faderift | open (like hermione's heart)

Potions-brewing follows the same principles anywhere, and Hermione was adequately adept at potions. (More than, she did experiment with a few potions in Akhuras. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.)

It's not as desperate here. Or rather, it feels more contained and better managed, in the Riftwatch. One needs to take into account rations, supplies, stock. So as much as it might bring her some joy to have the liberty to experiment and see if elfroot has the same healing properties as dittany, she is being a good witch. Brewing what is needed, offering a helping pair of hands.

So from time to time, if not on an assignment, she's in the infirmary in the Gallows, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled up into a bun, wand tucked into it (until she gets the sheath for Satinalia, anyway), chopping and dicing and slicing away. And for anyone lurking: "You can say hello, or you can help me bottle this up, but you're not getting a sample for free."

Burning the candle at both ends here (metaphorically), she's up past whatever passes for a curfew in the Gallows. Maybe it's because she's found a fascinating book about the history of elves, and a comfortable armchair to read it in without taking it out of the library.

Or maybe it's the Anals of Dragon Hunting that's got her attention tonight, which - under her breath, "Why does everything has to be either the comprehensive history of something or the anals of something here? Bit obnoxious."

This is not her first rodeo, and she basically asked for this. After being chased by Venatori in the Silent Planes, on griffonback, and somehow making it back alive and in one piece, she'd not hesitated. Clarisse was the keeper of griffons, true, but Clarisse was also:

1. a demigod with a lot of experience fighting and
2. fit as hell.

So yes, following that escapade, somewhere down the line, she'd found the young woman somewhere in the Gallows, told her in no uncertain terms that she needed to get more athletic or she'd be a liability to her fellow Forces teammates on the field, and they'd taken it from there.

This is not her first rodeo, i.e. it is not the first time she wakes up before the ass-crack of dawn to run so much, so at least her lungs aren't burning anymore. Oddly enough, there is something quite soothing about this type of exercise. Maybe it's the early hour, and most people asleep, that makes it feel meditative. Which shouldn't make Hermione laugh, but it does.

Can't believe I've found a form of meditation that works, and it's running the marathon. She shakes her head, zeroes in on the swing of Clarisse's ponytail, and tries to pick up the pace to catch up.

Clarisse has chilled out a lot since her days of leading the Ares cabin in drills every morning, so these morning runs with Hermione involve a lot less barking orders than one might expect. She figures there are worse people she could be hanging around this early in the day; at least Hermione doesn't complain, and she more or less keeps up with Clarisse.

She wouldn't use the word "soothing" to describe the way she feels when she gets up early to train, but she is soothed nonetheless.

Hearing Hermione's footsteps approach as she picks up the pace, Clarisse glances over her shoulder, then turns and jogs backwards for a bit so she can call out, "Next we can do the tower stairs." A pointing finger in the direction of the tower. "Up to the eyrie and back as many times as we can."

She's saved this info for mid-run because everyone knows that the stairmaster is the worst, and she didn't want Hermione to bail before they even got started.

Cosima's actually returning some books to general circulation, this evening. She knows she's guilty of building towers of them in her office when left to her own devices, so she actually put on her calendar clear out books you're done using once a month or so. (Will she take an equal number of books back to her office? Possibly. Don't ask.)

She glances over from where she's sliding something onto a shelf, toward where Hermione is working through the dragon hunting. "Oh, I know. I can't say whether it's a Thedas problem or an our-specific-library problem. Like, it's always tempting to blame the Kirkwall Templar contingent for everything, but it's possible that it's just what publishers think the people want. Scale of one to ten, how dry is that one?" She's not shouting, but it's late enough that they're probably the only two people in the library, so she doesn't see a need to whisper either.

In her defense, she wasn't expecting an audience this late in the library - most patrons have left for their quarters or homes by this hour, which is a late one if the shortness of Hermione's candle is anything to go by. So the voice, at once familiar, surprises her into sitting upright.

Provost Niehaus is here, and she's heard Hermione's comment about anals - in book titles! How mortifying.

On second thought, however, Provost Niehaus is also a bookworm (read: nerd) and probably won't balk at Hermione's pile of books being four high, volume in her hands notwithstanding.

"I used to take History of Magic classes from a ghost who only ever droned on about the same three wars, much to everyone's dismay," she answers - not shouting but not whispering either. "His was the one class that everyone napped in, and this book would make his lectures entertaining in comparison." A long-winded way to say a twelve. She closes the book with a sigh.

"Maybe it's my fault, I'm not interested in hunting them."

Well, if Clarisse is expecting her to moan about the workout being too much of a workout, she'll have to keep waiting. This is a physical challenge, and Hermione is going to excel in it even if it kills her. Which it might, her thighs are already burning.

"Sure," she breathes out with a grim little smile. "I don't see why we wouldn't want to." Someone sounds a hint hysterical in her mid-run windedness. And again, "Many times!"

"Woof, I know. I've got a lot of interest in animals native to Thedas that don't exist back home, and like, half of what's out there is how to kill them. Another quarter is how to prepare them to eat." Not her areas of interest in any way. "Oh, wait, have you run across ... We've got a pamphlet somewhere that's more zoological. Granted, a pamphlet still isn't a book, but. Uh, Spada, I think is the author. Contemporary; I think some Riftwatch agents met her a while back."

Cosima comes over properly to join Hermione, her own book back where it goes. As predicted, she doesn't balk at the book stack. Instead, she asks, "The Commander have you looking for something, or is this extracurricular?" No judgment in her voice, if perhaps the lightest note of are you open to being poached to a division where books are your job?.

"I think I understand these things better if I can compare them to magical creatures or animals I am already familiar with," she says quickly, in complete agreement, already taking a note of Spada. Pamphlet or not, she's going to look for it.

She does follow Cosima's line of sight to her stack of books at that question, and lets out a quiet little laugh. "I doubt the Commander knows who I am." No judgement, and it can't be told that Hermione's been trying to climb up the ranks in Forces either. She's kept her head down where it mattered, and stuck her neck out when it mattered to her. If not for checking with the Commander whether he could spare her for the eluvian project, she's not sure she's exchanged more than three pleasantries with the man. "But he's a busy man, I'm sure," she adds.

It's not that she wouldn't gravitate towards Research. It's just that she can brew potions, think on her feet, and keep fighters alive longer. Forces makes her feel useful. (What if Research just makes her feel naive?)

"It's extracurricular," she finally answers. "I don't know if I'll ever run out of things to read to learn about Thedas, I just hate being thought of as the poor Rifter who hasn't got a clue."

"Riftwatch isn't that big, I'd lose a bet if he hasn't at least put a name to a face for everyone in Forces." Rowntree takes the job at least that seriously, she's sure. "But you're totally allowed to want to know things without it having an assignment to go with it. I think it's pretty natural for rifters."

Then again, she supposes she would, considering.

"Years ago, we had a wider problem with rifters who like.... didn't think this was real. Or maybe it was real, but it didn't matter to them, they were just marking time until they could figure out a way to leave. Even granted that we've learned things about the nature of rifters since then, it always struck me as kind of a shit attitude. You discover other worlds exist, and you aren't even lightly curious about the one you're now living in?" One problem, at least, Hermione doesn't seem to have. "I guess I shouldn't assume, though. I don't know enough about where you're from, maybe you knew that there were more worlds out there."

Whether that was a direct request for exposition or not, Cosima is going to get it. "I got introduced to the concept by necessity, before arriving here."

It's not much, by way of explanation, and this is the leader of Research. Hermione has to assume that curiosity would come with the job, and learning things? Part of the motivation, possibly. "I spent three years travelling through a different world from my own, with people who'd ended up there from just about everywhere, all with the promise that we would be returned to our respective homes. Every city, every country we ended in, they had these beacons that allowed my fellow travellers to return - though some would end up coming back, maybe by accident or irony. They would return, and talk about how it had been months or years for them back home, whereas for me it had been days of not seeing them."

Red, she remembers Red. How she'd shared a cot with the young girl after a world-ending battle one day, how she'd encountered her on a train weeks later, changed. Grown. Aged. And buried somewhere, amid all the emotions of that reunion and the fragile rebuilding of their friendship, had been Hermione and her realisation of all the missed opportunities.

She continues, "They wouldn't remember. If they used the beacons, and went home, they wouldn't remember anything from the travels and adventures in that place we were in together. Wouldn't remember anyone, either. Then they'd somehow return, and it would be a strange sort of situation. Knowing that your friends say they're glad to see you again, but they're still looking for a way back." A shrug. "I didn't use the beacon, until it was the very last one - and even then, I was afraid of forgetting everything..."

She grows quiet, her gaze drawn to her books. Then finally, looks back at Cosima. "It's real and it matters, and even if it's not the world Hermione Granger from England lives in, it's the world I live in. So yes, I'm curious about it."

Edited 2024-11-30 22:57 (UTC)

Cosima hops up to sit on the table she'd been leaning on as it's clear Hermione is taking the invitation to elaborate. She listens intently, nodding once or twice.

"You're not the very first person to come here from somewhere other than their home world, but it's not common. But I don't think it changes ... well, I don't know how existential you've gotten about rifters as a concept yet. But I have memories now I didn't have the first time I was in Thedas. So I can say for certain that the Cosima back in San Fransisco doesn't know anything about Corypheus or Riftwatch or any of the people I met here. I remember not knowing."

And this is the less existential version.

"But even the first time I was here. A lot of people live in this world, and as long as I'm here, it's my world too. Which is to say ... I get what you mean, I guess."

The Anals of Dragon Hunting sure is a book. Vlast appraises it with a dismissive grunt, the kind that suggests it's a very good thing for the library he's not able to breathe fire at the moment.

"It came from the anals of something, that is certain."

Look who's learning proper terms for human anatomy! Everyone say thank you, Benedict.

Vlast has his own stack of books; oddly enough, many on Antivan histories and sticking out among them like a duck in an assessor's office is a thin tome of popular songs in Thedas.

Well, that was much easier than she expected. Clarisse is actually a bit disappointed not to get even a little argument out of it, but—oh well.

"Once," she says, as a show of goodwill, because Hermione is doing what she wants without complaint, "I carried Captain Baudin up and down the stairs on a dare."

Clarisse is pretty sure that Gwenaëlle just likes being carried around, dare or no dare.

A fascinating subject arrives, in the form of an elf wearing the bland workaday clothes of the housekeeping staff. She offers Hermione a glance, perhaps a little smile of greeting should she look up, then begins to set out a workspace for herself at a nearby table: a little chalkboard, its accompanying chalk, and a thin book that appears to be a primer on letters and simple words.

She begins her exercises, first simply writing out the alphabet in capital letters, her face relaxed and pleasant.

The other side of the mirror: Cosima. She's been here and there and back here again, from what she tells Hermione. She's done that thing that Hermione avoided for the longest time - return, and submit herself to forgetting.

At the core of it, though, there's understanding. If she could respect the Provost even more, she's found a way.

"That means a lot to hear." A pause, after which she sheepishly adds, "I'm sorry for just venting all my past experiences at you out of the blue."

Unexpectedly, as soon as she hears that mutter, she lets out a laugh. Under her breath, mind you - this is still a library!

"That's fair," Hermione says after a quick recovery, "I'm two chapters in, and it does feel like the author is talking out of their arse a lot."

She does look up from the book as soon as she hears someone approach, so the elf woman gets a polite smile right back. What would be the polite thing here would be for Hermione to return to her book, and carry on. Instead what happens is that she continues to steal little glances in the direction of the newcomer, for a few reasons:

Reason one, although she's been here a while now, she doesn't think she's met this woman before. Is she wearing the housekeeping staff clothes? Maybe that would explain it, but Hermione doesn't want to be the type of person who doesn't know who brings the food, or cleans the dishes.

Reason two, she's learning to read - very clearly. From the brief moments of sneaking a peak (tm), she can tell the elf is practicing writing on a chalkboard.

Reason three, she's an elf. Not that Hermione is going to stare, mind you - or point to the pointed ears and call her names! But there aren't many elf elves around that she's spoken to, and...

Oh, what the hell.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I don't believe we've met. Hello." She waves here. "I'm Hermione."

Looking up from her task, the elf offers a pleasant smile-- it's not entirely typical for Riftwatchers to introduce themselves to her, but she's familiar enough with many of them that it doesn't throw her off. Maybe she looks like someone the girl knows.

Rising from the chair to give a little curtsy, she replies, "nice to meet you. Josephine Mariette."

Laughing at the mental image? Hermione? It's more likely than you think! Of course, she's immediately regretting it, because laughter and running don't mix well, and her lungs are burning from the effort.

Damnit, not. She's getting good grades in P.E., for once in her life.

"Ha - good, good to know you can." Between careful breaths while jogging. Very dignified. "This means you can carry me if I pass out mid-staircase?"

"Oh, you don't have to -" Curtsy, she wants to say. Too late. Josephine has completed the curtsy.

"Nice to meet you as well. Are you...with a Division in particular, miss Josephine?"

"I'm with the housekeeping staff," she replies easily, "if I'm disturbing you, I can take my studies elsewhere." A twitch of her eyebrow-- she may have clocked Hermione's unease, and might just be slightly fucking with her, but she's not going to show her hand just yet.

"Oh, no - you're not!" she rushes to say, completely mortified now. Look at her, stuffing her foot in her mouth over here. "If anything I'm the one disturbing you - so sorry. It's just, you were an unfamiliar face."

It not unease, exactly. It's more curiosity, and the knowledge that she can't very well be asking people whether they're elves.

"And this book is dull."

Fifi opens her mouth to answer, but pauses and shakes her head-- she's not being disturbed, she came in after, etc-- and it's clear that this girl is too sincere to need fucking with, so friendliness wins out.

"What's it about?" she asks, nodding toward the book.

She doesn't need to look back down to answer that. She would know, she picked it out of the many books in this library. "Orlesian history. The author claims it's a comprehensive account, but I'm calling that a bluff."

open (like hermione's heart)

gallows infirmary (open)

gallows library (open)

training montage [add mulan song here] (for clarisse)

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lmk if you need any adjustments!

it's perfect let them cook

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here for the anals

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everyone's here for her anals

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CURTSY PROCESSED

kill bill sirens respectfully

check vour putain privilege

she has a lot of housekeeping staff friends okay