The feeling of a sudden restriction, of new limitations isn't unfamiliar to her. After all, she'd been blind for a good few months prior to her falling through the Rift. And for a brief time before that, she'd manage to rupture her inner ear, making flight impossible. The drawback here was that she didn't have the loose collective of the Justice League. She missed them nearly as much as she missed her sisters.
She especially misses the ease of finding a sparring partner she can reliably measure her strengths against without fearing for each others safety. For now, in the early days of exploring where her strength is at, she practices off to the side with the training dummies. It looks a bit silly from an outside perspective, a woman punching a training dummy with a sharply focused look.
the library
Her time is split equally between the training grounds and the library. The library at least is simpler matter. There's others there frequently, surrounded by their own piles of books. Diana's not remotely above approaching her fellow patrons when the librarians seem busy.
"I beg your pardon, do you speak Orlesian?"
the ramparts
Then there is the matter of the lasso. It hangs from her waist most days, the only companion more constant are the silver bracelets at her wrists. She knows it's different, clearly as changed from its tumble through the rift as she herself. It's golden sheen remains, the glow fainter than usual. It doesn't pull so ruthlessly at the truth of any given matter, regardless of how small.
But it's there. Diana can feel the delicate golden thread of it, like a physical thing she can reach out and trace. She keeps her practice of meditation with it, finding a private alcove to sit and bind her arm. It requires bare skin and more concentration than it has in the past. And it leaves her drained, which is odd. Another thing to learn about. It distracts her enough that she won't notice another person's approach.
"No," comes the answer, on the heels of John closing the book in his hand with a soft snap. It's returned to the shelf, apparently discarded as John turns his attention to the conversation at hand.
"But we do have a handful of Orlesians in our company who might be of use, if they're in a generous mood."
All the Orlesians that come to mind off hand aren't exactly what John would deem as generous off hand, but who knows. One of them might be so inclined to be helpful if asked at the right moment.
"I'll have to ask more broadly. The only one I know at the moment is Serah Dalat and I would hate to interrupt his work more than I already have." She smiles warmly at him, tucking the book she'd been carrying under her arm. "But I believe I recognize your voice. Would you be John Silver?"
What John could say is that he knows almost all of Riftwatch to be more or less resigned to interruption. Disruptions come almost as a rule, and they all learn to take it in stride.
More or less. There's some margin of error given to the scale of disruption. But to the point—
"The very same," John answers. "Diana, I assume?"
There are only so many new Rifters at a time, and John's already met Naomi Nagata. It narrows options down enough to make a guess at her name without too much concern at offense.
"Indeed so." And she gives him a small bow. "Attempting to learn a bit about this world while I wait out my quarantine. I fear I'm starting to grow a bit restless with only reading and sparring. I've considered taking up wall climbing, but I fear that would leave a poor impression."
Which is the truth, but she hides it well. She is poised and pleasant, with only a small trace of the frustrated energy seeping through in the eagerness to have a conversation.
Vanadi is up here largely to avoid anyone he might know -- which makes this stranger perfectly safe. And also decidedly interesting, on top of it. Do humans Trance? He'd really thought that an elven thing.
He approaches with nearly silent footsteps, slowly to a silent stop some ten feet off. Close enough for a good look, not so close as to be creepy should she open her eyes at the wrong moment.
After he's had his moment of curious study he begins to make intentional noise, scuffing a step here, pausing for a moment on a heavy heel there, ostensibly to take in the view for a second or two. Announcing himself.
The noises (duller than they might have been in her world, but still present) pull her out of the meditation. The glow of the lasso fades as her concentration shifts outwards again and her eyes open.
"Ah, hello." A moment of disorientation and then she smiles and says with some humor, "Forgive me, I hope I'm not in your spot?" She begins to unwind the lasso from her arm as she speaks, fingers flexing a little as it loosens.
Is that rope part of it, then? The glowing one? He eyes it curiously, ambling a few steps nearer and into conversational range. The voice, he realizes, he does know. One of the new rifters.
"I don't see my name anywhere," he says mildly, "I suppose that means it's all yours. Don't let me disturb you."
She hooks the rope back to her belt, the movement automatic and the gesture a little clumsy on the unfamiliar fastening of the new belt. She's done her due diligence of obtaining proper clothes at least.
Diana stands in one graceful motion, brushing off her pants, "If that's the case, I'll have to remember to bring a pen up with me next time. I can hardly have someone else placing claim." And she in turn recognizes his voice, "We've spoken before, I believe?"
Edgard isn't in the library so much to read as he is to hide, deep in the stacks. Most of the time, no one will bother him here and he prefers that at the moment. But, the more you don't want someone to talk to you, the more likely someone will make it their business to.
"Oui." He responds and then, "yes." just in case she doesn't speak any at all.
This woman's voice seems familiar, but her presence not at all.
The word has a familiar sound to it, but not one she can place in any language she knows. Not surprising considering it's an entierly different dimension, but still, it would have been nice if it was just a matter of conjugating a few verbs differently.
She smiles at the man and gestures to the open book she balances in one hand, "I hate to ask, but would you mind pronouncing a few of these words for me? I believe I'm starting to get the hang of it, but I'm afraid I haven't a clue what it'll all sound like."
She shifts slightly to give herself a little more space, a little bemused. She lets him close the book though, showing him it's a collection of Orlesian folk tales.
"For children I believe," she clarifies with a slight laugh, "I'm very early in my learning still and Serrah Dalat is indulging me. And thank you, it makes it much easier if I can hear the words." But she's heard enough of his voice now for recognition to strike, "Have we spoken before? Forgive me, your voice sounds familiar."
She's more confident in herself and where her body is at when she does reach out to Erik. And frankly she's missed sparring with comrades. She's nearly bursting with energy to have a good fight, her smile bright and warm when she sees him approaching.
"I would, though Erik is fine. Ain't got much holding on to being a 'mister' in a place like this." He shrugs, but his body language is both warmed up and ready for this fight. It's been a minute since he's done hand-to-hand for fun. "Any rules for this engagement?"
It's a familiar look and for a moment she feels at home. It has been some time since she's sparred with a friend as well. "That's a good question," she says and considers it for a moment, "I admit, I'm leery of what my strength is in this world. And as we're not familiar with each other, how about tap sparring? Where one taps instead of hits?"
"Sounds good to me," he replies, nodding. There's the matter of being dressed for the occasion, which wouldn't be the gear he has on now, usually, but. Well. The clothes of Thedas are very different from what he was used to back home and he's been here long enough to actually have a few pieces of clothing other than what he came with.
He misses sweats, though, especially for something like this.
If he mentioned it, Diana would echo the sentiment. A short chiton would always be her preference, but lacking that, a pair of sweats would be nice. As it is, she makes do in breeches and a loose shirt.
She tips her head politely, "By your leave then." And moves. She is not nearly as fast as she would normally be, but she is still fast, closing the distance and reaching out to tap his shoulder if he doesn't move to block.
Not sleeping is turning out to be more unsustainable than Sawbones- who is of perfectly sound mind and body, thank you very much- had initially estimated. However, sleeping in her cot seems risky, since that is where the whole dreaming business happened. And closets don't hold quite the same sort of comfort.
She switches to another old standby, sliding under beds and curling up under chairs. A perfectly sound strategy, except when someone else happens to sit on the chair or bed. Or worse still, move it. It inevitably ends with the sudden appearance of Sawbones from under the furniture, sleepy and belligerent.
"Oi. Shove off or shut up, some of us're trying to sleep around here."
Brother Gideon was in the process of flipping a mattress in the infirmary when he discovered the bed was occupied, albeit not in the usual way. He peers at the dwarf through the slats of the bedframe, exasperated and bewildered.
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Diana
Open
training yard
The feeling of a sudden restriction, of new limitations isn't unfamiliar to her. After all, she'd been blind for a good few months prior to her falling through the Rift. And for a brief time before that, she'd manage to rupture her inner ear, making flight impossible. The drawback here was that she didn't have the loose collective of the Justice League. She missed them nearly as much as she missed her sisters.
She especially misses the ease of finding a sparring partner she can reliably measure her strengths against without fearing for each others safety. For now, in the early days of exploring where her strength is at, she practices off to the side with the training dummies. It looks a bit silly from an outside perspective, a woman punching a training dummy with a sharply focused look.
the library
Her time is split equally between the training grounds and the library. The library at least is simpler matter. There's others there frequently, surrounded by their own piles of books. Diana's not remotely above approaching her fellow patrons when the librarians seem busy.
"I beg your pardon, do you speak Orlesian?"
the ramparts
Then there is the matter of the lasso. It hangs from her waist most days, the only companion more constant are the silver bracelets at her wrists. She knows it's different, clearly as changed from its tumble through the rift as she herself. It's golden sheen remains, the glow fainter than usual. It doesn't pull so ruthlessly at the truth of any given matter, regardless of how small.
But it's there. Diana can feel the delicate golden thread of it, like a physical thing she can reach out and trace. She keeps her practice of meditation with it, finding a private alcove to sit and bind her arm. It requires bare skin and more concentration than it has in the past. And it leaves her drained, which is odd. Another thing to learn about. It distracts her enough that she won't notice another person's approach.
the library.
"But we do have a handful of Orlesians in our company who might be of use, if they're in a generous mood."
All the Orlesians that come to mind off hand aren't exactly what John would deem as generous off hand, but who knows. One of them might be so inclined to be helpful if asked at the right moment.
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More or less. There's some margin of error given to the scale of disruption. But to the point—
"The very same," John answers. "Diana, I assume?"
There are only so many new Rifters at a time, and John's already met Naomi Nagata. It narrows options down enough to make a guess at her name without too much concern at offense.
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Which is the truth, but she hides it well. She is poised and pleasant, with only a small trace of the frustrated energy seeping through in the eagerness to have a conversation.
ramparts
He approaches with nearly silent footsteps, slowly to a silent stop some ten feet off. Close enough for a good look, not so close as to be creepy should she open her eyes at the wrong moment.
After he's had his moment of curious study he begins to make intentional noise, scuffing a step here, pausing for a moment on a heavy heel there, ostensibly to take in the view for a second or two. Announcing himself.
no subject
"Ah, hello." A moment of disorientation and then she smiles and says with some humor, "Forgive me, I hope I'm not in your spot?" She begins to unwind the lasso from her arm as she speaks, fingers flexing a little as it loosens.
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"I don't see my name anywhere," he says mildly, "I suppose that means it's all yours. Don't let me disturb you."
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Diana stands in one graceful motion, brushing off her pants, "If that's the case, I'll have to remember to bring a pen up with me next time. I can hardly have someone else placing claim." And she in turn recognizes his voice, "We've spoken before, I believe?"
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the library
"Oui." He responds and then, "yes." just in case she doesn't speak any at all.
This woman's voice seems familiar, but her presence not at all.
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She smiles at the man and gestures to the open book she balances in one hand, "I hate to ask, but would you mind pronouncing a few of these words for me? I believe I'm starting to get the hang of it, but I'm afraid I haven't a clue what it'll all sound like."
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"comme l’eau sur le dos d’un canard" He reads aloud. "Is that what you wanted? What is this book?"
He starts to push it closed with his hands to see the title.
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"For children I believe," she clarifies with a slight laugh, "I'm very early in my learning still and Serrah Dalat is indulging me. And thank you, it makes it much easier if I can hear the words." But she's heard enough of his voice now for recognition to strike, "Have we spoken before? Forgive me, your voice sounds familiar."
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For Erik
"Hello. Would you be Mister Stevens?"
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He misses sweats, though, especially for something like this.
"Ready when you are."
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She tips her head politely, "By your leave then." And moves. She is not nearly as fast as she would normally be, but she is still fast, closing the distance and reaching out to tap his shoulder if he doesn't move to block.
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Sister Sara Sawbones
Opener
i. sleeping arrangements
Not sleeping is turning out to be more unsustainable than Sawbones- who is of perfectly sound mind and body, thank you very much- had initially estimated. However, sleeping in her cot seems risky, since that is where the whole dreaming business happened. And closets don't hold quite the same sort of comfort.
She switches to another old standby, sliding under beds and curling up under chairs. A perfectly sound strategy, except when someone else happens to sit on the chair or bed. Or worse still, move it. It inevitably ends with the sudden appearance of Sawbones from under the furniture, sleepy and belligerent.
"Oi. Shove off or shut up, some of us're trying to sleep around here."
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Brother Gideon was in the process of flipping a mattress in the infirmary when he discovered the bed was occupied, albeit not in the usual way.
He peers at the dwarf through the slats of the bedframe, exasperated and bewildered.
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"Yes," she says primly, "I was sleeping."
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Sol Noon