faderift | You don't hate a person because someone told you to

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You don't hate a person because someone told you to

WHO: Church aaand anyone who wants to show up!
WHAT: Rifter meeting reboot
WHEN: Noon-ish on the 24th-ish
WHERE: Upper room of the Herald's Rest
NOTES: After this notice went up. People who are not Rifters are welcome to show up--nothing stopping them from dropping in, and he isn't going to cause an incident (probably) by throwing anyone out.
Mingle! Share knowledge! Talk about your trials with your pain lasers!

He's not nervous. He's totally not nervous. This is just like calling a Blue Team meeting, except with a lot more people, and most of them (probably) aren't dumbasses. Araceli believes in him, for some reason, so, obviously, he's got this in the bag. His letter was super professional and everything.

Look, there's even some snacks! People can get drinks downstairs. What does he look like, a bartender?

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Hermione doesn't understand how people can be in Thedas and then suddenly not, but she does understand the inclination to want to believe they've somehow fallen into another rift or some such thing that will take them back home. Personally, though? She might be too tactful to ever outright say it, but she's fairly certain that the Rifters who go missing have met with a bad end, either by bear or Red Templar or bandits. No one wants to think about that, though.

"Given what I've been reading and hearing, I don't know if Thedas will ever be fully at peace, but then, the same can't really be said for my own world, either. But I'm well aware of the horrible things people here have to say about mages and elves, though Skyhold is by and large better than that." She pauses for a moment, briefly glancing up at him with a small smirk tugging at her lips. "They're called chips, by the way. I would have thought they'd taught you that back home."

He makes a face. "What, potato chips?" He's painfully American. At least he didn't inherit the Director's painfully southern Louisiana-type accent. "You English and your silly words. Everyone's so high fantasy England around here. Or high fantasy France. Oh, or high fantasy Spain! Italy? I don't know, they sound the same to me. Wherever Zevran's from..." Please stop talking, Church.

"Man, if Skyhold is better, I don't know that I really want to go running off to the nearest city. I was thinking about exploring but I'd probably get mauled by 50 bears on the way."

That smirk turns into a poorly-repressed grin; it's actually delightful, hearing him argue about English with an Englishwoman. It's so refreshingly American, like the hotheaded stereotypes she'd see in movies and read about in novels, and she wouldn't have ever thought she'd come across that sort of thing for the first time in a place like this.

"Silly words? You mean like chips and crisps? Because I don't really think anyone around here would know what you're trying to poison them with if you shove potato slices in hot oil and salt, regardless of what you call them."

Sighing a little and trying not to go too dour again now that she's actually felt the mood lighten somewhat, she explains, "The strongest stereotypes will be found in the places they'd originated from in the first place. Orlesians, Fereldans, the Chantry, the Circles; wherever a group of people with something in common are organized, they'll learn to develop a certain opinion about people who don't have certain things in common with them. That's the way of the world... or worlds, I suppose. That doesn't make it right, though. From what I've come to understand, Skyhold is like a sort of no man's land, where people gather from all over. So it makes sense that their stereotypes are a bit more... diluted."

He lets that sink in a little, lips pursed. Then decides to say: "So what you're saying is, if they did invent shoving potato slices in hot oil and salt, some of them would call them chips, and some would call them fries, instead of being English-y and calling them something they're not." He says it with an increasing grin by the end. "That kind of diluted."

Can't pass up putting ladies in good moods, okay. It happens so infrequently. "And if they don't invent it on their own, we have to do it here. We have got to introduce the concept of deep frying to these poor souls."

She'd been afraid that the end of the conversation might prove a little more solemn, given that they were talking about stereotypes and the like. But Church seemed rather focused on talking about potato snacks, and the idea of discussing that rather than anything of any serious import strikes Hermione as bizarre... but not wholly unappreciated.
.
"In case you haven't noticed, most of the people here are rather fit and trim; introducing the art of deep-frying to them would change that drastically. Besides, I would have assumed that you'd be more interested in introducing them to-... to fried chicken or cheeseburgers before you tried for crisps. Or are they just the easier thing to make?"

"...Oh my god. These poor people don't have processed vacuum packed slices of cheese. How are they gonna eat their burgers once we charbroil one to perfection? Stick a wedge of cheese on there and call it a day? God." He flops down, limp, in a seat for a moment before bobbing his head back up. "What kind of food do you miss from home?" Potential Rifter icebreaker question...?

Hermione wrinkles her nose; she might have been raised with all sorts of modern conveniences owing to her Muggle upbringing, but her parents had still managed to keep her away from most processed foods. And it sounds as though Americans thrive solely on them.

"I... don't know, really," she replies, thinking about it for a moment. "Shepherd's pie would be nice right about now, but I could probably make that here if I really tried. I suppose I miss butterbeer the most, but less for the taste and more for the good associations I have with it."

Hey, processed foods sure beat MREs. His eyebrows bob. "Butterbeer? As in...beer that tastes like butter? And you wanna make fun of the shit Americans eat? That sounds like deep fried butter on a stick. But in beer."

"What? No!" She actually laughs at that, shaking her head emphatically. "It takes like... well, there's a warm, vaguely butterscotch taste to it. It's not beer at all, though it does have a negligible amount of alcohol. Children can drink it with no ill effects. Unless you count cavities, since it's very sweet."

"Butterscotch baby beer." Oh he is tickled by this. "I can't tell if that sounds vaguely disgusting or fucking awesome. I don't suppose you'd have any idea how to even remotely make something like that? Maybe, like, conjure up some of that sweet sweet liquid candy?" Shush he knows that's not how magic works.

Hermione blinks. "It's not strictly for children," she remarks with a quirk of her eyebrows. "It's a very comforting drink, so long as you have something of a sweet tooth." She does have to shake her head, though, telling him, "Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. I can't produce food or drink out of thin air - aside from water, or unless I know of a spell that can almost instantly bring together all the ingredients to make a particular thing. But perhaps I can talk to someone in the tavern and see if it would be possible to make something like that with what we have available."

He stares blankly. Right, bookworm, have to remember he's talking to a big nerd of a mage-witch. "That sounds like one of those thick tomes I could pull out of the library and not understand a god damn word out of it. Elemental transfiguration, geez, sounds like alchemy. God. Don't tell me you've got alchemy. You magical kids and your butterbeer and your transfiguration, you need to sit back and play some Playstation or something. Uuuuugh we need electricity. And indoor plumbing. One thing at a time, I guess."

"Of course there's alchemy. It's a very broad field that covers transfiguration, potions, a bit of magical philosophy, theory, and history, and-... well it's just a very core part of any study of magic. I'd be surprised if there exists such a place that has magic but no study of alchemy." She frowns a little at the mention of a Playstation, though she's going to assume that it's one of those video games that so many of her neighbors' children seemed so enamored with these days. She can't agree on that much, but at the very least, she can certainly say, "I'd rather take indoor plumbing first, all things considered."

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You don't hate a person because someone told you to

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