thecapitol | You have neither reason nor rhyme

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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!]

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"That's enough already, to distinguish her," he said, carefully adjusting his pose to try to match Cassandra's. He wasn't going to whine yet. Later. Later he would whine so profusely that she would put her hands over her ears. But now, they had much more important things to speak of.

"Mine was a man. An archer. Cullen's a woman, a mage. A human. The one that arrived before you did? Elven. A woman. An archer. I have no idea how much the Anchor affects them, but it is safe to say that we all remember very different people."

"And so you believe there are many Inquisitors...or our minds have been altered on this point. To create division in the ranks, perhaps."

She held up a hand to indicate he hold still- the hand still steady, despite the verbal blow Dorian had dealt. Genders, races, talents...could so many different individuals truly fill one role? Or was some greater magic at word here? How much of her memory could be relied upon?

One problem at a time. Focus on the drills, then the rest. She stepped out of her own stance, moving- more prowling, really, given her current state of mind- to Dorian. Then a step and she was behind him, of of his view, to more effectively correct his stance if he allowed it. Footing first, then how shoulders aligned with hips after.

"No, I don't believe our minds have been altered," He said, a little too sharply, the first indication that he was actually incredibly bothered by the idea. "I am inclined to believe that someone has replicated Alexius' time magic, and found a way to return to before the conclave, and... remove... the person they expect to become the Inquisitor."

He let her rearrange him, feeling a bit like a playhouse doll, but not complaining.

"However, given the... nature of the Inquisitor's particular talent, all it meant was that fate, or the Maker, or Andraste herself, simply made sure someone else was there to interrupt. I think someone back home is trying to change time, and doing it as many times as they can until something goes right. Our presence here? Either they are actively taking advantage of it, or, it's pure circumstance that every time they bring one of us here, the timeline has already changed."

"And your grip. You are attempting to smash into others, not launch spells from the tip."

This was not one of Varric's stories where the commanding instructor slipped their arms around the waist of their charge from behind to 'help,' thus she is required to move back round to stand before the man as she adjusted his hand position. Along with receiving actual weaponry advice, Dorian could see the concern building in her expression, near matching the rage now. A systematic destruction of Inquisitors across time? It was disturbing... and not as far fetched as she would have liked.

"I will confess, Dorian. It is an unsettling feeling to wish for something as abhorrent as a trick of the mind or demonic possesses to be the cause of my troubles. But if you believe they are merely taking advantage, then the cause for that particular trouble remains in Thedas."

"I could not possibly tell you, save my own inclinations of belief," He said, watching her face as she adjusted his grip.

"I've no reason to believe they have any contact with anyone in Thedas, but I'm not sure what evidence I could have, unless I saw how they brought us here for myself."

He paused, and then sighed a little wistfully. "How much simpler demonic possession would be... They usually try a little harder than this, however."

With grapes.

"Indeed. So far the sole attempt at catering to my desires has been the appearance of Cullen and yourself."

Meaning the results were, to say the least, mixed. She stepped back again and gave a small nod of approval before resuming her own, far more aggressive stance. No information. She could not blame him, could not justly blame any taken in the same way she had been. But it made her teeth grind to run into wall after wall for even the simplest of explanations regarding this place.

"Defend your left side. I am going to attack your upper arm."

"I think that I am likely the last on your potential list of desires," Dorian quipped, a flicker of a smile across his lips, unable to help himself. It was actually somewhat of a relief, having her listen to him instead of just deny it utterly like Cullen. Cullen had been almost exhausting to talk to about it.

He shifted his stance - the new grip utterly unnatural, but he held it. At least she was warning him, this time.

Dorian may owe a thank you to Cullen for that matter. Had she not already sorted out a number of her demon-related worries with the man (as well put to use his tolerance for her holding a sword to his throat) the entire theory would be a far more difficult one to swallow.

"Do not think so lowly of yourself, Dorian. You do place slightly higher than Varric."

And there was the swing, again the butt end of the spear, directly for where that large patch of shoulder and skin would be showing in his typical armor.

"But I am to take it this theory is the extent of your observations thus far?

He laughed at that, a bright laugh, though it was the one he gave in the face of danger, at the height of peril. It was not a joyful thing rather than an exuberant thing. Still alive.

Still alive.

He never thought he would miss Varric, of all people, quite so dearly, however.

"The extent? Not entirely, though that is what I've been able to make sense of. I have a thousand other burning questions that I've not been able to find answers to, and searching only seems to yield even more questions."

"Well, by chance it has escaped your vast attention, seeking is part of my title. If there is some particular information which would prove useful..."

She gave a slight inclination of her head even as she readied herself for the next blow, indicating she would do what was in her power to acquire it. Which, with Dorian and Cullen at hand, would likely mean being the strong arm to match their earnestness and charm. A role she was more than happy to fulfill. Cassandra would certainly not be able to play the part of charming tribute, after all. Better they each played to their strengths and coordinated, as they had done in the Inquisition, than attempt to solve it all on their own.

"For now, watch my face, not my weapon. One will hurt for the moment of impact, the other will have time to plot your death if you are not attending to how the next planed move is written there. And, come. Attempt to strike me back."

Edited 2015-01-08 03:48 (UTC)

"I'll make you a list," He quipped, though it was half serious. He needed time to set his thoughts in order, but then he wold most certainly solicit her help in obtaining answers.

He sighed - already hurting everywhere - and looked at her a little warily. "If I had been meant to be a soldier, I wouldn't have been born nearly as handsome," he complained lowly. And then, after a moment: "Though you and Cullen certainly do your best to defeat that particular stereotype."

He lunged forward, doing his best to strike out with the blunt end of his spear.

"Truly, I am touched."

Handsome was no small compliment for a woman such as she, though given the source, her tone did take a dryly amused tone. She was not quite so manly as to appeal to this mage, she should hope.

Sadly, the lunge was deflected. Though more slowly than she would have usually done, the move exaggerated, see how it is done practically radiating from her. She had not trained many recruits, but she had trained some. And unfortunately for Dorian, she had ever found pain the best instructor, which is why her deflection and pivot ends in a solid strike against his back.

"It is an injustice, Dorian, and a puzzling one at that, to have your true craft removed. We must, however, live in reality. Return to your stance. Let me see what you remember."

Just because she wasn't quite his type didn't mean he didn't give credit where credit was due.

Though he was rather regretting it as her spear hit him bluntly in the spine and he stumbled forward a few feet, dropping his own spear. Wincing, he leaned down to pick it up and tried to set back into a stance that was a semblance of something correct.

"I'm perfectly fine living in reality as long as it doesn't include a broken nose," he said wryly.

"Scars improve one's mystique. Or so some rather dull courtiers have informed me over the years. I can only imagine what re-healed bone adds to in their assessment."

It was not the worst he could have done. Not the best, of course, either. But Cassandra would not put it fully past the man to put one or two limbs out of place intentionally simply for the excuse of her coming to correct him again over hitting him. Which, for this first lesson, she was willing to do. Her own weapon was dropped once more as she went to stand behind him again.

"Next time, I am going to observe while Cullen spars you."

"That adds to one's mystique as long as it suits you. My delicate features would hardly take to such a beating," he mused wryly.

He let her move him around like a doll again, though he couldn't help chuckling at the latter part. He was finally beginning to relax and actually - well - feel somewhat at home, despite everything, just by having her and Cole and Cullen there.

So of course, the teasing started.

"I'm sure you would love to watch us spar, but I don't think I'm quite to Cullen's taste, alas."

"A bit too easy for his preference, it's true."

Possibly the most tragic thing about the moment was she hadn't meant it that way. Did not even notice for a moment, distracted as she is by making sure his footing is squared with his shoulders, that he has a firm defense that may withstand some of the more inexperienced tributes. There is a half second pause before she lets out a low groan, shaking her head at the extreme periphery of his vision. Marker. She will simply move on, regardless.

"But it would be for the benefit of you both, believe it or not."

He has to laugh - there's no other response he can make.

"To his benefit, most certainly," he said with a grin. He loved it when he made her groan, or when that little knot between her brows appeared. "You should tell him so. He can bring the candles, and I'll bring the wine."

"Yes, most amusing."

She was certain little knot between her brows had to be large enough a presence to reach her voice, echoing in the sheer dryness of her words as she used slightly more force than needed to kick one of his legs into place. Candles and wine indeed.

"As useful as your arcane knowledge as been, in this land you are a concern, Dorian. If we are forced to perform in this pathetic act until we find a way to return to Thedas, you must rise to the occasion. You cannot serve as a distraction for the more...humane among us."

To Cassandra's mind, sparring would serve them both because it would let Cullen know Dorian's current abilities. It would allow the commander to focus more on the task at hand within the arena than concern himself over what the mage may or may not be capable of surviving. For good or ill, knowing was ever an advantage over speculation. Should they be unable to solve their current problem in time, she could only pray the knowledge of Dorian's weaponry training would prove more comfort than concern for both her and the commander by the time they entered the arena.

Edited 2015-01-08 05:15 (UTC)

"Ow!" Came the little involuntary sound as her foot slammed straight into his ankle to correct it. He probably deserved that.

"I think I can do a little better than a distraction," He complained, feigning hurt. "Just because I am not quite myself doesn't mean I'm entirely useless."

And he was willing to learn, even though it evidently meant being beaten to a pulp.

"I am aware."

She rolled her eyes at the dramatic response ('ow'? truly, it was a pity Sera had not traveled with them. She at least could put that kind of dramatics to shame), then returned to her position in front of him. She has picked up her own spear a moment later, but for now she observed him from the front rather than striking again.

"I have every faith in your potential," and this, at least, was not stated sarcastically or with even a drop of irony. "It is a question of if you are willing to dedicate your actions towards such goals. I am no Inquisitor. If you are correct, than I doubt the one you- or I- have known will ever appear. Whether you chose to commit the same level of dedication to our group without her- or him- to woo you is dependent on you entirely."

Because Maker knew none of the Inner Circle, save Cullen and perhaps Leliana, would have joined the movement under Cassandra's persuasion alone. The Inquisitor was the unifying force. If they could remain an effective unit without such a force- or under the direction of a new, unfamiliar one- was yet to be seen.

The humour suddenly snapped out of Dorian's expression, his eyes turning hard and his stance stiffening.

It was the 'woo' that did it. Likely, she didn't even know what she meant - or, more realistically, didn't even know how he would hear it at all.

"I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do," He said, his tone sharp, "Not because I was wooed." It stung, badly, and it had come from so far afield that he hadn't really been ready for it - for the sudden aching reminder of loss, for the implications his father had made ('Oh, so that's why you're here'), for the whispers and the jests and the taunts. For everything that had absolutely nothing to do with what Cassandra said in that moment, but came rushing at him with a raging fury, built solely upon grief and despair. Because Cassandra was right.

He would never appear.

He lunged again, before she could get the chance to, surprisingly quick and with all his force behind it.

It took her aback. Not so much from the skill which, given his training with a staff, is not nothing despite his seeming opinion of his own capabilities, but still far below her own. But rather from the unprompted nature. Apparently, she had said something wrong. Hardly a novel scenario in her lifetime.

She deflected the attack, leaving his momentum to spend itself in the void behind her, letting him stumble forward. But not without a swift strike to his shins in repayment.

"I did not intend offense."

He didn't say ow, this time, at least, even though the strike burned with pain. He planted the butt of his spear on the floor, keeping him upright.

"No. Of course you didn't. But you've never particularly understood why I stayed, so I shouldn't be surprised." It was unfair, really, and he would feel bad about saying it later, even though it was true. The Inquisitor had told him, about Cassandra's warnings about him, all those ages ago. And though he counted her a friend now, the idea that he was only bound to them through the Inquisitor--

He turned, taking a breath, and another stance again. "You - all of you- are the closest thing I currently have to a family," he said a little stiffly. "I'm not about to abandon you now."

"I believe you."

But she will not apologize. A different woman may, but here, now, the thought truly does not cross her mind. Her misgivings were justified by her own standards, and she had acted in his best interests by offering this lesson despite them. Had she remained silent, he may well never had known her hesitations concerning his loyalties. There was little point in regretting honesty, and so she does not feel any need to demonstrate remorse.

But she had observed Dorian. Had, indeed, dedicated more time to it that was perhaps required due to her initial hesitations about the man and her Inquisitor's closeness with him. None of what she had seen gave her cause to do anything but accept his words as honesty now. Even as she returned to her defensive posture and indicated he should attempt to charge again, she did not doubt.

"If it is any consolation I-" she frowned, but did not glance away. This was a sparring match, not some conversation out in the snow where she had the luxury of glancing away from her practice dummies. "Understand. Entirely."

The belief was enough, close enough to an apology that it satisfied him, and he relaxed slightly.

"Then let us continue, shall we?" He asked, preparing himself. "I still have some flesh not yet bruised."

It was going to be a long day.

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wrapping this up