the waves beside them danced; but they

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Who| Josephine and YOU ♥
What| Staring at shit, feeling lost
Where| Level 12's common spaces, the central commons. If you're interested in doing something somewhere else, please just let me know where.
When| Any time in the first few days after the arena ends. She's gonna be a little lost for a while.
Warnings/Notes| Potential spoilers for DAI.

This place is...unsettling.

Leaving aside the scanty information she's been given--actually participating in a battle to the death seems distant and a little impossible to someone more used to the Grand Game's metaphorical duels--everything defies her expectations. The very scenery is alien: smooth where she expects scrollwork, white space where she expects dark wood, and at least one hideous table that looks more like silverite in the rough than any sort of furniture. Only the fashion seems reasonable (some of it, anyway, the puffed sleeves especially) and even then, some of the colour choices tread the line of good taste.

It is an Orlais stripped of the sumptuousness that makes it Orlais. The Capitol, at once austere and ostentatious, seat of a country she couldn't mark on any map of Thedas. (That is what convinces her that what she has been told is true: she would know this place if she was still in Thedas. Even if she had never visited before, she would be able to figure out where she was from her surroundings. And she can't.)

After she's taken to her new room, she lingers in the common areas near it. For District 12, she was told, though it means little enough to her. She enters the living space tentatively, frowning more of confusion than consternation, and examines the unfamiliar surfaces and devices with hesitant fingertips. (Is she touching a television screen, heedless of the possibility of smudging it? Maybe.)

Eventually, via the impossible little box whose movements makes her faintly nauseous, she finds her way to a far larger common area, one that boasts many more people. It's a great deal to take in over the course of an hour or two, but here, in public, she can't afford to look the part of the country bumpkin. She tries far more seriously to blend in, but her eyes dart about, taking in everything around her.

Comments

[revocation]

Cullen thinks he might have this 'elevator' thing sorted out, finally. You push the arrow button - then eventually the doors open - choose the correct number - eventually get to that floor, though sometimes the doors open on other floors - and

Well, it's quite different from a flight of stairs and he's not sure how this is any better, but he's at least worked it out enough to be able to get around the building. He's been mostly sticking with Dorian and Cole the past couple of days, and trying not to draw too much attention to himself, but that's a bit more difficult than expected, given how unfamiliar everything is.

Still, he should get the lay of the land, try to understand what it is they're dealing with, so he steps off at what he thinks is the main entrance hall - what should lead to the strange city beyond, anyway.

And it's there that he spots yet another familiar face, and his heart drops into his stomach. Really? Of all the people to bring to these barbaric blood sports?

"Ambassador?" He calls, a little uncertain - perhaps he's mistaken. He hopes he's mistaken. "Lady Montilyet?"

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine glances over before it occurs to her just how out of place the commander's voice feels in this huge, oddly decorated hall. Her expression shifts quickly--from general pleasance to shock, and then to a grateful, almost hopeful, smile.

He's the first familiar face she's seen since she woke up on a cot nearly as uncomfortable as the broken beds they'd found upon their arrival at Skyhold. It's hard to believe it's really him; she'd thought once or twice since her arrival how glad she'd be to see Leliana, but she'd assumed she was alone here.

"Commander!" She crosses over to him, her steps brisker than usual. "I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to see you. I'd thought...well. It does not matter what I thought. How are you faring?"

His presence raises any number of questions: If Commander Cullen is here as well, is the rest of the Inquisition? What does that mean for their work at home? Does he know anything more about these games for which they have been selected? Will they have to face each other in combat?

(She doesn't like her odds, if they will.)

First things first, though. So far as she can tell, there are no obligations awaiting them for the time being; she can take a moment to greet him before weighing him down with inquiries.

[revocation]

Ah, yes, definitely her then. Maker's breath. She wasn't here during that terrible few days in the dank, dark metal prison. It probably shouldn't surprise him that these people can bring others in, but it just worries him more.

Josephine is no fighter. Do they expect it of her as well?

"I'm fine," he says immediately, waving away her concern. Well, except for the persistent headache he's had since waking up after that blast, but headaches are nothing new for him. "When did you arrive? Are you alright?"

[somewhatfallenfortune]

"Just today," she replies, her brow knitting together in a frown. "And I am fine, thank you."

As fine as she might be, given the circumstances. She could mention how confounding their surroundings are, let alone their apparent mission, but in a public gathering place, it seems unwise. Once they've found a suitably private room, they can discuss where it is they'll go from here. (Back to Thedas, she hopes. They've left too much behind them to remain in this Panem.)

"Did you arrive today as well?" The way he asked her, she suspects the answer is no.

[tevintage]

Josephine was here.

Dorian liked Josephine - admired her even - but hearing word that she was here had given quite the opposite effect as a visit from her in Skyhold would have held.

He had hoped - vainly, perhaps, but he had hoped - that he, Cullen and Cole were it. That they'd been kidnapped in some freak success, that everyone else was safe. But it simply wasn't the case. Here they were, and another had joined them, from only a day previously. It made his heart sink.

He wasn't about to avoid her, though. And as much as he wished very sincerely that she had never come in the first place, he still wanted to see her.

Part of him wanted to know if... if her Inquisitor was his.

And part of him really didn't.

He found her in the common room, where Cullen had told him that she was, and he immediately plastered on a smug smile that he in no way felt.

"Well, some style joins us at last."

[somewhatfallenfortune]

By this point, Josephine had taken a seat on one of the padded benches and was watching the flow of people through the space. Before she could begin to speak with strangers, particularly those who were born to this country, she needed a better idea of the social order. Later, she would ask questions, and perhaps there would be books to examine on the subject--but to start with, there was little better to situate her than observation. As one of her etiquette mistresses had put it so many years ago, "If you aren't sure of yourself, for Andraste's sake, be quiet."

At the sound of Dorian's voice, she glanced up, giving him a smile as genuine as his was counterfeit. Josephine didn't relish the thought that so many senior members of the Inquisition had been dragged into this mess, but so long as they were already here, she couldn't hide her gladness in seeing them.

"Ah! Lord Dorian. Please, sit down." Josephine patted the cushion next to her. "I was just thinking about style, actually--or lack thereof, if you prefer. How have you been?"

Lightly spoken, perhaps too lightly--but shifting straight into bleaker topics wasn't how Josephine tended to manage her conversation.

haha no worries :)

[tevintage]

He gladly took the seat, sitting down with one graceful movement.

"Oh, you know me. I flourish in these sorts of conditions."

Which was to say, he was devastated and incredibly upset, but he'd at least had time enough to think about it and put a face on that wasn't just raging endlessly against the world.

When in doubt, humour over all.

"I thought you might have opinions, he said, waving vaguely as the people walked by."

He was all too happy to completely ignore all bleaker topics forever thank you very much.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Forever was longer than Josephine had for fripperies; eventually, they would have to talk of this place. She wanted to know as much as she might about the arenas to which they would be condemned. If Dorian knew anything worth sharing, she wanted to hear it.

But there wasn't such a rush that they couldn't trade commentary on their new surroundings. There was value in trading notes on this subject as well; aside from the vanishingly slight chance she might learn something from it, it was the sort of conversation that wasn't terribly difficult to make with Dorian.

"In some ways, they aren't so different." Josephine resisted the instinct to gesture to a woman mincing past in painfully narrow heels; while her jacket lacked the ruff that would have made it fashionable in Orlais, the neck was high in a remarkably familiar way, and the soft rose hue of the fabric wouldn't be outlandish in Val Royeaux. She dropped her voice to a murmur pitched for Dorian's ears alone. "But much of it is...garish. Cut much too high, at least one hat that looks more like filigree pulled off a wall, colours I didn't think were possible. And their cosmetics! I think I prefer masks."

She paused, glancing sidelong at him. "What do you think?"

[ka_sera_sera]

If there is a downside to having helped Panem's newest 'mentor' win this last arena, this is it. Even though it's crowded, the vultures who seem never to leave this room are now just as likely to start trailing after him as they are some other, more popular tribute. Which is, unfortunately, what has happened today. The path from the doors to the elevator isn't short enough that he can pretend to ignore them, so he's stopped for a few empty pleasantries and non-answers when the elevator doors open.

Ah. Someone he doesn't recognize. Now it shouldn't be too difficult to shake them off. He lets his gaze drift from the face of the news-man in front of him, and tries to meet the eyes of the other tribute instead. "Oh," he murmurs, and watches the flock of news-people look toward her and then back to him, curious. "Cry pardon," he says to them. "I was only surprised. She almost never comes down from the tribute's rooms. If you'll excuse me..."

Roland's part in the arena's end wasn't quite visible enough that they try now to keep him. He uses this new freedom to move toward her - or more accurately, toward the elevators behind her. The flock thins, a couple drifting off elsewhere, but most of it moves toward her and starts the questions anew. Questions about the arena, about Panem, gossip and sponsors and all that other drivel. He reaches her the same time their questions do but doesn't make any move to help; she, like the rest of the tributes, surely has some experience with this sort of thing by now.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine is used to no such thing. In the time she's spent in the Capitol so far, she's been shockingly idle by her standards; it's starting to make her a touch anxious for work, in truth, though it has yet to come out in furniture rearranging.

Yet.

She does, however, know what to do with a crowd, particularly when they're out for gossip. With a pleasant smile and a firm voice, she says, "I cannot possibly comment on arenas I have never seen. If you will excuse me, I must speak with my friend; I will be happy to talk with you later."

(The sad thing is, she means it. Speaking is what she does; if agreeing to sit down with the Capitol's message-carriers might help Thedosian chances here, she'll do it without a moment's thought.)

Josephine manages to slip into the moving box just before the doors shut. Once the space is closed off from the entrance hall, she glances over at the man. He'd used her as a distraction in an effort to run from that crowd, and while she's generally happy to put her skills to practice, she mislikes being someone's unwilling decoy. Her tone is rather cooler now when she asks, "Are you all right, messere?"

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland hums in reply. Not hard to read what she's actually saying. "If you wanted to go outside, you're going the wrong way. I'm headed up." He reaches out to press the fourth floor button, then pauses.

"Unless you'd like to work your anger out on me in the training rooms. Then I'll be going down." His finger hovers over the button for sublevel 2 and he watches her, looking not terribly bothered by her annoyance. Mostly, he just looks patient.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

"I wanted to speak with you. You may go where you prefer." And Josephine hopes the answer is 'up.' She sincerely doubts she could best him at combat, whatever sorts are possible within the training rooms he mentions. Even if he's as green as she, she suspects it would go extraordinarily poorly.

"Are they always so interested in their...tributes?" The term still feels foreign on her mouth, but making inquiries suits her better than saying don't do that again. If he'd waited a few weeks--even a few more days--it really wouldn't have been a problem.

[justoutrunyou]

While lingering around District 12 a small figure appears. She's only a child not even a teenager but she moves with the confidence and determination of one four times her size.

She's burst from one of the rooms that other tributes are meant to stay in and sweeps into the main seating area before making a B-line for the kitchenette where a silent servant pours her a glass of something purple. She accepts it eagerly and starts drinking.

Her clothes are fairly simple, a blue short sleeved shirt with paint stains on it and long pants. She's barefoot but her feet are clean and well cared for.

Only then does she notice the newcomer into the district and she slows her drinking, lowering the glass and studying her cautiously like a cat that has just become aware of some potential predator.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

When Josephine hears someone enter the common area, she draws her hand back from the screen as though she's been burnt and turns around.

It's only a child, clattering through the rooms as though she owns them. No doubt she belongs to one of the other poor souls brought into this mess. Josephine isn't yet aware just how young tributes can be; the thought that this slip of a girl could be present to murder or be murdered doesn't occur to her.

For a moment or two, she watches--until the child notices she isn't the only one present.

"Greetings," she says, watching as the girl's attention is turned upon her. Young though the girl is, there's a respectable amount of canniness evident in her expression.

Josephine doesn't shrink under the scrutiny. Even if she doesn't recognize half the items in the room, she's certain enough of herself. "Do you live here?"

[justoutrunyou]

The girl hesitates but nods taking another drink and then holding the glass out for the servant who refills it. She didn't use to take advantage of the Avox but they make it so easy.

"Yeah...I've been here about two years." She spoke in a cautious voice. "You must be a new tribute?"

They all had generally the same confused looks when they arrived. Except for Sam. He'd completely freaked out.

[pimpcanes]

Tom blends in relatively well with the populace here, not because he's a bit of a dandy but because he cooperates well with his Stylists and socializes with the best of them. What's all the better - and more convincing - is that the other Tributes treat him with the same hostility and suspicion they afford for their captors, the fine people of Panem. A few of his peers shoot him dirty looks as they pass through the commons.

The Irish accent is the part that sets him apart the most. He sidles up next to Josephine with a drink in his hand from the Tribute bar. His collar is flared, long fur coat flecked with water droplets from where he was in the snow half an hour ago.

"You look as if you're casing someone, lass."

[somewhatfallenfortune]

The gentleman at her side has caught her by surprise. She'd been trying to decide how one would even begin to describe the violently green fabric from which a man's suit had been cut (neon and polyester are both difficult terms to come up with when one has never seen either before), not to mention keeping an ear out for the way conversations are conducted--and generally feeling a bit like she's taken up spying.

She does her best to keep herself from startling more than a touch and turns her head to glance over at him. His terminology isn't familiar to her, and it shows in the little frown at her brow. On occasions like this one, her education works against her; there are plenty of practical terms of questionable breeding that she has yet to learn. "I beg your pardon?"

Her speech bears an accent as well, though its Antivan origins are muted for anyone unfamiliar with the country of Antiva; in that case, it might be more redolent of Spain.

[pimpcanes]

Spanish? Portuguese? Somewhere else? If Tom's lingual abilities hadn't been neutered by the Capitol, he might try speaking to her in either language, not to flirt so much as to impress.

"The way you look at them. You look as if you're sizing them up to rob." The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "Not that I'm saying you are, of course. Most people's eyes are taken with all the valuables here when they first arrive."

He gestures a hand at a woman walking by with what appear to be an entire peacock on her head. "They are quite the spectacle."

[somewhatfallenfortune]

"Ah." Perhaps she was staring a little intensely. She gives the man a little smile, just a touch sheepish. "Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I'm more interested in seeing how they dress than taking from them."

How they dress...and the ways they speak of different subjects, how they greet each other, what the gradations of status are between them. Everything a person must know to move among them with ease. While she might be able to find a book or two--or better and unlikelier still, someone willing to give lessons on the Capitol's particular Grand Game--given her status here, she suspects most of her knowledge will come from mimicry and conjecture.

She'd rather not have to agree or disagree directly with his last statement. Instead, she weaves slightly around it, shrugging. "They remind me of home. The fashions are similarly...elaborate in Val Royeaux. What do you think of them?"

[69problems]

The Signless watches her explore for a few moments before stepping forward. If a television is unfamiliar to her in this world where screens replaying interviews and arena highlights and asinine advertisements are everywhere then she is almost definitely new. Furthermore if she's all the way up in Twelve then it's likely she's been assigned to it, because even with a lack of understanding of the elevator it's hard to accidentally reach the top floor.

Alright, Signless. This is one of your first acts as a mentor. Don't fuck up. He doesn't cut a terribly imposing figure: short, in a loose white shirt and dark red leggings with the faintest metallic sparkle to them (much as he always tries to get plain ones, it's difficult).

"It's a television," he offers. "It shows things that have happened, or are happening currently far away." Among other things, but that's probably the easiest preliminary explanation.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine lets her hand drop at the sound of approaching footfalls and turns to find...a qunari unlike any she's seen before. But that isn't so unreasonable--the Iron Bull is her primary familiarity with qunari, and one can hardly judge an entire people on the strength of a single member. (And perhaps the brightly coloured horns are a matter of fashion.)

The word 'television' means nothing to her, even with the accompanying explanation. The best she can manage so far is like a window, but even windows here are nothing like those at home. They're huge, and despite the size of the panes, she has yet to see a single flaw in any of the glass she's passed. It looks as though there's nothing there at all, in most cases.

"Forgive me," she replies, giving the man a little smile, just a touch sheepish. "I've never seen anything like...a television, you called it? How does it work?"

[69problems]

"Ah... I actually don't know. The science of it is beyond me." He could probably get the Psiioniic to explain it, but that would require first locating the other troll and Signless has no idea where he is at the moment. Dangit. He's already starting this off by being unhelpful.

"Much of the things you'll encounter here will be new to you, then -- if I'm right in assuming you've just arrived."

[actually112]

Normally, Aang is a very cheerful, very attention-grabbing little boy. That said, he's had a terrible time in the most recent arena that's made him question a lot of things, so he's quieter than usual.

He's curled up in one of the cushy armchairs in the central commons, a little boy in a baggy hoody, his head tucked down as nimble fingers worked on making jewelry from thread, wires, and beads he's picked up around the Capitol. His hood is over his head, so his face isn't immediately visible, but the arrows tattooed on the back of his hands are.

He notices the woman when she comes out of the elevator. Partially because he just happens to be close to the elevator, and partially because she happens to have a presence, with how elegantly she carries herself. He doesn't know her face, so that must mean she's new. (She doesn't look nearly ridiculous enough to be a native Capitolite.) He peers out from under the brim of his hood to look at her, his fingers still working on knotting thread and wire together in a bracelet. "Are you looking for something, or are you just looking around?" he asks.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine glances in the direction of the question and finds a child in the midst of twisting together something in his hands.

His hand tattoos are...strange, by her standards. Thedosians with tattoos generally sport them on the face--and such marks are rarely the province of young boys. Commenting on that fact would be abominably rude, however. For the moment, she files the knowledge away for future consideration.

"Looking around," she answers, pleasant. As with the other children she's seen about, she assumes he's the child of someone who fights. Clearly too young to be a tribute himself--as barbarous as her situation is, surely the thought of setting children to murder is beyond the pale for anyone civilized. "Are there any sights you would recommend?"

[actually112]

She seems nice. He's met a lot of people who seem nice, and some of them have killed him. Even so, he's still inclined to be kind when he can, because he has a gentle heart.

"The view from the roof is amazing, but unless you have good balance, you should probably have good shoes on so you don't slip on the ice. You can see most of the city from up there."

The tattooed hands work steadily on the bracelet. Under his fingers, knots and braids become mountains. Shining wire is land, soft thread is sky.

"The parks are pretty, too, but they feel really fake. Most of the plants and animals are made by people. They never seem to die, even in the winter. Weird, right?" That's how he understands genetic engineering. The cultured, exaggerated perfection that the Capitol surrounds itself with is deeply unsettling to him. Beauty is in imperfections. "Aaaaand... they have metal things that drive around roads, so don't walk in the middle of them or you might get hit. They don't have cars where I come from." Maybe they also have cars where she comes from, but he still feels the need to warn everyone that there are giant metal things that drive wildly through the streets, as if waiting for unsuspecting people to hit.

Josephine was going to be in for a nasty surprise. Once upon a time, the games were child-exclusive.