o1 ♚ especially coffee

[slaveking]

FORM: Sending crystal
SENDER: Marcel Gerard
RECIPIENT: Public; any and all interested
WHAT: A Rifter would like to futilely inquire as to the incomprehensible physics of Rifting and seek actually unavailable instruction w.r.t. how to get the Hell back home, please and thanks.
WHEN: Timing (backdated, covering a span, etc.)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Maybe P3-13 for language? If somebody gets emotional!

Good morning, Thedas.

[By now, the name of the world sounds comfortable enough in his mouth, but his accent is likely remains somewhat Other, cutting the consonants of his deep voice.] My name is Marcel Gerard. In the world I come from, magic is a secret pretty well-hidden from humans, and the full strength of abominations waits every month on the full moon. [Sorry, werewolves. Somebody hates you.] We also have horseless carriages, ballet, instant coffee, and the Internet. The world is called New Orleans. If you know what any of that means, we should talk.

And if you don't, you might be just the person to help me get home. You got thoughts on how to prolapse a Rift? I want to hear 'em. Talk to me.

Comments

[slaveking]

The opposite. [This is why we need cellphones. And video chat specifically.] Faster than I've ever seen a horse run. Dangerous-- you picture a carriage turning over, add fire to that.

But fun, if you like going fast.

[glandival]

Really.

[ That's the sound of an elf who would like to ride a super fast death fire carriage. ]

If you have Abominations every full moon, I can see why you'd want a carriage like that, with all the running away you'd be doing. Can we make one here?

[slaveking]

[He makes a vowelish sound. Ehh. Hnnn. Hhh. It sounds thoughtful.]

Not easily. It'd probably be expensive. The quantity of metal we'd need. [He remembers the kind of resources that would go into even the pre-Oldsmobile Oldsmobiles. It took doing. And time.

Time he wants to be home no offense to beautiful but sight-unseen redheads :c] Still, I wouldn't say never. You ride?

[glandival]

[ Talk to some dwarves get back to her, k thank. ]

I'd ride that.

[slaveking]

In New Orleans, there are regulations. People even take classes. I'd be pretty irresponsible if I left that part out.

[Do you mean like P Dinklage--

ok no by now he's seen some.]

[glandival]

New Orleans.

[ Musing. ]

If your land has no horses, do you not know how to ride them?

[slaveking]

[Good question. By which one means, the answer is attached to centuries of history he's not sure he should be relaying, but certainty seems like a remote and increasingly irrelevant goal to try and achieve.]

Horseless carriages have only been around for a little over a hundred years, [he says.] I come from further back for that. Short answer-- yeah, I can ride a horse. Been awhile, though. And my style might be off, compared to what you do here.

[glandival]

[ There's a pause. Then, she continues as if she hadn't paused. ]

I only know a bit myself. A proper horse is a handsome thing to own, and I don't own much in the way of handsome things. You should see the sorry creature I rode in on.

[ I mean this post definitely sounded like he just wanted to chat. ]

Has anyone been helpful about going home yet?

[slaveking]

I wouldn't mind having a look.

[people like to talk, vampires gotta eat-- i mean.]

No. I'm afraid not. Seems like what I'm asking for is a little beyond the magic people wield here so far. I'm hoping this isn't one of those cases where the only witch with enough juice is also an evil psychopath Hell-bent on a personal vendetta.

[glandival]

You're probably shit out of luck. Anyone with that sort of power's going be a bit evil.

[ She'll skip the word 'psychopath'. Is that even in Thedosian lexicon? ]

I need to go tend to him in a bit. I'll be in the stables, if you want to pet the ponies. Ehm, my name's Sabine.

[slaveking]

Nice to meet you, Sabine. I'll have to swing by.

You know, [he pauses.] in my world we have a country named France. You and your name both sound as if they come from over there.

[glandival]

Yeah?

I was thinking New Orleans sounds like familiar, as I'm from Orlais. Out of Orlais, I'm told me and my name sound Orlesian.

[ She doesn't have an accent, you guys have accents. ]

You don't sound like anything I've heard before. Well. Maybe a little like the dwarves.

[slaveking]

I think I sound like the dwarves, myself, [Marcel answers easily. He has an accent.

His French also has an accent.]

Comprenez-vous?

[glandival]

Oui!

[ Well this is weird. Whether or not she has more complex thoughts on this subject isn't a hint portrayed through sending crystal; her voice is rich with amusement. She continues in Orlesian, which to Marcel's ears, is as French in sound as Fereldan is English; ]

But most in Orlais speak the common tongue.

[slaveking]

This is strange for me.

[Marcel's French isn't as strong as his English, but fortunately (??) he's experienced enough weird stuff even in his homeworld that topics such as these come to him easily. The state of the economy, that would be harder.]

I am curious about Orlais. Is it a large nation? Does it happen to be shaped like a teakettle. On the maps.

[glandival]

I think that is Ferelden. To the west is Orlais. It houses all the Dales, the Arbor Wilds, and in the north, the marshlands, the western deserts. It's very big. Its Empire is greedy.

Is that like France?

[slaveking]

Well there's a lot of terrain types in France. It's possible.

[He even vaguely recalls something about a desert there.]

What kind of food do you eat? Any particular... special ones?

[He doesn't know the word 'delicacies.']

[glandival]

Not amongst the common folk, but the noble houses make their own rules that I don't know if the Fereldan lords would have in their houses. Like putting birds in other birds and baking them. Sauces on everything. And they love their desserts. I think only breakfast doesn't call for a final sweet course.

But I don't know of very special things. You can get every food you can imagine in Orlais.

[slaveking]

[Oh God it's France. Marcel laughs— genuine and unmitigated delight.

Ah, shit.]

That reminds me of home, [he offers, by way of explanation why he's laughing.] I take it you haven't had much of a chance to try those foods then. Yes?

[glandival]

It looks like a lot of work for something to eat.

[ She's been in enough kitchens to know, although is likely to burn anything she actually has a hand in.

She manages not to sound a certain way when she asks; ]

And you?

[slaveking]

[Marcel is upfront-- easily. About this, any rate.]

I was lucky. I was born into slavery, but a wealthy family adopted me. [And murdered the fuck out of his bio-dad, but that's a whole other drama.] I ate very well for many years. Long enough to feel bad about it. Long enough to see slavery end in my land, too.

[glandival]

That's very lucky.

[ A slightly skeptical tone shadows the more appropriate one of sincerity. ]

I was not born a slave -- just an elf. Elves don't get nice things, most of the time.

[slaveking]

[He also looks young. His story won't be much enhanced when they meet.]

I take it this land has yet to see the end of that. Is there anywhere elves are free of that all?

[glandival]

There is slavery in the north. In the Tevinter Imperium, all elves are slaves. [ She thinks. She's pretty sure that's true. She read it on the Internet. ] Here, it is--

[ She hesitates. Or the sending crystal stops working. No, here she is-- ]

It is different. What do you care, when you're from a place across the Fade, with its own troubles?

[slaveking]

[Marcel doesn't know the exact word he wants in French. He remembers pitié, but he remembers that had connotations back home, and something about her answer makes him think such connotations exist here too.]

I wouldn't call it compassion. There's a long story, but it could sound like I'm bragging. Maybe another time.