faderift | [ OPEN ] It's Like We've Landed on the Dark Side of the Moon

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[ OPEN ] It's Like We've Landed on the Dark Side of the Moon

WHO: Jim Kirk & Anyone [ OPEN ]
WHAT: Kirk has arrived Skyhold and is settling in (prompts within)
WHEN: For about a week, starting on Drakonis 25 and on
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES:No warnings for now, brackets and prose is fine, and if it helps here is Kirk's info sheet

A - Merchant Stalls
First things first - he needed a change of clothing. Or at least a new shirt. It was painfully obvious how much he stood out in his uniform with its bright yellow shirt and synthetic fibers. That, and if he ever planned to leave Skyhold he was going to need something warmer than his uniform. He'd made it here alive with the help of Solas, but he could not count on him for getting out - if indeed he could at all. But all of that would have to wait until he could get coin to trade for the clothing, or at least find someone willing to trade labor for a shirt. He was not scared of hard labor, and despite his looks he was strong. The problem was convincing merchants of that and that he had no intention of stealing goods while they weren't looking.

Most days he managed it, and could be seen around the stalls helping haul large items or making small deliveries. It was far, far below what he had been doing before coming, but he was in no position to complain and so gamely went about his business, taking what pay the merchants were willing to give (and, frankly, oblivious to if he was getting cheated or not) or any bits of clothing and other items they were willing to trade for the day's activities.

Of course, there would be the one time where his charming smile and his baby blues couldn't get him out of a situation. He swore up and down to the merchant he had done nothing wrong, that he had been doing exactly as he asked and was not responsible for the (supposed) missing merchandise, but reason was not to be had. Therefore the only reasonable course of action was to bolt, shoving his way through the crowd and sincerely hoping that the merchant did not have something sharp and projectile to send after him other than his bellowing.

"Sorry, coming through, watch out!"

B - Tavern
Kirk told himself that he was spending time in the tavern because one of the best places to get information was a bar - drunken tongues made for loose lips. Or some saying to that effect, but the idea behind it was true. Of course, that was just what he told himself. The truth, if he cared to admit it, was that he simply just needed a drink. It had been a hell of a week, trekking across more cold and bitter land than he cared to think about and now finding himself suddenly thrust into a medieval (to him, at least) castle and still no closer to any real answers or a way home. The shard in his palm still throbbed beneath the linen wrapping he kept around it, the pain a dull ache now - which was worrisome. He would have thought those new cells of his... ugh, no, best not to think about that. One strange happening at a time.

He bought whatever the cheapest swill was, more concerned with saving coin for the moment (since it would take a hearty amount to get him drunk anyways now, an unfortunate side effect of the transfusion), and would promptly find himself a spot at a table in the center of the room or strike up a conversation with the person nearest him. He tried to switch out his shirts so that his bright yellow uniform did not give him away as a Rifter right away, but some nights he desired comfort, so bright yellow shirt it was. Strictly speaking he should not be drinking while wearing the uniform, but as far as he was concerned the Star Fleet regulations could get chucked out the window for the foreseeable future. At least he wasn't starting any bar fights. Pike would be proud.

"Thank god there's one thing I can always count on between planets - there will be alcohol."

C - The Library
What he could not learn from people he decided he could try and lean from books. He loved libraries as a rule anyways. He loved books and knowledge and learning. He had a love of history and alien culture, which made his research - what he could find of it - easier to bear. It made his head ache, least of all because of so many mentions of magic. He knew about the mages here and the wonders they supposedly worked, but he was not of a mind to think it magic. He couldn't wrap his head around it except for the concept of 'magic is what you call science you do not yet understand'. But he hadn't come to the library to learn of that, he had come to learn of history. A pity he didn't have a proper journal to write his notes down in.

There comes a point, though, where he simply stares at a book, squinting at the letters as if that will somehow force them to make more sense than they did. He could feel a headache coming on, and he slammed the book shut with entirely unnecessary force, the sound jarringly loud in the quiet space. He leaned forward, rubbing at his face, gritting his teeth as he rode out the wave of frustration.

"I really need to tell the brass to update the curriculum when I get back home," he muttered to himself. "How to Survive Medieval Lands 101."

D - Gardens: Night
One would think that after a hard trek over a harsh landscape for several days a body might desire quite a bit of sleep to make up for it. But not Kirk. Sleep had eluded him for many of the nights coming to Skyhold, as they had in the year before coming to the stronghold. Dreams gnawed at him, old shadows he could not quite shake licking at his heels, and so he resorted to his old tactics to keep them at bay - physical activity.

He did not want to be rude, so he made for a place he thought far enough off that his walk would not wake others from the tread of his boots, and he found himself in the gardens. Certain that no one else was around the area at night, he took to jogging through it until sweat coated his skin and his breathing came in burning gasps. Wisely, he did not think running around the stronghold at night was necessarily a good idea - it was hard to miss that Rifters were not entirely trusted in this place, after all, and he did not want to draw unnecessary attention.

When his muscles ached and his lungs burned or he simply could not find the zen place he sought when he ran, he would collapse next to the closest bunch of flowers or pleasant scented greenery and unwrap his hand, face lighting up from the sickly (to his mind) green glow of the splinter of the Anchor or whatever Solas had called it. He pressed at the flesh, still sore and aching, as if that might somehow give him more answers than had already been given. So absorbed in it was he that he would hardly notice someone coming up to him, at least not until they were right atop him...

Eventually he will wrap it back up, and rise to leave the gardens and seek out whatever sleeping space he can, feeling like a ghost in the halls.

E - Make Your Own Adventure
Don't see a prompt you like listed above? Feel free to make up your own! Kirk will be getting his bearings in Skyhold, so he'll be exploring wherever he can and thus probably show up most places at least once if he can get away with it, including down into the refugee camp.

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The Herald's Rest is where Korrin can be found most nights, barring a rare antisocial mood or other unlikely occurrence. It's the best place to unwind in Skyhold, and get information without listening to the sending crystals. Which she does as well, but alcohol tends to loosen tongues and provide more information than people intend.

The woman seated at the table is easily a foot taller than most human men, and her horns make her non-human status abundantly clear as well. Some keep a distance because of this, but the Vashoth doesn't seem to let it bother her, not when there are plenty willing to keep her company. Speaking of which....

"Alcohol is the great constant, thank the Maker. The selection isn't always what I'd call the best, but sometimes that doesn't matter. Whatever kicks sobriety in the ass is the real priority here."

Ariadne had slept in a bed since she was ten years old. But some part of her had always yearned for the comfort of the high places, the places that protected her ancestors from predators. Coming to Thedas had reawakened that longing. And, not wanting to take a bed away from a refugee who might need it more, Ariadne had found it all to easy to slip back into the habit of crawling up into one of the higher branches at night to curl up and doze.

The problem was that tonight, her mind was too active to let her rest. As she sat up in her branch, staring at the unfamiliar stars, her mind continually wandered to the things she'd left undone back home. The list was long, considering that she'd been working for the resistance. And each item left a pang, like a physical stab to her gut.

She sighed softly, slumping against the tree trunk. She wasn't made for sadness or regrets. But they always had a way of sinking in between the cracks when she was alone.

But. Then. She wasn't alone.

Suddenly, a new scent caught her attention. Human, she was sure. But not one she was familiar with. Raising her chin, she inhaled deeply. Someone coming into the garden from below. Carefully, she shifted her weight, putting her hands on the branch and slowly stretching out down the length of it like a cat. The long rope of a braid that normally hung to her waist fell over the side, dangling over the ground beneath her.

There is really no need for Christine to pass through the gardens this evening. It's out of her way from the direction she's heading. Yet as she passes through the Great Hall, the spirit of Faith that observes the world alongside her takes note of the tired man out there, and nudges Christine's mind.

Tired. Aches. Heal. ...New? That last bit comes out a question on Faith's part, because there is much about the physical world the spirit doesn't understand. It can sense something strange about this man, as if his body is new, but it doesn't know how to convey that to Christine.

Stopping near the door leading out to the gardens, Christine is given another nudge by Faith and so she goes that way to see if the spirit has found her a patient. Walking late at night can be a dangerous thing, especially for a mage, but if someone is hurt, they'll need help. Scanning the gardens, she spots the green glow of the shard and makes her way over. Ah, that must be what Faith meant. The man is a rifter, and therefore new.

Stopping beside him, Christine speaks gently in her lilting Orlesian accent that rifters have called French-sounding.

"You are hurt?" she asks, taking note of his heavy breathing and how exhausted he looks.

Kain is looking at an array of birdcages for sale, frowning as he checks them out for size and craftsmanship. It won't do to get something too flimsy, after all... That's when he hears some kind of disruption going on, along with a great deal of shouting. Usually there's a lot of commotion that can be ignored... disputes happen all the time, after all, especially over prices. But someone sounds especially angry right now.

Soon enough, a man comes fleeing, shoving his way through the crowd in his attempt to outrun whoever he must have enraged.

"Is there some problem?" Kain asks, as he happens to be right in the path the man is taking.

Hermione had made something of a permanent fixture of herself in the library, especially given that it was easier to stay in one place in case people needed her. She'd been conducting brief rifter interviews to try and get a better idea of what magic was like in other worlds, so why stray too far if she didn't absolutely need to? And besides... libraries were always her home port anyway, regardless of her exact location.

She jumped now, though, since Skyhold's library had always been relatively quiet, and it wasn't common to hear someone slam a book closed or mutter in frustration. She looked around for the source of the noise, only to find an unfamiliar young man she hadn't noticed before. Given that no one from Thedas really referred to their lifestyles as "medieval", she thought it was highly likely that she might just be looking at another rifter.

"Having a bit of trouble getting acclimated?" she asked quietly. "It's not the easiest situation to get used to, but maybe I can help. I've only arrived a few weeks ago and things seem almost normal." Never mind that she'd come from a world with magic and dragons and all sorts of other parallels that had probably helped with that.

Isabela chuckles to herself when she hears his comment.

"Alcohol, yes, but trust me, most of what's served to the Inquisition at large isn't much better than swill. Fortunately, I do know where to get the good stuff."

She looked him over.
"Of course, if you're new here, I'm sure you appreciate whatever gets you drunk for now."

Kirk wasn't the only one who was having more than a little trouble wrapping his head around... more or less everything. Lacey had taken to attempting to read up on things precisely because she had no idea who to ask or if any of the people here could be trusted, but even what she read — what of it was in a language she could understand, at any rate — barely made sense to her.

The sound of the book being slammed closed made Lacey glance up, perhaps a bit too sharply, from a shelf a few feet away. When she realized the noise was just a man being frustrated by the content of his books, she relaxed a little and allowed herself a very, very slight smile, turning her head just so that he couldn't see it if he happened to look up at her. Controlling her expression again, she looked back over to him, taking him in at a glance. On second look, she recognized him — one of the men who had come through the rift with her, and the only other one in that group who had really looked precisely human.

(Lacey hadn't made such a good showing of herself then, terrified and more than halfway to running off into the woods until the demons had been dealt with — a thought that embarrassed her now. But she'd gotten herself together afterward, and that was, she hoped, what had counted.)

"You, too?" she said, just loudly enough for him to hear her, a note of slight dry humor in her voice.

Sam sighs, trying his best to keep a smile on his face as he talks to Bonny again. She was a nice woman, they did good business, and she always gave him a fair deal when it came to getting materials or schematics. Lately though she was pressing more that she would accept 'other' forms of payment, not just the coin from his hard work. It was perhaps a little flattering, but he always turned it down - still he had to sit through the whole talk she gave about it either way.

It's after finally getting the payment figured that Sam notices someone in bright yellow running right for them. Yelling. Well that didn't bode well. Stepping out a bit and holding out his arm he tries to get the man to stop.

"Hey, whoa. What's the big rush?"

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