faderift | [Open] Sometimes...

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[Open] Sometimes...

WHO: Jamie and you!
WHAT: Recovery after the events here
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway through the end of Harvestmere
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: CW for references to the shardbearer plot, so torture, forced lyrium ingestion, hallucinations, violence and other Bad Things. The first part in healer tents features lyrium withdrawal and may involve the possibility of the getting glimpses of other people's memories. If you would like to have Jamie pick up your character's memories, let me know via pm or in your header, whichever you prefer.

[Healers Tents]

It's no surprise that after being taken by the Venatori and experimented on, Jamie winds up having an extended stay in the healers tents. Not only does the lyrium have to work its way out of his system, contend with, he has a concussion and cracked ribs to contend with as well, and for the first couple of weeks he's fairly out of it, still having problems distinguishing people he knows here from people he knew back home. As time goes on and the lyrium wears off that starts to improve, slowly but surely, although his head still hurts and it's still hard to breathe.

[Still the healers tents]

Eventually, however, the worst of the lyrium has passed through his system, leaving him more his usual self - and that usual self is one that doesn't much care for being stuck in bed, no matter how injured he is. There's more than one time where he insists he's perfectly fine, and more than one time where he might very well wind up being caught at trying to sneak out of his bed and out of the the healing tents entirely. Whether or not he's successful depends on whoever catches him wants to do...but he's supposed to be resting, so steering him back to lie down is definitely always an option.

[New quarters and out and about]

Finally he's deemed well enough to be able to be let out on his own, and left to his own devices. The very tiny room that he's been working on fixing up for months now is finally done, and he's finally able to move his belongings out from where they've been stored and put them someplace he can call his own. He might have to look into getting a roommate at some point, but for now he works on settling in and getting back into something like a routine. Not too long after he's released from the tents, he gets a present of sorts - a set of dragon armor, crafted from his share of the hide of the dragon he helped to kill months ago. There's a fitting or two to make sure everything is where is should be, but once that's done, he settles into training, both with sword and shard. He knows he's got to be able to control that extra ability it's developed, or at some point someone's going to get hurt that he doesn't want to get hurt. So while sometimes he can be found at the pells like everyone else, other times he's in remote areas, practicing at reliably shooting those small projectiles out of the mark.

Days like that leave him tired and his hand aching, but while he used to pop around to the healers tents, even that ache doesn't seem to be enough to get him to go there any more. Instead he can be found at the tavern having a drink, or tucked away in a corner practicing finger exercises on his chanter. Sometimes he still goes to the stables, too, even though he isn't living there any longer. He likes being around the horses, and here more than anywhere else you can catch him idly carving small pieces of wood. Nothing he does is terribly fancy, but some of pieces do eventually turn into things someone could wear or display - well, if you happen to like tiny figures of various semi-recognizable beasties, that is.

[Once a piper... (end of Harvestmere)]

It takes quite some time for his cracked ribs to heal to the point where it doesn't hurt to draw a breath, and longer still before he's able to sustain the breath he needs to properly play, but eventually, one day, there's a noise that's possibly familiar to the people who know Jamie well - the skirl of bagpipes, the sound carrying from high up on the battlements and traveling throughout Skyhold. Unlike some of the other times he's played, it's a somber sound, the tune itself sad and maybe just a little haunting. There's a reason behind the song, a promise he'd made to himself awhile ago, and even though it may be a little rougher around the edges than usual, it's something he's determined to see through, even if there's a risk someone might come up and try and figure out what's going on. He can deal with that if it happens. Until then, he's going to play.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Okay, first of all, things have definitely changed, and second of all, I'm pretty sure that's only if you asked me out first. I think you're off hook." She manages a smile of her own. "What's your poison?"

Edited (typos) 2016-10-03 23:40 (UTC)

"Aye, I know. It's just hard to keep track, sometimes."

But she has a point, and since he's not planning on asking anyone out anytime soon after that fiasco with Kallian, he simply nods, acknowledging that she's probably right. And since he's already more or less agreed to the drink in the first place, he decides that it's not worth arguing who's going to get who what, and nods down to what is, at the moment, a mostly-empty mug.

"Whisky. Or what passes for whisky around here, I should say. It's not bad, but...it's not exactly the same, if you know what I mean."

And not just because it's in a small mug rather than a glass. But she's a rifter, and while he can't be completely certain, he thinks there's at least a possibility that she'll understand what he's on about. In the meantime, however, he settles back a bit in his seat and gives her a thoughtful look.

"How're you holding up, anyway?"

"Oh my god, I could so go for some real bourbon," she commiserates. "I mean, it's not the end of the world, but still." The idea that he's craving whiskey does not especially seem to surprise her, under the circumstances.

While she keeps an eye out for a server, she considers his last question. "I'm... okay, I guess, under the circumstances. Healers think I should make a full recovery, so. How about you?"

"Aye, I know it's not the end of the world, either, but it'd be nice. Hey, maybe we'll get lucky and some'll fall through a rift sometime."

There's a note of enthusiasm as he says that, but he doesn't really expect there to be a crate of whisky - or bourbon - falling through any time soon. And the stuff they have here is passable enough, all things considered, but there's times where something from home would be nice. Still, at least he's still here to want it, so maybe it's not so bad, something that gets him to lift his chin a touch proudly.

"Ah, it'll take more than a knock on the head to keep a McCrimmon down. Might have to hold off on playing the pipes a bit longer, but I'll get back to that soon enough."

Sorry, Skyhold.

But in the meantime, her words also spark a look of regret on his end, not too dissimilar to the expression he'd had when he'd had to take care of the guard back in the cell. He reaches for his mug, picking it up and taking a drink from it, but even after that there's still echoes of it there in his expression.

"Look, I know it probably won't help much but...I'm sorry for what happened. Don't think any of us thought that it would turn out like that when we all went to close the rifts. You shouldn't have had to go through that."

"Hey," she says, a bit softer. "It wasn't anyone's fault except the assholes that kidnapped us. You've got nothing to be sorry for." She pauses, then adds, "I'm sorry I was kind of useless on your escape attempt. You and Lexa might have made it on your own."

Probably not, really, but she can't help but feel babysitting a half-blind noncombatant didn't help them.

"Now, listen, don't you say that. You've nothing to be sorry for, either."

After all, her not having her glasses was thanks to the same people who'd kidnapped them, so it seems only fair if they were going to do this putting the blame on someone business, it should extend to that. Catching sight of the server out of the corner of his eye, he pauses for a couple of seconds, long enough to flag them down, then turns back to Cosima.

"Besides, I wasn't about to leave you behind, lack of glasses or no. That's not how I do things. You deserved just as much of a chance at getting out as we did, and I'll argue with anyone that says otherwise."

Edited 2016-10-10 20:23 (UTC)

"Okay. I'll stop apologizing if you will. Deal?" She offers her hand to shake on it - though she does pause when the server comes over to order them a round as promised.

Once the server's taken their orders, Jamie's more than happy to accept that offered hand, giving it a brief but firm shake.

"Deal."

He's maybe a little relieved that's out of the way, as things could've gotten awkward, and now they can move on. It occurs to him, though, that something she mentioned earlier might be a point of interest - at least to him - and a curious look is sent her way.

"Hey, you said bourbon earlier, didn't you? Does that mean you're from Earth, then?"

She brightens a bit. "I am, yeah. California, born and bred. You too?" She'd known he was a Rifter, of course, but 'sounds like Scottish' doesn't always mean what you think it does either. "Oh, I'm from 2013, if that helps." Because 'Earth' is still a wide range.

"Aye, I am," he confirms, a touch wryly. As much as he'd like to think that it's fairly obvious where he comes from, he's learned that's not always the case - especially these past few years.

That's the easy part, though. When she narrows it down a bit more by adding in when she's from, he winds up hesitating for a moment before replying. Usually when he does the same, people tend to not believe him, and for all that they've all been pulled to some place where it doesn't really matter, he's still got to wonder if saying so now is going to bring out that same sort of reaction.

There's really only one way to find out, though, and after a few seconds, he shrugs.

"I'm not sure when I'm from counts anymore, mind. When I'd left Scotland a few years ago, though, it was a wee bit earlier then that. 1746, to be exact."

"Not sure in a broader way than 'We got sucked into Thedas through a rift?'" Cosima asks, intrigued more than skeptical as such. "That sounds like a story."

Though she's giving him an opening, it seems. If he doesn't want to share it, no harm done. (Well, except piquing her curiosity, but she'll reluctantly live with that. She's nosy, but she tries to stop short of actually rude.)

"Aye, well, I'd meant more the fact we're here and it's not 2013 here. Or 1746, for that matter. But..."

Without consciously realizing it, he winds up pulling at his lower lip with his teeth. He's let on to some people some of the things that've happened to him in the past, and the reaction's been a bit mixed, to say the least. Cosima, at least, would probably understand some of the things the Thedosians don't, like spaceships and the like. And it's not like they're not all stuck here, anyway. So after a moment he shrugs, and takes that opening - or part of it, at least.

"I'll admit falling through that rift last year's not the first time I'd wound up in another place without meaning to go there. Or another time, for that matter."

She looks interested rather than skeptical. Even before Thedas, there's a lot she's had to accept in the past year or so; she tries to keep a rational but open mind, now.

"Do you want to talk about it? I'm interested, I admit, but I don't want to push if it's a touchy subject."

"Och, no, it's nothing like that at all."

Far from it. He'd not have changed what happened for the world - except maybe for the part where he'd wound up here and his friends hadn't. Since there wasn't much he could do about that, though, he just sets the thought aside and shakes his head.

"I'm not used to being able to talk about it, mind, but I think that's more because the Doctor doesn't want people knowing about his ship. Don't think that'll make a difference here, though. Not unless it falls through a rift or something."

Which he supposes it could do, but it's been a year. Any hope he'd had of the TARDIS turning up faded away long ago, and reaches for one of the two drinks that've just been set down in front of them.

"The short version is that the TARDIS is able to go to a lot of places, but not necessarily the place you'd wanted to go, if you know what I mean."

"The TARDIS is the ship? Is the doctor also a captain?" She's not entirely sure she followed what he's said so far, but she's gamely going with it for now.

(She's also thinking 1746.)

There's a nod from him at that, although when he follows up with an answer, it's more directed towards her second question, rather than her first.

"You could say he's the captain, only every time he says he's taking us someplace, we wind up someplace else."

Which could be explained away by the fact that he wasn't much of a navigator, but there's a bit more to it, and he picks up one of the cups and brings it back with him as he settles back in his seat.

"Like the time he said we were going to Mars, only we wound up on the moon instead. The TARDIS is...well, a spaceship, of sorts."

"Whoa, whoa. Okay, first, spaceship? Second, I'm not an astronomer, but aiming for Mars and hitting the moon is sort of a big miss, isn't it?"

She's fascinated, but confused.

Another nod from him confirms that yes, he did mean spaceship - but then he snorts. He's not one of those astrono-whatever types either, but even he knows that that's a big miss. Still, that was half the fun, sometimes. Winding up somewhere where he had to live on his wits wasn't so bad, especially when his friends were right there with him, and all in all, it's a fairly amused sounding sort of snort.

"Och, the TARDIS has a mind of her own. Sometimes I think she knew where we needed to go more than the Doctor did. Or when, for that matter. She could do that too."

Edited (white space edit, sorry) 2016-11-03 17:03 (UTC)

"By mind of her own, do you mean, like, metaphorically? Or is the ship itself an artificial intelligence? Also... sorry if this dense, but I feel like I'd have heard about it if someone was going to the moon in the 1700s."

A baffled expression crosses Jamie's face at that, the word 'metaphorically' not something that he's all that familiar with - and like he's done more than once before, when he goes to try and pronounce the word, he does it in a such a way that it comes out as something completely different.

"Metal...floorically? What's that have to do with anything?"

Artificial intelligence he's at least been told about once or twice, although he can't say as he really understands it. He knows enough, though, to shrug at her question.

"Don't know. You'd have to ask the Doctor. It's his ship. I just travelled in it. We'd not gone to the moon in my day, though. It was in the future, although I've no idea what year. All I know is that there was a moonbase on it at the time."

"Oh, um. A metaphor is like... it's a figure of speech. Like if you say someone is green with envy, you usually don't mean they're literally green. I wasn't sure if you meant 'a mind of her own' as a colorful description or like the ship actually has something we'd understand as a mind."

Time travel. Okay. She's gotten used to magic and demons and being a clone, why not this?

"Oh, aye. I see."

That made more sense, now that she's explained it, and the confusion on his face clears up fairly quickly - only to be replaced by a faint frown as he scratches at an itch on the side of his neck. After a moment, he looks back up and shakes his head.

"Look, like I said, I don't know for sure. The Doctor's never actually said one way or another, just that he can fly the TARDIS just fine. Seems like everytime we went somewhere, though, it's never where we'd intended on going, but it was always where we needed to be, if that makes sense."

"Kind of," Cosima says, but it still strikes her as a dubious method of travel. Better than by rift, granted, but that's a low bar.

"So how did you meet him? The Doctor."

Six of one, half a dozen of the other, really. There might not have been a bunch of demons waiting for them after the TARDIS landed...but usually there were monsters. There were always monsters. It was just a matter of when they'd turn up.

But since it seems to him that she at least somewhat gets the idea of what he's trying to explain, he leaves it at that for the moment. Instead he settles back into his seat, not sure yet if his explanation's going to turn into a story, but deciding he might as well get comfortable either way.

"It was after the battle of Culloden - ah, don't know how much you'd know about that one, but the short version is the English won and we'd lost. I was with the Laird, who'd been injured, and his son and daughter. We'd taken shelter in a wee cottage not far from the battlefield, and the Doctor and two people he was with wound up stumbling into the same place we were, more or less. The Doctor was lucky, though. If he'd not said he'd been able to help the Laird, we'd as likely never given them a chance to prove they weren't there to kill us."

"Geeze." It made some sense, in some ways, that Jaime had been a fighter before he even arrived in Thedas; Cosima isn't sure why it didn't occur to her sooner. It's a world just as alien from her experience as this one, in most ways, for all that she knows at least a little bit about Scotland.

"So could he help, or did he just say that to keep you from attacking, then?"

[Open] Sometimes...

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