allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

TEST DRIVE MEME

Maybe you’ve been around for a while, or maybe you’re new to the Inquisition. Maybe you’re new to Thedas, having recently fallen from a tear in reality and been collected by uniformed rescuers. Whoever you are, you’ve been sent to Kirkwall, to an outpost where many of the Inquisition’s members and allies work on some of the biggest mysteries and problems the organization must solve if it’d like to keep the world from ending, where “ending” means “falling under the power of an ancient powerful corrupted being who wants everyone to bow to him as a god.”

And just to be clear, it would like that. It would like that a lot.

I. THE GALLOWS: The Gallows is an island fortress in Kirkwall’s harbor. It’s been home to, in order: Tevinter slaves, a Circle of Magi, a lot of creepy red lyrium, and now the Inquisition, which has occupied the fortress with the provisional Viscount’s blessing. There are walls that still need rebuilding and corners that still need dusting, but for the most part the Inquisition has gotten down to business. There’s space in the stone-floored courtyards to train or spar; or, if your skills don’t lie in the realm of hitting things, there’s a large library and several offices supporting the Inquisition’s areas of research and diplomatic efforts. If you don’t know what to do with yourself, then by all means, ask; someone will definitely be able to put you to work.

II. KIRKWALL: A quick row across the harbor will take you to Kirkwall proper. The city is built into the cliffs, from exclusive and wealthy Hightown at the top to impoverished Darktown in the abandoned mining tunnels below. In the middle is Lowtown, home to taverns, merchants, and plenty of trouble to keep anyone looking for it happy. You’re welcome to spend your free time and your money here—but try not to annoy the locals too much, please, in case their welcome runs out. It’d be a shame to have to pack again so soon after arriving.

III. QUESTING: Barely had time to make yourself at home, did you, before you were sent away from Kirkwall again—but this time on a mission. There’s a rift outside of Markham, pouring demons into the fields, and the Inquisition has been asked to lend a hand. Maybe literally. If you have an anchor embedded in your palm, you’re needed to close the damn thing. If not, maybe you’re here to fight demons or guard against bandits on the road, or to gather samples and take notes on the rift’s location once its closed, or to speak to Markham’s nobility afterwards to make sure that they fully appreciate the Inquisition’s efforts. Regardless, it’s a long trip, so we hope you like campfire cooking and sharing a tent.

IV. SENDING CRYSTAL: Joining the Inquisition gets you access to the very latest in barely-understood magical communication devices—namely, a crystal, small enough to wear around your neck, that will allow you to communicate verbally with anyone else who has one. Or everyone else who has one. Say hello.

V. WILDCARD: The whole of Thedas is yours to explore, from coast to uncharted wilderness filled with bears. Choose your own adventure!

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[It is an attractive hand, and he is quick in pressing a kiss to it. The customs may be different here, he's aware, but there's no self-consciousness in his movements. He releases it and stands once more, a smile now appearing.

They are introduced, his manner seems to say, now he can be more at ease with her. (It is an act. It is almost always an act.)]

Is that a goal worth pursuing? What other places might one be standing, if not interesting ones?

( They are close enough for her to consider him polished, and not strange - he is courtly, that much is clear, and she relaxes by increments, albeit without losing track of what Kieran is doing or where her footmen stand. It suits her better to be in conversation with one person, in any event, than being bothered incidentally by many; crowds have never been her favourite thing to be in. )

The only goal worth pursuing is the one that ensures we all have something to stand on, at the end. All of the jostling and the elbowing and the politicking-

( The small noise she makes in the back of her throat would have been, in more intimately familiar company, a remark better not made where it might be overheard...for all that most of her views are not exactly well kept secrets. She's always been unfashionably frank. )

None of it will matter if Corypheus is allowed to burn everything down around us. But who's to say what might happen to someone who was brave and capable of thinking more than ten minutes in advance of himself?

( War has always been an opportunity for the ambitious. The opportunity to be a hero in a war of annihilation is not a small one, played right and not taken for granted. )

[Is she simply being frank with someone she knows is unfamiliar with the situation, or is she trying to flatter him into revealing more about himself to see what she can gain from it? It is hard to tell. Either way, she seems an intelligent woman.]

My brother, Philippe, is one such brave and capable man, madame. He has led the king's armies to great victories and won great renown for himself. [A longing expression crosses his face and he looks away. He'd meant to avoid speaking of himself, but now he simply wishes Philippe were here.]

Doubtless the Inquisition asks that we all do our best with the talents we have.

You'll have to forgive me for wishing we had your brother at our disposal, ( is a dry remark, but not an unkind one (or at least not one she intends to wound) - if she notices the shift in his mood, and it would be hard not to, she does him the courtesy of pretending otherwise.

She's never been deft with anyone else's feelings, and never thanked anyone for noticing she has any of her own; it is the kindest thing she knows to do. )

I've written a great deal on the subject of what people should be doing for the sake of having a world to do anything in- it's habit-forming, trying to persuade people to act in their own best interests.

( And presuming that they won't, without that persuasion. The dim view she takes of the people around her is not hard to puzzle out, but the genuine joy in finding anyone who doesn't immediately disappoint her, that's real, too. )

Not that persuasion is my great talent, in company.

( The impatience always gets the best of her when all her clever arguments fail to land - )

[He keeps his face turned away for a moment, regaining control of his expression. Philippe would have fit in well here, he thinks. At last, a war of consequence for him to take part in... and all the glory that followed.

The polite smile is back when he turns to face her again, and even his surprise at hearing of her work doesn't shake it. Persuading others to do what he wanted them to (going along with his plans tended to be in everyone's self-interest) was a constant struggle. People needed to act well, for all to achieve greatness.

He offers her his arm, so they might walk and talk and follow the young boy he's noticed is with her.] Practice on me, madame. What ought I do here, for the sake of having a world to do anything in?

( The split-second of hesitation is impersonal; of a piece with how swiftly she had back her hand, the way she ensures she is not imposed upon. It is a decision to not consider him imposing, and tuck her hand at his elbow - when Kieran looks around to see where she is, she lifts her free hand, smiling, and when he dashes back for a coin she gives him the purse entire and nudges Hardie forward, hound following after boy.

That sorted- )

The Inquisition is responsible for you now, ( is a thoughtful opener. Nothing he can be unaware of, in his position, but context matters. ) It is the single organisation focused on stopping Corypheus and all that that entails and means - considering the pressing nature of that work, it's under-funded, under-resourced, and stretched dangerously thin. If it fails, the absolute best possible scenario is that we're all enslaved by Tevinter.

( It's not a thrilling prospect. )

But it's a military religious organisation spreading outward, and as long as the threat is held enough at bay that someone might imagine it doesn't touch their house-

Demons are what come out of rifts. And you came out of a rift.

( Ergo. )

What I mean to say is- what you ought to do is demonstrate your use. Whatever it is you're good at, whatever it was you did before you were here, whatever lessons you've learned that you can apply - we badly need you to be trusted. Almost as much as you need it, to thrive here. The work can't be done if the people don't believe in it. Rifters like you begin at a disadvantage, and it's a disadvantage that threatens everyone involved...you have to be beyond reproach. And you can never begin establishing yourself too soon. Show willing. Listen. Learn. Ask intelligent questions and do the work that you're suited to - they'll give you the opportunities, they're too short-handed not to.

[As with every other person he's spoken with here, a few questions are answered, but far more are raised.

These aren't questions about her suggestions- in that they are agreed. Instead, he has questions about this world: Where does the Inquisition gain their funding? Their people? What influence do they have in the world, across these untrusting nations? Is there a way back through the rifts? One thing he is assured of is that this woman has a mind and knows how to use it.]

You seem very persuasive to me, madame. Though... should I expect others to call me a demon as well? [His voice is light, the question is not.]

Not to your face.

( But it will hang unsaid in the air; it will linger behind him where he walks. The possibility will influence and shape every interaction - even in the Inquisition itself, suspicion lingers. Gwenaëlle herself, for all that she has written persuasively to the contrary, has long held reservations about their existence, their presence, their usefulness.

They aren't going anywhere, though, and cannot be hidden from public view. With that in mind, she staked her own good name on the idea they are a worthy investment and valuable contribution to the war effort, and wherever she can, she pushes them towards not bloody well letting her down. )

Rifters have been with us some two years now. They serve at the highest levels in the Inquisition. And, still. You must know from your brother how it is, with war making for strange bedfellows. Orlais certainly knows about strange bedfellows.

( And Gwenaëlle knows all about maneuvering them to one's best advantage- she might not be a natural fit in the Orlesian court, but she is still a creature of it. )

[It sounds as though the Rifters need better spokesmen. Who would trust an organisation infested with demons, after all? One distrusted witches because they dealt with Lucifer, no matter what their works were.

The corners of his mouth turns up, the only concession to the extent of what Louis knows of strange bedfellows- both in and out of war.] Have you any advice for me there, madame?

( Her glance is almost surprised -

goodness, he sounds like he might actually heed it. Gwenaëlle, growing depressingly accustomed to shouting frustrated into the void, drinking Thranduil's share of wine and complaining that no one listens to her when she knows best- well, she can't help but be pleased by the prospect of someone who actually might. She prizes competence above birthplace, whatever she'll tell the doglords about themselves given the chance.

At length. To their stupid doglord faces. Gwenaëlle very rarely says behind someone's back what she's not prepared to say loudly and in two different languages right in their stupid face. )

Observing the work of those rifters who've done most well for themselves here can benefit you, but what I've observed of them is that they have been smart enough not to rely too heavily on one another. They build ties professional and personal that bind them to this life, this world - they have skin in this game.

It's easy to dismiss a stranger. You can't be a stranger.

[He wonders, absently, if she'll realise that this is what he's attempting now? Using her as a point of connection to the world, someone from whom to gather information and influence.

That is how politics works, how men and women rise through the ranks at court in order for the chance to stand before him, to gain what advantage they could before they mis-stepped and were replaced. Though he is king in Versailles, though he nominally holds the unshakeable position at the top of that ladder, he would be powerless if he were not the master of that game. Mis-steps have never been an option for him before.]

Whom should I befriend? I might equally value the friendship of the stableboy and the Empress, but one might advantage me more than the other.

I'd choose the stableboy of those two options, were I you.

( Even as far from Orlais as they are, she'd do well to stop flirting with treason; the Comte had been wisely neutral in the conflict for the throne, not unsympathetic to either party vying for it, not binding his fortunes to either of those rising suns. Gwenaëlle, though.

She sees the flames when she closes her eyes at night, and she will never forgive.

... but that's a story for another day, and on this one, she adds archly, )

This is a good start. Would you like to join us for the afternoon? I can send you back to the Gallows in my carriage after, if you'd like. Spare you the walk.

( Even Gwenaëlle might speak a bit more freely in her opinions on the Inquisition behind her own closed gates. )

[Does this woman share her opinion so openly with strangers? There were men who thought such things about him, back in France, and it would not have been wise to be known as dissenter when a plot against him was discovered.

His thoughts on the matter remain private, for now. He smiles instead, warm rather than the reserved curve of the lips he's shown so far.] You are gracious to make such a kind offer, madam. I can but accept, if I'm to follow your advice.

( Wait til he sees what this woman put in print.

- as she will doubtless think to provide him a copy, for all that the project has since been set to one side. (And on a note that rather put paid to the idea of her ever being a favourite of the court, but Gwenaëlle is more than prepared to make her peace with that.) )

Marvelous. Kieran, we're going home-

( He turns, Hardie's leash in hand, a small collection of trinkets under his arm, and she softens a little in a way she doesn't seem entirely conscious of. He can't be hers - she'd have been a child herself when a boy of his age was born - but the bond between them is obvious, for all that it doesn't look like blood. ) This is Kieran, my lady Morrigan's son, who was the Arcane Advisor to her majesty the Empress of Orlais. Currently the foremost expert on such matters with the Inquisition.

( There is no one she admires more than Morrigan - and who has been quite a singular influence on her since her first arrival in Skyhold, more than a year ago now. She'd have been more cautious, then, but she calculates her risks differently these days. )

My name is Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin.

A pleasure, Lady Vauquelin, Kieran. [He kneels to greet the boy, so they may meet eye to eye as he extends a formal hand. He does not often have the chance to interact with children, there being little time for them at court.] My name is Louis, and I see that you have made some fine purchases.

[In truth it is to give him time to consider his own introduction. He has been Louis to all he has met so far. She does not seem the type to fawn in he presence of someone revealed to be a king, but can he trust her?]

( A kindness to Kieran is certainly a surefire method of winning her approval - he is not unfriendly, but a solemn boy, who shakes Louis' hand and shows them as they fall in step toward the house his purchases. Gwenaëlle lets the discussion of politics and rifts and the Inquisition lapse for the duration, affectionate with Kieran and patient through his explanations of what he is going to carve this into and that the paint is for his soldiers and he has a new stand, also, for the articulated dragon in his room.

(She may be somewhat prone to outrageously spoiling him.)

The residence they come to is a comfortable one; Kieran excuses himself with his treasures, Hardie following after him after a nudge from Gwenaëlle, and she considers Louis thoughtfully for a few moments before erring on making the secondary impression of her home a bit less confrontational than some find the library and its...artwork...and leading him instead to the walled garden where she also spends much of her time.

Her household has the air of being somewhat accustomed to eccentricity in their mistress, and her choice of guests; she observes- )

Thranduil, who you'll come to know as the division head for research, also lives here, though I think he's at his office currently. You can't miss the man, he's two of me high and an elf.

[The walk is refreshing, and if he takes in more of the city than the interaction between the woman and child then he might say it was to refrain from intruding in their relationship.

The house is lovely and the gardens particularly so; he asks her to pay his compliments to the gardener.]

I look forward to meeting him. We have no elves in France, other than those in the tales of superstitious housewives.

( If Thranduil had been a shock to the system - an affront, even, so tall and holding himself so lordly, offending some part of her that she didn't know what to do with - then it is nothing to the way she doesn't seem to know quite how to react to the idea of a place where there simply aren't elves. It gives her pause, a slight tilt of her head as she sits slowly on one of the low stone benches that makes this space social.

No elves, she thinks, and purposefully does not remember her mother's face. )

Thedas must be quite the experience for you. I wonder if you never did, or they only died out.

( How very calmly she posits the death of an entire people. How very aware she is that she represents, in her own birth, precisely that. )

Much of what was has already been lost to history, even here.

Edited (that icon was a bit upbeat) 2017-10-02 07:50 (UTC)

[Remaining standing, Louis thinks a moment. It's true he is a monarch, not a scholar, and that there may be parts of history of which he does not know... but if elves had existed once, then surely there would have been record of them.] The history of France stretches back over a thousand years, and there are records from antiquity before then. In France, I feel confident to say there were no elves in all that time.

[He does not know the history of this land yet to know what she suggests with they died out. Sicknesses are common.]

( It's a difficult notion to fathom, but equally there's nothing for it but to take his word; he would know his own lands better than her glancing notion, and there's a point to be made that for all the ancient elves are gone, it isn't as if they left no fingerprints on the world beyond their diminished descendants. Their ruins litter Thedas, ancient magics still working in strange and unpredictable ways in out of the way places...

Elves are dying, that she has taken as fact since childhood, but what does that mean, truly? How long do the death throes last, and what does after look like? It is not a conversation anyone wishes to have with her, nor one she would relish were anyone willing. )

Elves you see in Thedas are only a remnant of something that used to be - and Thranduil resembles more the myths than the sort of elves in an alienage or off frolicking about the woods - it's curious to imagine them never having been at all.

I fear you will think very little of France when I say that we have no rifts, nor demons, nor mages either. [None that could do what he had seen Anders do.

He feels defensive admitting it, as though admitting there were something deficient about his country. He will visit Orlais, and soon. Would they have anything there to rival Versailles? He doubts it.]

( Her laugh is sudden, sharp, not unappealing in its shape; )

Can I go to France? ( -a little wryly, folding her hands together in her lap. No rifts, no demons...she is fond of some mages (one mage), certainly, but on the whole it's hard not to look at the current state of things and not see the appeal of literally anything else.

She can't imagine what Thedas would look like without magic, but it could hardly be worse than what they've managed to do with it. )

I might make a case for the value of dwarves, but on the whole.

[Do noblemen sit this close to women in private gardens here? They generally don't in France either. Louis will, though, as he is used to sitting as close to women in private as he likes. He'll refrain from taking her hand in his.]

Speaking as one recently acquainted with visiting a land not my own, I suggest that you might enjoy parts of France, but miss others.

( The social expectations upon a young lady of Orlais are both similar and sharply different to those of France; for her part, Gwenaëlle doesn't turn a hair at his joining her on the bench, only shifting slightly to accommodate conversation. If anything, it suits her well: at all of 5'3", she spends more than enough time tilting her head up to look at the people she speaks to. )

It must be wearying, ( after a moment, considering the tenor of that answer, ) to have to so much start over. In the middle of a stupid, insane war that is itself in the middle of several other stupid, insane wars, and surrounded largely by stupid, insane people.

( Tell us how you really feel, Gwenaëlle, you're really holding back. )

[His laugh is composed and soft.] When you put it like that, madame Vauquelin, I feel more at home than I have since I arrived.

[Not his wars, of course. The war against Holland was necessary, the war against Spain hadn't been. But the court was exhausting, for all that it was a pain he'd inflicted on himself.]

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