Cold, dark sea, your waves are rocking me

[dreadinquisitor]

WHO| Inquisitor Trevelyan
WHAT| SHINY. NEW. COME SEE.
WHERE| Various locations in the Tower
WHEN| After the arrival of the other Inquisitor, so... nowish?
WARNINGS/Notes| None in particular. Though, just in case, possible DA:I spoilers may come up with possible cast interaction. Two prompts below, one for general new CR, one for castmates especially if they're interested. 8D



District Suite:

He didn't even know which thing to feel first. Confused? Angry? Blinding panic? Grief? They all rolled about inside him, warring beneath his skin and pushing against his ribs until he thought he might simply fly apart from it.

Dazed, he staggered from the quarters he'd been led to like a newborn colt, stiff and uncertain on his feet, and out into the suite proper, blinking against the too bright lights.

The colors, the noises - a gleaming, impossible city behind a bay of windows, winking back at him as the sunlight played across glass and steel.

Lips parting in surprise, he moved to them, hesitating - just a moment - before laying his hands on the window.

Cool and smooth and real.

"Will my life never cease to be strange?" he whispered breathlessly to no one.



Castmates:

It didn't take long for the news to spread. Some in acquisitions whispered to a Peacekeeper, who laughed to an escort, who rolled their eyes and sighed it to a victor.

Another one with that same ridiculous title. Inquisitive? The Hark? Something like that they were sure. Was it still interesting, if it had technically already been done before? (Maybe, seemed to be the conciseness. Maybe if one of the others actually knew this one. Worth a bet or two, definitely.)

Within hours, it was all over the Tower.

Unaware, Trevelyan roamed the center. It still didn't make any sense; he still wasn't sure if he was more angry or confused, but he'd gotten his wind back and he was going to see what there was too while he had the chance.

Comments

setting this after he's meeting cassandra for timey whimey reasons

[tevintage]

Unfortunately for Dorian, the whispers never reached him. He was quite immune to them entirely, having been all too accustomed to malicious whispers in his wake, and until someone actually spit at him, it would cause no trouble whatsoever.

What did was the fact that he desperately needed to learn how to use a sword, which meant that he found his way down to the training room a little more often than he would have liked. He actively attempted to avoid Cullen and Cassandra - it was a little too much shame than he was really willing to bear, in that moment, especially when there were plenty of strangers willing to teach him the sword.

It wasn't the sword that he'd picked up to warm up with, however. It was a staff - old, familiar and absolutely useless for his usual purpose - that he was currently twirling around. It helped keep the muscles toned, at least. When he saw another man enter from the corner of his eye, he turned to look at him, without a trace of recognition.

"If you've a mind to spar, I could use the exercise."

[dreadinquisitor]

He'd found his way back to the training room almost by accident. He'd meant to, really, he'd just been there (just hours ago - a lifetime ago - performing like a pet for his strange captors), but the strange familiarity was oddly comforting.

At least there was something he recognized. Something had not changed while his back was turned. If this place followed even that small sort of sense, then he could survive it. Would survive it.

The bow helped as well.

It would make no more difference now than it had earlier, of course, but he still felt the better for holding it.

Slinging on the quiver, he was back was turned when the voice called out to him, but he didn't need eyes to recognize its owner. At once his heart lifted and his stomach dropped.

Dorian was here.

He spun quickly, elation and sadness fighting for control of his mouth.

"Dorian!" He took a step, reached out. "Maker forgive me, but you're a sight for sore eyes."

[tevintage]

Dorian raised an eyebrow, leaning on his staff as he titled his head, smirking as if amused. It was a little more of a familiar greeting than he would have liked, but he was getting used to people walking up to him and trying to pet his mustache.

"What, I have fans among the tributes already? Well, I won't blame you, I would be a fan of myself, as well."

The fact that the man said Maker didn't even register. It was so common at home that he hadn't yet realised it was an odd thing to say, here.

[dreadinquisitor]

His head tipped, quirking slightly to one side like a dog at a whistle, and his small smile twitched, but didn't fade. Dorian did like to tease.

"I ...suppose given as it seems like we're going to be here a while, you can add that to the list if you like," he replied with a blink as his hand found Dorian's elbow, squeezed. "After all, there really isn't anyone I'd rather be lost in time with."

[tevintage]

"What did you say?" Dorian asked quickly, the smile instantly dropping from his face, and he turned paler. Then as the sentence registered, he started to look a little angry.

Who had been talking about time magic outside the group of them? The only other person who'd know--

As quickly as the anger came, it left - replaced my a sudden sorrowful dread. "Who are you?"

[revocation]

He hears the name murmured in his trek to the central commons - Trevelyan. It makes his heart stop in his chest for a moment, his breath catching. No. No, she can't be here. They wouldn't, they can't -

But there is someone already here who is an Inquisitor, even if she is not his. She has the Anchor, she is undoubtedly who she claims to be, and yet she is a stranger to him. So what's to stop them from bringing the one he knows?

He doesn't know what to do with the possibility, so he speeds his steps, hurrying towards the door that leads out into the city. He'll deal with the crowds for a while, if only to avoid it. An hour, perhaps two, and then he'll come back, and see. If that makes him a coward, so be it.

[dreadinquisitor]

Dorian had given him their names. A list of faces, of memories, that apparently meant nothing anymore.

Honestly, if he'd known the Commander was avoiding him, Maxwell wouldn't have begrudged him. There was a part of him, a frighteningly large piece, that wanted to put it off as well. To just believe - to just pretend....

It was so much worse than simply being alone.

But he feared that if he gave into it, he'd never find the strength too, so, instead, he steeled himself and went in search of them. One by one.

Cullen, it had seemed at the time, was the safest bet as a steadier man would have been harder to find. He left Dorian in the training room, but lingered nearby, guessing that it would only be a matter of time before the former Templar visited.

He was rewarded after the better part of an hour; the strange getup doing nothing to hide that shock of pale hair and the soldier's gate.

Straightening, he moved to intercept.

"Commander."

[revocation]

The title brings his attention around to the stranger - he's been here long enough to know that most people would prefer to address him by his first name, the familiarity strange to him, only the Inquisitor used it much back home.

That someone is using his formal title - someone he doesn't recognize, well.

In Varric's words, shit.

"I - yes?" he asks, wary.

[dreadinquisitor]

"I thought it best to speak with you myself, before someone else."

Them, he meant. These Panem people.

He took a step closer, trying to keep his tone low, trying to provide them some privacy. "My name is Maxwell Trevelyan, and I was... at one point or another--" he blinked tiredly and pushed out a heavy breath., "--I was the leader of the Inquisition."

Not a castmate but jumping on the castmates one anyway.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus has developed something of a nose for new blood, if picking them out by peoplewatching could be called that. Some people do that thing, craning their necks at the skyscrapers, and others have tremors in their hands that they can't seem to shake. Those from older time periods tend to be the easiest to find, what with their fascination with all technology.

She's taken it upon herself to be a sort of welcoming brigade, or at least an usher as steady and reliable as Charon hurrying people to the land of the dead. The imagery of Dante's Divine Comedy isn't lost on her. It's lingered deep in her mind ever since she read it.

"Howdy there, stranger." She's sitting in the lobby when she sees some of that new blood enter, evident by the way he pauses to look at things as if they were wholly new and not unusual. "You taking it well, arriving here?"

[dreadinquisitor]

He was staring at the box on the wall, at the people moving inside it with their high voices coming seemingly from nowhere, and watching so intently that he jerked a bit when someone suddenly spoke beside him.

He turned, eyes scanning and landing after a beat on the young woman, looking comfortable in her plush perch.

"Does anyone?" he asked wryly, the weight of it all sitting behind his eyes. "It's more than a little to take in."

[celebrityskinned]

"I don't know. I took it pretty well, but my world's not that different." It makes her uniquely good and terrible at being a guide; nothing fazes her, but it puts up a wall between her and the new people who see all the faults that Venus has assumed are part of the scenery, a fact of life.

"What's your name?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"Maxwell Trevelyan," he told her, almost automatically as an eyebrow raised, blue eyes blinking in surprise. "You took being stolen from your home and being forced to kill for the entertainment of others well? ...Or do you mean just how bright and loud everything is?"

That part he could accept, he thought. Maybe. With time. Strange, but not necessarily anymore so than a someone new to Thedas might find it.

The other, however.... She must have come from quite the place.

suites!

[reallynow]

It's funny how people seem to arrive in cycles. A few weeks ago, Jolie got Annabeth, then there was Jack (who she found puttering around the kitchen getting his grimy hands on everything) and now there's this guy. Standing around, whispering to himself. She's been in this job for years, but this part hasn't become any easier. Hell, it's getting harder now that she feels disgusting amounts of sympathy for Tributes on the whole.

"Probably not for a while." She offers in a soft tone, doing her best to look casual and comforting as she crosses toward him from her point in the room. "I don't even need to ask, you're new. Welcome to the District Eight suites, pal. I'm Jolie, your stylist." She extends a hand carefully, but in her mind she can already hear what the conversation will come to be. What's a stylist? I don't need a Stylist. Blah blah, blah blah blah..

[dreadinquisitor]

For a moment - just one brief instant - his disbelief had pushed him past everything else. He was a child again and his father's rapier was gleaming and glinting down at him from it's peg on the wall and his fingers were itching.

Then someone spoke and it all came snapping back like a whip. Stolen through time, a fight to the death, lost...

He turned from the window, and blinked.

Add a mask, he thought, she wouldn't have been out of place in Val Royeaux really. The familiarity of it was quite unsettling.

"I suppose that's fair," he said wryly. "I'm not sure I'd recognize it as my own otherwise."

Slowly he stepped away from the glass and toward her, hesitating a moment before taking her hand.

"Stylist, so you mean to dress me?"

He was aware of the term, yes. He was a Trevelyan, however some like to occasionally pretend otherwise.

[reallynow]

"That's one way of looking at it." She says agreeably, smiling a little wider when he speaks to her civilly rather than lashing out or the like. Greeting Tributes is sort of like picking through a mediocre chocolate box. Some are great, most of them don't do much for you. And why should they?

It's a reflection for another time, though. Her attention is focused on him when he speaks and she shakes his hand enthusiastically. "That's exactly what I mean to do." She confirms with a nod. "You might have noticed we do things a little different here when it comes to fashion. It pays to keep things fresh and interesting, it means you might get a little bit of the spotlight and that means you'll get people interested in helping you win the Games."

[dreadinquisitor]

The enthusiasm was preferable to the rough handling of the men in white, but still rather disconcerting. He wasted no time taking his hand back once she'd released it.

"I see," he replied, looking her over again. Just because it felt familiar, didn't mean he preferred it personally. "Am I to have any say, or will this be like the 'arena' I've been told about?"

Specifically, that there was no choice. That he was here and that he was going to fight, whether he liked it or not.

[alwaysshielded]

Cassandra did not enjoy her daily meals in the restaurants attached to the tower. Enjoyment, however, had very little to do with necessity. To gain access to the gossip and general feel of the people, she had been forcing herself to spend at least one meal surrounded by the strange people of this world and tonight it appeared to have paid off.

Another Inquisitor, so the rumors said. Well, it lent significant support to Dorian's theory of time magic over her's of blood-magic induced memory altering. She wasn't entirely sure whether to feel irritated or relieved by that, and settled on taking it as a small mercy they hadn't placed any gold on the matter. There was no winning between terrible possibilities, but losing a bet to the mage was always an irritating event. Often for several weeks following the loss.

Still, she would not entirely believe it until she saw it for herself. And so she stalked out this strange human Inquisitor, eventually cornering him (based on gossip concerning his appearance, at least) near some common area or another.

"I have heard an interesting rumor."

[dreadinquisitor]

He was seeking them out, one-by-one, finding his way to places he thought they might them most likely to appear. He had no idea that even as he searching, he in turn was being sought. But as he rounded a corner and the Seeker suddenly appeared, as if conjured by his thoughts, he couldn't say he much minded.

It certainly made things more expedient. (And he needn't climb into the moving box again, thank the Maker for small favors.)

Cullen and Dorian both had said Cassandra and Josephine had known other Inquisitors, but her greeting was so familiar, dryly humorous, it managed to lighten his heart. Maybe they didn't truly known one another anymore, but they could learn again.

Couldn't they?

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," he replied, the humor gentle, but hopeful. "Rumor and intrigue seems to be something of a sport here."

[alwaysshielded]

"Or an affliction."

Cassandra would describe it was simply walking forward, stepping closer to the man. But, as ever when there was an answer waiting to be found and the inconvenience of having to actually ask the question was in her way, in truth she stalked towards the source of the problem.

There was nothing familiar in the man. She hadn't expected there to be. Wrong gender, wrong race, wrong life. Yet could he have been the one they followed in some other world? Stood where the Inquisitor she had known did and inspired the same awe and devotion? Pressured Varric into finishing his silly, fantastic novels in the same way?

"First, I am more interested to hear what you know of me."

[dreadinquisitor]

He'd seen it before, and it was no less unnerving to be on the receiving end, but he held his ground. His eyebrows lifting quizzically, head canting just slightly.

"A test?" he asked. "That's a new one."

But, as before, he held firm. Merely crossing his arms as he regarded her.

"Cassandra Pentaghast, of the Nevarran royal family. Seeker, and Right Hand of the Divine, restorer of the Inquisition, and successor to Divine Justinia. You wanted to kill me when we first met, and I'm sure more than once after...." At least once, he figured, if only for the time he'd stopped her from killing Varric.

Trailing off, he leaned back on his heels, blue eyes narrowing knowingly. "Do I pass? Or shall I start listing your middle names?"

i'm so sorry for how late this is

[asunders]

Cole doesn't like spending a lot of time in the tribute tower. He knows what it's for - to house people like them, the ones the Capitol has brought here to die. Again and again and again because once isn't enough, it will never be enough. He prefers the openness of the city itself, even despite the odd looks he gets. He simply pulls his hat down further and goes on his way. Sometimes, to visit the alley cats who have quickly become his friends, or even to the park so he can enjoy a quiet walk.

But today he is searching for someone. He's heard the conversations, of course he has. People say all sorts of things if you make yourself very quiet and unimportant. He spends enough time in dark corners to overhear things - The inquisitor? they whispered, and laughed.

So here he is, trying to search the tribute tower for the Inquisitor. But the only problem is that he's searching for his Inquisitor - a woman. And he can't touch her mind like he used to be able to, so finding her is a little more difficult.

[dreadinquisitor]

He should have let Dorian help him.

In the moment, he'd wanted distance and time and had been half certain he might actually have been going mad. Or dying. Or both. But now, hours into his search for the other members of the Inquisition, he knew he should have asked.

He was too tired for cowardice anymore.

Approaching the box that carried them from floor to floor, he was trying to remember how to recall it to him when he spotted a shape moving past in the corner of his eye. It was just a flash, but it was so often how the spirit appeared--

"Cole?" he called out, turning from the shining buttons on the wall.

[asunders]

Someone is calling his name. There aren't very many people who know his name, here. A man, with a voice that didn't sound like Cullen's, or Dorian's. Cole finds himself turning to face a stranger, a man he has never seen before, but one who knows him, somehow.

"Yes?" his reply is quiet, tinged with confusion as he peers at him from under his wide-brimmed hat. "You know my name, but I don't know you. I wonder why that is..."

[dreadinquisitor]

Ah, so he hadn't been told then. Not surprising, but... it did make things harder.

He'd have given just about anything to be able to change what he had to tell them. To not have that look come into their eyes when they realized.

"My name is Maxwell, Cole," he said slowly, voice nearly as soft as Cole's as he approached. "Maxwell Trevelyan. I'm the -- was an Inquisitor."