Dorian Pavus (
altus_pavus) wrote in
sojournerdeep2016-09-23 10:50 pm
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[Location: Arrival plaza] [Open] The night is long, and the path is dark...
It's a nice room, the one he wakes up in. He's stretched out on a lovely divan, clad in the most exquisite brocade. It's a room he could stay in for quite some time, given half a chance. It's certainly better than his current prospects - perhaps there'll be a warm bed to crawl into at the end of the night, provided they find a way back to the present time.
That is to say, not the present future they're stuck in. The horrendous future, where red lyrium spreads to take over entire wings of Redcliffe castle. Where one of his countrymen made everyone's preconceptions about Tevinter mages come true - one of the foolish mages who think the ends justify all means you can think of.
It's a big, hard, bitter pill to swallow. No wonder his head aches.
Come to think of it, he can't remember what happened after jumping through the vortex for the second time in so many hours. Time magic. Such horror. No one should have that power, but trust his former mentor to find a way...
He rolls his head side to side, back and forth, and only then gives the room a more enthusiastic once-over. It seems rather strange, aside from the lovely furnishings. It's like a box. Like a gift box you give to children, filled with miniature furniture and dolls...
Dorian doesn't enjoy the idea of being anyone's puppet, but the image sticks.
Further inspection reveals he has his staff, and a book is laid out on that table over there by one of the four walls (how peculiar: is it a ruse of Alexius's doing? Petty revenge for going behind his back? It doesn't seem like him, but Dorian has been wrong about people before).
[Welcome] says a disembodied female voice that seems to fill the entire room, and despite its soft qualities Dorian still half jumps out of his skin.
Seems like it will be a long night.
~*~
The first person will do, he tells himself. First human, dwarf, elf or qunari he finds will do - he'll ask what in Andraste's ashes is going on, and maybe then he can figure a way out of here.
Yes. That's a perfectly workable plan: assault the first unsuspecting poor bastard he finds. Excellent.
That is to say, not the present future they're stuck in. The horrendous future, where red lyrium spreads to take over entire wings of Redcliffe castle. Where one of his countrymen made everyone's preconceptions about Tevinter mages come true - one of the foolish mages who think the ends justify all means you can think of.
It's a big, hard, bitter pill to swallow. No wonder his head aches.
Come to think of it, he can't remember what happened after jumping through the vortex for the second time in so many hours. Time magic. Such horror. No one should have that power, but trust his former mentor to find a way...
He rolls his head side to side, back and forth, and only then gives the room a more enthusiastic once-over. It seems rather strange, aside from the lovely furnishings. It's like a box. Like a gift box you give to children, filled with miniature furniture and dolls...
Dorian doesn't enjoy the idea of being anyone's puppet, but the image sticks.
Further inspection reveals he has his staff, and a book is laid out on that table over there by one of the four walls (how peculiar: is it a ruse of Alexius's doing? Petty revenge for going behind his back? It doesn't seem like him, but Dorian has been wrong about people before).
[Welcome] says a disembodied female voice that seems to fill the entire room, and despite its soft qualities Dorian still half jumps out of his skin.
Seems like it will be a long night.
~*~
The first person will do, he tells himself. First human, dwarf, elf or qunari he finds will do - he'll ask what in Andraste's ashes is going on, and maybe then he can figure a way out of here.
Yes. That's a perfectly workable plan: assault the first unsuspecting poor bastard he finds. Excellent.
no subject
"May I see?" He holds his hand out for the book with the obvious faith that Dorian will, indeed, let him see. "Here, here's mine." He offers his tablet phone with his other hand, as if turnabout is fair play.
no subject
Dorian's book is as straightforward as most non-fiction books: it has a directory and a foreword with addendums containing the User Guide and whathaveyous, chapters denoting different areas of Things Worth Knowing, like community functions, people of notice, such as doctors, and a handy list of denizens, including one Dorian Pavus. It also happens to have a fair number of blank pages, or only partially finished chapters, as if it's someone's work in progress.
That's how far Dorian himself got, anyway: always good to know what other people think they know about you.
But this...thing now in his hand. He turns it over, runs his fingers along its seamless edges, and accidentally swipes across the screen, "Oh!"
Oh really. "You're equating that book with this? What manner of world are you from, exactly? This is like a scrying mirror, but much less-- what did it do now, hang on."
All these little symbols that make varied sense, Dorian can't help but crouch down into a leisurely bit of learning by doing, legs a-sprawling on the ground in front of him.
no subject
"The world I'm from is rife with devices," he says, "like the one you're now holding. Our technological development accelerated after the discoveries of new sources of power. We now depend largely upon--electricity, and electrical engineering."
A moment later he sits down next to Dorian, legs crossed, for the purpose of comparing the two devices side-by-side. He looks (and is) engrossed.
no subject
"Fascinating," he says, quiet but no less expecting to be heard. "And telling. Ship's Services seems to be catering to our needs, as she sees them, regardless how unfamiliar the ship itself is. I wonder just how well she knows them. Us."
'Ship'. How quickly does he fold like a deck of cards? At the first sign of foreign territory? Hardly! A ship among stars?!
But he's always preferred pragmatism to sentimentality. Always.
no subject
This is an invitation, if one knows where to look. A haughty and indifferent-sounding one; but then again, Sherlock is always playing these games.
no subject
"I think it's more than likely the case: the Face of an operation is hardly ever the mastermind behind it.
"But, more importantly," he adds, quickly, so as not to bog them down with parentheses on potential power structures.
And besides, he does quite appreciate subtle invitations. Most of his social calendar used to consist of subtle invitations to secluded locations. Especially haughty, indifferent-sounding ones.
"What manner of house guests would we be if we didn't have a good snoop? Don't answer that. Lead the way!"