crystal; new phone who dis

[aberratic]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Ness Tavane (aberratic, on behalf of The Forgotten (Julius, Bastien, Clarisse, Viktor (and Isaac)))
RECIPIENT: Everyone
NOTES: Player plot info! Basically: As far as everyone in the Gallows is concerned, the people Ness is talking about just straight up do not exist and never have.

[ the voice that comes over the crystal is a soft, somewhat frazzled soprano. other voices can be heard arguing behind her, but only the tones of frustration and suspicion are audible; the content of the discussion is indistinct. ]

Good afternoon, Riftwatch, this is Quartermaster Ennaris Tavane. We—that is, myself, the Seneschal, Griffon Keeper La Rue, and Messeres Bastien and Viktor, we are being barred from use of the ferry to re-enter the Gallows. Is there anyone available to vouch for us, please? We're all very tired from our return journey and have quite a lot of work to get back to.

Comments

[aberratic]

[ if she cries it's off-crystal and no one has to know about it. ]

You taught me magic, these past months. We recruited the Professeur together in Val Royeaux.

I do not expect you to believe me. No one else does.

[portalling]

[ The Professeur? No, he did that alone, after the Duke gave him a list of prospective names at the university to contact. His brow crinkles, looking at his crystal, playing back the girl’s disappointment and self-defeating tone. An infiltrating demon would surely be more authoritative.

(Something prickles at the back of his neck.)

He doesn’t offer up the name himself, but pries for confirmation: ]

Which professor?

[aberratic]

Volante. He was angry with you for targeting him, because of his siblings. We convinced him of what the work could mean for the world, for elves.

His parents he wouldn't leave in Orlais, so I've paid for their lodging in the alienage from my own wages.

[ detail won't convince him—nothing has convinced any of the others, no matter what the rest of the group has said. but she's not good at obfuscation, assumes keeping things back will just make her look suspicious when she has nothing to hide. of course, it could make her look suspicious to have too much detail in a situation like this, but habit is habit. ]

[portalling]

[ Strange is making note. Tomorrow, he’s going to search the paperwork, reach out to the alienage, and ask to examine their receipts for that lodging. (And even afterward, somehow his mind will rationalise it, will justify: that squiggle of a signature might not say Ennaris Tavane. It might say anything.)

He’s already running through the possibilities. The demonic imposters had known some details; enough to successfully pass for a while. Blood magic? Arlathan had stolen memories, had deposited them in each others’ minds. He had seen Dickerson’s past, and Gwenaëlle had seen his. There’s ways they could have learned this information. Magic is unpredictable. His mouth purses.

Why is nothing reliable for proving your goddamn brain is working the way it ought — ]

Ennaris Tavane, you said?

Tell me more. Who are you, who’s your group, and what were you up to?

[aberratic]

Will any of it make you believe me? I am the Quartermaster, my group went to investigate Venatori magic, something went wrong, we...

[ it's hard to remember what exactly happened. as hard as she tries to focus on it, her mind slips off the memories, like ice, redirects to something else. something more recent, more personal than volante. ]

You and I were in Sarrux together. There was a dead ogre, in the cellar with the children. They didn't want to talk. You fetched me to help, because you trusted in my skills. Just as I trust you.

[ she is crying now, though she's trying to keep her voice steady through it—it's clear in the hitches of her breath, her sniffles. it's not helpful, she knows it isn't, he'll probably just think she's a spy laying it on thick... but she can't help it. the one person in thedas she thought might call her friend, and now— ]

Please, even if you don't believe me—please don't abandon me. Please.

[portalling]

[ The girl is crying —

And Strange is instantly uncomfortable hearing that thick tremble in her voice, the wobbling sob. He’s allergic to sentiment, to overt displays of emotion, and it twists like a blade in his stomach. Please. He wishes he could say that that personal entreaty means something to him, but it still doesn’t. He doesn’t know if that makes him heartless. But he was, once upon a time, a supposed hero that people went to for help— that a kid once went to for help—

(although he can’t remember that name or face either, it’s only a blur if he tries, and if he tries too hard all he can settle on is that there were only two of them, right? the girl and the kid with the affinity for the sling ring?)

and anyway, that still means something. Plucky superheroes don’t ignore the call to action. Please don’t abandon me. So. Strange rolls the speaking crystal between his hands for a moment, mulling over what to do. ]

Either you’re experiencing an extremely odd and unfortunate magical malady, or this is an extremely clumsy infiltration attempt. Either way, it’s interesting. Maybe you’re visiting from a different timeline so you have memories of us but not vice versa, something like that’s happened before—

[ There’s a familiar focused intention in his voice: he’s working the problem. Thinking. How do you disprove a loss? Still pondering, he keeps picking away for more information: ]

What were your skills that meant I summoned you? You’re good with kids, a nanny? [ He’s desperately hoping it’s something more interesting than that. ]

[aberratic]

[ desperate as she is to convince him not to write her off, a long pause follows his question while ness considers her options. if there must be a bright side to this horrific situation, it's that no one knows the truth of her magic, and it would be wise of her to keep it that way, if she can—but then, if neither of them are insane, and something magical is happening, he'll have notes on her abilities. the division heads will. she'll look more suspicious if she doesn't say anything now, even if she's just trying to protect herself.

weighing these considerations takes far longer than any natural pause in conversation, and she can feel—maybe manufactures the feeling of—his impatience on the other side of the crystal. eventually, with a tone as reluctant as it is pathetic, she speaks. ]

I can hold conversations within minds. Not read them, [ she wants that very clear, alright, she knows how this sounds in light of what she's trying to convince him of, ] but communicate between them, just as though we were conversing aloud. There are other things I can do, but that was what you needed me for in the Pass.

You have... or, you should have, notes on my magic. You were instructing me.

[portalling]

[ His very first thought is a kneejerk weary, Another one?

And then she mentions the notes. ]

Hang on,

[ and Strange abandons whatever he was doing, gets up, moves back to his study to start rifling through papers until he can find those training records in question, filed neatly beside GRANGER, HERMIONE. He reads and rereads the notes; some of them are in his own chickenscratch shorthand, near-unintelligible acronyms that he’s developed for lack of being able to write full-length notes for himself. Others are longer and more meticulous, written in an unfamiliar feminine hand, neat and tidy, scholar-trained. The more he reads them, however, staring down at the paper, there’s—

that feeling of seeing something that simply doesn’t make sense, and trying to make it fit into the right shape

—Tavane. This report must be about Tav’s magic, surely.

He pinches the middle of his brow, feeling a headache brewing. His brain, recoiling, pushing against reality and reality pushes back. How do you disprove a loss?

In the end, Strange’s thoughts keep circling back to the same somewhat-unpleasant idea. Another one. He knows who might be able to pull more information out of this newcomer. His next question for Ennaris, when it comes, is both about what he’s about to propose and yet it’s also— who are we, to each other? ]

Do you trust me?

[aberratic]

[ the response is immediate, even if part of her thinks it would be wiser to hold back, to be more cautious— ]

Entirely.

[portalling]

[ Good. (Except, also, terrible. Fuck.) She can hear him take a deep breath, an exhale, steeling himself. ]

Alright. Then— I know someone who might be able to help. Both for you and for Riftwatch: we’ll at least be able to obtain more information than we started with.

Where are you all situated? At the moment.

[aberratic]

The apartments, at the docks. We're not allowed to come to the Gallows ourselves.

[ yet, but also maybe ever? she's got a book collection started in the quartermaster's office, and the boar bristle brush that she spent almost half a month's wages on because it was supposed to be good for her hair and it was beautiful—

she wipes tears away from her eyes and takes her own steadying inhale. at least he's giving her the time of day. he hasn't just left her to fend for herself. ]

Thank you, Doctor. I'm—no one else has been willing to even listen. I didn't know what to do, but I knew—I hoped—you could help. Would help.

[portalling]

Frankly, I’ve been through weirder shit, so I’ve learned to never rule anything out. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, etc.

[ Maybe it’s a bad idea, maybe he’ll get a talking-to from the Captain. He’ll talk to her about it. But it’s a calculated risk, an attempt to learn more. He doesn’t believe this stranger, doesn’t think they actually knew each other in this world, but: there could still be another explanation. What he wants to do is find the explanation. ]

I’m sending someone to the dockside apartments. I— [ There’s a faint stutter in the sentence, a brief hesitation, he doesn’t want to get into it with a complete stranger and so what he settles on is, ] You can trust her.

I’ll touch base with both of you after. Good luck.

[ And with that, he’ll be sending Wanda. God help him. ]