thecapitol | War Room One

Entry tags:

War Room One

Who | The Dragon Age cast and Friends
What | Dorian plans a covert meeting in the middle of the night so they can actually, you know, plan and shit
Where | In the Training Room
When | Right about now, but at 3 am in the morning
Warnings | uh, nothing I can think of so far

Jason had him on a leash tight enough to suffocate. It was simultaneously as binding as it was embarrassing, so he was loathe to bring attention to it. But they needed to meet. Iron Bull had just arrived - how many more of them would come before the next arena?

It had everything to do with planning and nothing to do with a growing anxiety about making sure they were all okay. Nothing.

The notes came first. Carefully drawn notes with the Inquisition eye at the top, and a sketch of the training room at the bottom, requesting the attendance of the Inquisition and any of her allies that they'd happened to make. He didn't send notes to anyone outside the Inquisition - he trusted them to bring anyone that they thought was worthy. They could use all the help they could get.

The time was set for three in the morning - late enough that Jason would not be awake to keep Dorian from slipping out of the District Suites in the middle of the night and taking the elevator right down to the training hall. (He was getting used to that box.)

He wrung his hands before he stepped into the room. He wasn't nervous. How utterly ridiculous.

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Dorian just wants to check on everyone, even if he completely hides it with sarcasm. So when each person enters the room, he approaches them.

"Still alive, I see."

After arriving, Maxwell set himself off to a side. A position where he could see the others entering, but a step out of the way so they might have some space if they didn't wish to speak with him yet.

He knew how strange it was, even as it was inherently familiar, and he wanted them to be able to have some time to come to terms with it. Or at least, as much as time they could afford here.

He didn't want to be their Inquisitor because of duty; he wanted to be their friend, because they wanted him to be.

Cullen gives Dorian an appraising sort of look, eyebrows raised. "Why wouldn't I be? This city seems relatively secure, all things considered."

Aside from being followed about by a small cluster of women (and a few men) whenever he leaves the tower, anyway.

As far as Cullen is concerned, there is nothing to acclimate to. This man is an Inquisitor, if not the one he remembers. He has the Anchor, he's from Thedas, that's that.

They need to stick together, regardless.

"What's your assessment of the place so far?" he asks curiously.

Cullen waits until everyone has arrived, polite greetings and nods and handshakes when necessary. As far as he's concerned, this is all business. Whatever his personal feelings about anyone here - he considers most to be allies, at least, if not friends, or something like. They're all in this situation together, and they stand very little chance of making it back home unless they acknowledge that and pool their resources.

Which is exactly what he intends to do.

"I suggest we begin by discussing our plan of attack for this - upcoming arena. From what I understand, there are a number of variables involved, but that doesn't mean we can't prepare for a few possible eventualities. Finding each other and finding relatively defensible shelter should be the top priorities."

He wasn't entirely surprised when Cullen approached. Whether it was the soldier in him, or just the man himself, the Commander was too professional to let personnel bias stand in the way. Progression with Cullen was as straight-forward as squares, and Maxwell had always liked that about him.

Arms folded over his chest, he took a deep breath and rested back on his heels.

"On the surface of it, it's something like I imagine Val Royeaux might be, given enough time," he admitted. Then his head tipped, and shook gently. "But it's unnerving. They're all so causal about what they're doing here. What they did to their own people, and what they're doing now to the tributes."

Naturally, Cassandra was one of the first in the room, quietly waiting by the door to observe each person as they entered. She kept two mental lists going as she waited, 1) checking off each known member of the Inquisition present and cataloging their state (which involved a rather intense once over for each of them she is not at all subtle about giving) and 2) of the individuals that any member of the Inquisition had chosen to bring. Should any appear. As at home, they were in need of allies and Cassandra in need of judging each proposed one, whether her opinion was asked for or no.

Maxwell had planned to give them all their space, but especially Dorian - for both their sakes. However it was more difficult that he'd imagined it would be. The man had become such a ready part of his life - one of the best parts....

It ate at him slowly. The want of just a few words more, just few moments, even if it wasn't the same, building in him... until he couldn't stand it.

Weak, he moved over, his head bobbed at the greeting.

"The day's still young," he replied, the humor light. Smile small. Trying. "Plenty of time yet to place your bets."

Edited 2015-01-18 03:22 (UTC)

The training room at the dead of night is an inspired choice, as far as Josephine is concerned. They could stand to find a room which could be properly locked from others, but at this point, Josie can't think of a safer place that would comfortably hold them.

She arrives a few minutes before the hour and is certain to say hello to everyone. "How have you been adjusting to the Capitol? Is there anything you need?"

One way or another, Josephine and the Inquisitor simply haven't crossed paths. She's meant to, of course--while she knows most of their party, reasonably well, they need to make introductions all over again--but until tonight, things have been surprisingly busy. Now, however, she spots him (or thinks she has, based on description) and crosses the room.

"Good evening," she says, giving him a little smile. Evening is, perhaps, pushing it at this hour at the night. "You are Inquisitor Trevelyan, are you not? It is a pleasure to finally speak with you."

"In that sense, exactly like Orlais," Cullen says with a faint snort. "Completely unconcerned with the cost of their games. What interests me, however, is the power the seem to wield."

He glances up and around them, as though he might be able to sense them being watched. "They seem capable of monitoring nearly our every move."

"I would hope even Orlais would draw the line at children," Maxwell muttered in reply. He had no love for the grand game, but at least most of its players entered into it willingly and fully aware of the risks.

Carefully, his gaze follows Cullen's.

"Machines, I'm told. Not magics... though no one yet has quite been able to explain how it works otherwise." His eyes return to the man next to him. "Regardless, we'll want to be careful. Chances are they now we're here and will be listening."

Cullen finds his way to her quickly, standing nearby and crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh.

"Any prospects so far?" he asks. For allies, of course - they're both clearly thinking along the same lines, though he didn't bring anyone to this first meeting. He doesn't trust anyone here yet enough to bring them along. Still, the discussion is worthwhile to have.

He had sought her. He'd looked for all them - excluding The Iron Bull who had seemingly just arrived - but no matter how often he'd stopped into her floor, the Lady always been out.

Not that he could say he was entirely surprised. If any of them were well suited to politicking, it was Josephine. She would be popular.

"I am," he bowed his head politely. "I apologize for it taking this long, but I assure you the feeling is mutual."

He can't quite wrap his head around it, either. He knows magic must run these machines of theirs - it can't be anything else. And yet, there doesn't seem to be any magic at work. It's the most bizarre thing about this place, to Cullen's mind.

"Yes, I think it best we assume we are always being watched, no matter how impossible that may seem. Safer that way, as paranoid as it sounds."

He snorted then, a chuckle more wry than humorous.

"It's not paranoia if it's true."

He paused a moment, then lowered his voice a fraction. "I met a young woman, named Beth. She told me that she's been here for some time now and she said it was dangerous to speak against them."

"Hm." Somehow, that doesn't surprise him, though it also doesn't bode well. He knows what it is to live with the knowledge that any questioning of authority could be met with punishment.

Meredith had been like that, towards the end - as her sanity slipped, as she felt her power, her control over her men slipping with it, and her paranoia and fear grew.

That's it, isn't it? They are afraid. That strikes him as important, somehow, though he doesn't say it aloud, simply files it away to be considered more closely later.

"Our best bet is to keep our heads down and our eyes and ears open," he says after a while. "And look out for each other as we - play their games."

"I have a few prospects."

Which she would be evaluating the reaction to carefully, even if she will not necessarily take it into account. She was used to recruiting without much outside commentary, after all. Both for the Seekers and for the Inquisition, considering Cullen himself had been her choice alone.

"However, it would seem the rulers of this land have recruited a large number of new 'tributes' in the past few weeks. I am unsure what to make of them."

He raises an eyebrow, head cocking slightly to one side.

"I take it that means you have a plan?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Considering Dorian had managed to attract more attention than she- not overly difficult, she supposed, considering a world without mages had witnessed his magic- it was only his maintained notes that had kept her appeased. She hadn't bothered to send any in reply, however.

"No progress, I take it."

"For now, at least." She shrugs--there's a touch of wry humor to her answer as much as his question, unfortunately. "How have you been managing, Lord Dorian?"

Josephine inclines her head in return. Already in his bearing and manner, she can see how he might be an effective Inquisitor; his stance and speech are both easy enough.

"Likewise, my lord." They'll have time to make up for that early lack; Maker knows more important things than smalltalk await them. "How have you found the Capitol so far?"

He both saw and felt the measuring weight of her eyes. That silent matching they'd all done when he'd first met them, lining him up against the men and women they'd known. He didn't blame any of them for it; only hoped they wouldn't find him lacking.

"It's still early days," he admitted. "I haven't yet even seen one of these arenas they speak of, but thus far I'd say - strange, if a fair enough description."

Among other things.

It's an impossible instinct to resist. He's larger than Josephine's Inquisitor was--hardly surprising, considering he's human--and seems more comfortable in his skin. Good signs for them here, even if it makes her miss the woman she knew at Skyhold.

"Neither have I. As I understand it, I arrived very soon after the last one ended." She doesn't regret that in the slightest. "Strange is...fair. It reminds me of Orlais, if bloodthirstier."

"You noticed it too?" he asked, head bobbing slightly in agreement. "If not for the lack of masks, I might have believed that's where I was."

Which he couldn't decide if he preferred or not. It was at once better to see their faces, the real people he was speaking to, and yet, with masks he wouldn't have to see how easily they took everything. How little what they were doing meant to them.

"At least until I got to the rest of it."

Edited 2015-01-18 19:21 (UTC)

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