crystal.

[cozen]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Bastien
RECIPIENT: Everyone
NOTES: Naw.

Hello! [ Lowkey cheer, Orlesian accent. ] I'm Bastien, if we haven't met, and if we have—I took over organizing Jeshavis a few months ago. I didn't say before. Mieux vaut tard que jamais.

If you are new, Jeshavis is the project focusing on counterintelligence in the South. [ This is a normal thing for a printer to be in charge of. ] It is named after the Mother of Orlais. And I am Orlesian, and Madame d'Asgard, who has agreed to stay in the office with me and continue lending her expertise less officially—she is Orlesian. Au total, it is a lot of Orlais in a small space. But we care very much about Ferelden, too. Especially since its swamps might be our last bastion someday. We would like to keep it nice and uninvaded for as long as possible.

—you know, I am not sure anyone with this accent has ever said that.

De toute façon. I have two requests.

The first is for anyone who thinks they might be useful to come by and say hello. Even if it is only a vague suspicion that you might be a little useful, maybe, but you aren't sure how. There are spiced nuts and wine for you in the bargain.

And the second: I would love to hear everyone's best Fereldan and Orlesian accents. I am making lists of who can fake it. Native Fereldans and Orlesians—just the one that is foreign to you, s'il vous plaît. And if you are natively Fereldan and Orlesian, don't be be a show-off.

Comments

[fiat]

[Some extremely convincing nonsense that only fluent Orlesian-speakers will realize is jibberish.]

[Then, with an Anders accent:] Can I have the wine now?

[cozen]

[ In actual Orlesian: ]

For a performance like that, you can have your pick. Come up whenever you have time.

[fiat]

Quoi... C'taite ca...?

Oh, only chantry fellows speak Orlesian in the Anderfells and I know I didn't have the time to listen close enough!

[cozen]

Who does. [ Again in Trade, ] Come up whenever you have time.

[fiat]

Endless time.

[And so he does, a rather all and thin fellow in clothing that just emphasizes his tall and thin qualities. A smile comes easily to him.]

Qua est Bastien? Or is it quo...

[He does manage to nail the pronunciation of Bastien's name, if nothing else.]

[cozen]

That is me.

[ Less tall, less thin, equally quick to smile. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, so he doesn't have to come around it to offer his hand. ]

What is your name?

[fiat]

[Caric offers a sweepingly, pointlessly, theatric bow. One of his feet even leaves the ground.]

Caric Din'adhal van Kassel. Master of nothing and no one.

[cozen]

[ Dinadhal must be a common name in the Anderfels. Or...

But he'll ask later, if at all, and for now only looks charmed and curious. ]

Enchanté. And, [ gesturing to the table with the nuts and wine, ] voilà. But the true cost of them is a conversation—in Trade. Will you pay it?

[fiat]

Of course. [Another, smaller bow, before he settles himself in an armchair like a bag of sticks hitting earth.] I will do my very best to be as interesting as possible.

[cozen]

You are starting at an advantage already, being from the Anderfels. If you try too much you might overwhelm me.

[ He holds up a bottle of red and a bottle of white—distinguishable through the brown glass, albeit barely, and gives them a weighing sort of wobble as a silent question. Pick one. ]

Are you from one of the bigger cities?

[fiat]

[Caric picks one by pointing, with his eyes closed, but when he opens them he smiles at the result.]

Kassel, of course, but I have been all over. It is all very much shit. Do you have a smoke?

[cozen]

I do.

[ On the to-do list now, under pouring the wine into a cup and moving it and the nuts within Caric's reach, which he does as he talks. ]

Kassel is... not Hossberg. Not Tallo. It is on the river, ouais?

[ Other offerings deposited, he goes to the fireplace to retrieve a reed from a stash on the mantle and light the end. ]

I've heard stories about the wilder places being horrifying, but I always imagined the cities would be less shit, at least.

[fiat]

[Caric laughs.] It's all on the river. Everywhere else is too dangerous, you know? Blight and deserts and no food... [A shrug.] It depends, I suppose, on how you grade the shit. The shit is in the eye of the beholder.

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs on his way back, burning reed in one hand while he fishes out a tin of rolled cigarettes with the other. ]

How does Kirkwall grade so far, on the shit scale? Better?

[ He offers the tin and blows briefly and softly on the reed to make sure it doesn't change its mind about being on fire. ]

[fiat]

[Caric takes the cigarette graciously, nodding in quiet thanks.] It is new. That counts for very much. Especially when you have been few places before.

[He underlines this point by blowing a smoke ring.]

What do you think of Kirkwall? It is not a popular place.

[cozen]

[ His eyes follow the smoke ring for a moment, like it's a pretty and distracting bird, and then he smiles. ]

It is growing on me. It took some time. I am used to—have you been to Val Royeaux?