[ open?? closed? schrödinger's log?? ] heroes always get remembered

[goodforsaken]

WHO: Lex Luthor, assorted guest stars, and YOU??
WHAT: General intro purposes? Get you some arms and armor made, Inquisition! Geek out in the library! Be confused by the incongruous noble all up in the Undercroft!
WHEN: Approximately now - the end of August.
WHERE: Skyhold: the Undercroft + Library + the buffet option
NOTES: Starters in comments. As it stands no warnings are required; I'll edit here a/o subject lines if that changes. Here is Lex's info post for anyone who'd like to run with the idea that they've heard of him/had contact before!

Being possessed of the incredibly informed opinion most not!Orlesians have of Orlais when they've only ever visited and spoken mostly to people wearing silly hats, Lex is more than comfortable with his first forays into the Inquisition taking place in Skyhold and not Halamshiral. That's where he's ultimately most useful anyway; he suffers no illusions regarding any diplomatic capabilities that don't involve ensnaring largeish globs of money.

The day side ....globbage occurs, however, is not this day or, nor is it whatever other days this log ends up involving. No, instead here we are in Skyhold, where Lex's general occupancy encompasses the following:

Comments

[apostafuckyou]

The word spread had reminded Raylan of a problem, so one afternoon, he headed on down to the undercroft, holding his very sad staff.

He had no idea what was involved in repairing -- for all his inept whittling, no one had ever wanted to trust him with something that might shoot fire if he touched it wrong. So he came through the door and planted the butt of the staff on the ground (the blade had broken down to a nub long ago). A young man with red hair that Raylan didn't recognize was near the door. "Hey," he called out. "You that new fella?" Raylan figured he might as well get in before the man got loaded down and a wait time developed.

if i lapse into present tense just shriek in my ear

[goodforsaken]

Lex looked up from what appeared to be an ankle-deep pile of scrap metal; some of it was useful, some of it he wouldn't have used to make equipment for someone he really, really wanted to see perforated a great many times. (Beginning as we meant to go on in regards to figurative language, apparently.) "That new fella would be me," he drawled, syllables elongated and reasonably friendly, at least for the moment.

He stood and made his hands reasonably presentable, although that was only so possible when a person spent a great deal of the day bathing in soot, but they were clean enough to shake with - which he didn't - or handle a weapon, which he ...also didn't, once he'd crossed the floor to be able to view at critical distance the supposed staff planted before him. "This is something you're bringing me as an example of how not to do my job, I hope."

Ah yes. Lex Luthor, king of tact.

i look forward to being able to shriek

[apostafuckyou]

"Something like that," Raylan said, holding the staff out to Lex. "It's broken. Needs mending." He perched his hands on his skinny hips once Lex took it, looking it over. "Been sittin' in the corner of my laboratory for most of a month, not doin' much of anything. Ain't had much need for it," he admitted.

[goodforsaken]

Lex takes it like it's going to stain his hands, which is saying something for a person liberally smeared with sweat and soot. His little laugh up-pitches, an awkward sound not because he feels particularly awkward in the moment, that's just 10% of his core makeup at any given time. "That explains how you've still got--mm, all your limbs."

Because really, if he'd been doing much fighting with this ...disaster. Stone protect you, buddy. He hefts the thing in one hand; it's heavy enough to require some effort, but--"This wasn't made for you, was it?" That's a rhetorical question; if the answer is yes he will be even more appalled. "Hand-me-down? Generic staff stockpile? It's weighted completely wrong for your height."

The Inquisition presumably does not have time to make everyone's weapon from scratch, so there are some metal, wood and stone bases stacked against one wall. "Pick out a few of those that feel natural. Not like they're about to pitch you facedown. That would be a disadvantage when trying to defend yourself, yes."

[apostafuckyou]

Raylan raised his eyebrows, and considered saying something along the lines of being unsure how Lex was going to fix the weighting, but he decided he probably shouldn't tell anyone how to do their job. So he went over to the bases.

He was able to pick the ones that were likely just from sight, and gave each of those few a spin before carrying back a couple. They were all roughly the right height for him, though probably lighter and slimmer than Lex was expecting -- Raylan favored speed over sheer brute strength, whether magical or physical.

"This one's the best," he said, tapping the one made of some bluish metal. "But these are all pretty good. And to answer the question, it was the best option out of what was left in the store room when I finally left my Circle. I was one of the last." Raylan had a terrible feeling he was the last, as in, the few he'd left behind had never made it out.

[goodforsaken]

Well, that told him what attachments not to use, i.e. not the more uh, bludgeony ones. That mage staffs functioned as physical weapons in addition to their magic properties was relatively new in his base of knowledge, but he was enjoying incorporating it. Meanwhile:

'One of the last' got a noncommittal acknowledgment noise; that sounded (he erroneously assumed) like further response might incur the sticky, pungent horror of personal details, [disgusted noise]. "Glad to hear it's not top of the line merchandise."

Dry as dust. Although as an explanation for why the Circles hadn't rebelled sooner he'd have accepted it: because they all would have died immediately. He gestured for the blueish staff, made the same considering hefting gesture before tossing it from hand to hand. "If you had to stab something in a pinch, could you? Or would you just wind up being eaten. I can work with either, I just prefer specifics. When possible. Something whoever made this staff either forgot about or never knew in the first place."

Ughhhh.

[apostafuckyou]

"A thing that's been stabbed can probably still eat me," Raylan pointed out. "But I wouldn't get gummed to death by an elderly nug if I had a good blade." Which was a roundabout way of saying that yes, he could stab things. It was maybe a little attempt to needle the man, who, while extremely squirrelly, seemed like a pretty direct type.

"That still had half the blade on it when I got it," he said, nodding to the staff he still considered 'his' and not 'garbage'. "Ain't missed it too much, though." But, again, he hadn't done a lot of fighting. Holed up in his shack, most of those who came by looking for trouble could be scared off by some theatrics, and he didn't need the staff for that.

[goodforsaken]

Lex elects to just ignore the smartassery, because like ...he has work to do, and that is five hundred times more important and interesting than banter. "I see. Do you think if you had a proper staff and not an oversized toothpick the Inquisition might make you work for a living?"

[apostafuckyou]

Raylan had taken a knee, picking up a piece of the random scrap metal scattered around because he was curious. He glanced up to give Lex an annoyed glare. "I work," he informed Lex. "I just don't need a staff to do it. I teach kids the basics and I do research." There weren't a lot of regular kids around, but mage children didn't have much of anywhere else to go, except the Inquisition.