If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology.

[hereliestheabyss]

Who| Hawke and D11, Hawke and open
What| Playing catch-up with Hawke arriving in the Capitol after her death.
Where| Everywhere. No, really. Starts in D11 Suite, migrates around the Training Center.
When| After her death (obviously) but before the Crowning.
Warnings/Notes| Dealing with death, alcohol, Hawke being Hawke.

For someone who treated the majority of her time in the arena with no degree of seriousness, Hawke sure took her death awfully hard. It wasn’t heroic or brave or even a little bit bloody, it was— Nothing. Insignificant. Crushed under an avalanche that was the result of her own hubris, disappearing in a sea of white. Worse yet, she took another ally down for the count with her. Her only comfort was the thought that her last moments of flailing before the wave of snow hit were a spectacle worth seeing. Because that’s what the whole arena was about, right? A show.

Once she shrugged off the shame, the unlucky hero was tasked with something else entirely: Adjusting to Capitol life. Everything was shiny and new and from an era she’d never dream of seeing in her lifetime. It was worse than the killing game, in a twisted sort of way. At least she could fight there, resume her life-long struggle to survive. Here? The opulence just rubs in the fact that she’s stuck, trapped, torn away from the existence she knows.

And it reminds her entirely too much of Orlais.

A:

Hawke spends a long time simply roaming the District 11 suite. What do you mean, there’s a world beyond this floor? Blasphemy. Every appliance is like magic, every new contraption an adventure, and she briefly considers keeping a journal just so she can get all the details right when she eventually tells all her friends about this advanced new world. Because she will get to tell them. She’ll see them again. She has to believe that. There’s comfort in that.

Any encounters on the first day she wakes up will involve her shuffling around in a stupor, wearing a robe and sporting wild hair that could rival a lion’s mane. Beyond that? Expect her to be sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Her hand on the stove. Her head in the freezer. Asking someone how the bathtub works. Asking someone how anything works. The joys of dealing with someone from medieval times.
 

B:

Eventually, inevitably, her world expands. Hawke explores the Training Center to the best of her ability. The rooftop is beautiful, the couches in the central commons are comfortable, and the actual training area is where she’ll probably be spending most of her time. It’s the most familiar thing about the place, after all, and seeing as the magic that normally runs through her veins has yet to be returned, honing her other skills is sorely needed. If you’re looking for an encounter with her, that’s the place to go.

… Unless you run into her before she properly settles down, that is, in which case you’ll find her behind firmly planted in a seat at the bar, nursing a drink. Wine, to be specific, in honor of a certain elf. In fact, she does impressions of said elf at one point to entertain the other patrons. And the rest of her companions, too. No one is safe from her terrible jokes. No one.

Comments

[revocation]

After his return to the Capitol - and ascertaining that Adella is alive and well, and a somewhat-extended reunion period - Cullen falls almost immediately into a routine. A major part of that routine is daily visits to the training room, naturally. He has no intention of giving up his training and exercise regimen just because he's in a place like this, with so many luxuries around (not to mention the bright lights and noise).

So he's here already, has been here a while, judging by the fact that he's already worked up a sweat as he goes through the motions with a practice sword and a training dummy. It's not the same - it's never the same without a shield and a proper sparring partner, but it'll do well enough for the moment.

When he spots Hawke, he gives her a vague nod of greeting. They may not always see eye-to-eye, but they're both from Thedas, they are, he thinks, natural allies in this terrible place. Who can they trust if they can't trust each other?

[hereliestheabyss]

There’s a familiar face. Maybe not the one she was hoping to run into first (it’s selfish, she knows, but she can’t help but wish for certain people to show up in spite of it all), but his presence offers the comfort of familiarity. Not to mention someone she can tease mercilessly. Both of those factors have her grinning like a cheshire cat, toothy and wide and just the tiniest bit wicked. Hawke crosses her arms, leans against the wall nearest the rack of weapons, and opens her mouth. Only good can come from this.

“Well, that hardly looks like a fair fight. Can’t be much fun for the dummy. No thoughts in the head and all.” And then she’s gesturing towards the actual training dummy with a nod of the head. The key is in the delivery. “And I don’t imagine that mannequin is getting anything out of it, either.”

[revocation]

That smile is more than enough to put him on his guard immediately. He knows Hawke well enough to know that that smile? Never means any good.

And - yes, there it is. The tease, at this point, simply washes over him, and he shakes his head at her.

"It's good to know some things never change," he points out, turning back to his exercises. Right now, not having a thought in his head would probably be a blessing. He's got far too many racing around for his own comfort.

"If you want some instruction, Seeker Cassandra has already started training both Dorian and Adella," he points out in between jabs.

[hereliestheabyss]

“I think I’ll pass on the… Swording.” As Merrill so aptly put it. “Hardly seems practical, given the situation. On a proper battlefield, sure, swing all the swords you want. Fighting for survival? Very different. I prefer something quick and dirty. Something that I can have ready instantly, even when someone catches me by surprise.”

She’s on the move again— or perhaps prowl might be a more apt description— poking and prodding the spare training dummies, aloof as she can manage. “No, you can keep the chivalry and knightliness that comes with a proper weapon to yourself. Who knows? Maybe they’ll give you a shiny set of armor in the next arena to match.”

Hawke refrains from adding that the good Seeker might not be so keen on seeing her after being largely responsible for her death. Who needs truth when you have humor?

[revocation]

"Suit yourself." Perhaps she has a point - and no doubt she can take care of herself in many adverse circumstances, magic or not. The woman did avoid the Circle her whole life. Much of it spent in a bustling city full of Templars, though no doubt many of them had been corrupt enough to accept bribes and the like. Kirkwall really is just a depressing topic to turn his thoughts to.

"I highly doubt they'll make it that easy, for anyone," he points out after a moment. "That wouldn't be entertaining enough."

A

[contrarianlibrarian]

China has already heard of Hawke, both from Arena footage and from Adella. Supposedly this woman is a great hero who even has a book written about her. Of course, China was immediately intrigued and eager to meet this Tribute.

When China steps into the kitchen to see said hero sticking her head in the refrigerator, she wonders if she should have been more skeptical about the reports.

"...Please don't do that. You may hurt your brain."

She quickly scans what she can see of the woman, wondering why in the world so many of her Tributes look so disheveled when she first meets them. China, by contrast, has her hair meticulously swept off her face and her pantsuit creased in only the proper places. At least her priorities are in order.

[hereliestheabyss]

Hawke is quick to take China’s advice, if only because she has no point of reference to tell if the fridge is actually capable of inflicting brain injury. All she can tell from observations is that it manages to consistently uphold a freezing temperature with little to no effort involved. What else could the strange device be capable of? Better not leave it to chance. She yanks her head out of the refrigerator and at least attempts to pat down her hair, staring at the newcomer with curiosity. In what should come as no surprise, given the bad case of culture shock, the fridge door is left swinging wide open.

“But how does it do that? Keep the cold in, I mean? Is it magic? If they stole my magic just to use it to keep cold air in a box, I’m going to be livid.”

[contrarianlibrarian]

China wonders if she should say something about the door right away, but, hey, they've got money to burn here. Probably. At least she's not the one paying for it.

"Magic?" She waves her hand, "It's technology, of course. Technology that has been around for quite a while here, but I suppose every world is different."

She frowns, concerned. "...Is magic how you kept your food back where you're from?"

[hereliestheabyss]

“Oh, Maker, no! That would require the average person to trust standing next to a mage long enough for them to cast a spell without summoning a demon.” Not that Hawke is confident that demons haven’t been involved in her Panem experience thus far, but she’s had enough first-hand experience with them to be allowed to cry wolf once in a while. She taps her chin thoughtfully, pursing her lips together.

“We use a lot of salt, for the most part. Tastes exactly like you think it would. I’ve heard they’re using enchanted runes in some parts of Orlais, but it’s highly controversial. A lot of arguing over lyrium affecting the food. Nothing like this.”

[contrarianlibrarian]

"...Interesting." So mages aren't popular and demons are apparently a problem. China doesn't know if or when she'll need this information, but anything is useful. And she has to admit that she's awfully curious about Hawke's world.

"Has the food here been to your taste, then? I can always communicate with the staff if you desire something more... akin to the comforts of home."

Sometimes the way to the heart is through the stomach; China will try and travel any path to that destination.

A

[a_minute_younger]

Gary walks into the kitchen to get breakfast and looks just about as disheveled as Hawke does. He's still in his pajamas, his hair is unwashed and half-gelled in mangled spikes, but it's not for any lack of enthusiasm to face the day or other extenuating circumstances. He just slept in. This happens.

Still, Gary is very impressed with the competition he's facing, and has to stand back and marvel at the gravity-defying tricks her hair is preforming for at least a full minute before the context of the situation kicks in. This is Hawke, and that is the freezer she's had her face in this entire time. She...doesn't seem like she's looking for something, because she's not rooting around. Gary is a little baffled about this at first.

Then he decides to troll her.

"Try the microwave," he suggests, casually leaning against the back counter. "Maybe you'll find what you're looking for in there."

[hereliestheabyss]

The trolling is largely lost on her, given her lack of knowledge on… Well, anything remotely modern. Which is a damn shame, because anyone that shares her awful sense of humor deserves a high five, as far as she’s concerned. A hearty slap on the back, at least. As is, she promptly removes her head from the freezer and blinks owlishly at him. And peels off an ice cube that stuck to her cheek at some point, while she’s at it.

“I’m not looking for anything,” Hawke clarifies defensively. “I’m... Exploring. I’m willing to explore whatever a microwave is, mind you, but I can’t say I have high hopes, going off the name alone. I mean, microwave? That just sounds silly.”

[a_minute_younger]

Oh man, she doesn't know what a microwave is. As he's never met someone who doesn't know anything about basic kitchen appliances, Gary can only imagine what sort of magnificent goldmine of pranks he's stumbled upon, and doesn't really take the time to consider how serious Hawke is being, or if what he has in mind will be mentally scarring for her future kitchen adventures. There is only the joke, nothing more.

"No, really! Microwaves are the best," Gary insists with earnest enthusiasm. "If you don't believe me, put a couple forks in it and start pressing buttons. Trust me, it's awesome."

[allyorfoe]

"So they couldn't keep you down, huh." A drawl, as the woman sauntered over, a training hatchet in hand. Not quite an axe, but similar enough for comfort. "Knew you'd poke your head in sooner or later, I just expected it to have the Center more on fire. Maybe a few qunari running around trying to cut tribute's heads off. If anyone asks, I definitely have no position of power, and am best left alone." She grinned, and despite her words, was relieved to see Hawke up and about. Women with power needed to stick together, especially when everyone else from their world seemed to be from this stupid Inquisition.

"You know, Alistair showed his dumb face up too, finally. He'll probably be poking around here soon. You should say hi, you two were tight, right?" There is no animosity on her face--through jealousy, or the idea that the two had ever been in a situation where they had quarreled, or had to choose between each other to live. Just someone informing another that their friend was around.

"I can help you train, if you want, though Alistair has more experience with pole arms. Still, I can do this." She took the hatchet, and started spinning it around, from one hand, than tossing it to the other. "Not sure what good it'd do in battle. Maybe distract the darkspawn."