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extramural) wrote2016-05-09 01:41 pm
extramural) wrote2016-05-09 01:41 pm
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faderift
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CONTACT ;;
text, audio, visual, action
How long have you worn those clothes?
[ or: good morning, duinenor, how are you. ]
[ or: good morning, duinenor, how are you. ]
[ pleasantries are for mortals ]
These are what I was dressed in, when I became what I am.
[ ...and because he imagines Thranduil may press just to make a point- ]
Over four thousand years. I do clean them, now that it is necessary. Why?
These are what I was dressed in, when I became what I am.
[ ...and because he imagines Thranduil may press just to make a point- ]
Over four thousand years. I do clean them, now that it is necessary. Why?
[ a hum of consideration. ]
Because we are going to Orlais, and we must dress the part if we have any intent of courting allies.
[ a thought comes to him. ]
Where did you launder your clothes?
Because we are going to Orlais, and we must dress the part if we have any intent of courting allies.
[ a thought comes to him. ]
Where did you launder your clothes?
We as those who have found themselves among the Inquisition, we as Rifters, or we as in you and I?
[ Important distinctions, all. ]
Does it matter? No one was around to be scandalized, if that is your concern.
[ Important distinctions, all. ]
Does it matter? No one was around to be scandalized, if that is your concern.
I do not have endless sums of coin, my friend. There are only so many times I can cheat at cards before the wrong Orlesian notices.
[ a sigh: ] Myself, you, the lady Galadriel, Samwise, Solas- if I can persuade him- and perhaps one or two more, depending on circumstances.
[ HE MUST KNOW. ]
So, you summoned a washtub in the Void [ yes he has been paying attention to what you've been saying on the network. ] and did your laundry. Did you hang it to dry in the devouring nothingness?
[ a sigh: ] Myself, you, the lady Galadriel, Samwise, Solas- if I can persuade him- and perhaps one or two more, depending on circumstances.
[ HE MUST KNOW. ]
So, you summoned a washtub in the Void [ yes he has been paying attention to what you've been saying on the network. ] and did your laundry. Did you hang it to dry in the devouring nothingness?
Edited 2016-07-19 01:00 (UTC)
In Dunwall, that would be when that Orlesian was killed.
[ Not that he's encouraging that, really. He's just saying. ]
Hardly. The Void is not of this world and is out of my reach, and while the Fade is comparable, they are different enough to deserve their own names.
[ Not that he's encouraging that, really. He's just saying. ]
Hardly. The Void is not of this world and is out of my reach, and while the Fade is comparable, they are different enough to deserve their own names.
Orlesians, like my coin, are also in limited supply.
[ he considered it. ]
The point remains that you have only one set, and by implication are at some point wandering around the fortress nude.
[ he considered it. ]
The point remains that you have only one set, and by implication are at some point wandering around the fortress nude.
I do not wander.
[ but yeah he does basically sit there naked ]
[ but yeah he does basically sit there naked ]
Purposefully stride, nude as the day you were birthed.
[ whatever, outsider. you know what he means. ]
Have you frightened the washerwomen yet?
[ whatever, outsider. you know what he means. ]
Have you frightened the washerwomen yet?
Then I will ensure your nudity never frightens her.
I will have you measured for appropriate robes, riding boots, smallclothes-- [ and so on.
owning only the clothes on his back is going to be something of the past. ]
I will have you measured for appropriate robes, riding boots, smallclothes-- [ and so on.
owning only the clothes on his back is going to be something of the past. ]
The seamstress is remarkably calm. He likes her no-nonsense manner, and her ability to take large amounts of coin and, in short order, turn them into clothes that even he approves of.
“Stop fussing, Duinenor.” He supposes it is possibly too much to ask of the Outsider, to sit still in the third hour of being measured and used as a draping stand, a nearly full wardrobe of clothes to be taken in and adjusted to fit him. The shirts, at least, were done in quick order, but fussier pieces like jackets and pants took more time—and the steamstress and her assistant now knew to wait for Thranduil’s nod of approval before jotting down the final notes and marking with chalk and pins. “You are nearly done, and I am sure Anais is nearly as tired as you.”
It occurs to him too, as he stands, unfolds himself out of the chair where he’s spent the last few hours lounging, watching, while the Outsider stood with arms out and was subjected to being treated like a mannequin, adjusted and clothed, unclothed, clothed again—that he had never had clothes made for himself. That this was the first time he had been fussed over so, had no chance as a child to accustom himself to it. Even his Silvans are patient for it.
So, best to distract him: “Anais does lovely work.” The elven lady in question acknowledges the compliment with a polite nod in Thranduil’s direction, hardly pausing from her pinning. “What did you like best?”
He had not been so tyrannical to cut the Outsider from the process, encouraging his input on style and especially color.
“Stop fussing, Duinenor.” He supposes it is possibly too much to ask of the Outsider, to sit still in the third hour of being measured and used as a draping stand, a nearly full wardrobe of clothes to be taken in and adjusted to fit him. The shirts, at least, were done in quick order, but fussier pieces like jackets and pants took more time—and the steamstress and her assistant now knew to wait for Thranduil’s nod of approval before jotting down the final notes and marking with chalk and pins. “You are nearly done, and I am sure Anais is nearly as tired as you.”
It occurs to him too, as he stands, unfolds himself out of the chair where he’s spent the last few hours lounging, watching, while the Outsider stood with arms out and was subjected to being treated like a mannequin, adjusted and clothed, unclothed, clothed again—that he had never had clothes made for himself. That this was the first time he had been fussed over so, had no chance as a child to accustom himself to it. Even his Silvans are patient for it.
So, best to distract him: “Anais does lovely work.” The elven lady in question acknowledges the compliment with a polite nod in Thranduil’s direction, hardly pausing from her pinning. “What did you like best?”
He had not been so tyrannical to cut the Outsider from the process, encouraging his input on style and especially color.
While Thranduil undoubtedly chose this seamstress because she is an elf (and, the Outsider muses, perhaps required to charge less for it -- there is, after all, quite a bit of racism in Thedas), the Outsider finds that he appreciates the choice as well. The elves have endured, and he likes them far more in general than he likes humans, especially those members of the public and those in positions of power. To have such blatant passive-aggression leveled at him by a human while having to stand still for hours would likely end poorly for everyone involved.
It isn't as though he doesn't appreciate the skill level involved, or that Thranduil is doing this for him. It truly is just that it is new, something he has never once experienced. It's interesting and he wants to observe, which is difficult when one is supposed to be standing still so as to not get poked with any needles.
And, well. Yes. Standing still for hours is oddly exhausting.
"Yes," he agrees, almost absently; Anais does do lovely work. It is perhaps a bit wasted on him, but at least she and her assistant hadn't screamed in fright or anything at the sight of him. He focuses further at the question, frowning softly in thought.
"I enjoy the jackets." Yes, all of them. "But the shirt that has fabric with color that seems to change as the light catches it- that is rather entrancing to look at." Beat. "And soft."
It isn't as though he doesn't appreciate the skill level involved, or that Thranduil is doing this for him. It truly is just that it is new, something he has never once experienced. It's interesting and he wants to observe, which is difficult when one is supposed to be standing still so as to not get poked with any needles.
And, well. Yes. Standing still for hours is oddly exhausting.
"Yes," he agrees, almost absently; Anais does do lovely work. It is perhaps a bit wasted on him, but at least she and her assistant hadn't screamed in fright or anything at the sight of him. He focuses further at the question, frowning softly in thought.
"I enjoy the jackets." Yes, all of them. "But the shirt that has fabric with color that seems to change as the light catches it- that is rather entrancing to look at." Beat. "And soft."
He is wholly guilty of giving the woman and her assistants some warning—nothing explicit, but the shards in their hands had served as a good calling card, a reminder of what they were. But she was the sort to whom coin was coin—and he had done his best to be on best behavior for her.
Thranduil stands, and pulls a twist of waxed paper from his pocket, tearing it open. He offers the light yellow slice to the Outsider. “Candied ginger root,” he explains, neatly paying no mind to the fact that he is, in certain lights, bribing him with candy to keep still for a few minutes more.
(The Outsider deserves the full breadth of the experiences he never had as a child.)
“Are your nightclothes not soft enough?” He tucks the scrap of paper back inside his pockets. He suspects it will be difficult to convict the Outsider of the need—build new habits, as it were. It’s the most visceral way to show he cares. Someone loves you, it says. Someone wants you to be dressed for the weather. Someone wants you to look cared for.
If it's blatant, he doesn't mind.
Thranduil stands, and pulls a twist of waxed paper from his pocket, tearing it open. He offers the light yellow slice to the Outsider. “Candied ginger root,” he explains, neatly paying no mind to the fact that he is, in certain lights, bribing him with candy to keep still for a few minutes more.
(The Outsider deserves the full breadth of the experiences he never had as a child.)
“Are your nightclothes not soft enough?” He tucks the scrap of paper back inside his pockets. He suspects it will be difficult to convict the Outsider of the need—build new habits, as it were. It’s the most visceral way to show he cares. Someone loves you, it says. Someone wants you to be dressed for the weather. Someone wants you to look cared for.
If it's blatant, he doesn't mind.
Edited 2016-09-05 23:30 (UTC)
Hey, where are you now? I want to show you something.
Edited 2016-09-10 03:06 (UTC)
Skyhold. [ pls be more specific, Outsider ]
Should I meet you somewhere?
Should I meet you somewhere?
Yeah, I gathered that much.
I'm by the stables.
I'm by the stables.
The offer of a treat is wholly unexpected, and it stills him immediately, even before he takes it. He rarely had candies, as a child; they were always stolen, when he did, and often a bit off. This one tastes all the better for being freely given, and he sucks on it with a slight hum.
He is, at least, still again.
He is also distracted, experiencing flavors he has not experienced in- some time, if ever. He did not need to eat, in the Void, but it is a habit he does not wholly mind having to partake in when the flavors are as vibrant as this. It takes several moments for him to reply, the root gently pushed to the side of his mouth so that he can keep savoring it.
"They are soft. I am not accustomed to sleep, or resting, and I suspect I will not wear them as often as the rest." Does one bring nightclothes out when on a mission, sleeping in tents, ready to fight or flee at the first word from a scout? One certainly uses them in a bedroom, but the Outsider does not have one. He suspects, however, that it may upset Thranduil to hear the latter, and so he adds- "I mean to travel as much as I can, to learn more about this world."
And he would rather like it if Thranduil accompanied him, but he will not ask. Even being cared for in this way is something he treats with some suspicion; less than he otherwise might, due to it being Thranduil who is doing it, but he is a cynical being. He has had every reason to be cynical.
He is, at least, still again.
He is also distracted, experiencing flavors he has not experienced in- some time, if ever. He did not need to eat, in the Void, but it is a habit he does not wholly mind having to partake in when the flavors are as vibrant as this. It takes several moments for him to reply, the root gently pushed to the side of his mouth so that he can keep savoring it.
"They are soft. I am not accustomed to sleep, or resting, and I suspect I will not wear them as often as the rest." Does one bring nightclothes out when on a mission, sleeping in tents, ready to fight or flee at the first word from a scout? One certainly uses them in a bedroom, but the Outsider does not have one. He suspects, however, that it may upset Thranduil to hear the latter, and so he adds- "I mean to travel as much as I can, to learn more about this world."
And he would rather like it if Thranduil accompanied him, but he will not ask. Even being cared for in this way is something he treats with some suspicion; less than he otherwise might, due to it being Thranduil who is doing it, but he is a cynical being. He has had every reason to be cynical.
I will be there shortly.
[ And potentially scare half of Skyhold in the process, as the quickest way to get there is to levitate off a rampart and then descent. ]
[ And potentially scare half of Skyhold in the process, as the quickest way to get there is to levitate off a rampart and then descent. ]
[Leaning against the barn wall, observing Kain's dracolisk that was brought back, Korrin startles a bit as she catches sight of him descending.]
Show-off. [It's said with a small smile.] You're going to make everyone jealous.
Show-off. [It's said with a small smile.] You're going to make everyone jealous.
Anais has finished truing the sleeves; taps the Outsider’s shoulder to signal he can lower his arms, and turns her attention to fussing with the back seam, murmuring to herself in Orlesian over the breadth of his shoulders—or so Thranduil thinks. He is not focusing the whole of his attention on listening to her.
“I have never seen the sea,” he admits, admits to an entity who reeks of it because somehow, instinctually, it resonates with something in Thranduil, some hint of the sea-longing. “’Tis dangerous, in its own way, for once a Sinda sees it, we must cross to the far shore or Fade from wanting.”
His voice trails off, at the end, and he is looking as if seeing something far away, even through the glamour his eyes fixed upon some far spot—and then he is returned to himself, hands neatly folded in his lap. “To have you as guide would be no small delight.”
“I have never seen the sea,” he admits, admits to an entity who reeks of it because somehow, instinctually, it resonates with something in Thranduil, some hint of the sea-longing. “’Tis dangerous, in its own way, for once a Sinda sees it, we must cross to the far shore or Fade from wanting.”
His voice trails off, at the end, and he is looking as if seeing something far away, even through the glamour his eyes fixed upon some far spot—and then he is returned to himself, hands neatly folded in his lap. “To have you as guide would be no small delight.”
Or cause them to come at me with swords.
[ But the small smile is returned with a slight lip quirk of his own. ]
[ But the small smile is returned with a slight lip quirk of his own. ]
His arms drop, and the Outsider at least attempts to listen to Anais for a moment before tuning it out, focusing on Thranduil once more. All it takes is the mention of the sea for his attention to be completely captured.
"Do you believe it will cause the same effect in this world?" Do you hope for it? Do you believe fading away will return you to the world you have been taken from, the son and the people and the kingdom you have been stolen from? The Outsider wonders, but does not ask. Not this time. "If so, I imagine we will have to find a ship."
They will cross to the far shore, if needed, even if it is not the same far shore that Thranduil means. Perhaps it will be the spirit of it that will fulfill the contract written in Sinda blood.
"I saw whales, when I went to Rivain. Did I tell you? A mother and her calf."
"Do you believe it will cause the same effect in this world?" Do you hope for it? Do you believe fading away will return you to the world you have been taken from, the son and the people and the kingdom you have been stolen from? The Outsider wonders, but does not ask. Not this time. "If so, I imagine we will have to find a ship."
They will cross to the far shore, if needed, even if it is not the same far shore that Thranduil means. Perhaps it will be the spirit of it that will fulfill the contract written in Sinda blood.
"I saw whales, when I went to Rivain. Did I tell you? A mother and her calf."
Here, they're probably getting used to weird shit. Outside, though, be careful. I'd rather not see a mob chasing you down.
[Reaching into her pocket, Korrin withdraws something though her fingers hide it for a moment.]
I went back up north for a mission. Didn't see any whales as close as we did that last time...not in the sea, anyway.
[She opens her hand to show a whale charm.]
[Reaching into her pocket, Korrin withdraws something though her fingers hide it for a moment.]
I went back up north for a mission. Didn't see any whales as close as we did that last time...not in the sea, anyway.
[She opens her hand to show a whale charm.]
He smiles; the slight curve of his lips that indicates reserved pleasure, which grows with a laugh- though far from at the Outsider's expense.
"No ship in Thedas will take me to Valinor, my friend. And were I to go, and throw myself at the feet of the Valar for aid in our little problem-- well, I would lose my audience when I berated them for allowing Thedas to be in such a state." But that offer, the kindness behind it, even though Duinenor can have no idea of the magnitude of it-- that is why he is fond of him, calls him 'friend' so carelessly and without his usual reserve. He runs his thumb over the silver tangle of branches that makes up a ring on his hand. "And I do not think the sea will raise the longing in me. Perhaps an echo, but those are easily silenced."
He is well trained in ignoring everything but the problem at hand by placing to the side his own desires. And more inclined to think on whales and their young than considering it in the first place. Thranduil's smile turns soft, and genuine; relaxed. "No, you did not. I have been told they sing. I would like to hear that. Tell me about the calf- how new was it?"
"No ship in Thedas will take me to Valinor, my friend. And were I to go, and throw myself at the feet of the Valar for aid in our little problem-- well, I would lose my audience when I berated them for allowing Thedas to be in such a state." But that offer, the kindness behind it, even though Duinenor can have no idea of the magnitude of it-- that is why he is fond of him, calls him 'friend' so carelessly and without his usual reserve. He runs his thumb over the silver tangle of branches that makes up a ring on his hand. "And I do not think the sea will raise the longing in me. Perhaps an echo, but those are easily silenced."
He is well trained in ignoring everything but the problem at hand by placing to the side his own desires. And more inclined to think on whales and their young than considering it in the first place. Thranduil's smile turns soft, and genuine; relaxed. "No, you did not. I have been told they sing. I would like to hear that. Tell me about the calf- how new was it?"
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