turn down for

[darmisu]

Who| inquisitor lavellan & YOU
What| a challenger appears. said challenger weighs ~100lbs soaking wet.
Where| el training center.
When| in the downtime between arenas.
Warnings/Notes| none atm, will update if necessary.

A. Central Commons | OTA

This is all fucked up, but it's not the place of Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Your Mother to show it. She seems convivial enough, and is trying to compensate for how she clearly stands out. She hasn't seen another elf, and her ears (and the tattoos on her face, and the diminutive height and shape of elves in general) make her stick out. It's not that she minds sticking out, precisely, but she'd rather have it on her terms.

She spots someone with something of interest-- clothing she doesn't recognize, a bit of technology (she comes from a medieval world, after all) she's never seen before, it doesn't matter. She walks up, eyes wide, and speaks in a gentle, friendly tone.

"Oh, what's that? We don't got it where I'm from."

B. Training Center | OTA

That's a lot of knives. Lavellan goes over to the table on instinct, and begins, well, fiddling with them. An observer will notice that she's clearly worked with knives before, from her ease handling them. She begins spinning them, stops, puts them down, picks up a new pair... eventually, she throws it toward a target.

She misses by a wide margin, and the knife skitters dangerously near whoever was observing earlier. She rushes over, swearing. "Shit, sorry. Trying to find a pair better balanced-- well. You got all your toes?"

C. Floor 4 | District 4 Folks

Lavellan is standing in the common room by the light switch. She flicks it off. She flicks it on again. She flicks it off once more. She's watching for the source of the light, and she'll do this several times if no one stops her. Eventually, she might press her hands to the wall, feeling around for something, before going back to the light and fiddling with it again.

I hope you weren't trying to read or something.

D. Wherever | Canonmates Only

Due to the peculiarities of Lavellan's canon, she knows what her canonmates look like, but they don't know what she looks like. Thus, canonmates, feel free to describe what your character is doing, wherever they are, and I'll have her bug them. I'm pretty flexible and have no problem reacting to whatever you throw at me. If you'd like more of a prompt than this, just say. Thanks!

Comments

[tevintage]

Dorian had spent the entire day shopping. Not just any kind of shopping, however. Book shopping. When he came back to the tribute tower he was laden in bags of books, utterly exhausted. He didn't get farther than the common room, slumping down in an armchair by a window (or what they used like windows, here), the books splayed around him.

They were all, almost exclusively, on history.

It had been a difficult task - most of the works available were pure propaganda. Those that weren't had to hide themselves as if they were, secrets held in flowery language. He'd gotten everything he could about the Tribute system (which was barely anything) and the History of Panem.

He pulled out one of them and leaned back in the chair, sighing to himself. Time to start some research.

[darmisu]

Oh, thank Mythal. While, yes, on the one hand, she's sorry to see anyone she knows here, she's not about to feel guilty for it-- it's not like she had any hand in this fiasco. And it's damn good to see a familiar face. It seems in lieu of finding a library to bum around in, Dorian's made his own.

She finds an ottoman nearby and sits on it, leaning forward with a grin. "Did you miss me?"

[tevintage]

When Dorian looks up at the voice, there is a small flash of recognition - but not for her. For the tattoos that mark her face, for the points of her ears. But he frowns.

"I-- Sorry, have we met?" He asks, confused. He thought he'd at least be able to recognize all the slaves in his father's house-- ah, but he wouldn't be able to recognize all the elves working for the inquisition.

That being said, Did you miss me? implied a disturbing amount of familiarity.

[darmisu]

She narrows her eyes, momentarily confused, but it's not enough to entirely deter her. She wants a friend here, so she pushes past the red flag that would, in a better scenario, stop her up. She reaches out and pokes his shoulder. "Ha, ha, real funny. Lemme guess, your own good looks and charm's making you light-headed, eh?"

[tevintage]

He watches her poke him, utterly confused, his mind racing. Surely there must be an explana--

One hits him. Of course. If Cullen came from a different timeline, perhaps they had different companions? She obviously wasn't his Inquisitor - he knew Cullen's Inquisitor wasn't an elf - but there were plenty of soldiers, time could have easily shifted just enough to allow them to be friends.

He offered an apologetic smile.

"No, no I am quite clear headed. My apologies. I'm afraid I really don't recognize you at all. Are you quite certain we've met?"

b, because how could I resist

[ka_sera_sera]

"No." Roland squats, tricky given the aforementioned toe situation but doable, and picks up the knife. He hefts it before holding its hilt out toward her, because it's worth knowing whether she's only making excuses for the sake of her pride. It's possible, after all, to handle a knife with all the familiarity in the world and still have awful aim. It'd take a pretty bad balance to send this thing all the way to where Roland'd been standing. "But that's none of your doing. Still, maybe you ought to aim toward the corner next time."

AHA perfect.

[darmisu]

She's good with a knife, honestly, but you don't meet people by being good with knives. And you show your hand by being good with knives. It's more interesting, and a safer vantage point, to seem bad with them.

"You learn the hard way?" She nods down to his boot. There's a grin on her face, and her voice is rough with it, but friendly. She takes the knife back, and spins it. The motion is wobbly and precarious.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland's eyes follow the motion. It isn't that he doesn't expect lies, hasn't escaped death a good many times by spotting them, but there's no reason not to believe she isn't just as green as she appears and trying not to look it. Plenty of that around, especially in this place.

"I learned to take more care where I fall to sleep." He answers, bland, and stands, nodding at the hand holding the knife. "Care for a lesson or two with that, so I don't lose any more?"

[darmisu]

And Lavellan is no one if not someone to play to the expectations of others. If someone thinks she is someone, she'll try to become it as soon as they make it clear that's what they think. So when he offers a lesson, she's quick to take it. "Oh! Yes, please." She hands him the knife, hilt first. "Don't usually see humans with knives."

Which is true, really. They usually hide in shadow.

[ka_sera_sera]

He shrugs, walking to the nearest target and angling it so any stray shots like the one earlier won't hit anyone. Probably. "Keep the knife. You'll need it again in a second."

It's an odd observation she's just made, but you hear about all sorts of worlds here, and it wasn't phrased as a question, so he sees no reason to respond to it. There is, though, one curious thing, and he asks about it as he walks back to her. "Are you not, then? Human?"

A; let me know if this is too ridiculous or anything and I can change it

[crabmunicator]

"My horns, you contentious sack of horse manure."

Such is the delightful greeting Karkat offers as he turns to better face whoever this chick is. He too stands out, similarly short at 5'2" and bearing features of an even less human nature. Try comparing weird facial tattoos to grey skin, let alone the horns he just identified for her. To be fair, their bright, banded, orange coloration and rounded shape may well make them resemble a pair of hair accessories if one isn't looking close enough. Apart from his eyes and nails, they don't particularly match the greys and blacks of his appearance - clothing included.

He wasn't doing anything particular when she came over, just passing through the area, but he looks no less bothered than if he'd been in the middle of something gravely important.

Jabbing a finger at her, he goes on, "Where I come from even the people who paint their faces don't make themselves look like they've have a bad accident with a pen, but you don't see me bugging you for what they are, do you?"

no this is perfect omg.

[darmisu]

Her eyebrows go up, but so do the corners of her mouth into a hard smile. That was sure a reaction. Color her fascinated; what caused such a violent reaction? Is it her, or him, or this place? Whatever it is, it's like qunari gaatlok: little effort, and huge potential for reaction. She could use this.

Speaking of gaatlok... the closest reference Lavellan has for 'grey-skinned and horned' is actual qunari. Mind, she's only met one in her life (her clan was away from Kirkwall when it was being besieged, thank Mythal) so she's not sure if he's just an odd qunari (they're usually... taller, or so she's heard) or not one at all. But if he's going to make assumptions, she is too; she wants to see if she can push the same button twice.

"Usually, y'know, qunari don't paint 'em. They also know what tattoos are. Your antaam leave you stranded?" She's only half-sure she's using that word right; it's something she's heard Bull bitch about from time to time.

[crabmunicator]

There she goes, smiling like an idiot and babbling words he's never heard in his life. His eyebrows scrunch up and his lip curls, until at the end he's left to ask, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He can be polite when he wants. He just doesn't want to.

"I don't know what a k... cu... that thing is, and I don't have an ant-whatever. I'm a troll, I'm from a completely different universe than yours, and the point I'm making is that your tattoos look like a mistake. Not that I'd be surprised if you're so lacking in cranial capacity that you can't recognize a pair of horns on the first go."

He motions at her again, though less of a point than a full-hand thing this time. "So what do you want? Do you have a point to this or is your itinerary stocked with dumbass questions from top to bottom?"

[darmisu]

This is amazing. Lavellan folds her arms over her chest, shoulders hunching up a bit, but she keeps smiling. Does he just dislike elves? Has he had some kind of worrying head trauma? Does Lavellan care? Only slightly! She doesn't know this arsehole from the Dread Wolf; him being angry is just an amusing part of life. She digs her heels in accordingly.

"Nah, I'm just trying to get a little slice of that Capitol hospitality I heard so much of. Right across the room, I saw you and I went, now, there's someone I'm gonna be friends with. It's destiny."

Lavellan you picked the right guy, Karkat is a FRIEND MACHINE

[crabmunicator]

"... Friends," he says now, eyebrows lowering like she's said something suspicious. He knows what the word is, never worry. In fact he's had a whole host of people he could and has called best friends, but that doesn't change his attitude in the moment.

"You see probably the grumpiest guy in the area, and instead of heeding the obvious warning in his fang-bearing frown, you shuffle over and ask the dumbest question your lips can form." He looks her over from head to foot, trying to judge her better. There's an optimism there sheer stupidity can't account for. "Why me? Why do you seek out King Jackass himself and look to piss him off as a means of social endearment? You just implied I was abandoned by whatever the hell that ant-thing was; I'm sure that would have gone over real well with anyone who understood it. Do you make a habit of insulting strangers or are you this reckless in all aspects of life?"

She has his interest enough as a topic of conversation, but his skepticism remains high.

well kinda B

[revocation]

Cullen has, by now, at least managed to figure out how to get around the Tribute Tower. It's still rather confusing, and he thinks the magical - delvisions or whatever they are will probably always do nothing but give him a roaring headache, but this elevator thing, he's got that pretty well worked out. Enough that he's by now found the training room.

Despite the pristine appearance that makes it match with the rest of this place, the training room is instantly recognizable even to him. And, in its own way, it is one of the more familiar places around here. At least he knows what a training room is for. He can make use of most of the weapons, though his preference is always for a sword and shield, and he still lacks his trusty armor.

But that won't stop him from spending a fair amount of time here, working through his training routines as best he can with what he has, meditating to clear his head, and, perhaps, watching some of the others to gauge their skills.

\o/

[darmisu]

Oh, thank the Creators, it's Cullen. Cullen, sturdy and reliable and utterly loyal, and it's fucking unfair that he's here, he doesn't need more shit to deal with, but-- well, if he is here, she couldn't ask for a more reliable comrade. She puts down her knives, and walks over to him with a gentle smile on her face.

"At ease, commander." Not knight-commander, but commander of her armies; it's a subtle difference she thinks he can appreciate. "How long've you been here?" There's a bit of concern in her voice, but not enough, she hopes, to be condescending.

[revocation]

It's not the address that surprises him. He's used to that - he is, after all, Commander. That's his title, one he's proud of, far prouder than he was of Knight-Captain.

The thing is, though, he knows most of his troops - and nearly all of the messengers and couriers - by sight. Not all of the servants perhaps, but none of the servants are Dalish. The tattoos are - well, distinctive. So what is a little strange, is being approached and addressed so familiarly by an unfamiliar Dalish woman.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

[darmisu]

She just deflates a little. It'd be too lucky if he was from her... whatever, wouldn't it? Her memory, for all that bloody well matters. Her voice is flat. "Inquisitor Lavellan." She holds up her right hand.

b.

[somewhatfallenfortune]

The training center has been mentioned to Josephine more than once by now--and by different people. When she makes her way down there, it's nothing she expects...but then, she doesn't have much more frame of reference

She's looking for the less combat-oriented areas, but getting to them involves walking past the knives...and a dark-haired Dalish woman who sends one flying near her.

"Inqui--" she begins to say, a sickly mix of warmth and worry mingling in her chest. But a closer look at the woman stops her. Similar tattoos, similar colouring, but not Inquisitor Lavellan. "Ah. Forgive me; I mistook you for someone else. I don't think you've cut anything off."

[darmisu]

She sighs a little. She was hoping Josephine, at least, would remember her, but apparently not. She picks up the knife and idly spins it in her hand while she talks. "No, I'm Inquisitor, but there's some weird magic shit going on. Ask Dorian about it."

[somewhatfallenfortune]

Josephine realizes after a moment or two that she's staring, specifically at the knife in the Inquisitor's hand. While she's hardly an expert in weaponry, she can't remember ever seeing the Inquisitor--her Inquisitor--toying with a blade that wasn't nearly as long as she was tall.

"Perhaps we should be reintroduced, then," Josephine answers, stepping primly over the last knife the Inquisitor threw. "Since I suspect you aren't called Thayes."

[darmisu]

"Thayes?" Oh, Creators. "Keeper sent her in front of me? I mean, not that-" Thayes is alright, but Lavellan can't see her doing real well out of a familiar environment. She sighs and shakes her head. "She's from my clan. But- sorry, I'm Larro. Everyone just calls me Inquisitor Lavellan, these days."

[hit_girl_mindy]

Mindy, for her part, always welcomed new blood when it come to someone who could use a knife, and watching the new stranger, she could see that she knew, mostly, what the hell she was doing. Mindy was not the type to gawk, but she WAS the type to watch and see what came of someone new in the training room. She definitely looked different from your average human, but considering trolls existed, who was she to care?

Granted, that included her avoiding a near spearing, but Mindy just sidestepped it quickly, looking both impressed and glad to have not been cut.

"Last I checked," she said, still clearly in awe. "Where'd you learn to use those?"

[earthborn]

Lavellan is, as it happens, only a few scant inches shorter than Shepard herself, and if the ears weren't a cue, then the tattoos might have been, that this was...

...well, she's the kind of crazy person who walks right up to a woman with terminator eyes and the kind of scars that glow in the dark, and akss her about her smoothie. Admittedly, it's electric pink and probably has more different kinds of super-vitamins and added sugar in it than any sane person needs in a week, let alone a cup, but it's still ultimately just an iced dessert food you drink with a straw. It's halfway gone, anyways.

And Shepard, eyebrows climbing, wordlessly hands it over. Take a sip if you dare, y'damn weirdo.