therookery | crystal

Entry tags:

crystal

( Behold, a new voice on the crystals. Soft, good-humoured, with an accent that sounds Scandinavian / relative equivalent. The crystal catches a quiet breath of laughter before she speaks. )

I don’t know if you’re really lucky to have an engineer turn up, or if I’m really unlucky that I need to figure out the machinery.

I mean, learning about the infrastructure of a city in a whole different world isn’t even a “once in a lifetime” kind of opportunity, and pretending I’m some sort of genius at kinetic motion just because I know some mechanisms from home would be pretty fun, but…

Wow.

( Maybe that sounds a little weightier than her first "wow.")

Oh, I'm Abella. Riftwatch, you’re gonna have to have a lot more ramps by the time I’m done with you. Somewhere has to accommodate wheelchair users, even if it’s some kind of fairy tale world.

( Hmmm. )

Wait, can you just make them float, here? (More softly, ) Flying wheelchairs would explain the lack of ramps. I mean, this crystal thing is remarkable, so... let me know if I don't need to think about the ramps.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( gwenaëlle has never been good at implication, )

Please don't waste our resources on irrelevant vanity projects for things that can't currently reach the island in the first place while the bulk of our force is living in barely defensible tents.

[ as long as one of them said it ]

( Well. Her tone was all friendliness before, and that’s not gone, but she does sound rather more serious. )

The war that’s just ended in my home world, and the one before it, sent many men home with their bodies permanently changed, and injuries can make mobility harder even in the short term. It’s not a vanity project to ensure all necessary parts of a facility are accessible for people in mobility devices, or wheeled vehicles, in some instances. I also made no reference to the order or prioritisation of projects. I won’t waste your time or resources, but please don’t dismiss me, or make assumptions about my intelligence and the reasons why accessibility was on my mind.

I'm making an assessment, not an assumption. If you wanted it assessed differently, you should have waited to have something intelligent to say. Feel free to do so at any time.

Making an assessment involves asking questions and analysis.

This sounds more like you’ve taken an attempt to introduce myself on the crystals and admittedly pretty dumb attempt at thinking of something to say, and decided that’s all you need. That’s not a reliable diagnostic method for figuring out people or systemic issues.

You sound like an excellent fit for Research when you're finished being preoccupied with a war you're no longer fighting and start taking the time to see what the needs of this one are.

( she does consider it immense, courteous restraint on her part to have left 'that no one gives a shit about' out of the war she's no longer fighting. )

Try that. It'll do you wonders, since you certainly sound as if the thirty extra seconds of thought you're taking to wag your finger at me might have saved you the time several minutes ago.

( She takes a moment. As heated as she can get, Abella’s core desire is always to help and to understand, and there’s got to be something she’s missing here, when a couple of people are annoyed already. )

Hey, I get it. I need to change gears and get my head around what this war is like, instead of going off what I’ve seen at home. I bet having new people arrive for years and probably more than a few of them saying ignorant stuff or making assumptions about somewhere you live is going to get annoying and exhausting.

( Thinking it through, yeah, it sounds annoying as hell. )

I could’ve waited until I knew more before getting on here, but honestly, I was excited about playing with a new piece of technology, and I see how that could be annoying, too. But I.. I did ask in good faith if wheelchair ramps are not a concern at all here because of magic. I’m kind of confused how I’m the one finger-wagging, to be honest.

( if she's over it already then gwenaëlle feels comfortable ignoring the part that wasn't relevant to her at all (someone else's feelings), )

To be perfectly honest, I'm confused as to why you're still talking about 'wheeled chairs' as if it's an obvious given what they are and why they'd be relevant to the conversation at all. If you have some specific personal project that interests you, propose it to the Provost or use your own time and resources, but if you announce you're specifically interested in wasting resources that the people here need for the sake of, I don't know, your fairy tale wheel people, you're going to be corrected.

( she's not from orzammar or tevinter, she's from orlais, where rich people can just order elves to carry their palanquins and poor people who can't walk had better hope they look endearing enough to catch scraps,

there is perhaps an inherent disconnect here. )

( confusedsquint.jpg

there is

A Pause )

Since we just talked about me needing to learn more about this place and not making assumptions, could you tell me what you’re thinking of when I say “wheelchair”?

( no, she's still mad about the fairy tale world crack—

fine. )

I'm thinking you'd best be a better engineer than you are a communicator, because you keep repeating that like it should mean something to me.

Edited 2024-07-14 06:22 (UTC)

( She lets it go, despite the brief temptation to point out that asking the question will help with the communication. Abella is the new kid in an extreme way, she’s the one that has to do the work. )

Okay, so when I say “wheelchair,” I’m talking about a mobility device. It’s so that people whose legs don’t work the way most people’s do can get around more easily and independently. The chair might be wood or metal with fabric and cushions, and they usually have four wheels, the two front ones are smaller, and the back ones are larger and are how the user steers and accelerates.

That was why I mentioned all this being relevant to a place fighting a big war and injured soldiers, because they might wind up losing their legs, or there might be people working for Riftwatch who have a medical condition that means their legs don’t work. Being able to get around more easily is good for day to day running of a place, but if there’s an emergency or the elevator is broken, having ramps would mean they aren’t stranded, and aren’t struck relying on other people for help.

Ramps alongside staircases, providing alternatives to ladders, that’s more wheelchair focused, but ramps can be useful for other purposes as well, if you’re strategic about it.

Does that… does that make me talking about it make more sense?

In a sense, ( is measured, and doesn't sound like she's any more convinced of its relevance than she was a moment ago. )

If you want to concern yourself with 'wheeled chairs' for people, that's a personal project for your own time and using their resources. If a ramp has a meaningful use beyond that, then certainly, propose it. Inventing a thing and then declaring we have to accommodate the thing you've made up as if it's as pressing as the actual needs of our people is not the compelling argument you think it is.

Balancing tight resources and getting the job done is something I am painfully familiar with.

( Said in good humour, laughing at herself. )

I know I put my foot in my mouth and I feel like the reasons that make sense to me aren’t really of interest. Can I at least make a peace offering so I don’t have nightmares about how I’ve publicly made an ass of myself?

My office is in the central tower, captain of the watch. I'm usually there.

( and if she weren't still a little sore about that fairy tale world thing, she might have suggested the less oh, cool, that's where I put my foot option of her houseboat, but that's what you get. )

Do you smoke tobacco, Captain?

( more often elfroot, in truth, but: )

From time to time.

( It doesn't take long, all things considered, for the Captain of the Guard to hear a knock on the door. If it's already open, she leans in just far enough as necessary to catch sight of the office resident, but if not, she'll wait patiently.

She's tall and muscular, although given the physical work and combat training so many here have to do, maybe she won't stick out like so much of a sore thumb. There's a plain, sleeveless shirt beneath her overalls, which have a couple of patch ups where they've worn through from use. With the heavy boots it screams practicality and work, but they're as clean as she's been able to get them since arriving in the Gallows.

Once the door opens or she has the person's attention, she smiles warmly. )

Hello. I'm Abella, I'm looking for the Captain of the Guard? I didn't catch the name.

( the office is clearly meant to be shared, but equally obvious is that there is for the time being but one occupant, and from how extremely clean everything smells, probably a relatively new appointment— the shelves on the captain's side not yet properly filled, the desk still looking reasonably clear. some of that is probably just gwenaëlle's fastidious tidiness, but not all. as for the woman herself,

she's standing, a map of kirkwall spread out over the vice admiral's desk that she's been annotating, so it's immediately obvious that she is not tall. petite, and not at a glance what one might be expecting in a tightly laced dress of dark burgundy, hitched out of her way with skirt-hikes, a set of reading glasses on the end of her nose. the other most striking thing about her, at once, is that only one eye looks back at abella, impassive and measuring. the other is no twin to it, blank and golden, and it's worth noting that her blind side is not nearest the door. it's not the only visible scar, either, the beginnings of a rage demon's claws swiping at her emerging at the low neckline of her dress.

the voice, of course, when she says, )

Gwenaëlle Baudin, ( to supply that name, is distinctly recognisable. ) Come in.

( The NLU taught her not to make assumptions based on appearances. Termina added on a few lessons. Still, it all adds up to the Captain being an imposing figure, even if Abella technically takes up more space.

She obliges, moving across the space. Her overalls are all practicality, have seen years of hard work, and while she feels less shy when she is wearing them, when she is working, right now it's hard not to be aware of the disparity between them and the sharp, elegant practicality of the Captain. The flicker of discomfort doesn't make it to her expression. )

Thank you for letting me come by on such short notice. It looks like you have a lot you're doing, so I can drop these off and get out of your hair, if you aren't due for a break.

( Abella holds out a box, patterned in blue and white and a little dented. )

I don't know if people here smoke cigarettes or use pipes or a different method, but it's a full pack. I'm sorry I got carried away.

( at the best of times, gwenaëlle can be prickly; even when she retracts her claws, it can be difficult to completely walk back from the ledge she used to live for throwing herself over, clutching knives to plunge into someone else's soft parts, the best defense a good offense—

and it doesn't help that there's something about a particular kind of softness that sets her teeth on edge. a half-feral thing at heart, even after all this time and all of the hands reached out to her, it remains second nature to regard such overtures with suspicion, worn now as measured dispassion. so it's to abella's benefit that the little box in her hands sparks, despite gwenaëlle's best efforts, instant curiosity. a moment ago she had resolved to be crushingly gracious in dismissal,

a thing she can sometimes manage, when her ire has cooled enough,

but her head tilts and she straightens to accept the box, turning it in her hands. despite her closeness to many rifters over the years, she's not exactly known for her interest in the places that they come from or the things that they have there; it's not not a little annoying to her to find herself sort of taken by the package. )

Pipes are common, ( she says, after a moment, opening the packet and tapping the bottom of it to study one of the tailor-mades within, ) or a rolled cigarette, but they don't look like this.

( hand rolled, you see, but there's no necessity to differentiate when it's not as if there's an alternative to that—

her mouth presses to one corner, and she regards abella thoughtfully. finally, she taps a second out, tipping her hip in such a way as to reveal the chatelaine in the folds of her skirt where a small pouch attached contains the riftwatch-issued pocket rune to light them. )

You put your foot in your mouth, ( she says, ) and the world hasn't ended. Don't feel you have to keep apologising.

( she sets both cigarettes in the corner of her mouth, lights them with the rune, and offers the second to abella. )

There's worse things, ja,

( she agrees, intrigued by the rune and for the love of Alll-Mer doing her best to ignore it right now because it's not the priority. As curious as she is, focusing on Gwenaëlle's genuinely more important to her, in the moment.

She accepts the cigarette, glad to take a drag on it. Alas, she's not quite from the era of filters being added to cigarettes, but they're a considerable improvement on hand-wrapping. )

These were made in the Eastern Union. We have different brands, in my home country.

( Abella holds the smoke in her chest a moment before exhaling through her nose. Claiming she didn't need this would be a lie, even without the oppressive, draining atmosphere that cloaked Prehevil. )

I don't like doing harm where I can avoid it. ( Nothing weighty or significant to the statement, more like a verbal shrug to acknowledge herself. She can dunk on herself a little. ) My parents teased me for it when I was younger, because I'd cry if I trod on a grasshopper or found a dead rat, that sort of thing. "No more children born in September, this Soul type is too much."

( Shakes her head, clearly thinking it's all - especially herself - pretty silly. ) Do you have those, here?

Children?

( —is a joke, lilted in her low, musical voice with a quirk of her eyebrows. heavens no, they're so sticky and there's all of these war crimes. she doesn't sit but rests against her desk, her ankles crossed, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. thank god abella isn't from one of those places that thinks its uncouth or unhealthy to smoke indoors. )

We have the idea of a soul, ( she offers, moving a marble tray toward the edge of her desk so that they can both use it, ) and I've heard of things, from other rifters, about — the ways that someone's soul might be. Communicated, I suppose.

( she is thinking of jude, now, and the things the shades of his people recognised in her, and she is trying not to linger on it, )

But the phrase as you use it, no, I've not heard that.

( Evident as it is that Abella is inclined to smiles and light-heartedness, that might be first proper joke she's heard today. The thread of tension that survived the first drag of her cigarette eases with her quiet laughter. )

Mm. We have, um-- a tradition, I suppose? I always thought it was harmless fun, make-believe, like so many old stories.

( And then. She hopes that isn't too obvious, doesn't want to bring down the mood. I always believed is easier to brush over than, I used to. )

Each month has two types of souls under it. Some have more, for solstices, and the like. When you are born dictates what kind of soul you have, and the belief is that... ( she waves her hand vaguely, trying to find the right words for summing up astrology without being particularly clued into it. ) The forces of the universe influence you in particular ways, your personality, your fate, maybe? But it's not like everyone born with a particular soul is identical. There's so many, Changeling, Suffocated, Radiant.

( Decrepit, a memory presses forward unbidden, unwanted, and Abella is glad that a drag of the cigarette keeps her hand from shaking. )

( gwenaëlle makes a little huh sound, more thoughtful than the dismissive that she might have been if her guard weren't already lowered, at least a bit. radiant sounds like a nice sort of soul type to be told you have; suffocated, not so much. it snags on something in her mind, a thought only half-formed, and she keeps turning it over, and— )

Harmless traditions, ( she echoes. thinks, unwillingly, of the dalish. of everything they have learned about ancient elvhenan. about her fucking eye.

she flicks ash into the tray, and settles on, )

I've always been interested, ( after a moment, ) in the stories that a people tell about themselves. They're revealing, traditions.

( beyond just what they mean. but including that. even if there's truth to it. especially if there's truth to it. )

( They're revealing, traditions. Ourselves, our history, and she thinks of Marina. All-Mer, please be safe.

There's no time for that worry to be entirely too apparent, cut off by an odd, skittering clatter. tap-tap-tap-tap, slow at first, and then speeding up. Abella looks puzzled, glancing at Gwenaëlle with her brow furrowed before leaning out into the hall.

It is then that a tradition reveals itself, sliding into the office. A pinecone with sticks for legs. Or, at least, something alarmingly similar to a pinecone with sticks for legs, and Abella stares at it, baffled. )

Pinecone pig?

( A look to her new acquaintance - are they friends, yet? - then back to the creature, and back to Gwenaëlle, before she's staring at the new arrival because, well, who wouldn't. )

It's-- my pinecone pig is alive? Or-- animated?

( What is happening.

Pinecone pig twirls, more akin to a puppy than, well, a pinecone, and rears up to rest its stick forelegs on Abella's boot. Again, a puppy eager for pats - its body language suggests a wagging tail, even without the tail. )

Edited 2024-07-18 01:34 (UTC)

crystal

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

action.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)