Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi

It was, maybe, the fastest engagement that Krem thought he'd ever participated in--obviously his own, because he'd never been engaged before, but of any of his friends or the family he had made here in Darrow. He had proposed to Gannicus in early May and now, here it was, August.

They had made out the farm house, cleaned the interior and decked the porches, for the reception, but the ceremony itself was on the lawn, under one of the big trees. Krem was not Andrastean, and Gannicus's faith was a nebulous thing at best; the Qun did not have marriage. So what they had, when it came down to it, was an exchange of dedication. There were rings to be shared, vows to be exchanged, ropes to be knotted on their forearms and hands. These were the things that were important to them, and to the things they brought with them into their marriage.

Most important, though, was to be surrounded by the friends and family they had made in Darrow. They had lost so many people since they had both arrived in Darrow, and Krem tried to not harbor that loss in his chest. Hild and Agron and all the others would not want them clouding the day with lingering thoughts of who wasn't there--though, Krem thought that if Hild had been there, the wedding would have been something very different, something between the three of them instead. He allowed himself that peace and thought as they set the table with food that would be fine to be out and eaten, even in this summer heat. Krem had planned specifically for the banquet of the reception to be in more Tevinter style--but, soporati of course. There would be no ice magic to keep things cool. He had asked Dorian to officiate; he wouldn't ask him to wear himself down to keep some dishes fresh.

He was a married man, now. And he had all these people to share it with.


[Dated for Aug 4, gathering to celebrate Krem and Gannicus's wedding (and, sort of, their birthdays as well)! Krem and Gannicus will be doing money dances throughout the evening, and each have a small sack that attendees can donate into to dance with either of them; they'll dance without donations as well. Both of them have Qunari-styled knot work on their right hand/forearm in white and yellow, which they will wear for the duration of the party. Tag in, tag around, have fun.]

The dreams got worse and worse, to the point where Krem now actively avoided sleep, if he could. He knew, as the days went on, concern grew around the house, and things had been anxious and strained lately. Things were surreal, bizarre. Aggie was a fidgety, staticky thing. Hild was plagued with fits of misbehavior and cruelty that was unlike her in any way he'd ever known her. Gannicus was a constant, but the unreliability of the rest of them was a strain.

Guilt chewed at Krem, and that made it worse. It all fed in on itself. The nightmares chewed at his self-loathing and doubts, fed on his guilt, fed on the anxieties in the house, and so forth into perpetuity. There was no escaping the serpent consuming its own tail.

It didn't help that the city itself seemed on the brink of madness. Krem ignored it, as best he could. It was all he could do, really. He didn't want to think about it, about the endless possibilities of what a population like Darrows could get up to in a twelve hour period. There was no point in speculation. Hopefully it would all blow over. Hopefully, Krem wouldn't have gone made by then.

For tonight, though, the nightmares had gotten to him again, and staying inside the house was proving hopefully. He'd stepped out. The night seemed unseasonably warm, or maybe it was just the sensation of his skin crawling. When had he slept last? He couldn't remember. Krem headed toward the barn, because he thought the loft might be nice, warm and familiar and smelling of hay and the newer roofing and everything else. It was dark, and quiet inside, and he stood silently just inside the door, just breathing, as if his eyes might adjust to the almost complete absence of light.

They closed near the end of the month, and before Krem's birthday, they'd managed the whole move into their new home. Krem and Hild had the majority of the belongings, in Darrow slightly longer than Gannicus and tending toward the collection of things a bit more; and Krem had moved over some of Aggie's things as well, setting up her attic room for her when she was ready to have it, with whatever comings and goings she would like.

It was an eclectic little place. The fusion of their backgrounds, their cultures, their collection of items made something that was all uniquely their own, and uniquely theirs together. Within days, it was warm, lived in, smelling of Hild's drying herbs and Krem's spiced cooking, and the distinct noise of people in love with each other.

And then, quite suddenly, Krem was thirty. That struck him in the morning, and he knew they were already prepared to have guests to welcome them into their new home. Hild and Gannicus, a smattering of others, knew the date. Tomorrow would be Gannicus's birthday--as close as any of them knew--and with the knowledge of bodies coming to warm their little home, Krem was struck that Darrow had turned into home.

He had very little time to linger. There was some last few touches of unpacking--and hiding things that did not have homes yet--and cooking for a party, and hanging out lanterns to light in the evening. It felt like a home. It felt like a lovely place, even just a week in. A sort of settling that had never quite been on the docket for any of them, and that they had found together. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy.

The shop wasn't set to open for another couple of days, but it was mostly finished. There were a couple of deliveries still waiting to come in, back stocks of fabrics and a heart supply of notions. Soon, he'd be ready. He already had a few pieces he'd been making, for fun and for love, almost complete.

But tonight? Tonight was about celebrating the last of the maintenance and the imminent opening. Krem couldn't be happier with the timeline he'd managed to wrangle. Since February, he'd gotten the location he wanted for under his original budget, done all the necessary work and gotten it cleared by fire marshals and what not, and would be ready to be open on the first. It was a deserving moment for celebration.

So, he called Bull and Dorian. He had others he wanted to celebrate with too, but this was something else, something that just needed to be, as much as it could be, about home.

He ordered Indian take out, and bought some decent wine form one of the nearby liquor stores, and told them to meet him at the shop. The drafting tables would make a good spread for the food, and they wouldn't have to risk stumbling over furniture.

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 heat during the day was getting back up to a place that Krem remembered, that he had grown up in for nineteen years and that he was built for. The past nine years of his life had not erased his need and enjoyment of warm, lazy summer days and refreshing, cooler evenings.

Coordinating schedules with Thomas was, as always, a balancing act. But they managed. Even when they didn't get to see each other for a few days here or there, they sent each other texts, information about nothing at all, just their days so far. Krem texted him, especially, after he'd gotten all of his tattoos done weeks back; the black ink scattered on his skin was still healing, but it was getting close enough to that mark of readiness that Krem felt safe in venturing outside of his regular daily routine.

Today, Darrow had been hot. Krem had worked both jobs and gotten out of Bardolf's later in the evening, around the same time that Thomas normally got off work at Semele's. The evening was still balmy, almost exhaustive, but the ocean called to Krem. The pleasant memory of going out there with Thomas last summer, practicing swimming in private. Tonight, under a nearly full moon, seemed like a wonderful way to repeat the whole venture and put his mind outside of everything else that had been going on recently.

He texted Thomas as he was already on his way down to the boardwalk, contemplating if it would be better to go toward the lagoon that they'd gone to last year, or just swim out in the open. The beach would be nearly empty, since it was night and there didn't appear to be any parties or festivals going on (surprisingly). He decided to let Thomas decide, saying he would see him on the beach.