thecapitol | You have neither reason nor rhyme

Entry tags:

You have neither reason nor rhyme

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"If I knew how to get out..." there wouldn't a Panem to leave behind. But Shepard couldn't say that, though her tone promised violence. She pressed her lips together tightly, then took a breath to try again, "Look, let's start with the basics. Walk with me-- this way."

Always good to start with the basics. Besides, she was hungry and there was a nice little cafe down this way. It was usually crowded in the mornings, choked with rubberneckers looking to meet a tribute, but by now most of them had cleared out for work, or school, or whatever these people did all day that wasn't comprised of making her own life hell.

"You know why you're here, right? What have they told you?"

Well. It sounded as if their feelings on this nation were mutual at least, that the nation should burn in repayment for this offense. Or rather, the the leaders. The general people could hardly be held accountable no matter how very, very irritating their reactions may be. But fire was a cleansing thing. It purged the rot and preserved the strong.

It would do the city a world of good.

"The common story is I have been removed from preventing a mad-man from ravaging the world for entertainment value. I pray there is some secret, deeper meaning to be shared?"

"Wish I could help you, but I couldn't say that there is," Which was true, of course, she couldn't say, but she did know, a few things more, "Easiest way for me to tell you the rest would be if you start--"

They came abreast of the shop and Shepard paused to push the glass door inward, prompting a tinkling bell and a mumbled greeting from the kid behind the counter. She ignored him in favor of Cassandra, "What kind of technology do you have, back home? Weaponry, transportation, that kind of thing. A lot of what I need to say won't make sense unless I can give you the context."

"Ah. This."

She had received an overview from her district mates, enough to know Thedas was...somewhat unique in priorities. She refused to think 'far behind' as, so far as she knew, many worlds did not possess their magic or demons or other such challenges. But the truth was the light in the darkness, as the Chant said. No need to try and force it to be a different color than it was. She followed the other woman's lead, the same disapproving look she had given the outside world being shared with the shop, as she replied.

"Sword and shield, armor, horses for land transportation, ships for water. Nothing with this harnessed electricity save for magic. Which is put to markedly different uses than heating food and water."

"Great," she muttered, and the door swung back behind them. More pre-industrial-era, wait just a minute here, "Did you say magic?"

Like. Magic-magic. Real magic.

"I'm gonna have to ask for some elaboration on that one."

"As in channeling certain..."

She makes a faint noise of frustration. Fade means nothing here. Nor does lyrium. Or the Maker and the Black City, for that matter. The issue of the circle and the templars was an entirely moot point here.

"Certain aspects of reality into tremendous power. Which exists to serve man."

An important point of clarification, even if Shepard won't understand why. Cassandra looks the other woman in the eye to underscore that fact, make it clear that when Shepard discovers the mages in their midst she knew what the purpose of their gift was.

"I will assume your world took a somewhat different form."

"Uh-huh."

'Channeling certain aspects of reality' could mean practically anything, but unamplified human biotics at that level of technology were unlikely to be any kind of factor. Shepard caught the emphasis if not the purpose of it-- of course something like that was to serve man. Who else would it serve? Sheep?

And then she remembered, even as she slid into a booth-seat and gestured Cassandra down to the opposite side. The man in the arena; she'd looked him up, as she always did, and he certainly fit the description.

"Do you know anybody named 'Dorian Pavus'?"

Edited 2015-01-07 03:00 (UTC)

The sigh she gives as she takes her seat isn't really a pained one. More the response of someone that has been called out for looking remarkably like a very eccentric cousin and forced to confess the relation. Dorian was...well. Brilliant. Useful. An undeniable asset. And an intentionally irritating and dramatic ass when he felt like it. Which, so far as Cassandra had seen, was often to constantly.

"He would be one such magic user, yes. You would have met him in the last arena."

"He's a friend of yours?" she pressed on because-- well, because it was important. What she'd seen of him had not been complimentary, for all that he seemed to have caused no significant trouble once back in the Capitol, "How would you describe him. As a person."

One could never be too careful.

"What is your interest in the man?"

It was knee-jerk reaction. He may be an irritating ass most of his hours, but he was one which had been afforded the protection of the inquisition and, therefore, her protection. Whatever assistance this woman may offer, it would not be bought to the detriment of her allies.

"Well the first time I saw him, he was in the process of setting a sixteen year old on fire, so I need to know if he's going to be a problem," Shepard did not flinch from Cassandra's direct regard; indeed, she was staring her down in return, "Most people are able to get past the whole 'you killed me first' thing, but burning to death is a slow, painful way to go, believe me. If he's going to be targeting kids, then he needs to understand that there will be consequences for his choices."

Edited 2015-01-07 03:52 (UTC)

"No. Dorian is not that sort of man. Was it the boy's first arena?"

The question is neutral, but Cassandra is curious surrounding the circumstance. Her alliance so far as any outsider was concerned was, of course, to the mage. But the truth was important. While sixteen was hardly young in the eyes of a Seeker- indeed, she had been younger when first taken for training and considered 'old' among her cohort- it was still something to note.

"We'll just assume it was the shock. It's not gonna happen again, right?"

Right.

"Brings me to point number two, the arenas are broadcast to the entirety of Panem. Everyone out here can see and hear everything that goes on in there," she gestured expansively, palms open, as if to defuse the threat inherent in that concept, "I assume that's not something you have where you're from?"

Edited (sorry indecisive aaa) 2015-01-07 04:27 (UTC)

"Our spymasters require slightly more finesse."

Cassandra paused for a moment, lips pressed in a thin line as she regarded the other woman. There did not seem to be an implied thread towards Dorian there, no need to press a conflict on behalf of the...what? Honor of one of her mages? Ugh. No. The mere formation of that thought was enough for her to put it aside. She would speak to the man, notify him of potential displeasure at his actions, make future sparring engagements nonnegotiable. But nothing more for the moment.

But she had heard of these 'microphones' and 'cameras' used for observation already, to her deep dismay. They did nothing to improve her opinion of this entire monstrosity.

"But that a handful of strangers losing a game of survival serves as so riveting a distraction is an equal novelty."

"Well, I'm sure they'd love to go back to putting their own children up for the ritual slaughter, but it's so much less popular with the home crowds-- yeah, coffee, two," this was was to the waitress, with a finger held up to represent the both of them. The woman swung off in a swirl of chiffon, her hair already styled and curled into candy-corn horns.

Troll Victor, Troll fashions.

"We're here as a replacement. It's harder to get mad about it when you're only watching a bunch of foreigners get their guts ripped out every other month. You ever try coffee?"

"Native or foreign, save for a select few they are still strangers. Neighbors slaughtered at least sends a message. Our presence is..."

She waved a hand, a vague indication that, yes, she had tried coffee. An imported drink, but still one she had some familiarity with. Cassandra did not approve of blood sport for the gratification of the powers that be, but she could understand it. It kept a people from questioning, particularly if some implication that their family could be chosen next were given. To rip others from their worlds? It was a display of power, certainly. That no one was safe...

She gave a small shake of her head, turning to look around the shop rather than directly at Shepard. To note just how many were making note of them.

"Interesting."

"More than you know, I'm sure."

Shepard missed the days when she could just message the Shadow Broker and have whatever she needed to know unfold at a moment's notice. She missed the days when it was safe to talk tactics freely.

"What do you do, Seeker, Pentaghast? I'm not familiar with the rank. And I've known a few 'inquisitions' but... I don't think I'm aware of yours."

Templars, mages, the Chant. It was all too much to discuss and, as Shepard had so recently reminded her, hardly topics she every wished to express in detail for the entertainment of this nation. Alternative means would have to be found. A pity Leliana and her lovely codes had not yet graced this world with her presence. Regardless, she paused for a long moment before replying.

"The purpose of the Seekers, as presented by them, is to oversee certain power. To ensure it is used justly and without corruption. To right wrongs those bound by such powers and laws cannot."

But the truth of her order was too fresh for her not to press on with one final point before shifting the attention back to the other woman.

"We have lived up to such lofty goals with rather mixed results, Commander. I trust yours is a military service."

"I've had what you might call an interesting career, and I'm not really affiliated with the standard chains of command anymore," the depth of that understatement ran so thick that they almost had a flavor on her tongue, "But I'm a military woman, yes; if you want to formal title, it's Spectre."

If Cassandra Pentaghast wanted to know what a Spectre was, she'd have to ask.

"So you're, what, a... policing organization? It sounds like at least you're trying to do some good."

"We are. For all the good such things do us here."

Mage, templar, ambassador. All had ended up here alike in addition to herself. All, she was forced to note, agents of the Inquisition and not the other side. It did not bode particularly well.

"Have you noticed any patterns, Spectre? On what types of individuals from your home have arrived here?"

"Not as such. Mostly, it seems like, if you get one person from a particular world, others start showing up. Sometimes you'll get a whole group in like that all at once-- and then they'll start disappearing. Sometimes all of them, sometimes just a few," It was exactly as ominous as it sounded, "We haven't been informed by the powers that be what happens to them except that they're 'sent home,' if you believe their claims."

Shepard wasn't inclined to, for one.

"Sometimes it's children, sometimes it's soldiers, fighters, and sometimes it's just ordinary people, with no special skillset. Seems to be mostly random except for what I've already told you."

"Not those only aligned to one purpose or cause within that world?"

She was not sure if it would be a comfort or a source of distress no matter the answer. Either this world was stealing away the strongest supporters of the Inquisition, or one day their greatest enemy may simply appear within their common area. Truly, there was no clear 'better' answer.

"Sometimes. Look, we're all slaves here, no matter what it looks like, I don't have any special information on how they choose their victims," She leaned forward on her elbows, telegraphing her own anxious energy. It wasn't her favorite truth, by far, "You're worried about something. Just come out and say it."

"You have been here longer and do not, from first impression, appear the type to simply allow such a state."

She raised her eyebrows, inviting Shepard to contradict her if the impression was wrong.

"I would assume attempts have therefore been made. And failed. Which is more information newly branded chattel enters with."

"Course they have. I've been a part of it," there was no use hiding it-- even if Jane hadn't spent the better part of the last four months marked for it, this woman was like a bulldog. And that was dangerous, "But the consequences for getting caught are... li'l high. Unless you like being literally branded chattel, dying is the least of your worries. After all, everybody around here dies at least a few times."

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