faderift | RIFTER ARRIVAL: Guardian 9:45

"Oh aye? You've mopped floors?" Matthias scrubs the mop through the puddle of grimy water that he's created, sloshing it about without much care or finesse. "Go on and name me one floor you've mopped, then."

He means it sarcastically. As a joke, like. He doesn't exactly expect to get a floor by name, because if he did, what would he even do with it? There's only certain floors that get names, probably. Important ones that he's never seen and wouldn't care to see, either. They'll get back to the little misunderstanding a little later.

"Hatshepsut and George. The former had fabulous mosaic work. Not that you'd know either, of course. They're both rather niche."

Bartimaeus has hooked his elbow in the narrow little grated window ledge. All the better to give the impression of lounging with, obviously. "So tell me, how'd you get stuck working down here? Sharp lad like you - isn't there something better you could be applying yourself to right about now? You'll want to wring that out, by the way. You're just making mud."

Matthias cuts a glance over at the prisoner. Slant and suspicious, it is. A real narrow sort of gaze. Those sound like real places, or at least real enough that his joke is matched.

His glance is much less sharp when he drops it to the mop. Right.

"I know what I'm doing. If you do a shit job, they don't make you do it anymore." In the Inquisition, at least. It's not honest, but he's worth more than mopping floors. And if anyone tries to tell him that there are no small jobs, that the small jobs get you to the big jobs? That's just horseshit. He pulls the mop back toward himself, dragging more dirty water across the floor. "I just joined up. New recruits always get shafted. Or haven't you ever been new before?"

"Oh, not for ages. And you know, funnily enough I always found there was someone hanging around who could be convinced they were newer than I was." There he goes undermining his position as an expert mopper of floors, but que sera sera. If the one angle isn't getting him anywhere, another one might. "Come to think of it, maybe that's what someone's done to you. The person who gave you this job is probably off doing something meaningful with their afternoon as we speak."

This he punctuates with a particularly dreadful, long-suffering sigh while clinging pathetically to the narrow slot in the cell door. "I can't say that I see the point in the Inquisition battering fresh faces like ours when they could be utilizing our talents properly instead."

Matthias would hold back more if he hadn't been half-certain that the mop expert was a liar in the first place--and if his exact feelings weren't being retold to him. Which is a hell of a thing, really. Not as if he thought he would be the only one in the Inquisition, who might be feeling like his talents are wasted, but all the same.

He shoots a look back toward the door that he entered by, as if he might burn his gaze right through it and see the lout in question doing something meaningful in his stead. How unfair would that be?

"I dunno," he says, slowly. "He was a fat bastard. Can't imagine him doing anything terribly meaningful, unless eating a whole suckling pig in a single sitting counts. So s'that how you got locked up, then? By telling them you were too good for whatever they'd assigned to you?"

He's wavering on the edge of sympathy. If that is what got this fellow chucked in a cell, maybe he's not so bad. Maker knows Matthias has been punished for having made similar claims in the past. It'd be nice if that wasn't the Inquisition's style, is all.

Edited 2019-03-03 00:24 (UTC)

"Worse. I didn't even get the chance to make my case. One moment I was just minding my own business and the next some hole int he world opens up and ruins my day." He wiggles his fingers on his left hand, the glow of the rift shard in his palm flickering pathetically. "The next thing I know, I'm being trampled by Inquisition soldiers and who knows what else. Anyone might be frightened into thinking they might need to defend themself."

For the second there, the boy's undeniable charm flickers and he's blinking back a wet shimmer from dark eyes. But look, it's only a hint. Give him just a moment, and he'll have his spirits appropriately rallied--

Matthias does a double-take when he catches sight of the glow. Somewhat horror-struck, he manages to raise his very round eyes from the hand to the prisoner's face. Oh, shit.

"You what," he says, first, blankly. And then, all in an urgent rush, "Hang on--you're a Rifter?"

He doesn't drop the mop. He might need it. Instead Matthias grips at it very hard, and goes on staring, his mouth hanging open a little.

"And you attacked the Inquisition? And that's why-- Andraste's ass. That's mad. So what happens to you next, then? D'you have to stay in there for good, or are they going to... I dunno, give you a trial, or something?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, friend." And oh, he's just utterly bereft about it, but trying very hard not to be. It's a certain kind of pathetic bravery to be determined to have a good sense of humor in the face of total uncertainty, isn't it? "Honestly, yours might be a bit better what with me not really knowing much about this place at all. Is that how this usually goes? Do people usually get trials, or do they just get their heads chopped off over honest mistakes? You really should tell me if it's the chop for little old me. If I'm going to be executed, I think I'll need to mentally prepare myself."

Boo and hoo, etc.

Edited 2019-03-07 01:05 (UTC)

"Well--" Matthias scrunches up his face as he considers the question. "It's the Inquisition, innit. So I don't know. Elsewhere they might just have your head off, but around here..."

He looks back at the door, back the way that he entered, and considers this situation from this angle, not looking at the pathetic Rifter. There's something strange about Rifters, right? Something Matthias doesn't like. It's only in the Inquisition that he's encountered any of them, this one the closest, and he's behind bars. That doesn't bode well.

Then again, if he's behind bars because of a misunderstanding...

"You'll not be executed," he says, decisively, as he looks around again. "Not here. If they wanted to do that, they'd have done it, right. So the next time someone comes around, you just ask them how long you'll be down here for and they'll tell you. They're a good lot. That's why I'm here."

"Good for who, exactly? What are they - and you, I suppose - all doing here?"

You know, just out of curiosity. He's already gotten into one scrape without knowing the precise terms of engagement; if he's going to blast his way out of here in the near future (which may as of yet be on the table, if the fine tradition of easy to bamboozle scullery waifs doesn't pan out), he might as well know what he's dealing with. He'd been unlucky the last time, sure, but he never makes the same mistake twice.

Well. This answer is a point of pride, and Matthias draws himself up to his full lanky height to denote as much. His chin rises a little too.

"Saving the world," he says, with such earnestness that it's-- all right, it's a little embarrassing, or it would be if it wasn't so true. Or something. Matthias' teenage instincts are at war with his pride and sense of duty and obligation to the cause. His shoulders slump only a little as he casts a look toward the door again. "Or that's what it's meant to be about, anyways. I came here 'cause the Inquisition are the only ones that've so much as showed a fart of interest in stopping Corypheus and, you know, stopping all of the Rifts from opening up, and all the madness that comes with it--not that it means much to you, I know, 'cept p'rhaps the Rifts, and all--but they're not meant to be, which even you probably know. So the Inquisition is doing all sorts of good and doing it unflinchingly, which is probably why they're likely to let you out of there soon. Or they ought to, anyways. Even if you Rifters are a weird lot, you're still not at fault for having gotten chucked through the Fade or wherever it is you come from, and waking up here."

Which is quite the speech, and one that asserts a lot about Rifters that he isn't sure he believes or understands well enough to have an opinion on. Matthias feels another flush of self-consciousness, and in defiance, he slops his mop through the dirty water again, drawing a great big line through it.

"Then again, I'm here mopping floors and talking to bloody prisoners instead of saving any bit of the world, so I dunno about any of it. They really ought not to have locked you up, though. Not for very long, at least. How long's it been, anyways?"

RIFTER ARRIVAL: Guardian 9:45

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