When it starts…
She's not a bad person, Hawke thinks, taking a seat across the table from Merrill. She's made some bad choices that she can't take back, but despite that, she's not bad.
He smiles wryly and thinks, she's not bad, she's just drawn that way. Only this isn't some movie that mixes animation with reality.
She takes a glass from Norah and drinks, red staining the tiny creases in her lips before she licks them and forces a smile. "Mm. I think she's figured out the 'blood' setting on the microwave. It's just right."
They both know she's lying. Ox blood will never pack the same punch as the blood of a sentient being. It's decaf when a vampire wants a triple latte.
But she tries. Hawke gives her credit for that.
It's too late for I told you so's with Merrill. It's been too late for years, but together they've kept her on the straight and narrow. Or straight enough and narrow enough that he hasn't had to kill her.
He hates killing friends. He's lost enough pieces of his heart already, and Carver would never forgive him. Merrill is Carver's reason to hope. If Merrill could do it….
Hawke pushes the thought aside. He doesn't share Carver's optimism. Once a mage goes far enough to the blood, willing or not, there's no turning back.
"Have you heard anything new?"
He knows the answer before she can tell him no. It's really just an excuse to meet. Not that this dive bar that serves anyone and anything as long as you don't start a fight makes for a warm and welcoming setting.
Hawke's only there on sufferance, because technically he never starts fights in The Hanged Man, he only finishes them.
But it's the only place in Kirkwall where a vampire (even one on the wagon) and an apostate can sit down together for a drink, talk a little shop, and just be themselves without someone calling 911, or worse, texting Meredith's stormtroopers with a hot tip. You got good money for narcing on bloodsuckers after all.
"You know they don't tell me anything," she says, then surprises him. "But I've been hearing some talk in my neighborhood. Everyone blames everything on vampires, but…" She shrugs and takes another sip of ox blood. He sympathizes with her efforts. Every mage has heard the song in the blood. If you believed everything you saw on TV, you'd believe that every mage gave in to the song too, and the world was just teeming with vamps dying to bleed you dry or sacrifice you to flood the streets with demons.
"Go on," he says encouragingly. "You know I don't blame everything on vampires. Never underestimate the stupidity of plain old mortals. After all, you know Carver."
She gives him a wan smile. "Women are disappearing, and the word is that it's vampires, but… they're older, Hawke, and they aren't mages, so the blood…."
"Isn't as good," Hawke finishes for her.
"It isn't worth the risk." She sounds tired, but she always sounds tired. The night when she doesn't sound tired, Hawke will start to worry.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. A quick glance shows him a text. "We need to talk." It's Fenris' number. It vibrates again. "Now."
He sighs and sends back, "Hanged Man. Now." before he offers Merrill an apologetic smile. "You might want to go."
She looks at the phone in his hands. "It's him, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
She leaves the glass unfinished and stands up. "I have a list of names. I'll email them."
Hawke stands up and opens his arms to her. It's always a little awkward, but he offers every time, because no one else touches Merrill, and that's not a life anyone should have to lead, not even a vampire.