faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Raylan Givens and YOU!
WHAT: Raylan's getting used to Skyhold. Slowly.
WHEN: Mid-late Justinian, maybe into early Solace
WHERE: All around Skyhold
NOTES: Feel free to tag in whether we've discussed CR or not, and pp me on

shockvaluecola if you want a closed starter or you have an idea that doesn't fit a starter here.

kitchens
Raylan narrowly avoided getting snapped with the towel the cook was brandishing at him, chasing him away from the door.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear!" he protested. "I ain't hardly had a vegetable in months, I'm just trying not to die of scurvy. You trying to make me die of scurvy?"

The cook's response was uncomplimentary in the extreme, and Raylan almost got actually offended, until he remembered the cook might come at him with a frying pan next time. She shouted something to the effect of "and stay out!" then slammed the door. Raylan sighed, perching his hands on his skinny hips, and debated the merits of scratching at the door and whining like a puppy.

battlements
This man is definitely a little old to be climbing on battlements, but here he is. He might be found sitting on one of the high parts of the wall, feet dangling as he faces into the castle, or down in a crenellation, looking out. The lofts of towers with broken roofs aren't safe either, though for the faint of heart, he might just be walking along. Regardless, he'll call out to you as you pass.

"Hey! Yeah, come here a second, look at this."

library
Raylan was not impressed with this library at all.

Yes, it had plenty of books and very nice chairs and everything, but the organizational system, as far as he could tell, was completely insane. History and battle tactics shelved together? Chantry scholarship and spellbooks? Who on Thedas had thought of that, and why hadn't anyone else slapped them in the head? Raylan could be found muttering as he rifled through a shelf trying to find something, having some choice things to say about the brains of whoever had set up these shelves.

courtyard
Raylan had found a block of scrap wood and a sturdy knife somewhere, and set to work. He'd been on a stool in some tucked-away corner of the courtyard for a few hours now, and he was holding a little wooden dragon in his hands. She wasn't particularly detailed, but the broad strokes were there, like for a child's toy. Her wings were spread and her head forward, like she was flying. Raylan was focusing on trying to get her to actually take flight now. He frowned with intense concentration at his wooden creation, willing her to move. The problem was, Raylan had definitely made his creations move and come to life, but he wasn't completely sure how, so his ability to reproduce it on command was sporadic at best.

If someone was very lucky, they might be there when her wings began to flap, lifting her up and away from Raylan's hand.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Magical theory," Raylan said. "Specifically, it's..." He trailed off, considering how to explain and describe it. "It's a discussion of how things come through the veil," he concluded. "Demons and spirits, aye, but also magic and our minds when we dream." The leather and parchment creaked as he opened the book. "I got no idea how much of this is gonna hold true right now, hole in the sky and all, but whatever's different, no one's had time to write about yet. It's a place to start."

"And rifters?" she asks, a bit wry. "I've been told no one's had time to write about us either, unless you're inclined to just lump us in with the demons."

Her tone is good-natured, but she's also cautious. She hasn't run across anyone in Skyhold truly hostile to rifters yet, but she knows it's probably a matter of time.

That time was not today, as Raylan scratched his stubbly chin in thought. "You know, I'm not sure if it's got anything useful to say about you lot. Actual people coming through from other places has never happened before. Assuming that's actually what's happening," he amended. "You could be generated by the fade itself. Manifestations of it. Mass hallucinations, in a way."

He realized that probably wasn't comforting. "Then again, the fade only works by what it can pull from the minds of those who travel in it, dreamers and mages. So that theory doesn't really hold any weight, since you lot have got things about you that no one's ever seen."

"Well, if it pulls things, I could be a sort of duplicate." That's even sort of grimly funny, she thinks. A copy of a copy. "I mean, obviously I think I'm real, but the original me could be at home, going about her business, right? If my - her - mind had contact with the Fade while she was asleep."

It isn't a comforting thought in most ways. But she supposes it'd be an improvement if no one was missing her on the other side of the Rift after all.

"Certainly possible," Raylan said, flipping pages to the table of contents. It alone was several pages long, and he started running a finger down, scanning the various section titles. "Probably untestable."

He did want to get done what he'd come to do, but there was plenty of room at the table with him.

"Ugh, the worst kind of theory." Untestable helps no one in particular.

She considers leaving, but he doesn't seem inclined to chase her off. Instead, she settles with her own book and starts working through the title about the Chantry.

A while later, she glances up. "Um, sorry to bother you, but do you have a sec?"

Raylan had found a pen and a spare piece of parchment at some point, and was taking notes, chewing intensely on the end of the feather as he tried to work through something. He looked up at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, feather still in his mouth, and for a split second he looked for all the world like a puppy.

"What do you need?" he asked, face settling into something more reasonable as he took the quill out of his mouth.

She smiles, brief and involuntary at the expression. It's certainly not unfamiliar to an academic, even if it's not always quite so... endearing.

"Um, just wondering... do you know anything about Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin?" She holds up a pamphlet that it seems someone had been using as a bookmark. "It looks a bit more contemporary than the rest of this."

"Not a whole lot, but she publishes..." He scratched his head, thinking. "Monthly? I've met her. She didn't care for me, she's a noble lady." Raylan wasn't necessarily against talking to noble ladies, but they tended to not like him so much.

"Ah, man, a noble. She's probably not going to want to talk to me either, then." Which had been the point - someone who was actively writing a publication about current events might not mind discussing them, but.

"Where'd you meet her, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Up in the...ramparts, or whatever," he said, gesturing vaguely upwards. "On the walls, looking down on the courtyards. I assume she was makin' her observations to write."