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]

[ 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?

[slaveking]

I figure you'd be hesitant to bring demon technology to life, is all. Where I come from, we have some dark stories about that kind of a thing.

[His voice is just as light.]

[rathercommon]

Well. In this world, demons don't tend to deal in machinery. But maybe I'm just that reckless.

[slaveking]

[fair enough.]

Do you think I'm a demon?

[rathercommon]

[ Too direct a question for her to evade. So: ]

No. I don't.

[slaveking]

You on the other hand--

[The joke is unmistakable in his tone.]

[rathercommon]

[ What. ]

Excuse me?

[slaveking]

Infernal. Can't place my finger on exactly how.

[rathercommon]

I am not infernal! Dwarves don't even have a connection to the Fade. It'd take very unusual circumstances for us to get possessed.