much in the shop that he recognizes, an otherworldly strangeness to the items lined on shelves. It feels more like a dream than anything real. He pauses to eye an assortment of small animal toys, brow arched. He's more wary than calmed by the brightly decorated atmosphere.]
What is the point of this?
[Fenris says it aloud, irritation coloring his tone. When he turns, it's as though he's noticed his companion for the first time, his glance uncertain.]
Are we meant to purchase these useless items?