RIFTER ARRIVAL: Guardian 9:45

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Guardian, 9:45
WHERE: The hills north of Starkhaven
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.

Comments

[reshapes]

"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.

[inkindled]

"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."

[reshapes]

"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.

[inkindled]

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?"