Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi

Darrow was, in many ways, a good place, and Cremisius Aclassi lived a good life. He wanted for very little. He worked a job he was very good at. He had a ward, a daughter, he loved and respected the independence of. He had a man he cherished and who cherished him. On more than one occasion, he had had more than one man or woman who he had cherished, and who had cherished him. His skin was marked with the stains of those people, outward reflections of inward leavings, emotional stains like ink on parchment.

More of those tattoos were of people that had left this place than people who remained. Balthier, Adalaine. Now Hild.

Darrow was, in many ways, a very good place. On a very good day, Cremisius Aclassi could forget the agony of growing up, of the hunger in his bones and under his skin, of becoming this boy, this man, this soldier. In Darrow, these things felt natural.

He had lost many things in Thedas. His family, to the slavery and trappings of cultural mores in Tevinter. His friends, to the whims of an Inquisitor who hadn't fully understood the ramification of the choices being made. But Darrow was the only place that took from him. His peace. His stability.

It had been a very long time since Krem had been angry about something. The doctor that had called him a woman, refused him his surgery. Bull showing up--he had been angry about that, not because it was Bull, but because of the reminder of the Inquisitor's decisions. But he was angry about this loss. He was angry, after going through everything, after surviving everything, to wake up to one side of the bed cold as if she had never been there, but all her dried herbs, all her little things that marked her, still about the house. He was angry, and he hated that.

It had been days, and he was still angry.

Mornings were lazy things out at their little farm house, particularly weekends. They were all early risers, but that didn't mean that they were inclined to rouse before they had to, ensconced in warmth and familiarity and a tangle of limbs.

Their bed sat under the eastern facing window, with their heads toward it, so that when the sun rose their eyes were not subject to the whims of the early light but they did get all of that glorious, growing glow through the curtains. Someday, Krem thought, they ought to have a trellis out there, growing vines up the house so that in the spring and summer they would have sweet-smelling flowers to shield them from the sun; morning glories, or something like that, a monster of something taking over the whole side of the house.

To think in long terms seemed a miraculous thing. Today, Krem had woke on one side of the outside, with Gannicus between him and Hild. It was not an unusual arrangement. They switched regularly, sometimes in the middle of the night. It was a marvel they didn't black an eye or bruise a rib in the shuffle.

In attempting to shuffle closer, Krem found a blockage. For a moment, he thought that Goblin had come down from the attic and that Aggie was awake. But he looked down and found himself staring into doleful gold eyes and the gently pinned back red ears of the square-faced red dog Gannicus had come home with not so long ago.

Softly, Krem grumbled, "You're not supposed to be up here."

The dog's tail thumped excitedly.

It was not unusual to not hear from Balthier for a few days at a time. Krem had gotten used to their comings and goings being sparse, sporadic, the chance of a breeze. Krem had found he rather liked that. It left everything open to chance, and chance open to their whims. It had made him easier about admitting that he could love someone and not be beholden to them. Balthier had been good for that. So he didn't hear from him for a few days. And then, when that began to seem suspiciously long, he went looking for him. All the haunts he knew that Balthier favored, coming up empty, until finally, he went to the beach.

The Strahl was gone. It was not just that the cloaking on it was more impeccable than ever. Krem rolled up his pants and stepped out into the frigid water and it was gone. Krem stood there, the surf crashing around his calves, soaking up into his jeans, and let a quiet, creeping dread crawl through him like ivy, like poison.

An hour later, he stood in front of the Iron Bull's door, holding a bottle of high proof vodka. He hated the stuff. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and made his head hurt. But he wanted to forget the terror of finding all evidence of Balthier rid from this place. He wanted to not be scared of losing all of them, one by one, brick by brick, until the illusion of this place left him with one singular realty: death was the only permanent thing.

He wasn't sure why he chose Bull. He could have gone to Gannicus or Hild, Thomas, Poison, even Adaline. But he stood in front of Bull's door, and rather hoped that he was not otherwise occupied at the moment. He wanted to remember that losing wasn't always forever. After all, he had lost--and now, here Bull was.

He knocked and waited, breathing raggedly, trying to pull together the winding threads of his thoughts.

Krem did not often, nor did he enjoy, feeling hypocritical. He knew this was a human condition, and he was far from perfect in any way. But there was something about hypocrisy in general that smacked around in his chest, over-hot and miserable. He had no right to it, especially not in matters of heart and bed; being a hypocrite about those things just sang of a possessiveness of other people that he had no right to. Yet, here he was: embittered and hurt over something as simple as two people enjoying a moment together.

He was trying to get it out of his system. If he could, then things would be set to straights again. He had not asked Gannicus to give his key back, nor had he handed over his; this was not a break, just a pause. A moment for Krem to get his bearings in what this all meant and why it hurt so badly when it did not hurt to know that any one of his lovers might take someone else to bed.

His feet found a liquor store. His hands found bottles. And then he found himself standing outside Hild's complex. He paused, frowning at himself. He knew why he was here, but this felt hypocritical as well, and cruel in too many ways. He should not saddle Hild with the burdens of his stupid heart ache.

Someone came out, and so Krem went in. He went up to Hild's floor and, in front of her door, tried to think about what he might say.

There were no words. Not really. Except the truth of what had happened, and knowing he was acting like a spoilt brat about the whole thing. So, Krem cradled the bag with the liquor bottles he'd purchased in one arm, and wrapped on Hild's door. All he could do was hope she was in.

Krem texted Dorian on his way to the Iron Bull's apartment. He'd looked him up in the directory, and he was, frankly, tired of waiting to see if Dorian was going to drag his feet and arrange this meeting himself, or if he was going to have to wait for the Bull to start nosing in on his personal life as if that wasn't invasive and unnecessary and, frankly, a bit mad. The text was concise. You wanted to chaperone. I am going to meet him.

The Iron Bull lived in the same building as Dorian and Biffy. As Lito, and as Tris. As Thomas. There was too much there, and Krem was not the least bit pleased about it. He wasn't sure if there was any better arrangement. There probably wasn't. There definitely wasn't, he knew. Not if the Bull was going to be here in Darrow.

He didn't even know what he was going to say. But doing this, making the decision himself, put the control momentarily in his hands.

And, maybe, carrying his sword with him--in scabbard, he wasn't stupid--was making him feel a little more comfortable about the meeting. Not much, but enough that he hadn't felt the need for some liquid courage beforehand. That was a step in the right direction.

He stood in front of the door, pacing, for a couple moments, before he finally braced himself and slammed his fist on the door, a loud, heavy thump to announce himself. It was something that would have barely registered a knock on a sturdy inn door back in Orlais or Fereldan; here, it rattled the door in its frame.

The following is a list of body modifications Cremisius Aclassi currently has.

Piercings
- lip ring, right corner of lower lip. Capture bead ring.

Tattoos
- Crook and flail, color. Between shoulder blades and below nape of neck.
- Word art (designed by Jack Vincent), "Horns Up", stacked, black ink. Left front ribs, below breast.
- Word art (designed by Jack Vincent), Tevene phrase translating to "We are only what our dreams make of us", black ink. Around left wrist.
- Word art (designed by Jack Vincent), scrolling script, "all that potential". Outer right thigh.
- Black cat, black ink. Right ankle.
- Hermes sandal, black ink. Left ankle, onto calve.
- Celtic knot, symbolizing protection, black ink. Inner right bicep.
- Celtic knot, symbolizing love, black ink. Inner left bicep.
- Crystal, black ink. Left pec, under collarbone.
- Hour glass, black ink. Inside of right wrist, off center.
- Horse silhouette, black ink. Right side above hip.