A quick sketch for @raynnromantica , as it is apparent that you’re having a hard time at the moment. I’m terrible at comforting with words, so I drew Solas comforting you through your Lavellan, Nira. I hope this could make you feel better, or at least know that you’re one of my favourite person here on tumblr. Everytime I post my art, I always find myself awaiting your reactions; or approval even better, along with some of my special followers.
As someone I admire so much once said to me;
You are far from worthless.
And here is mine, to you;
I’m glad to have you here.
This too shall pass.
Hang in there.
You’ll be okay.
I’m here if you need me, my dear.
A reminder; not only for Raynn, but for me as well, and for all of us having a hard time, no matter where we are at the moment. Always know that even if it’s only a little, but there is, are, people who appreciate your presence.
He was at the front of the small
stage, although “stage” was a generous word for what it was: a small platform
installed along the back wall of the bar, only about half a foot higher than
the concrete floor. If Nira had seen him on the street, she might not have
known it was him. He had filled the piercings in his ears, two in each lobe and
several around the tops of the cartilidge, black spikes and silver bars and
chains reflecting the meager light. Nira saw for the first time that he had a lip
piercing as well, a small silver ring through the left side of his bottom lip
that matched the one in his right eyebrow.
Gone was the sweater vest and
tweed, replaced with a simple white cotton tee and black leather pants – very tight black leather pants. The tee
shirt was tighter than was probably necessary, as well, and showed the
definition of muscle playing over his slender frame as he moved with the music.
Nira swallowed heavily, suddenly
wishing she were that microphone stand.
She edged her way closer to the
front of the room. The song crescendoed, increasing in rhythm and intensity
until he was practically shrieking, filling the small space with the sound. As
the last line of the song died away, Solas opened his eyes and looked out on
the people crowded in to hear them play. His eyes locked on hers, as if drawn
by magnets, widening in surprise when he recognized her. Color rose in his
cheeks and he ducked down to pick up a bottle of water from the floor.
Nira giggled at his
consternation. The situation she found herself in was so absurd she couldn’t do
much anything but laugh at it. The formidable Solas Harel, renowned professor
of archeology and UoC’s resident hard-ass, moonlighting as the lead singer of a
heavy metal garage band! And blushing.
Solas kept looking down at the
floor, for all the world seeming to be taking a break from shrieking his lungs
out. He replaced the cap on the water bottle and set it down, movements careful
and precise, and scrubbed a hand back into the thick dark brown dreadlocks held
high on his head. Then he straightened, and looked back at her again. Seeming
to come to some sort of decision, he clapped the guitar player on the shoulder
and whispered something in his ear. The guitar player nodded and began to play
as Solas stepped back to the microphone.
This song was slower, muted
almost, the notes cycling through a mournful sequence as the drummer added a
soft backdrop. Solas gripped the mic with both hands and held it close to his
face, lips nearly touching it as he crooned into it. His eyes locked with
Nira’s again as he sang, and Nira found it impossible to look away until he
closed his eyes to scream the chorus.
When I make this sound With my sinews unwound I find its meaning My voice is now found…