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

[rathercommon]

[ But don't mistake her: the question was quite facetious. And she continues on, with increasing absurdity: ]

Dried air, dried dirt, dried emotions - oh, do tell me you all have invented instant happiness.

[slaveking]

You don't have that here? [A cherry dose of mock-naivete.] Instant happiness? We call that true love.

Invented it after we realized job promotions didn't last too long, and booze takes awhile if you've been drinking long enough.

[rathercommon]

[ With mock shock: ]

Really? I've always heard that love is pain and misery, not joy.

[slaveking]

[Laughter then, low but bright.]

Didn't say it wasn't. Just that the good part lasts a little bit longer than the gap between wages and bills. And it works faster than booze, even if you've drunk your liver down to a rock. Can't say much for a hard heart, though.

[He figures she knows what a liver is. Before powdered eggs and other nice conveniences, they hadn't wasted any part of an animal.]

[rathercommon]

Unfortunate for us hard-hearted people, then. That sounds easy.

[ She gives a little laugh, like she's joking. She's honestly not sure if she's joking. ]

So - what was that other thing you mentioned? Inner-something.

[slaveking]

It is unfortunate, [Marcel agrees, easily. But it's the kind of joke that's funny precisely because it isn't really a joke.

—inner-something. That takes Marcel a moment. Oh, yeah.]

The Internet? It's-- an information network. You need devices to access it, and people can transmit all kinds of things. Audio, like this. Visuals-- moving pictures, recordings of things. Texts. You can fit a whole library into a device the size of your shoe, if it's done right. Very valuable. People can talk to each other as instantly as you and I now, and from just as far away.

[rathercommon]

[ Oh. That sounds awfully interesting. ]

How does it work? And who runs it?

[slaveking]

[It is awfully interesting.]

In my era, we've advanced a lot of important technology. Electrical power is probably one of the biggest. [The absence of fossil fuels from Thedas' economy has yet to occur to him, so hilarity with buggy fish-oil starter vehicles could well soon ensue.] That's what powers the devices I was talking about, and it powers the machines that hold Internet data too. All over the world. A lot of different people run the Internet these days.

It's kind of a problem, some times. Plenty of liars and scam artists-- uh. Do you have scam artists.

[rathercommon]

[ A quick laugh - ]

A couple. A few of them here in Skyhold, actually. They tend to scam for socks, though, so largely they're quite harmless.

So - what's the problem with it?

[slaveking]

With anonymity comes... [a beat. He considers.] A certain lack of accountability.

Means you get away with stuff like theft easier, 'course. But other stuff too. Here you have my tone of voice to go off of, but there's even more separation when I'm reduced to just a couple of words written down on a panel. It's harder to read people. You could say it's harder to care.

[More or less impairing than vampirism? A conversation for another time!]

[rathercommon]

Really? But...You are still talking to people. That's not exactly something you can forget, is it.

[slaveking]

Unfortunately, you'd be surprised. Guess it's the same kind of mind trick as... [he thinks.] Wearing a mask, I guess. We have some real bastards who like to hide behind that kind of a thing.

Guess there's nothing like that here?

[rathercommon]

[ With a little laugh - ]

Nothing like the internet, or nothing like your bastards? Because we've got plenty of bastards.

[slaveking]

Nothing like our bastards hiding from comeuppance behind anonymity.

[Honestly, the Internet is one of their least concerns. Witches, body-hopping. That's real chaos.]

[rathercommon]

Well. There are the Orlesians, I suppose. Though you always know who it is behind the mask, so perhaps not.

[slaveking]

Do you?

[Apparently he's drawing a blank on this aspect of Orlesian culture.]

How's that work?

[The pupil becomes the teacher.]

[rathercommon]

Well, they always brag about their deeds and titles. From behind their idiotic masks. If you don't know who they are, they'll fall over themselves to remedy that. They want to have the illusion of secrecy and mystery while actually laying everything that they are right out in the open.

[slaveking]

[Marcel starts to laugh, the sound throbbing out of the stone rich and sincere. Somehow that sounds both incredibly familiar and utterly bizarre.]

Now I'll be able to recognize an Orlesian from a mile away. Thanks. You're-- um. What country are elves from?

[rathercommon]

[ She corrects him: ]

Dwarves. And we don't have a country, exactly. And I especially don't, since I'm a surfacer. But I was born in Orlais.

[slaveking]

Dwarves. Beg your pardon.

I'm sorry. Surfacer? Do you consider yourself Orlesian?

[rathercommon]

Oh. God, no. Not Orlesian.

[ She lets out a grunt of disapproval. Then: ]

We dwarves have a kingdom built underground, in the Stone. Those who come topside, or who were born topside like me, are considered outsiders. Lost to the Stone. Us and the Casteless. But that doesn't mean we're suddenly not dwarves, culturally speaking. No more than elves are Ferelden if they're from a Ferelden alienage. They're still elves.

[slaveking]

[Huh. That kind of makes sense to Marcel, he decides. There were a lot of vagrant vampires who had nothing in the way of geographical loyalty or demarcations, at least until they found him.]

'Lost to the Stone.' Sounds pretty damning. You run with your own crew, then? Some other-- surfacers?

[rathercommon]

[ She gives a laugh and sidesteps the question: ]

Well, the Inquisition now, right?

[slaveking]

[It takes him a moment to parse that she's sidestepping, and he has good grace enough not to press.]

New question.

[This is him backing off.]

Why don't you think I'm a demon?

[rathercommon]

[ She smiles to herself. The expression is grim, but her voice is perfect: cheerful, a little teasing. ]

How do you know I don't?