faderift | (no subject)

There was much to be said for someone who admitted that they didn't know something. It was far better than what Ariadne was used to, to hearing people make up explanations just to avoid sounding foolish.

It always made them sound more foolish, in the end.

"I'm not divine," she told him. "Not even a little bit. If that helps you any."

"It doesn't." Not him. "But it's all right. It doesn't hurt, either."

As for everyone else... "It's going to be hard for the others. Most of the things that fall out of Rifts are demons."

That word. Humanoid languages, especially Common, were unbelievably imprecise. What was a demon? Someone who didn't look like the person talking. It was irritating.

And that was back home.

"I don't know what that word means here," she said carefully.

Some time ago, he wouldn't have been able to explain it himself. He's learned since, things about himself and the world beyond.

"They don't mean to become demons. They want to see the world, but coming through makes them wrong. They touch it, and it twists them."

Edited 2015-12-14 03:05 (UTC)

"The Rift changes you." That's what River told Ariadne. And it was acceptable, somehow, to believe that such a rift was capable of changing the color of her skin.

But the thought of it leaving a mark on her soul...

"...changes us."

"I don't understand everything about how it works. It isn't always the same." Spirits, certainly, often came through in similar ways — he knew he was an exception — but she wasn't a spirit. Nor was she a demon.

Not a demon like that, anyway.

"The words mean different things." Demon and demon. "The sound is the same, but the songs... they don't touch one another." It was hard to tell things about her, to hear the scraps of the world that trailed behind her. But it wasn't impossible. "You were born what you are. That's the first difference."

Edited 2015-12-14 04:56 (UTC)

A muscled twitched in her jaw, but that was all for a moment. Ariadne wasn't used to being on this side of the conversation. She was the one who knew everyone's secrets and occasionally surprised them. This was strange and different.

Which, she supposed, wasn't bad. Maybe she was due for a taste of her own medicine.

But she couldn't help but fear for her life. At least a little.

Protectively, she hugged her braid. "I'm not...what I was born as, exactly. Not any more."

"But you were born." That was really the point. "You're real. Spirits and demons aren't. We're not born — we become. Real things aren't meant to enter the Fade unless they're dreaming, or they're mages. That's why She was special. You are, too."

Edited 2015-12-14 15:50 (UTC)

Ariadne raised her chin slightly. Not to be haughty or defiant. But to catch his scent. She'd been near him before, but in the heat of battle, and the confusion of arriving, she hadn't really analyzed it as best she could.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't entirely familiar. Human, in a way. But with a smell of ozone that wasn't natural to humanoid bodies.

"Which are you?" she asked.

"In the Circle, they said 'demon.'" He wasn't as hesitant to admit it as he might have been with others. But then, she'd had the word flung in her direction herself — even if it was the other one. "But I'd like to be a spirit. I think I can be. I try to help."

So demons were monsters and spirits helped. Perhaps Ariadne would start calling herself a 'spirit.' She liked the way it sounded, anyway. And strangely reminded her of her mother, who'd always chastised her for having too much spirit, as a child.

She nodded slightly, unfazed and unafraid. "Well, you're helping me," she pointed out. "So if that's what it takes to be a spirit, I guess that's what you are."

"Thank you." His gratitude was genuine, and came with a small smile.

"Is there something else you're wondering about? I could try to explain."

The number of times Ariadne was chided for asking too many questions far outweighed the occasions when she was given free rein. So she knew she had the very real potential to go overboard.

But, of course, if she didn't ask questions, how was she going to learn?

"What's a Circle?" she asked. She'd heard the word thrown around enough to know it was important.

"A place for mages. Walls and a locked door with a templar standing guard. A school, a cage. A home, for some." For many, it was the only home they had ever known, which was not quite the same thing.

"Many of the mages here came from Circles."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant." At least, to Ariadne's sensibilities. She didn't like locked doors. Which was part of the reason why she was so very good at opening them, she supposed.

One more reason to be thankful, she supposed, that she had no magic.

"A lot of them didn't want to live there anymore. That's why they started to fight." And why things between mages and templars were often so visibly tense.

"I can't really blame them for that. If you're unhappy, you should find a way to make yourself happy again." She paused a moment, a scowl marring her face. It wasn't a natural or easy expression for her, and the lines that formed around her mouth showed it. "But wasn't there any way to leave besides fighting?"

Violence was never the answer. Unless it was the only option left to you.

"Some tried to escape. Some of them succeeded. Getting caught meant capture, or worse. Death, imprisonment, Tranquility. They take their dreams." As for negotiating a way out peacefully... he couldn't even begin to explain Chantry politics or history. It was tangled in a way that had too much to do with pettiness, or strategy, or happenstance, and not enough to do with pain and honesty.

"It's dangerous to be a mage. Some of them cause trouble. So all of them were watched. Except the apostates."

It was a sentiment she understood. Ariadne was sure, somewhere down the line, some Alastrian once wronged an Elf. And that was the beginning of the end for her kind.

Humanoids went to extremes to make examples of people who were different.

"What's an apostate?"

"A mage not from a Circle." He spoke the sentence with deliberate care, as if putting things in such simple, direct terms took effort on his part. "The Dalish mages are apostates: they wander without walls. So is Solas."

Edited 2015-12-14 21:59 (UTC)

There would be no end to questions, it seemed. But Ariadne didn't feel terribly guilty.

After all, he'd offered.

"Who's Solas?"

"An elven mage. He's been away for some time... But he knows about the marks. He'll come back soon."

One might think Cole was trying to remind -- or convince -- himself.

The tone was familiar. The refugees used it when speaking about their loved ones left behind. And it immediately activated Ariadne's innate sympathy.

"I see," she said gently.

He gave her a smile. Like he knew something she didn't -- or like he'd succeeded in convincing himself.

"Nobody else thinks so. Or they don't think about him at all. They forget."

"That's no good," Ariadne said. "You can't just forget about people. That's like forgetting you have a left arm. Or a right foot. Or..."

Or wings.

Ariadne never forgot that she'd once had wings. But sometimes, she would forget that they were gone.