TEST DRIVE MEME #4

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

Fenris | DA2 | So Damn Unseelie It Hurts

[restandbegrateful]

This is the Fade.

It was the only conclusion he could come to, upon the sight of the bizarre feast lain out before him, the strange creatures and half-men that populated it. His tongue curled in his mouth and he sucked on his teeth, nose wrinkling in deep and obvious distaste.

He snatched a goblet of wine from a passing tray, almost with enough violence to make its bearer stumble... and looked around for any familiar face, jaw clenching. Though it's clear he's searching the crowd, he'll not stoop to asking any assistance, and for the most part brushes off the other party-goers, shouldering through knots of them in conversation where it suits him, while he's crossing to the celebration's other side, aiming for the doors which lead to the courtyard.

[unluckyfate]

Fenris? It had to be, unless there was some other grumpy white haired elf with lyrium tattoos. For a moment Hawke almost let him go by without a word or a gesture. Then with a sigh at herself, she pushed after him.

"Fenris!" Only she wasn't quite sure what to say after that.

[restandbegrateful]

Fenris hears his own name in the familiar voice and throws back the remainder of his wine, downing it in a neat swallow, sidestepping a burly armored knight to spare his unshod feet. The pad of his thumb rubbed the lingering wetness from his thin-lipped mouth while he made for the source of the voice. One hand went to her shoulder when he found her, and he spoke low and quiet, with a sharply mistrustful look to their surroundings.

"Hawke," he murmured, urgently, "Did you bring us here? What part of the Fade is this?" His upper lip curled in a restrained snarl.

Sorry for the lateness orz

[unluckyfate]

His touch causes her to tense,slightly. Things had not always been easy the last few years. She is silent only for a moment as her usual quips and playful banter fail her. "No, I didn't. I don't think this is the fade. If doesn't feel the same."

no worries!

[restandbegrateful]

His lips thinned, and he looked away; her words realize his worst fears.

That there is no ready explanation.

Fenris inhaled a breath, nostrils flaring, and straightened. To any observer, his hip-canted posture might have looked relaxed. Casual.

She knew him well enough to read all the subtle signs of deep tension and distrust.

"It's a trap of some kind. We should leave."

[unluckyfate]

You better believe she knows exactly how tense he is. She too is uneasy, though she hides it with her usual flippant smile. "If this is a a trap it is a clever one. No one has jumped out demanding my blood or your head-- so I think we might be able to enjoy the festivities if only for a little while. Besides we have no idea where we are. It might be beneficial to first find out what it is we are fleeing from."

[restandbegrateful]

Fenris made no effort to hide his displeasure, face screwing up into a tight scowl. "Hawke," he muttered, "I hope this isn't again one of those cases where your easy trust gives us cause to bleed." He'd long ago learned to avoid anything that seemed too good to be true.

Or too surreal to fit into his narrow view of the world.

[unluckyfate]

She tries to look offended, except he is right. Her ability to trust people too easily has led to some interesting problems in the past. Still, it wasn't always the case. "I didn't do anything this time I swear. I am just as confused about this as you are."

AHHH ARE YOU THE HAWKE WHO APPED!?

[restandbegrateful]

He paused, seeing her so, and shifted uncomfortably.

"... I see."

His insides twisted like mating snakes. "We've practically got targets painted on us here in the middle of things. Stay if you like. I'll be nearer the far wall, there," and he pointed it out, "Ready to move, if you need me."

Yeeesss?

[unluckyfate]

She glanced around, looking at the people mingling. So far threat did not seem eminent, but then it usually never was. "Try not to glare at anyone too much. There is no sense in angering anyone unless we have to. I'll see what I can find out about why it is we are here and see if anyone else that we know is here as well."

he has angry elf experience

[gwynbleidd]

It's not hard to spot Fenris, and when he does, he is immensely curious. To him, white hair can usually mean witcher, and it's weird to think of another witcher he can't recognize in this place. It's weirder still to notice that this person may, in fact, be elvish.

So he carefully stalks Fenris through the crowd of revelers from some distance away, keeping his eyes on the white hair until it heads for the door to leave. That's slightly good to know: the two of them aren't very keen on being in a room full of strangers in a strange place.

He waits a moment, perhaps in preparation for an ambush he knows will probably come, and then he exits through the doors cautiously.

/banshee screech of delight

[restandbegrateful]

Fenris has been stalked before.

He picks up on his follower quickly, keen elven senses all cast outward, already suspicious of this unfamiliar surrounding... but he gives no outward sign of his knowledge, instead palming a small, sharp knife from a wooden board of hard cured meats as he passes it.

The short elf also takes a sloppy swallow of the wine he'd snatched to cover the motion.

He pads through the impressively tall, heavy doors to the hall... and neatly slides aside when he sees they are unguarded and that the torches in the courtyard beyond are far, the guard thin. He pressed his back against the stone, waiting, watching the doorway, turning the horn handle of the knife in his hand in a restless fidget. Took another sip of wine, eyes narrowed.

[gwynbleidd]

Expecting a full ambush from either the left or the right from a wary elf, he is surprised to find instead a guarded waiting. He lets the doors shut behind him, but doesn't move, not even to raise his hands in a show of good peace. Elves that can fight are not elves to take lightly.

"You're not a witcher," he says without turning his head, though the observation is more of a reassurance to himself than to Fenris. There's a short pause, then he adds, "I'm not going to attack you."

[restandbegrateful]

Fenris thinks somehow he has misheard, and assumes the grizzled man before him is a Templar hunter of mages. Immediately, his guarded posture relaxes somewhat, and he turns the knife in his hand again, considering.

"I'm no apostate, hunter," he said, as if in agreement. "Though I was traveling with one before we were brought here. And if you mean to move against her, I warn you, I will rip the heart from your breast and ram the muscle of it down your own throat." He paused a beat, searching the taller, broader man's features before taking a shallow sip of his wine.

There was, perhaps, a sense that he meant this threat quite literally.

[gwynbleidd]

Oh. The elf thought he hunted sorcerers. That was new. He has been accused of a lot, but never hunting down mages.

Finally, he turns his head to fully look at the elf glued to the wall. Drinking, too. That's never good. The elf's words make him think of Triss, however, but he doesn't believe Triss is who is being discussed. "I'll keep that in mind." Note to self: don't mess with any sorceresses he comes across. At least he knows Fenris may perhaps mean well in terms of personal loyalty. Now he's reminded of Iorveth.

"I don't hunt sorceresses," he explains. "I was with one myself. I hunt monsters." But he leaves any interpretation of that up to Fenris to decipher. "I mistook you for a fellow witcher," he continues, surverying the peculiar markings on the elf's skin, "because of your hair."

[restandbegrateful]

Fenris went very still, pale brows drawing into a dark furrow. His forefinger tapped the goblet he held, thinking hard and fast, despite how his skin was crawling. Had more like him been made...?

That word again. Witcher. "And for a moment I thought I'd been blending in," he noted, dryly. "What is a... witcher?"

[gwynbleidd]

Geralt knows about blending in, or, rather, he knows about not blending in. He's easy to spot, and people always know what to call him when they do.

Here is surprisingly different. Almost refreshing. He hasn't been called Witcher since arriving. "A monster hunter," he says, but this time he decides to clarify since Fenris bothered to ask. "We're paid to hunt beasts."

But not all beasts are monsters, and not all monsters are beasts.

[restandbegrateful]

Guardedly, he presses for more information. "And what is it about being a witcher that gives one white hair?" Lyrium, he thinks, though hearing that they are monster-hunters, he's less certain.

He drains the last of his glass, leaning his shoulder upon the stone so that he can face this stranger more fully, assessing him with care. He sets the knife he'd been holding between the leather straps of his belt where they double up over his left hip.

[gwynbleidd]

For a moment, he isn't sure what all to disclose. It's not that it's a sore subject for him to discuss, or that he's suspicious of Fenris knowing, but he already gets that many people won't understand the ritual, or will judge, or will be just plain afraid. "A side effect of mutagens. Our bodies have been adapted to give us abilities for fighting monsters." He doesn't mention these are done to children who have a great risk of dying; that's not common knowledge, and they are already labeled as freaks as it is.

"You got white hair a different way," he adds after a moment, quietly. It's probing stuck in an observation, but he knows it's true.

[restandbegrateful]

Mutagens is a word unfamiliar to Fenris, but he understands the rest well enough. His lips thin a little as he assesses this, holding the goblet between the pads of his middle finger and thumb, letting it pendulumn in very subtle movements.

"A different way, yes. But in the end, we were both changed. Were you made stronger to suit the designs of another, or did you choose it for yourself?"

[gwynbleidd]

And that's the catch. There's really only one answer, and Geralt would feel worse lying to this suspicious elf than he would admitting the truth.

"To suit another," he admits indifferently.

[restandbegrateful]

It's enough. Somehow. Enough to quiet the loudest of his suspicions and reservations, if only for a while. Later he might tell himself that the wine emboldened him; or the stranger's frank, simple earnestness.

Fenris caught Geralt's gaze and held it, offering his gauntleted hand between them.

"I'm called Fenris."

[gwynbleidd]

Typically, he doesn't really shake many hands--mostly because not many people want to shake his--but he does reach out to shake Fenris' out of politeness. "Geralt." He would add the usual of Rivia, but that's a bit irrelevant here.

Better than being jumped after coming through the doors. "You haven't seen any familiar faces here, have you?"

[restandbegrateful]

The grip was firm and brief.

"Only one," Fenris informed, with a fleeting look towards the sound of the revelry, thin lips drawing thinner still.

"And I don't mean for us to linger. The smell of so much bullshit offends."

[enthraller]

There's definitely irony in Fenris' bemusement over the "strange creatures" here. His odd markings and bits of anatomy are certainly eye-catching enough, and his attitude alone marks him as being yet another guest here, rather than just another native fairy-thing. Either way, elves just aren't a thing where Saralegui comes from, and watching the man push his way through the crowd, the urge to figure this particularly oddity out is a bit overwhelming.

He can't help it, he's just a curious sort. Unknown things gnaw at the back of his mind in the most maddening way until he can satisfy the need for knowledge. Back home, that sort of thing could often be taken care of with research and a good information network, but here? There's just too much strangeness to take it all in at once, and no way of prioritizing easily. Sometimes, it's best to just dive right in and pursue the more immediate questions himself.

So Saralegui positions himself at the edge of the crowd, able to fall into step beside the white-haired man where he might not be brushed off so easily.

"Looking for something? Or someone, I'd guess?"