You have neither reason nor rhyme

[alwaysshielded]

Who| Cassandra Pentaghast and anyone!
What| Cassandra arrives between Arenas. She is unimpressed.
Where| Training Area, District 3 suits, and anywhere in the Capitol
When| Post arena 12
Warnings/Notes| TBD

Training Hall

[The sword had not been still from the moment she took it in hand. Hunger Games. Another stab, another burst of light as...some form of magical practice dummy burst before her, shattering in squares onto the ground around her before vanishing into thin air. It did little to assuage her theory this was yet another trick of spirits, of the Fade. Impossible for a Seeker to be so impacted by demons. Yet possible and im- had so very little to do with reality as of late. It was impossible for the ancient villains of religious text to appear and terrorize the world. This? This was child's play in comparison.

So she had taken to the training hall to think. Block, parry, thrust, kill. A simple dance of death against these magical conjectures, one that hardly took an ounce of her attention. It brought a calm no other activity could, save perhaps prolonged meditation. Kept her rage occupied as her mind contemplated her current state.

But the sound of another entering echoed through the hall, breaking the dance. She pivoted from the illusions, attention locked on to the potential threat. Without thought her sword pointed in the direction of the noise, her gaze locking onto the newcomer.]

District 3 Floor

[The tragedy was that the chambers were, by all measures, an improvement from her quarters in the Inquisition. There were no holes in the walls, none of Leliana's birds sneaking in to nest in her rafters. The exact function of much of her quarters was beyond her, but she hardly had the patience to sit about and figure them out. If it were important, she would come to terms with it in time. For now she would see the other captives of her cell block, and hold no illusions they were otherwise. The kitchens, however...

Cassandra had to scowl at the sheer unfamiliarity of the room. There were no fires, no mouser cat, no...no turnips burning for no apparent reason. Even the simplest of needs, nutrition, was a confusing endeavor in this nightmare. She stood in the doorway for a long moment before turning to return to the (slightly more logical) common area. Chairs, at least, were an unchanged concept.]

Wildcard
[She will be exploring and disapproving of the Capital and common area, feel free to bump into her scowling at things anywhere!]

Comments

Training time!!!

[revocation]

[ Cullen needs routine. Amid all the insanity and chaos of the world recently, one of the things that's kept him stable is that. Having certain things that he can do every day, in a certain order, at certain times. That goes tenfold here, where nearly everything is baffling to him, where the bright lights and the bright screens and all the attention makes him dizzy and his headaches keep coming back worse and worse, and the nightmares -

Well, the nightmares never change, really. Especially without her to soothe them.

So even in the short time he's been here, every day like clockwork, he goes to the training area, to practice his sword work, to remind himself that he still has a good arm, that if nothing else, he can still fight when he needs to. That he will fight.

At this point, it almost doesn't surprise him to see a new but familiar face here. At least she is familiar, rather than a stranger walking up to him and greeting him like an old friend. ]

Maker's breath, you too? Whoever is responsible for bringing us here seems to have latched onto our world.

[alwaysshielded]

Commander.

[ There was an edge of surprise to her voice. Truly, she had not anticipated seeing the man- though it made sense. As did, in her own mind, the fact her sword was not lowered upon seeing him. A fine strategy, she had to admit. There were few places in her memory that had been more a home than Skyhold. Even her time with the Divine had been spent running from one end of the world to the other, obeying the will of the Most Holy. Drawing forth figures from her time in the Inquisition would be the most intelligent choice, both from a timing and an emotional based assessment. ]

That would be one possible explanation. I suppose.

[revocation]

[ The open suspicion is a little surprising. Right up until he considers it, considers his own feelings on first arriving, and - ah, yes. Of course. She probably thinks he's a demon, or an illusion conjured by one.

That makes things tricky. He knows - from harsh, terrible experience - how real illusions can feel, how easy it can be to question what one sees with one's own eyes. He does still, at times. More often than he would like to admit, even to himself, and especially here. ]

I don't think this is the Fade. I can't be certain of course, but I've sensed no strong magic, and - no lyrium at all, anywhere. [ He keeps his distance from her, searching for something that might ease her fears - about him, at least. ] Dorian is here. They've cut off his magic, somehow. Without making him Tranquil.

[alwaysshielded]

[ There was no lyrium, on that at least they were in agreement. She'd feel it, if there were. In the veins of any that had ingest it if nothing else. But for the rest...instincts warred. This world and her presence in it was impossible, even without the talk of controlling magic without tranquility. It was possibly heretical, even, to think it real, this land that seemed outside the scope of the Maker. But it matched no description of any demonic methods she had studied. She could see no gain in this charade. In fact, the arrival of Cullen was the first event to actually align with the belief this was some demonic vision, the only ray of hope and familiarity.

The sword turned in her grasp, swung to point at the flood rather than the might-be-commander. She could think of one thing to help sort it out. ]

Spar with me.

[They could discuss the matters, the incessant impossibilities at hand, between blows as she evaluated the legitimacy of the form before her.]

District 3

[honeyibrokeharlem]

[The kitchen didn't stay empty for long. A ragged, tired-looking man eventually walked out of the suite area, ignoring her for a moment while he starts to rifle through the kitchen. He, in contrast to Cassandra, seems completely at ease with all the equipment. He takes out a cutting board and a sharp knife and begins cutting vegetables taken from the cold box, the motion rhythmic and familiar.

Only then does he really take note of her. His eyes flick up, but he doesn't attempt to make eye contact. He doesn't like eye contact all that much. He looks down to watch his cutting instead. His excuse is that he doesn't want to cut himself.]

You're new? [Blunt, mostly because he doesn't see the point in beating around the bush. He's not social, but he's familiar with all his neighbors and their frequent visitors and he doesn't know her.] Welcome to District 3.

[alwaysshielded]

[ Blunt was beyond welcome. There were enough mysteries and confusions surrounding this place to add the dance of social niceties on top of it.

Cassandra observed the compartments he went to, what was stored where, even as she rather noticeably moved to rest her hand the hilt of a sword that was no longer there. Failing to finding the familiar weapon there, she settled for her hip instead, scowl deepening at the reminder.]

Very. There must be more explanation as to why I am here.

[honeyibrokeharlem]

[He noticed how she watched him, how she moved. She gave off the feeling of a cornered animal--confused but ready to strike at any threat. It would probably serve her well in the arena.]

The short of it is that they thought you'd be fun to put in an arena full of people ordered to kill each other and see who lived. There's a lot of stuff in there about politics and striking fear into the hearts of the districts we represent, but we're still being thrown in a fancy gladiator match so the rich and powerful can watch what happens.

[His hands are quick on the cutting board. Slicing all the vegetables--perhaps with a little more force than necessary.] On the bright side, if you die in the arena, they'll usually bring you back to life so your fans can obsess over you until the next arena. [He spares a glance upwards, arching an eyebrow. He didn't think that side was bright at all.] Do you want a drink?

[Lord knows he did when he found all this out.]

Also in the training room because sobbing, swords

[tevintage]

Don't rely on your magic, because you probably won't have it.

It almost sounded like threat, every time he heard it, even though he knew it was mostly just a warning. The last arena - his first - his magic had returned to him as soon as he'd come to the top of the chute. The fact that this was (apparently) a rare and wonderful boon did not sit well with him. He had been able to touch the Fade as long as he could remember, and he was good at it. He was an excellent mage. Forcing him to fight with swords and sticks seemed rather - well - silly.

It didn't mean it wasn't the truth, however, so with no small amount of grumbling he traveled down to the training hall.

He saw her almost as soon as he entered, and it almost wasn't a surprise, though it made his chest ache hollowly. How many of them would the Capitol rip from their lives.

"Well, Seeker, I should have known they would bring you eventually."

poor mage baby

[alwaysshielded]

She had already encountered Cullen, and so knew both that Dorian was somewhere about and that- as much as she could be certain, given the circumstances- it was indeed the man himself and not some demonic projection of him. And while passing the blame for her abrupt relocation to the mage known for dabbling in time magics was tempting...even Cassandra had since dismissed the possibility as foolish. Dorian had been nothing if not blunt regarding his involvement in the previous 'incident.' It did not follow he would not claim responsibility were it owed him now.

So it was with more resignation and annoyance than suspicion or anger she met him now, sword point immediately lowered once he was recognized. Neither emotion were particularly directed at the man, but rather lingering results of the current situation. Though that fact didn't remove the cold edge of sarcasm from her tone.

"Should you? No doubt it was my charm and love of political dramatics which caused such certainty."

Re: poor mage baby

[tevintage]

"No," he agreed cheerfully enough, for someone who was actually - and had been for a while - quite upset. He didn't take her coldness to heart. He was used to it, and who knew what time she had come from?

"I just am rather afraid that they are intent on collecting the entire set."

training halllll

[darmisu]

[And there's Cassandra. Lavellan is playing with knives again, but the familiar sight of her friend decimating a test dummy is enough to pull her out of her concentration. She has to say something.]

[So she walks over, trying to decide on her plan of attack.] Cassandra Pentaghast?

[alwaysshielded]

[ An elf. She had not seen many since arrival, granted, and it was perhaps a poor reflection of her own privileged life style, but her knee-jerk assumption was servant. Or mercenary, given the weapons in hand. Not that Cassandra ranked as higher than 'slave' in this world, but there you go.]

Yes?

Training Hall!

[gunshiptotheface]

[He was late coming down to the training hall today, usually he was there early when there was no one else even awake. The noise of someone training had caught his attention, deviating from his normal track to where the sparring mats were he decided to have a look at who was hacking up the practice dummies.

He wasn't trying to be stealthy but the sword in his direction wasn't what he expected. At least she knew how to fight, he was glad for that, but the threat was still obvious and he met her gaze with her own sharp one.]

It might look bad to run someone through in the training area when they're not a hologram.

[alwaysshielded]

[oh shit a monster- ahem. Her shock is rather visible at the appearance of the...sentient, but her sword hand remains steady as she swiftly recovers. Cassandra had faced far more terrifying creatures than ones commenting on her manners in the past few weeks alone. There was too much happening in this world to afford her the luxury of judging based on appearance alone.]

I was given to understand that was rather the point of our current confinement.

[gunshiptotheface]

Not outside of the arenas.

[ Being held at sword point doesn't even phase him. It had surprised him that she would be so comfortable with a sword of all things, but he'd come across much stranger things in his time here.]

The productive way to spend time outside of the arenas would be to make allies, although murder also works.

district 3 floor

[somewhatfallenfortune]

[Josephine understands the elevators at this point, but understanding doesn't prevent a person from occasionally stepping out onto the wrong floor. She catches herself halfway out the doors, stopping herself from following the District 3 member further.

She'd get right back in and go the rest of the way up to District 12's quarters, but she catches sight of a familiar figure crossing in the corridor. No one has a stride quite like Cassandra Pentaghast. Josephine takes a few swift steps, speaking as she approaches.]

Seeker! When did you arrive?

[alwaysshielded]

[ She should not be surprised. In a world of strange creatures and goals, where soldier and mage alike were taken without thought, one more familiar face should be nothing. But it sets her back on her heels for a moment, nonetheless, to see Josephine rushing towards her in a place intended for battles to the death.

Well. She supposed there were all too many forms of battle. The ambassador would certainly prevail, over Cassandra included, in any that required political maneuvering or skill at cards. ]

Only this morning, ambassador. Should I take it from your tone that you have been here for some greater time?

[somewhatfallenfortune]

I've been here a few days.

[And for a moment, everything she wants to say feels inadequate. Josephine bears a great deal of respect for Cassandra; she won't insult the woman by saying how good it is to see her here. Every one of them in Panem is another who isn't with the Inquisition.]

They will have the entire Inquisition here, at this rate. Have you seen the others? I believe you bring us to six from Thedas.

Wildcard

[earthborn]

Shepard made a habit of running. It wasn't just a good way to burn off energy, it was a good way to stay sane, and to keep from being recorded-- or at least, a way to keep from making it easy. She liked to vary the route, but no matter what, her circuits always started and ended at the Tribute's Tower. It used to be so popular, here, but these days it seemed to have fallen into ill repute and the little bakery across the street had gone untenanted for more than a month.

Now, there was a certain cast to newcomers. They didn't walk, they scurried or strode or slunk. They looked around like they'd never seen anything in the place, like they'd hated it all their lives, or like they were looking for the seams in the illusion. This woman now, she looked like she'd rather spit on the sidewalk than walk on it, but had been given no such option.

It was refreshing to see so much annoyance leveled at simple pour-pavement; most people saved that level of derision for the living.

"Everything alright here?" Shepard, in her embarrassing running pants and stolen shirt printed in cheerful prison-fives, was clearly no Capitolite, "You seem kind of uh..."

Angry? Rightfully enraged? Pissed off beyond human measure?

"...upset."

shep you get her

[alwaysshielded]

The vehement glare that had, only moments before, been directed at the unnaturally smooth walkway- yet another in an ever growing list of common place items just different enough to be irritating- quickly refocused on the other woman. She instantly recognizes her as not being a citizen of this land, despite the question, yet again, concerning her feelings. But it was not the same kind of yammering, vacant fawning the few natives she had encountered thus far had expressed at getting a sneak-peak at one of the newest tribute.

She gives a soft, 'hrm,' and returns her glare to the city in general. Conversation she could do. But, so far as Cassandra knew, the newcomer was not one deserving of her deep desire to flay flesh from bone with look alone.

"I am not. I am incensed."

they can form a guild for people who are too pissed off all the time

[earthborn]

No shit, she was incensed. Shepard huffed a laugh and folded her arms, following the line of Cassandra's gaze out at the city proper. It was a nice day, and the midwinter sky was a pale, strained blue, like it had been stretched too thin. It set light against the silver-chrome and glass skyscrapers like pillars of ice, and gave the whole scene a clean, surreal feeling.

"Yeah, I can see that," Purity and beauty built on war and blood and slavery. But still, very pretty; Shepard blew a sigh through her nose and turned back to Cassandra, "And, I can see that you're new here. That, or you just... hate concrete, for some reason. I'm Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy, they've got me bunked up in District Five. Let me lend you a hand."

training grounds - so sorry for the late!

[asunders]

( he is different now. he's...human, and no one is more surprised than cole himself. his body feels so heavy and so foreign these days. every few hours, he feels the indignant rumble of his stomach and realizes that he has to eat again. or sleep, when he never had to before. in short, cole doesn't really know what to do with himself.

mostly, he spends his days wandering the capitol. he eventually finds himself making his way into the training room, and he's about to take hold of a few small knives before he realizes who is behind all the clamor, the sound of metal scraping. she turns because his footsteps are louder now than they used to be. he's more substantial than he used to be.

she points the sword at him and he looks back at her with intense calm. )

Another. They bring us, one after another. They hold us like figurines behind the glass. a complete collection to please their audiences.

( cole fidgets a little bit. )

Hello, Seeker.

No worries!

[alwaysshielded]

Hello, Cole.

[ The sword lowers quickly, Cassandra long since past the urge to chase Cole off whenever he suddenly appeared. Which, for once, the sudden presence behind her had not been the case. She did hear him. Which was another curiosity to add to the rest. Magic blocked, demons absent, and yet they recruit a spirit? Or whatever the boy-thing was now that he had spent time among the Inquisition. But the darting and weaving way of speaking. That, at least, hadn't changed.]

Whatever strange alterations this world inflicts upon us, you remain yourself, I see.

[asunders]

No. I'm -- the same. But different.

( it's hard to explain. he's still not sure how to do it himself, although he is grateful for the fact that she lowers her sword. he's come to really like cassandra over his time with the inquisition. more than anyone, he sees her as being capable of changing things for the better. )

I have to eat, now. And sleep. I didn't, before. I think I'm...human. Not like I was, with none of the old songs. Human, like you.

District 3! (sorry for the late tag in, hope this is okay?)

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi happens to be draped over one such chair as the newcomer investigates the living spaces around the suite. Her knees are resting over one arm, and her back is supported by the other. Her socked feet are resting with her heels against the surface of a side table. There is an empty plate with a few crumbs sitting on the coffee table not far away.

The remote in her hand suggests that she might have been picking idly through the television channels, but it hangs loosely as she observed the woman walking around the suite. She doesn't remember her being there before, which means that she's probably new. Oh boy.

"Looking for something?" the grey-skinned girl asks, lifting both brows up over the red glasses that she wears.