fade rift. inbox.

[dissono]

for private scenes and correspondence.
non-urgent crystal messages will be responded to by letter at his earliest convenience.

Comments

crystal.

[rowancrowned]

Enchanter Vauquelin.

[ he has very little idea of how to start this conversation. best just to do it, and be as smooth and polite as he was trained to be. ]

I am an acquaintance of your niece. I thought it best to introduce myself; I am Thranduil. I head the Research Division here in Kirkwall.

a note returned by runner.

[dissono]

Provost,

I understand the two of you to be very well-acquainted. My brother mentioned you've visited the estate when I stopped there on my way to Kirkwall.

I believe we will be working together in the future, as I am newly a member of your division. I look forward to it. I believe some of my past work may be of interest to you; I came somewhat sideways to healing and midwifery, out of what has since proved a somewhat ironic interest in explaining the nature of elfblooded humans.

GERVAIS V

return trip of runner

[rowancrowned]

Enchanter Vauquelin,

Are you yet occupied with settling in, or may I call on you presently?

Thranduil

at some point on the trip home

[limier]

A pinched mouth, an air of unrest that's settled over the journey thin and buzzing as wasp-paper. Yesterday there was triumph; today, only the fools among them own smiles to spare.

(It's the Inquisition. There will always be plenty of teeth.)

Almost nostalgic, when she pulls back from the mass of carts and mounts, lets her mule fall into step beside him —

"Your brother," Less than nostalgic. No one else is watching, eyes to road and their own private dramas. A sharp breath: What is there to say of Emeric? She shakes her head, trails off, and into another thread of thought. "I need tell you something. It is not kind."

[dissono]

The exhale is slow, through the nose, nothing so wistful as a sigh. His (fucking) brother—

It was good, he thinks. Some part of it was good, seeing him, even if he knows now how much more there always was to see than Emeric wanted him to. True of them both, he might suppose, but Gervais is a different animal entirely. And, looking at his brother deep in his cups, bloody and tired, he had not imagined himself seen, either.

Emeric goes to war. The Comte, their last Comte, goes to war. That man who would take no healing that Gervais couldn't hide beneath feigned drinks and his distraction, goes to war. He heard some of what was said between father and daughter, enough. He thinks: what kindness would there be? and something of that weariness is there in his sidelong look.

Quiet. Waiting. A hand moving from his reins to his own thigh nearest her when reaching further would be awkward and draw attention but some gesture must be made. Tell him, then.

[limier]

She lingers a moment, in that unhappy silence. It would be easy to let it lie there with his fucking brother. Looks shot over the back of a shoulder, dripped onto her sleeves. Glimpses of the strange moments that coalesce before regret.

"I'd a project; attaching names to the red forces," Lost causes. Beasts, to hear others tell of it, and tell her they always do — "Bodies. Effects. I'd lists."

Emeric is a lost cause. In his own words, by his own measure; soaked through with too much liquor and history to not reflect some fraction of familiar image. The cheekbones, perhaps, or his jaw. (Torn kunckles in hers.) A beast,

That's what they call it, when the dog runs mad.

"I spoke with Werner's mother," She isn't looking at him. "It is what she knows."

some time either end of may or early june idk fight me

[montalis]

[ Luca was hardly surprised to hear Gervais was alive, or that he's in the area, after speaking with Wren. The two of them always connected well. Better than most. Better than simple friendship. Luca wouldn't have made it into the Seekers if that big a detail escaped his observation. She'd given him some ideas of where to find the researcher, and it doesn't take much to follow the trail to the mage research labs some afternoon, leaning a shoulder against a doorframe as he watches the older man working away over a tome. ]

The day I see you without work somewhere nearby will likely be the return of the Maker. [ second coming of christ, end of days, etc, do you ever put books down, at least to make out with wren? or do you just set one up behind her shoulder while going at it? keep these dumb questions to yourself, Luca, it's been too long and you're kind of scary now.

however, he isn't here to scare Gervais with his new employment, or act under any capacity as seeker. though, really, he's always information gathering, everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to, as all seekers are, so maybe there's good reason to be wary, even of old friends. still, the seekers have bigger problems to worry about than nerdy apostates working for the inquisition, thankfully. Pacing forward, he tugs out a tall glass bottle, setting it on the desk nearby. ]

A gift of the Antivan national life-blood. Should you find a free moment sooner than that. [ by that he means really expensive wine. it's nice being antivan and knowing wine selection like the national anthem. makes gift-giving very easy. ]

put up yo dukes

[dissono]

( is anyone an old friend, really? he'd never used wren's given name until kirkwall; never presumed as far as calling her anything to him but a templar. the line had been all the more clearly delineated for how badly he hadn't let himself want to cross it -

he had never been one able to forget where he was, who they were to him. always making himself stiller, softer, steadier. never a threat. a good sort, vauquelin, knows his place.

he is wary because it's the only thing he knows to be, even now. freedom sits uneasy on shoulders broken to the yoke; he may live another forty years and never quite adapt, for all the little liberties he learns to take. )

Th-th-thank you, ( because he's also not a fucking animal, lifting the bottle one-handed to tilt the label to him, eyebrows barely rising enough to catch the shift. ) You, ah, you- will be joining the, the, the work here?

(ง •̀_•́)ง

[montalis]

[ much as he'd like to assure Gervais he has nothing to be wary about with him, truth is, he wouldn't advise anyone to be so lax with a Seeker nearby. While he truly has no intention of investigating the mage for any reason, it's an unfortunate fact.

the distance here isn't anything new, and it hardly bothers Luca, one who managed to pester Wren until she accepted his socializing, and really, if he couldn't even pick up the looks the mage and the templar commander cast each other in the quiet of a caravan trotting along an empty forest, he'd still be trying and failing to be recruited to the Seekers.

Seeing Garvais accept the bottle, Luca smiles, light and carefree. He's ever had the talent for looking completely at ease and at home when all others around him aren't, and do that end, he takes a nearby chair, clearly wishing some time to chat with the man. ] You're quite welcome, my hopes you enjoy it.

[ sighing he crosses one knee over the other, leaning back. ] Seeker Pentaghast must've grown tired of watching me drain the tavern's wine stock dry, so, yes, I've been sent to join the Inquisition forces proper. Under Coupe's charge, as well, which seems refreshing after so many years.

crystal;

[supersonic]

Enchanter Vauquelin, [ Maker, that is strange to say out loud, ] if you have a moment, I should like to speak with you.

My name is Pietro Maximoff. Isaac thought— well, I imagine he thought I needed a minder, and I thought all of his other suggestions were as craven as he is, but there is a task for which two might be better than one.

[ Selling it. ]

[dissono]

( this doesn't sound urgent, so ordinarily, gervais wouldn't answer it directly. he prefers, on the whole, to conduct his affairs via the written word—over which he has always had far more control, can use much more effectively.

what it does sound, however, is like something he might prefer not to have a fucking paper trail. )

Wh-wh-wh-which is.

( the task. the point, maximoff, get to it. )

[supersonic]

Apparently there were apostates here once, before the rebellion. Anders' network. Most of them are likely gone, but chances are not all. Worth a look, at any rate, to see what we've got to work with.

[ You know, in case everything goes tits-up tomorrow and they need all the help they can get. ]

The alienage, I can cover on my own, but I am not fool enough to go poking my nose around Darktown alone.

crystals;

[limier]

[ very, very quietly: ]

Corypheus has taken Minrathous. I do not know whether Amsel — [ someone shouting in the distance. ] — Should we not return, there is a letter in my desk.

Burn it. I am coming home.

crystal;

[inagutterson]

Oi Gervais--

[Admire his restraint in not calling you Captain Nipple as you are referred to in his private letters to the Boneflayers.]

I got a dragon question and a Tevinter question and you're a mage from here who isn't like a weird shady mage [see: Nevarrans, Wardens, whinging mages wringing their hands like they're the only ones who got smacked with the shitstick boohoo] so like-- me and this rifter were talking dragons and he said something about dragons and creation and the dragons being created. Which. We don't know. Here. For certain. That ain't a thing like no one knows how nugs happened we just have nugs.

So.

[There's the noisy slurping of tea before Yngvi continues on the voyage of eloquence.]

Could dragons have been created here too? Like say some bunch of shady pricks got together with a bunch of magic and blood and lyrium because you'd need both and maybe it's a bit Old Gods and a bit Archdemon yeah? And they stitched up things like scales or even scales from other things and made them? D'you reckon that could be a thing? That dragons got created by some proper mad fucks?

[How deep does the Tevinter rabbit hole go by the way Gervais he's stone cold sober this is your life thank your Templar and your niece for this stunning gift he had to look at your nipple directly when you were about to do the do with Wren so this is your penance.]

a note, delivered by wild animals

[filthydipper]

Ginger,

Tally your socks.

Yngvi

[The things he does for family.]

[dissono]

YNGVI,

DOG HAS THEM.

THE GINGER

[filthydipper]

Orlesian Templar-dog alliance unforseen.

I have mabari crunch and a goose. We can do this.

Everything is afraid of a goose.

i got ac so whatever let's do it here

[limier]

"The future of the Inquisition may not lie with the Chantry."

She isn't usually awake for this. It's perhaps a bit suspicious that she's gone to the effort of propping herself on an elbow, eyes open and straining toward alert. If he intends to flee the conversation, he'll need to pull on some trousers.

That buys her at least thirty seconds.

"That mine may not lie with the Inquisition."

Ours, if they were pretending he'd any intention of returning to a Circle.

[dissono]

Gervais does not put his trousers on.

He doesn't even reach for them, although the way he exhales as he opens his eyes certainly suggests that the thought may have crossed his mind, and therefore that not doing so is a decision rather than just an innocent lack of impulse. Where is this, on the list of conversations that they don't have? The ache isn't at the not-new thought that he might well be kidding himself to think their future will always follow the same path, it's at the other impulse, the one that twists bitter in his gut:

ah, because we think we get a future, now.

He doesn't have the luxury, any more, of not allowing himself to think of the day she doesn't stand up again.

“L-l-l—”

His expression twists in the dim light.

“Lea—leaving me. So soon.”

[limier]

"This," White stone walls, salt in the bay; an acre of ill-content. She twists fingers into the sleeve of the pillow, to ignore the weight of a blade beneath. Across the bed, grooves furrow into skin that ought to smooth still (so foreign the curl her brow affects of late). "Not you."

It isn't that simple. She abandons the cloth, presses skin to an arm.

"You told me that you would stay," Near a year past, and how quick and dark these months have drawn. "We need decide what that means."

book.

[propulsion]

[ It's quite late at night when Gervais' crystal receives this message. He would be well within his rights to be asleep, to get back to him in the morning, but for now; ]

hey
what do people do for fun around here besides get married and die

[dissono]

( somehow, against all reason and logic, tony manages to catch gervais on one of the rare days where he is not, actually, awake and poring over his work at an obscene hour of the night. when tony writes him, he is asleep next to his wife and underneath his dog, one arm slung out over the edge of their bed, his leg kicked out from beneath the blanket. he wakes up early, sheet and dog hair pressed to him uncomfortably with dried sweat, and grimaces while passing a hand over the water bowl to ice it before he shoves his entire face in.

eventually, he checks his messages, writes back: )

DRINK. AT THIS HOUR, COFFEE. I WILL MEET YOU IN THE HALL. EXPECT I WILL BE ABLE TO TELL WHICH ONE YOU ARE.

→ action.

[propulsion]

[ The slight indicating glow of sending crystal has almost the same dopamine hit as a modern day notification, which is oddly nostalgic. Tony replies in very good time. Maybe he is a morning person. ]

definitely more my speed. at this hour.
see you down there jeeves.

[ And Gervais would be right; Tony stands out, for more reasons than just grooming choices, the odd blue glow outlining circular from his chest, a haircut that's not yet outgrown its price point. He even moves differently, and when he arrives, he steers a searching look around without pretense of discretion, fingers clicking together in idle fidget -- any outlet for energy will do. ]

book.

[propulsion]

did you lend me the codex on runecraft or enchanter claye memoirs because depending I have good news or bad news.

[dissono]

I AM CONCERNED FOR THE STATE OF ENCHANTER CLAYE'S MEMOIRS.