[semi-open] a friendly query

[stabsbooks]

WHO: Cassandra and rifters/shardbearers
WHAT: Rifter interrogations
WHEN: Following Cassandra's log with Galadriel and the advisors' conversation
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: For planned rifter/shardbearer interrogation threads with Cassandra! If we haven't discussed your character's thread, please drop me a note here or hit me up on Plurk for general (this can be very general) setup/discussion of what you hope the outcome to be. She'll be most interested in talking to rifter mages, but we can swing her interrogating anyone with a shard.

With or without your support, she had said to the Spymaster, and she had meant it. She would have preferred that Leliana understand her position, the necessity of action - but she does not, and dwelling on it will do nothing to change that now. Whether anyone else sees it or not, Cassandra at least recognizes the risk that the shardbearers pose. If nothing else, they must understand who the rifters are, what they are capable of - and what they may do.

There are still plenty who agree with her, who are not as idealistic in this matter as Leliana, and it's not difficult to find soldiers willing to find those of interest and bring them to her, one at a time. She waits until each is seated before she turns to face them, and always begins the same way, whether she recognizes them or not.

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, and I represent the Inquisition. State your name, and where you come from."

Comments

[maladgogo]

She doesn't push, and that goes a ways toward his starting to trust her.

"Not much, truth be told. Took care'a the greenhouse on fam's property, had a part-time job at a joke shop for a while there. Kep' folks what's mine safe from intangible nasties. Little bit'a construction work, little performance art, lil' graffiti n' drug peddlin', nothin' too hard though. Went north to start goin' to school for bakin', but I guess wit' all this shit that's been put on hold.

"What about you, whatchoo do here?" he asks, his head tilting as he looks her over. Austere woman. He imagines that if the preacher's mother had come along to Portsmouth, she would have been like the Seeker. Information he keeps to himself for now.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra listens attentively, brow furrowed, spending as much effort in deciphering the words themselves as anything else. She does take note of his attitude, however - when half the words the rifters say are meaningless to her, watching their body language as they tell their stories can provide valuable insight.

For all of Makara's reluctance to offer his name, though, he seems willing enough to share his history, and though she does not understand much of it, what she does understand hardly seems worrisome.

She frowns in disapproval at his question - what is this tendency among these people to attempt to turn interrogations into conversations?

"I lead this Inquisition," she replies bluntly. "I keep its people safe." From you, if necessary, she does not bother to add. "What do you mean by intangible nasties?" Demons, perhaps?

[maladgogo]

When he talks, he talks with his hands and his posture as much as with his mouth. So far, he's relaxed, mostly candid, as he tends to be when he's getting acquainted with someone new. Cassandra might be in a position of power, but that doesn't mean he can't try and be friendly with her.

Key word ther ebeing try. No telling when she might just tell him to hush and take his leave just to be able to stop listening to him.

He puts up his hands, broad and soft and currently clad in fingerless gloves. "Damn mama, you ain't gotta be all business at me. Just wanted to get info'a my own, so I know what I been dropped in the middle of. Easiest way t' be doin' that, talk wit' someone candid-like. Anyway, best example I got f' that shit's like...well, I know y'all hear'a ghost stories here. Universal constant, sorta shit. Well, y'know how energy works? Like if you pour enough negative into somethin', it taints that somethin'. Take for instance m' bae's house, right 'cross the street from where I live. His house, it full'a hate n' violence n' bad juju. After makin' contact wit' the manifestation'a all'a that hate n' pain, in this case 'rasmus himself, I set wards, n' put up cleansin' bags. Herbs n' bones, special artifacts. Rings what belonged to 'im in life. Someone here called it necromancy when I got talkin' about this shit, but that ain't really the right term for it, since we don't deal direct wit' dead people outside the dernier priye- that's like the funeral preparation f' the culture'a my family. Anyway. I do that shit, n' I help in movin' spirits off into they next world, no matter what that world be. Guess it'd be like...I'unno, but from what I learned here so far, like convincin' a demon back into the Fade instead'a hittin' it with pointy metal 'til it goes away. But I ain't no motherfuckin' mage." That part seemed most important to point out, after how many times he's been asked just that since he arrived.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra's eye actually twitches. Being friendly is one thing, but this complete and utter lack of respect is unacceptable. "You will address me as Seeker Pentaghast," she says between gritted teeth, giving him a severe look to ensure that he recognizes how serious she is. This is an order, not a request.

Once she feels satisfied that he won't make the same mistake again, she pauses, trying to mentally work out what he's telling her, and how it applies to what he might do in Thedas.

Her thoughts are not pleasant ones. Most of what he says sounds ridiculous, of course, but even if what he describes sounds like nonsense, the impression she gets from his story reminds her of nothing so much of Nevarra and its fascination with the dead. She suppresses a shudder, then narrows her eyes, considering.

"You are...a spirit medium?" she hazards. "You communicate with the dead?"

[maladgogo]

And he doesn't exactly care for being ordered around. There's something in him that hardens up, but only a little. Maybe this woman's used to pure authority, but he's always been more or less independent, with polite suggestions from others as guidance. They certainly are opposites.

"Listen, ma'am. I ain't tryin'a be on yo bad side, really I ain't. But you gotta realize, ain't everybody's background just gonna cave in wit' ya ideas'a how shit should be. 'specially those of us what just come through to here from somewhere different enough that fittin' in ain't gonna be easy. I been asked a lot'a shit so far what the answers to it made a lotta people nervous. Talkin' wit' spirits is one of 'em. I ain't one t' withhold information, really, but I would appreciate not bein' talked down at. I am what we call back home a grown-ass man. N' you, I know you's just doin' yo job like you think you oughta, n' I get you tryin'a keep people safe. But bein' hostile ain't gonna help you do that."

His tone is quiet, just as easy as it has been up to now, but with an added gravity accompanied by eye contact and the folding of his hands in between his knees. His posture doesn't seem like he's trying to start a fight, but...well. He's a little bit headstrong.

"'s just like when I talk wit' the spirits what don't immediately hurl shit at me from across the room. Gotta try n' ease into it. Pick ya words, n' don't try n' bludgeon yo way y' the answer you want. What's that one sayin'? Ya catch more flies wit' honey than vinegar."