faderift | [semi-open] a friendly query

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[semi-open] a friendly query

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."

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Church struggled at first, confused and offended. Having no chance against armed soldiers, though, he settled for whining and bitching the entire way.

The entire way. Up until they let go of him after they practically drop him into the seat. Sneers at their backs when they move away, readjusting his top and trying to do that sniffing in disdain thing but doesn't really come off as cool as he wants it to.

"Okay, first off," he starts, which is never a good way for him to start at someone who is clearly a figure of authority, "you could tell Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over here to be a little more careful. Could've ripped my arm out of its socket." It was not that rough. "And second, what the fuck is this about?" Church crosses his arms. "Do I need a lawyer or something? ...Do you guys even have lawyers here?"

Though she might have just come from a war not too long ago, Hermione still isn't used to being someplace where the soldiers are armed with physical weapons rather than magic. Magic is frightening enough on its own, but when your own magic isn't working properly and the people talking to you are carrying actual swords, you learn to be diplomatic and do as they ask. Especially when all they seem to be asking is for her to follow them, saying something about a "Seeker" and a "discussion" and using a tone that makes her think better of correcting them when they refer to her as a mage. It's no secret that she knows magic (and it's so nice to know that Skyhold is little better than Hogwarts when it comes to spreading news), so she simply allows herself to be led and decides she can clear this whole mess up with a very simple, civil conversation.

She isn't sure what she's expecting, but she suddenly feels as though she should be on the defensive when this tall, severe-looking woman addresses her after she takes a seat. Trying to brush it off, she sits up straight and replies, "I'm Hermione Granger. When you ask where I'm from, do you mean where I was born, or where I was before ending up here? There isn't much of a difference, really, since I'm led to understand that you likely hadn't heard of either place; I live in a country called England, but I was away at school in neighboring Scotland when I... fell here."

Hoping that she hadn't somehow broken some rule since her arrival at Skyhold, she tilts her head and tries not to look hesitant as she asks, "Have I done something wrong, or is this standard procedure for new arrivals?"

Obi-Wan had come along willingly. Not because he had to, of course; extracting himself from the escort would have been well within his skillset. But, he's curious, and this council of leaders, spearheading the Inquisition by some mysterious mechanic of charisma and seniority have yet to address them all personally, in any real capacity.

He likes to think of himself as a reasonable man; he carefully packs away the disassembled pieces of his lightsaber, safe enough as it is for now, and does as he's told.

"A pleasure to meet you. I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," He hesitated, watching Cassandra's face as he speaks, but saw no recognition there. Not surprising, but nor was it encouraging, "I am a citizen of the Galactic Republic, first and foremost. In the service of that Republic, I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of keeping a permanent residence."

Cassandra sighs inwardly. If all of the rifters are like this one, this is going to be a very long day.

She ignores most of the man's nonsensical words, her eyes narrowing. She may not know what lawyers are, but that only makes his question that much easier to answer.

"No," she says in a tone that brooks no argument, and rests her hands on the table, leaning forward. "And you will need nothing if you answer my questions truthfully and succinctly. What is your name?"

Sina is sitting up, watching the tent flap with restless intensity, waiting for the Seeker to emerge through it. Word was sent earlier that she should expect Cassandra, so she has done what she can to make herself look decent; her hair is tied back and there's a shawl over her shoulders to cover the nightshift she's wearing. Even through it can be seen the telltale green glint of the shard, which perpetually colors and flickers across the tent's interior.

Her thin hands clutch at the bedcover, and she casts a nervous glance to Nari as she hears approaching footsteps.

Edited (im dum) 2016-03-03 06:48 (UTC)

At least this one is actually answering her questions. Though, in her eagerness, she's almost giving too much information, rather than too little. She hasn't interrogated many in this manner, but the rest had not been so forthcoming. Hermione's immediate response is enough to throw Cassandra, if only momentarily, and she simply stares at the girl.

She is young, though, obviously worried and willing to cooperate, and at length Cassandra relents slightly. "You have done nothing wrong," she assures her, though her eyes flick briefly to the glowing shard in the girl's hand. The yet remains unspoken. "We simply..."

She hesitates. The girl is already on her guard; explaining her reservations about those from the rifts will only alarm her further. For a moment, Cassandra is unsure how to continue.

As usual, blunt tactlessness wins. "You are a stranger here. If you are to live among the people of Skyhold, it is my duty to ensure you do not endanger them. You are a mage, are you not?"

Cassandra stared blankly.

She should have expected this, she supposed. It made sense that those who had come through the rifts from different worlds would identify themselves using terms and names she did not know. Still. Nothing he said was remotely familiar.

"Jedi," she greeted him cautiously, and nodded. She put aside "galactic republic" for now. One mystery at a time. "And what is an Ohbe Wahnkanobi? A military title?"

He'd been pretty sure he should give the soldiers looking for him the slip until word trickles through that it's for Seeker Pentaghast- and as much as he'd rather not sit in a room and be asked questions about much of anything making her day harder wasn't something he was about to do. Besides. Maybe she'll have some answers and if not? Maybe whatever he's got to say will make it easier on whoever else she drags in afterward.

No, that's not it.

He didn't give them the slip because he couldn't. Jayne kept wandering away from where he was trying to sneak out to find food and led them right to him. Funny thing, that. But he comes in nice and amiable, Jayne wandering behind. Sits and offers his best charming smile. It's been a long day, and it's about to get longer. "Seeker. Captain Malcolm Reynolds of the Freight Ship Serenity, Ferelden. And Jayne-"

Mal nudges the mabari with his boot, the hound flopped over and leaning against his Chair. "Of the same ship and...Don't rightly know, kinda inherited him from some asshole Orlesian noble what didn't know how to handle him."

Edited 2016-03-03 09:17 (UTC)

He'd come along only mostly willingly. He didn't feel like being manhandled, after all, and certainly would prefer to get this overwith sooner rather than later, and be able to get back to trying to infiltrate the kitchens to see what sort of things he had to work with here. That was actually where he'd been found, in the middle of lamenting to a very done-with-his-shit old woman that he'd found something moving through the flour.

Now, he sits on the edge of his seat with his elbows propped on his knees, looking at Cassandra while dusting the last of the flour off his hands.

"Heard about you, you's one'a the advisers I'm supposed to be tryin'a talk at, right? About this shit." He holds up the hand with the mark on it, burned vertically into the meat of his palm. He stuck out the other hand to shake. "Most folks back home call me Gam, on account'a pronunciation issues. Born in Haiti, raised in Portsmouth, South Carolina. Pleasure to be meetin' you, miss Pentaghast."

The first group she evades by chance. She was a thief for a long time before she became a guard and they’re hardly the most subtle persons to come marching but she’s small, light and nimble and so she manages to get up and onto the rooftops before they have a chance to come for her. Coming back down she is not so lucky, grabbed right as she’s coming down to the ground by swinging herself from the hayloft to the stables when a hand wraps around her wrist. The soldier receives a savage stamp to the instep before her other arm is grabbed and she’s dragged along, cursing them under her breath the entire time.

A shame none of them understand Antivan or the fact that she’s discussing how their mothers all fucked goats to produce them only without any wits before she’s dumped in the chair, rubbing her wrist. But she settles herself, righting her hair and straightening her coat before she even looks at Cassandra directly, eyes flicking up here and there

“Araceli Bonaventura y Castell,” but the speed at which she utters it blurs it into one long word perhaps, accent thicker than usual from annoyance. “In what capacity do you represent the Inquisition, I would like to know why I am accosted in public like a criminal and dragged before a stranger.”

"You should talk to Adelaide. She can tell you all about how 'succinct' I am not. You're in this one for the long haul, Butch Cassidy."

She is most definitely intimidating, though. So making fun is a bad idea. He'll do it anyway, of course. It's kind of ~~hot~~ scary to poke the bear, but, eh, he pretty much dated a bear before. No lady's ever going to be scarier than Tex. Or the Meta. Who was not a lady but he's not honestly sure what the Meta is. Was.

"Maybe we should just all start wearing name badges." He draws a little line over his chest where a tag or sticker would go. "'Hi, my name is blank'! Then everyone could skip the whooooole name introduction thing. Hi, my name is Church. See how much easier that could be? You can't know everyone's name in this big fucking castle."

Hermione had been raised to always respect people in positions of authority, at least until they prove themselves no longer worthy of that respect. And this Cassandra woman clearly seems to have some authority. So while she's still new here and is grateful just to have a roof over her head and some distance between herself and demons, Hermione sees no reason not to be on her best behavior.

So that pause sets her ill at ease, and despite the affirmation that she hasn't done anything, she shifts a little nervously in her seat, one hand moving to cover the shard in the other when she notices that Cassandra's gaze had fallen upon it. Even so, she's still more than willing to answer any questions, though she does pause for a moment, clearly second-guessing her instinctive response.

"From what I understand, a mage is anyone who can use magic. What you call a mage, we call witches and wizards in my world. The men are wizards, the women witches. So for your purposes, yes, I suppose you'd consider me a mage, even if I consider myself a witch."

Despite her careful wording, she's still concerned that she may have said or done something wrong before ever meeting this woman and has been reported to her, so she still explains, "My magic doesn't work the same way here, so it's a bit clumsy. But I don't think I've hurt anyone yet - aside from some demons when I'd first arrived, and a few people slipped on some ice but I helped them up right away and they weren't injured - so if you've heard otherwise, please let me know so I can apologize. I'm just trying to get it to be useful again."

Jedi, she said, and for one shining moment of clarity, he thought this might be going well after all. And in the next, reality resumed its usual course.

"No, no, Obi-Wan is my name, Obi-Wan Kenobi," that last added after a brief pause, as if he needed a moment's review of Cassandra's potential familiarity with the concept of a surname before continuing: an afterthought, "The term 'Jedi' refers to the Order of the Jedi. Not-- not primarily a military organization."

Though they were at war. And serving as generals for an army. Well, alright, but one thing at a time, really! The woman was practically rattling with a sense of on guard, no need to push her.

Cassandra's hands clench into frustrated fists at her sides. And she had thought Varric talked too much.

"I can't know everyone's, but I will know yours," she tells him, humorless and frowning. "Where do you come from, Church?"

"A witch," Cassandra repeats, and raises an eyebrow. A strange word, and that men and women used different words to mean the same thing is stranger still, but whatever she says, she is undoubtedly a mage by Cassandra's definition. "You said you were at school. Are you an apprentice?" She eyes the girl up and down. Perhaps a bit old to be an apprentice still, but who knows how things work in other places? "Have you undergone a Harrowing?"

"Uh, not here. Thought that was pretty obvious, y'know, given the whole falling out of the sky into a zombie bog thing. I'd say given the obnoxiously annoying glow in my hand that can apparently close demon portals, but I guess some of you guys are a little afflicted with that bullshit, too."

Cassandra frowned, suspicious now. She had met many people in her travels, but never one with a name that sounded quite so...made up.

"All right, Obi-Wan, if that is your real name," she challenged him. "What do you mean, not primarily a military organization? What is this Order of the Jedi?"

Sina. This one, Cassandra will not force to come to her. She has heard, by now, multiple accounts of what had happened with the rift, as well as much of the elf who had opened it.

A Dalish elf. A native, not a rifter at all, and how much more terrifying is it that one of the people of Thedas itself had been behind this? But by all accounts, opening the rift had been entirely accidental, and Sina herself had nearly been killed in the process. There's not much chance she'll be attempting to do anything similar ever again.

But she has to be sure.

She ducks to enter the tent, offering Nari a nod of greeting - originally she had objected to the other elf's presence, but once Nari had explained her role as Sina's caretaker, and proved entirely resistant to the idea of leaving them alone in any case, Cassandra had given in.

And then she looks at Sina herself. She looks terrified, nearly as small as a child in her bed, and Cassandra lets her neutral expression soften slightly as she moves to the bedside.

"Sina Dahlasanor," she greets her. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast."

"A-... a what?" It's directed to that second question, because Hermione has no idea what a Harrowing is, and whatever it is, it doesn't sound like anything she'd ever want to experience. "I don't think so, unless that's another thing I know of by a different name.

"But no, I'm not an apprentice. All witches and wizards go to school to learn about magic. In my country, we start at around age eleven and should finish up by seventeen or eighteen. I... had to take a year off, but I went back to finish things properly."

The introduction is unnecessary, of course. Cassandra remembers both Mal and his dog; it would have been hard not to, after weeks of sharing a tent in the middle of Emprise du Lion.

A small tent. With a very large dog.

Reynolds himself had been nothing but courteous and accommodating, however, maintaining his charm and easy manner even when Cassandra herself had been - she is sure - less than an ideal tentmate. The memory is enough to ease the tension somewhat, as she nods at him in recognition and leans back in her chair instead of forward over him.

"Captain Reynolds," she greets him. "And what brings you to the Inquisition?"

Cassandra eyes the new arrival dubiously, ignoring the proffered hand. His accent is one she's never heard the like of before, and she doesn't quite know what to think of him yet.

But he seems willing enough to cooperate, at least.

"Seeker Pentaghast," she corrects him, frowning. "What is your true name?"

"A job bring'n in mail. Lotta people have a lot t'say to folk in here." That's not the whole of it and they both know it- she'd seen the glow of his hand while sharing the tent for all that he'd tried to cover it up on account of it being unreasonably cold. Still. In the interest of cooperation he picks at his bracer to peel it off, looking more at his hand than at her.

"And I heard tell that this was the place t'be if you had one of these nice bits of shine in your palm. That here I'd find answers, maybe a way to get rid of it. Nobody's given me much of either but stick'n it out till we find answers don't seem all that bad. Besides. The company's kinda pleasant." He winks. Actually winks over a slight smile, turning his hand about so she could see the shard that landed him in this chair.

Cassandra looks down at her, unimpressed. It had taken a long time to track down Araceli, and more effort than should have been necessary. And now that she's finally here, it seems she is determined to make the rest of the process just as difficult.

Fine. Cassandra can be difficult, too.

"I am its founder," she snaps, and scowls. "And there would have been no need to accost or drag you, had you come quietly right away." She leans over the girl, eyes searching her, pinning her to the chair with her glare. "What do you have to hide, that you were so determined not to be questioned?"

Cassandra barely resists rolling her eyes. Is he being obstinate on purpose, she wonders, or is he truly so...so...like this all the time?

"I know you are not from here," she growls at him, nails digging into her palms now. "Where are you from? Who did you work for? To whom do you swear your loyalty?"

"Hello," Sina replies, in her tense, well-practiced way. She swallows hard and watches Cassandra warily, intimidated by her obvious power and the aggressive silhouette of her armor. This is what she always pictured when she was a child and thought of shem'len: frightening, larger than life, commanding.
She tries to push it aside, and steels herself. She has learned since arriving in Skyhold that every person outclan is different, and that even the most frightening in appearance are sometimes the kindest.

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