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Entry tags:
(closed) She thought that I'd be wiser
WHO: Herian & Wanda
WHAT: Two people who have/had magic and are very chill
WHEN: vaguely end of year
WHERE: Kirkwall (Lowtown, perhaps a sprinkling of other-towns)
NOTES: Heads up for Tranquility (starts off with violence towards a Tranquil)
WHAT: Two people who have/had magic and are very chill
WHEN: vaguely end of year
WHERE: Kirkwall (Lowtown, perhaps a sprinkling of other-towns)
NOTES: Heads up for Tranquility (starts off with violence towards a Tranquil)
The balance of cost and benefit that Lowtown has seen since Rift Watch's arrival was ever at risk of being violently swung to the negative. Objectively speaking there had been many good intentions, much effort made by a good many of Rift Watch, and yet, how great an impact had been made was not so easily measured. How many more came to Kirkwall from Starkhaven, from across the Marches? What resentments were stirred by those not directly aided, or even those that were but still lost loved ones to the violence and chaos that Rift Watch's presence drew here? How much energy could rightly be given to resolving the systemic issues of Kirkwall when a war spread across all of Thedas?
All this would explain why Herian is surrounded as she is, and the thin thread of blood rolling from her cheek. The rock opened the wound lies nearby, others near by that didn't meet their mark.
Her voice is quiet, as taciturn and empty as her expression.
"The Tranquil are an outlet for your ire for which you will face no opposition. However, your concerns and frustrations would be better articulated--"
Another rock cuts her off, joined by others. Herian has raised an arm to partially shield her face, but lacks the urgency of a fighter, or the tension of fear.
no subject
"It doesn't have to be a sign of devastation."
But Wanda knows when to put a fire out—or, at least, she thinks she does now. She gently wiggles her fingers, and the red disappears, although her hands remain in their stance for fighting regardless. This is how she feels safest. With her body tense and her hips locked, this is how the Avengers often come to save the day.
But she's not an Avenger anymore, is she?
"I would like to leave with her," she says in her American accent, her voice low. Whenever Natasha spoke, she sounded confident. Wanda wonders how she sounds now. Is there a quiver to her voice? She thinks there is. "I think this punishment is over, yes?"
no subject
With the Rifter's magic receding, the small group look to one another, nervous. For her part, Herian notes the shift in how the stranger speaks, filing it away as a matter for later, before slowly stepping forward.
"Then we part peacefully, serahs. No malice lingers here."
The words should be calming, mayhaps even pleasant. The placidity renders them hollow. The remaining trio start to move away, slow and cautious. Her expression is unchanged as they go.
"I owe you thanks, serah."
no subject
She keeps her gaze on those departing until she feels they're a good distance away. She doubts this is over. Either she's painted a target on her own back for them to come make good use of, or she's guaranteed what's to come for her newfound friend may be worse. (It's usually worse.)
There's no point in dwelling.
Wanda looks at her and tilts her head slightly. Her voice stays American. "Why were they treating you that way?"
no subject
"Rifters face an onslaught of information from the moment of their arrival."
Likely the sunburst brand on Herian's forehead means little, could be mistaken for a matter of aesthetics. "Have you learned of the Tranquil?"
no subject
She's still new, isn't she? She can still abuse that shininess, right?
Wanda shakes her head. "What do you know about it?"
no subject
She steps to the side, so she can point to the Gallows. "Our base of operations was once a mage circle, a place where those with magic were kept under Chantry supervision. For our own safety and the safety of those without magic, ostensibly."
Herian is still placid, none of her complex relationship to such places able to surface. "I have no wish to condescend to you; these are elements necessary to undersranding Tranquility. Am I covering matters already known to you?"
no subject
Wanda clasps her hands in front of her waist and twists her fingers absently. Her gaze lingers on the Gallows, a familiar sight now that she's been in Thedas for a handful of weeks. Is it right that it's somewhat become a place of safety for her? She likes its familiarity. Perhaps it was always meant to be a little pocket for her.
"I know they're not… overly fond of foreign magic." Hers feels different, for one, and if the response she elicited only moments ago is anything to go by, Wanda's walking a very precarious tightrope.
no subject
Unmoving, her gaze lingers on the tower.
"That was why mages were kept to the Circles. So too, why the Rite of Tranquility came into use; to severe us from the Fade and our magic."
She turns back to the stranger, now. "What is your name?"
i am so sorry it has taken me this long — life gobbled me up.
It's the easiest answer to give. She's Wanda—just plain Wanda—and she may truly be in over her head.
But she doesn't allow the threat of overwhelm overtake her. She's in a strange place, with new rules, and what she's come to rely upon as a crutch is frowned upon so heavily she may just find herself in more trouble than the Raft. But this woman won't send her to the turbulent seas to rot away in a cell with a thick, heavy collar around her throat. Wouldn't that be asking for damnation for herself?
She wrings her hands together to stop herself from summoning what she wishes to summon. Magic. Power. A great, red wall. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"