MOD EVENT ↠ IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Some dreams
WHEN: Harvestmere 9:45–Wintersend 9:46
WHERE: The Fade
NOTES: OOC post!

Comments

The One Where Sawbones Plays the Game Badly

[okayimin]

1. Ebeneezer Sawbones

The Winter Palace is resplendent at all times, but there is a certain elegance to it in the winter months. The grounds are draped in a soft blanket of crystalline snow. The gardens, kept thriving and sumptuous by the whatever mage the court is favoring, are filled with the heady scent of roses (deep red for the season, of course) and crystal grace. It drifts through the halls of the palace.

The Reverend Mother, emerging from the palace's chapel, is an echo of the refinery in miniature. Her robes are heavy with gold embroidery, the red flashing in the cold winter sunlight. She stands for a moment in the sunlight, face upturned and eyes closed. She cuts a striking image next to the enchanted roses and snowbanks, the harsh brand on her cheek adding to the pious beauty of the moment. Finally the spell breaks and her eyes open as a thought occurs.

What the entire nug shitting fuck.

She turns sharply at the sound of footsteps and pointing at whoever it happens to be. "You. What day is it?"

2. Mother May I

Days pass, or minutes. Or possibly no time at all, instead everything just moves slightly to the left. Either way, Sawbones is at a ball. Which is, admittedly, enough of a novelty that she's having a look around before getting down to the business of figuring out what the Stone is going on. Laysisters and new initiates didn't get invited to balls, even the shiny new Dwarven convert all the gentry was buzzing about. Maybe a dinner. Maybe a fete, though specifically the sort where clothes stayed on.

But she's not a laysister or an initiate, she's a Reverend Mother. And one favored highly by the Orlesian court at that. The thought is very fixed in her mind. There's even memories attached to it, of the power and wealth she was able to seize with both hands because she decided to play the topsiders' little Game. Letting Sawbones die in the Deep Roads with the Legion and emerging onto the surface as Sister Sara, a true convert who hungered for the power the Chantry could give her.

Sawbones nearly chokes on her wine trying to stifle the laugh. Fucking pit, what a ridiculous notion. She glances around the swirl of finery, stopping when she recognizes someone. More voice than face. She sets down her wine glass and steps toward them immediately.

" 'scuse me." And somewhere in the back of her mind, there's something telling her she's not speaking right, she's not holding herself right. She tips her head up and scrutinizes the person, "Mind if we have a word?"

3. WILDCARD AU
[ DO YOU WANT A GRUMPY DWARF IN YOUR AU??? In general, she's going to be aware that Something Is Amiss, even if she can't put her finger on what specifically. Because what the fuck is the Fade what do you mean this is all a dream. ]

2 2 2 2 2 2

[nonvenomous]

"-- What did you say your name was again?" Richard is asking over a long sip of white, just shy of muffled into the bell of his glass. The partygoer he’s squared off against to interrupt laughs merrily, and Dickerson almost manages to smile back at them while he waits for an answer.

Almost.

Sawbones’ voice at his elbow is a welcome distraction, irritation tight at the corners of his eyes dialed back into more critical confusion (and recognition) when he turns down to look her over. He’s in dark colors himself, tailored finely enough to fit the scene in a high collar and long sleeves without obvious affiliation.

"Of course," he says, and trails off, flipping through the pages of his brain for just a shade too long. "...Your Reverence.”" There’s a question mark without any lilt to raise it. ‘Your Reverence,’ definitely.

He’s forgotten the glass in his hand, and also the face of whoever he was previously speaking to, to go with their name.

[okayimin]

Her eyes narrow, looking him up and down for a moment. Yes, this fellow was familiar, more than she could say for any of the things or people surrounding them. "Over here."

And with little other instruction, she marches toward the balcony and down into the royal gardens, not paying much mind to whether the man is following her or the splendor of their surroundings. She's becoming increasingly convinced that neither makes a difference. A suitably private corner has her finally rounding on her companion, teeth bared, "All right, what the fuck is going on."

[nonvenomous]

She looks him over long enough for him to recall his wine; he polishes it off before she’s turned to lead him away, and plants his empty glass on the balcony as he follows.

Down in the garden, he doesn’t quell when she rounds on him, save to straighten some of the slack out of his spine, as if the extra half inch that gives him might spare him from her teeth. He hardly reacts at all beyond that, disappointingly -- hard to read even without the advantage of an Orlesian mask. His return assessment of her is cool.

This is a garden. There are flowering plants.

He plucks one from aside and gifts it a sniff from on high, maintaining eye contact all the while as a matter of course. Same as any sane person would hesitate to turn their back on angry cat who might shred their ankles if they drop their guard.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

[okayimin]

Every bland blink and gesture just serves to irritate her more. She settles her hands on her hips and glares up at him.

"Like pit you don't. This-" She gestures to the garden and the surrounding opulence of the palace, "All of this is wrong. I don't know how or why, but it is. The only thing that ain't is you. Who the fuck are you?"

The name is on the tip of her tongue, something like a hiss, something about snakes.

[nonvenomous]

“Norman,” Richard replies without pause when prompted, only to furrow his brow at her in the next beat, judgmental. He and his flower are scandalized.

“Is this how you speak to everyone?”

Her language is so uncalled for.

“I have theories but if your current attitude is any indication, I don’t think you’ll like any of them.”

[okayimin]

"Liar," she says, tartly. She can't prove it and she's nothing to go on but a bone deep instinct. Carta deshyrs and Dusters selling lies and lyrium. Nothing can write over Sawbones in Dust Town.

She hisses out a sigh, rubbing her forehead. Which only serves to annoy her more when the ornate headpiece of the Reverend Mother's robes gets in the way. "I don't even know where to start, I just know this is gonna be a blasted mess. Let's hear your theories."

[nonvenomous]

Liar.

“Sometimes.”

He’d be lying again if he said otherwise.

Regardless, rather than clarify the issue of this latest in a long list of false names, Richard Dickerson stoops to sit where he stands, long legs bent up criss-cross, one ankle tucked behind the other. Doing so puts him at eye level, whatever dirt and greenery disregarded beneath the seat of his pants.

His eyes are a little strange, in the light -- familiar blue faded pale, yellowed.

“Well,” he says, “the least appealing one for me is that we’ve both been fully transported into an alternate plane where you’re a religious dignitary.”

[okayimin]

To her credit, she does not yell. It wouldn't actually fix any of this anyway. She does entertain a fantasy of hunting down whoever is in charge of this whole business and yelling at them.

"All right, that would be incredibly bad. Let's go with that one for the moment. Would being-" She gestures vaguely "-Fully transported affect memories?"

[nonvenomous]

“Hard to say,” says Richard. “I’ve only ever experienced it the one time.”

Insufficient data to draw a scientific conclusion. But he does open his right hand to show her his palm, nicked with scars but devoid of the green sliver that marked him as a rifter when last they met.

[okayimin]

For a long moment she doesn't know why he's showing her his hand. And then the memory, brief and razor sharp. Sawbones hisses out a slow breath.

"Pit... All right. So it's something that would get rid of your mark and change memories." She frowns, nose scrunching, "That sounds like magic."

Said like one referring to something especially slimy.

[nonvenomous]

“Yes.” It does.

He presses a thumb into the heel of his own palm, feeling through for anything his eyes might have missed before he folds his hands together before his feet.

“Theory number two is that we’ve been targeted by some overarching illusion or mind-altering enchantment. I’m just not sure why anyone with that kind of power would bother with the two of us.”

However long he’s been here, Richard has evidently used 100% of that time to compose a bulleted list of what the fuck. Something else occurs to him, and he adds, evenly:

“No offense.”

[okayimin]

His apology earns him a snort that's almost a laugh. "None taken, I usually prefer a bit of anonymity. Not like anyone gets anything from making me think I've risen in ranks within the Chantry."

To begin with, the headwear is heavy. She dispatches with it entierly, patting the neatly pinned braids to make sure they're secure. "If it's magic then there has to be someone responsible for it. So we just have to find them."

[nonvenomous]

“The lack of any conceivable benefit for someone exerting the kind of power necessary to orchestrate unique scenarios for individuals of our relative level of insignificance certainly points away from -- “ Richard hesitates, “‘targeted’ domination. Someone else here must be doing the heavy lifting.”

There is a distinct pause there, through which he watches her at a curious remove.

It’s a little bit like being booped on the nose. Verbally.

He keeps his hands fully to himself, obviously, knuckles curled over garden soil.

[okayimin]

Having never been booped on the nose before, she can only recognize the pause as significant of something. Her eyes narrow at him.

"All right. So we find who it is and... I dunno, break their knees? They probably need hands to undo the magic that got us here, right?"

[nonvenomous]

Richard’s second pause is different -- practical consideration for this level of calculation from Sister Sara.

But her math checks out. Or it would, under different circumstances.

He doesn’t seem especially scandalized by the prospect of shattering patellas. What he does seem is hesitant -- just a shade, under the scrutiny of her narrowed eyes -- in the thin intake of breath before he clarifies:

“I think it might be you.”

[okayimin]

The possibility that she's behind all this is so beyond comprehension that she doesn't take his meaning.

"Yeah, I figured. I've got more experience setting bones than breaking them, but if we need to, I know how to do it clean at least."

[nonvenomous]

Well.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Richard tells her, bland against the grain of her non-comprehension. How does one explain color to someone who was born blind? His reassessment is as intent as it is quick, kindness shaken off in favor of satisfying his own curiosity.

He tried, and therefore no one should judge him.

“We should try to shatter the illusion first,” he says.

[okayimin]

His reaction at least does make her realize there's a very important question she ought to ask: "What do you mean? And do be direct about it."

[nonvenomous]

“I can be more direct if I understand what you believe is happening.” Richard is matter-of-fact.

There is something either very reassuring or very slappable about how assured he is in prompting her right back, eye contact level without effort.

"You seem to have accepted that we are not really at a ball celebrating your sanctity."

[okayimin]

She does consider slapping him for a moment. "I don't know what's happening, that's the problem. I know this-" Another gesture to encompass the whole of the world around them, "Is wrong. I know I'm not meant to be here. I know I'm not some celebrated Mother. I know you, I know you're name isn't Norman and I know that there was a green shard in your hand."

Her hands settle on her hips, "So. Since you're the only thing that makes sense here, I'm trusting you with that much. I imagine if you were going to kill me, you would have done it already and if this was something to do with lyrium, that would have come up by now."

Because that was a possibility, wasn't it.

[nonvenomous]

“Yes, you’re right about all of those things.”

Especially the bit about the name, but in full truth, his name isn’t Richard, either.

“Are your people capable of hallucination? This is a genuine question.” There is as much caution in his clarification as there is courtesy, as if he might have somehow glimpsed her weighing the worth of a good sound slap. “I know you can’t dream.”

They can come back to ‘something to do with lyrium.’

[okayimin]

There's very little comfort in knowing she's right when it doesn't really help. At the very least the question he asks this time is one firmly in her realm of expertise.

"Yes, usually for the same reasons as anyone else. If I've been struck on the head recently, there's no reason I'd remember it, but I'm not in any pain, which I would expect. I haven't taken anything either, but if we're exploring all the possibilities, it's entierly possible I could have been drugged."

In which case, that would make him a hallucination. She hopes not. She'd like to think she would at least hallucinate someone more helpful and less generally cryptic.

[nonvenomous]

“Given that this is a shared experience I’d wager on the active ingredient being magic over alchemy or brain trauma. Unless, of course,” the same thought occurs to Richard, “I’m not real.”

He takes the prospect as well as he takes anything, keen eyes fuzzing distant, as inscrutable in fleeting existential confusion as they are when they focus back on her a moment later. If he’s a figment of her imagination, she’s produced a very lifelike simulacrum of Dick Dickerson. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Nothing here matters.

“Rather than transport us into a neutral or even nonsensical illusion,” he starts again as if he’d never stopped, “they seem to have left the designwork to one of us.”

[okayimin]

His moment of introspection at the possibility of his own existence being a very impressive illusion only gets a dry look. But at least he keeps it brief, so Sawbones takes some time herself to roll over both possibilities in her head.

"If that were the case..." And finally what he said earlier falls into place. Sawbones isn't inclined to swoon, but she does start looking a little green around the edges. "That... would be me... Which is impossible. Dwarves can't do magic."