And in the sea that's painted black | OTA

[novokribirsk]

WHO: Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, and yOU
WHAT: Two new rifters arrive, shenanigans ensue.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A

Comments

LATER, ota

[novokribirsk]

i

There is a woman of medium height in the training grounds, all long dark waves of hair and striking features, a tell-tale green glimmer set in one her palms. She eschews the weaponry, instead stands in front of a series of training dummies with a faint frown on her face.

She knows, of course, that she can summon. It had been necessary to deal with the demons that greeted them at their arrival, and she is a Grisha whether she's in Ravka, or Novyi Zem, or Thedas. But doubt has gnawed at her heart. What is it to draw on the making at the heart of the world in another world? What is it to use the Small Science in a place where otkazat’sya still tremble and call it magic, where every name she's come to know herself by is meaningless?

It doesn't matter, she reminds herself. In Thedas or Ravka or hell, she is Zoya Nazyalensky, commander of the Second Army, general to her king. And he is here, which means she owes it to her country to keep him — the both of them — safe until she can return him to his throne.

Then she tosses her hair over a shoulder and lifts her arms, silver cuff glittering on one wrist. She gestures, and gusts of wind strike the dummies, one after another, knocking the head off the last.

ii

The baths are something, at least, and even familiar — at least a little bit. They aren't as beautiful as the banya nestled by the Little Palace, nor as luxurious as the baths at the Geldrenner Hotel, but as Zoya eases into the hot water, even she doesn't have much cause to complain. The gleaming, obsidian mass of her hair is piled high on her head, and a dressing gown has been shucked without concern for modesty. The observant may notice a surprising set of jagged scars that stretch across the otherwise smooth skin of her back, eight matching claw marks, puckered and old.

"At least," she observes, without concern for who may hear her, "there's one decent thing in these Gallows."

iii

After her quarantine, Zoya wastes no time to make a series of trips into Kirkwall. She heads into Hightown with her chin held high, wears her Gallows-borrowed clothes with all the dignity of any finery. It's eventually obvious what she's come for — she leaves a tailor one day with a package, a glimpse of blue silk, or maybe silver embroidery, visible through the wrapping. It's easy enough to notice her carrying it on the ferry, or as she makes her way back towards her quarters.

ii

[bouchonne]

"Several decent things, madame," replies a rather arch, droll voice from her right. Standing there is a man who is currently clothed, but minimally, only in a dressing-gown - clearly he's come to take a bath.

But he lingers, not disrobing yet; instead, he places a hand over his heart, and executes a very elegant and graceful bow.

"May I join you? I have no desire to begin our acquaintanceship by giving offense to you or your modesty."

[novokribirsk]

He gets points for the nicety, truthfully, the lack of leering — something that doesn't show in her face but might've if he had offended. Instead she briefly considers the question, an upwards tilt to her chin, and says briskly,

"I've seen it all before."

Past lovers, close quarters in encampments, during the war — she's never had need for modesty.

[bouchonne]

"Oh, I don't know," he says. "Maybe the people of this world have bright orange feet, or jewels embedded in our belly-buttons, or odd little tentacles. Perhaps there are things to discover here."

The comment is wry, playful, but not flirtatious. For one, flirting with someone who's already naked and who would have trouble extricating themselves from your company is phenomenally rude, and therefore only to be done to the deserving, like Captain Flint, whom Byerly has fond memories of tormenting. Second, the woman is quite young, for all that there's confidence in her bearing. And third, he's a married man with two paramours, which makes him a bit less flirting-prone than he had been at one time.

He shucks off his gown and eases himself into the water. And, with a little sigh - "Ah, yes, that feels good on my vestigial tail."

[novokribirsk]

Saints help them all, she thinks, if — or when — this man meets Nikolai. Their senses of humor are entirely too similar, and she's not sure she wants to be present for that level of absurdity.

"As long as you keep your tentacles to yourself," she says, dry, "then I won't even judge you for the horns."

[bouchonne]

He grins, delighted by her playing along. He lifts his hands from the water and places them upon his forehead, fingers curved into the shape of horns.

"Thank you, thank you," he says, wiggling those fingers at her. "You're too kind."

He knows the woman is a new arrival, and knows she is a Rifter. Her name is - Zoya, he thinks? He's not sure enough of that to speak it aloud. Dreadfully embarrassing if he's wrong. But he's sure about her being a Rifter.

"So how are you finding our squalid little home?"

[novokribirsk]

"Don't get used to it," she says, less threat than statement of fact. Kind and Zoya aren't words that tend to go together.

Perhaps a case in point: she considers his question only briefly before answering,

"Horrible." Let Nikolai charm and flatter. Blunt honesty is Zoya's way. "I can only assume this place is called the Gallows so people know to expect nothing from it. The incessant smells of the sea are foul, the architecture is atrocious, and the tea is worse than the filth they sell in our smallest peasant towns."

[bouchonne]

His grin broadens when he hears her brutal assessment. Charming. Very charming. Is she always this mean? Maker, he hopes so. He's desperate for some properly rude people around the Gallows, rather than the passive-aggressive rudeness he's generally stuck with.

"Good tea can be found," he says, "if you make friends with the right people." A little tap of his nose gives some hint to who the right people are. "As for the atrocious architecture...The city was built, originally, by our enemies. By Tevinter. So it's actually good to be located here, because we look around us, and see these ugly buildings, and we let it fan the flames of our zeal to defeat the monsters."

i

[exequy]

It's the head snapping loose that makes Kostos stop walking through the colonnade along one side of the courtyard. It's the woman's face that turns that stop into something more than a pause. He steps level with the stone columns, into the sunlight, so as not to be lurking creepily in the shadows—though he might have been noticeable either way. He's dark and dark-clad, still and a quiet walker, but there's a spot of bright white-blue light drifting near him. It wanders close and far with a mind of its own.

The polite thing to say is hello.

What he says is, "Are you a rifter?"

[novokribirsk]

Good thing neither of them are concerned with politeness.

She notices his approach, as he moves closer, and what might have been a snapped out answer is — tempered. Her eyes catch on the dancing spot of brightness, linger; Sun Summoning is not such a rare sight as it had been, but she hadn't expected to find anything like it here.

"That's what I've been called," she says, sour.

[exequy]

Her voice makes the light change its trajectory and zip toward her, while Kostos nods and gestures toward the dummies.

"We would need staves," he says, "to—don't bother her."

That last part is directed to the spirit wisp, which arrests mid-air a few feet away from her. It's making a quiet shimmering brrr noise, and the noise changes pitch into something almost disappointed. Its brightness dims, too.

Kostos waits a moment to make sure it's going to obey before he continues, "To do something like that, at that distance."

[novokribirsk]

Not light, then. Alina, the Soldat Sol, can bring light and heat, but only that. No more animate than the winds at Zoya's command, or the water a Tidemaker shapes. Which makes the light some thing of Thedas's so-called magic, which makes her — not uninterested. But there's a shift in her attention from the wisp to Kostos. She's curious, so she refuses to show it.

"The only tool a Grisha might use is an amplifier." A difference, then, between her power and what those here do. "How does a stave help?"

i

[inkindled]

Halfway across the yard, Matthias bursts into very genuine applause.

He'd been training on his own earlier in the day, as has been his custom this whole time he's been with Riftwatch. And--as has been his custom--he'd brought second lunch with him, scoured from the kitchens for the purpose of replenishing his spent energy. And because he's nearly always hungry. Today it's two pork pies, enjoyed on the sunny side of the crumbling half wall that boarders the east side of the yard. Supposedly there'd once been a building here, and the wall is the last bit of it that remains. All Matthias knows is that it's a perfect place to press his back to and absorb some of the warmth of the sun while he eats.

He had gotten his hands on three pork pied, but he'd already decimated one when he'd heard the gust of wind and had twisted around to peek over the wall to see who was in the yard. And his eyes had rounded to about the size of saucers and his bite of pie had fallen out of his mouth.

Normally he'd be intimidated. He is, really, very intimidated. But he's also madly impressed, and loves a good display of magic, which has led to the applause. By now Matthias has hoisted himself up to sit on the wall. His staff is laying on the wall beside him--plain, thick, functional. The pie and a half-a-pie-with-bites-in make for funny accent pieces beside it.

"That was well brilliant," he says warmly, thick Free Marcher in his accent. "I've not seen anything like it before. Not that I've seen it all by any means, mind, but I know what I've not seen for certain, 'specially when it comes to magic."

[novokribirsk]

Let it be said: Zoya does not perform for applause. She's a summoner, not a circus act.

Let it also be said: Zoya doesn't not appreciate being, you know, appreciated.

She decides to take the compliment. — Especially because it's followed up immediately by a verbal one as soon as she looks his way, sees boy and staff and pies alike. His accent is unfamiliar but not difficult to parse, though she'd never be able to imitate it like a local. (That's a skill that belongs to Nina.)

"You're in luck," she says, approaches so she can better make herself heard without having to call across the yard. "Not everyone's first look at the Small Science comes from a member of the Triumvirate."

An impressive thing, apparently, from her tone.

[inkindled]

"Oh, aye? What are they," and he manages to hold back the too-familiar when they're at home. He doesn't know this woman just yet, certainly not enough to be cheeky.

Dusting pie crumbs off of his hands, Matthias jumps down off of the half wall so he's at least standing as she approaches. That seems the proper respectful thing to do, especially for someone titled and all. Surely that's what Triumvirate means--a title, a way of calling someone of importance.

And he is impressed. His self consciousness will catch up with him before long. It's the magic that has let him side-step that phase. He'll be back in it in no time at all. For the moment, Matthias wrinkles his nose.

"I feel in luck. And what's a small science, while we're at it? Rifter thing, I reckon?"

[novokribirsk]

"The Grisha Triumvirate. The leaders of the Second Army of Ravka."

For the record: Magnificent, she would've said, without missing a beat.

"What you call magic," she says, "is what I know as the Small Science."

Her voice takes on something of a different quality, instructional. She's spend a lot of time the last few years with young Grisha who come to Os Alta to learn how to use their gifts. Basic theory isn't what she's typically teaching, but it's not exactly outside of her wheelhouse.

"Grisha," and the word sounds much more natural on her tongue than magic or mage, "manipulate the world at its fundamental levels. I don't create wind; I summon the air that already exists."

[inkindled]

"Grisha." The word is foreign and feels weird when it's said--but exciting, too. What's better than magic, whatever name it's called by? "Hang on, so-- there's a whole army of Grisha?"

And it's got a title, so that means it's got some manner of organization. Matthias scoots closer, eager to hearmore about this, whatever and however she's willing to tell it.

"I was in the mage rebellion--here in Thedas, 'course. And we had an army--sort of. We were all of Circles, but we came together 'cause we had to. Wasn't always the easiest or best but it was better'n staying in the bloody Circles. I liked it better. Is Ravka a country or a person?"

[novokribirsk]

To think that Zoya doesn't have the patience for his energy would be a fair assumption; the feared Stormwitch of Ravka is better known for her power and her lethality than any softer quality.

But the fact is: she spends a lot of her team training younger Grisha as part of her duties to the Second Army, has personally gone on a number of missions to rescue Grisha abroad and offer them a place in Ravka. She isn't unused to this.

Besides, as far as introductions go, he could do much worse than I was in the mage rebellion.

"The kingdom of Ravka has two armies. The King's Army, or the First Army, is made up of otkazat’sya. Grisha are given the opportunity to train their skills and serve their nation in the capital."

Ravka. The only real safe haven for Grisha this side of the True Sea, in all the world aside from Novyi Zem. She loves it ferociously.

(She chooses not to speak of her king's Nolniki, the soldiers belonging to neither army, and both. No way to know that Thedas, however removed from her world, is safe for secrets so tied to Ravka's martial innovations.)

"What happened to your army?"

[inkindled]

Matthias nods, not because he knows what she's on about, but because he doesn't know what she's on about, and he's eager to know more. He latches on to those spare details and new words, and edges even closer like proximity will help him on this. Yes, and?

Oh, but also--

"We're still around. Corypheus has sort of distracted everyone--there've been some agreements and talks and treaties and all, and the Inquisition did their part to support mages, or so they said. The Inquisition was before Rifthwatch, right, we're sort of split off from them. But after Corypheus is defeated and all of this--" He gestures around, the Gallows and all-- "is over, we'll have to go back to it, right? Or most of us will. Those of us who haven't found a way to settle and compromise, or gone into hiding."

The former two are more deserving of scorn than the latter, according to Matthias' tone. He chips at the ground with the heel of his boot.

"But there'll be enough of us. And by then, the whole world will have changed."

ii

[tender]

"Only in this tower," Derrica answers, from where she's sunk neck-deep in the water. As she speaks, she straightens, turns to observe the new arrival.

New in every sense of the word, she realizes. She doesn't recognize this woman, and—

Well. She's not forgettable.

"The one meant for mages is still not working properly, so anyone living there comes to these baths."

Or takes advantage of everyone's aversion to cold water to have the baths all to themselves. But really, privacy, at what cost?

[novokribirsk]

"Mages," and the word sounds strange on her tongue, foreign, more than any other word in this language, "don't have rights to hot water, either? Barbaric."

Her tone is scornful, but simmering — she's at least been in the Gallows long enough to know that living arrangements in either tower has nothing to do with power.

[tender]

The water ripples as Derrica straightens, shifting from languorous slouch to something resembling attention.

Maybe it's a joke Zoya's making, but it's the kind of joke that might be true depending on the Circle. Derrica thinks of Tantervale and Matthias' voice filled with venom and shakes her head.

"The Chantry believes cold water helps stave off our worst tendencies," is also an almost joke. If they polled Chantry sisters, how many would agree?

"I'm Derrica," signals a small shift towards more neutral conversation. Is it bad form to slander the Chantry on a first meeting?

[novokribirsk]

"Zoya."

If it is bad form, she clearly isn't put off. If anything, her eyes flash at the almost-joke — because isn't it familiar? In Fjerda, witch trials and the Ice Court. In Shu Han, surgeons with their knives. In Ketterdam, slavery. In the Wandering Isle, blood for remedies. Grisha captives and jurda parem, in who knows how many places?

Our, Derrica said. It doesn't go unnoticed.

[tender]

"You're new," isn't a question. There's simply no possibility Derrica had failed to notice this woman in the course of two years service in Riftwatch.

Welcome is never really the right word to offer a rifter. So instead—

"You can use some of my hair oils, if you like. I've more than enough."

[novokribirsk]

"You'd share with a stranger?"

— is not a no, nor a denial of being new. She cants her head, blue eyes bright as they watch the other woman.