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

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

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:

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Wildly presuming the Undercroft contains more than like ...a single dude and his assistant the fantastic mustache*, this was Lex's first investigation upon arrival. Before settling in to the private room in the noble quarters he will almost never visit, before unpacking anything aside from the necessary tools, before shunting his small NPC cabal of "volunteers" off to see to an obsessively details list of tasks, before so much as sitting down. He'll sit down when he's dead!

A few days from that point this remains the most likely place to find him: sorting through the assorted materials available, deep in work on tasks assigned long before he got there, generally digging carabiners in and making himself right at home. The aforementioned volunteers (read: his employees) have taken care of spreading any unofficial word required there's a new smith around for whatever needs members of the Inquisition might have, especially those who have particular specializations to adhere to. He's the average human without any special abilities, so all your enchanting needs will still need to be carried out elsewhere, but beyond that he exists pretty much to be tested.

*his actual mustache, not Dagna

Beyond all that sweaty and forearm-showing-offing work, Lex immediately establishes himself as a frequent patron of the Inquisition's library. Possibly he's the placement of the books he donated, like a shelter worker vigilant in how a pet is getting on in its new home (...go with it), possibly he is drawn to books he hasn't already read like a thing that's ...highly drawn to things. Haunting with particular interest anything on science, crafting, and treatises on the impossible.

Edited 2016-08-12 23:49 (UTC)

Of all the menial tasks that Ariadne performed to better endear herself to the natives, returning books to the library for them was one of her favorites. She wasn't much for books. It was a point of pride that she could read and write at all. But there was something utterly magical about libraries. Maybe because they hadn't really existed in Deleo. But just the idea of having so many stories all in one place.

She wondered that there weren't more people around all of the time.

As she dropped the latest stack off, she caught an unfamiliar scent in the building. There would be no harm in investigating. She wasn't obligated to be anywhere at the moment, so she curiously crept into the stacks, following the new scent.

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.

Acclimatization to any new environment is always a challenge for Lex; like most people he doesn't love not having control over an anything, but he is perhaps especially uh, inclined. In that direction. Skyhold is new, and although he's aware far too many variables exist for him to really pin it down and make his own shapes (...also it does not in any way belong to him, but pshh, irrelevant!!), he can at least explore what areas aren't off-limits (although ones that are only by unspoken agreement he will probably wander into anyway, whoops) and figure out how they work.

Where the niches are. Where the amicably available persona will be the most effective, where he can drop it for the sensible one where all parties have things to do, efficiency appreciated.

Amongst these general wanderings he's been tasked into risk assessment for the Rookery, so if its terrifying mistress of shadows would like to strongly reprimand him for just ...being everywhere, you know. This would be an ideal time.

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.

Edited 2016-08-13 05:02 (UTC)

"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.

Edited (i misread your tag because i'm dumb) 2016-08-14 06:22 (UTC)

There are always new people coming into Skyhold. It's a fact since the Inquisition set up its base here, and its something Bruce has become fairly used to by now. For the most part he doesn't really concern himself with whoever's coming, unless its something who is sick and/or needs help with injuries and the like. In the past maybe he would have been more forward, but these days its easier to just keep to himself. Not being able to hide the fact that he's a mage now makes everything more complicated than he really needed things to be.

At least right now it doesn't seem like he's going to have any trouble; the morning had passed by peacefully enough, and with his afternoon shift done Bruce uses his break to work on making more poultice nearby where most of the tents had been put up. A dracolisk stands nearby, idly munching on some hay that had been brought over, mostly for the purposes to keep it occupied and ensure that it doesn't go wandering off and accidentally eat a chicken or something.

Acquiring paper on which to take notes was a small but major improvement in Cosima's life in Skyhold. She's trying not to be wasteful, which means a lot of abbreviation and comically tiny letters, but she can now actually take notes on what she's ready.

She realizes that history and geography are probably going to be of most immediate use, but she can't help herself; science will always be her first love. She's working her way through a medical text, slowly, and trying not to mutter things to herself out loud, but at least one quiet "No way" slips past.

Recent forays into the realms of discussions of dragons and demons with the Rifters send Morrigan up to the library; there are plenty of things she can understand herself but having to slow down and remember how to explain them to people that haven't ever encountered them in the past? Exhausting, quite frankly. (Look she still isn't over any time she's had to explain the Fade when she's pretty much lived with knowing what the Fade is for as long as she can remember.)

Anyway, the library doesn't have anything on elves that she hasn't already read and scoffed at, but she has Kieran who reads voraciously, so she's pretty much always making the trip. And you know there's a volume on glassworking that she might be interested in. Just to be safe.

Depending on a person's interpretation of 'smell,' Lex smells like ...soot, maybe, fire and sweat and a general incongruity of hard work; metaphorically money or amorality or something, who is to say!!

Besides Ariadne, obviously. The point is: Lex has found a volume on making explosives, which while certainly nothing as impressive as the Qunari have come up with, catches his attention partially because it might be useful, partially out of sheer curiosity. He possesses no preternatural senses, but he is very, very good at knowing when he's being observed, because he is uh, paranoid as shit. So the book in front of his face lowers, eyeline scanning the surrounding stacks warily.

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."

Edited 2016-08-15 07:48 (UTC)

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.

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.

Edited 2016-08-15 08:19 (UTC)

"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.

As a person who goes through parchment like they might make it illegal tomorrow, Lex can sympathize. As per previous mention in uh, some other tag somewhere else, the environment is too new and unfamiliar for him to regulate another voice to background noise; if it were the average Thedosian across the way he might just be annoyed, but as things stand Rifters are still an unknown quantity and therefore interesting.

"They don't have a whatever that is where you come from?"

...is how he chooses to. Greet her. No beating around the bush conversation wise!

She is a woman with a mission. It's a ridiculous mission, but it's a mission all the same. Ruby has a piece of paper rolled up in her hand, and crosses to the undercroft early in the day - early enough that hopefully she won't be detected making her way there, even if there probably are plenty of reasons for an artificer visiting the Undercroft not being at all suspicious.

A knock, and then she pushes the door open, sticking her head through curiously. "Hi. Is this a bad time?"

A reprimand, you say? She would never.

She would also never offer any warning before standing behind someone poking around her ~~Angst Tower~~ ~~Spire of Brooding~~ Rookery, so her shadow is cast over Lex before so much as a footstep can be detected. No matter what he is doing, she somehow seems to loom.

"Good afternoon." Sounds like: stabby stabby death death.

Ariadne found him right off. She had a particular sensitivity to the smell of anything fiery. And soot reminded her terribly much of her ten-year-old self.

...which this man certainly was not.

She smiled as she saw him lowering the book, offering him a curtsy that was really more of a bounce. Everything Ariadne did had a certain bouncy quality to it. As if she lived up to her nickname and was truly a thing of 'air' itself.

"Hello," she said cheerfully, in a voice that was incongruously young when compared to the rest of her. "Am I interrupting?"

She looks up, blinking as she catches up to what he asked her. "Uh. Dragons. And no, we don't have any. I mean, there's a lot of fauna we don't have - we don't have mabari hounds either, but we have dogs." She's been finding the volume she picked up on natural history illuminating.

At least the interruption by a stranger doesn't seem to have thrown her.

Teren notices people. Especially people who are everywhere, and especially when they are trying to be unobtrusive. She's seen this one poking around here and there, and though she has never greeted him, something about his manner has caused her to always surreptitiously follow him with her eyes.
At present, she has set up shop at her preferred table in the Herald's Rest, sewing supplies set out in front of her as she nurses an ale and works on taking in a warden's tunic. There are several others in the pile before her, indicating that she's got quite a bit to do, and perhaps she made the choice to sit where her fingers wouldn't be stiff and cold and making threading needles difficult.

She sees the boy again, below her, and wrinkles her brow at him. Once again she offers no greeting, but if he should look up, she'll meet his gaze.

Kirk shared a love-hate relationship with the library. There were times he found the things within it fascinating and new, and at other times he found them woefully ignorant and biased and therefore no real help at all. The ignorant part, especially in the sciences, was hardly anyone's fault at this stage in their development, but the bias was, and it constantly grated on him. It meant the information was, at best, potentially faulty and at worst out right lies and propaganda.

He was currently looking through one of the scientific books, clucking to himself as he flipped through the pages in the stacks. "No, Kirk, you will not write corrections in a library book, that's rude," he kept telling himself beneath his breath, not thinking anyone would hear him.

Well. Not quite a single dude and his mustache.

One of the workstations in the Undercroft sports an array of equipment more delicate than the type used for smithing. There are glass vials, and jars of herbs and powder strewn all over the top of it. Take care, should you wish to go poking around at the contents: some of them are booby-trapped. Sherlock's dealt with people nosing into his things before.

When Sherlock comes down for a day's work and finds the place crawling with volunteers and activity, he stops short just inside the door, taking in the whole scene before brusquely and wordlessly moving toward his station.

The first thing he'll be doing is check to make sure no one's tampered with his things.

They don't really have dracolisk...i...es in the Free Marches, plural or otherwise, so Lex is obliged to do a mighty dance of 'that completely didn't startle me' when he encounters Bruce's hay-munching friend. Either he covers it well or he's just ...always like, notably kind of tense, one of those.

"For the discerning rider who doesn't find a horse terrifying or ostentatious enough," he remarks like. To the animal. Little knowing he is perhaps quoting the war table mission.

Safety is important! Or so Lex hears from like, other people. But in fact, due to two coincidentally great tastes that may (?? who knows) go well together, that in this case being Kieran and dragons, Lex has already procured what is, if not the largest volume on dragons in useful text, definitely largest in that it comes up to his like ........waist, and has huge, beautiful pictures. He has lugged it over to one of those large, flat tables such as research materials are stored on, and is sketching determinedly what appears to be not any one particular dragon, but one composed of the various limbs (...and heads, and scales), of several.

Maybe when he comes to retrieve a second volume they can reach for the same one!! Dear Maker, how do these coincidences contrive themselves to be.

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

i. ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ (the UNDERCROFT)

ii. ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇʏ; ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴ (LIBRARY)

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iii. i had this typed up and then lost it so it doesn't get cool font (ANYWHERE U WANT)

if i lapse into present tense just shriek in my ear

i look forward to being able to shriek

the meeting that was probably never meant to be (healing tents... I guess?? :U)

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yikes, sorry this took so long!

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towards the end of august eh eh

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No worries!

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towards the end of august

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>_> you saw nothing

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