illithidnapped | INBOX II

It depends on how you look at it, I suspect.

On the one hand: there's far less rampant sexism within the department, which is a relief. Most people are clever enough, or at the very least not stupid, which is also a boon. There's a unification that comes of having a set few goals, and learning of other worlds from an individualistic point of view has been fascinating.

On the other hand . . .

[She pauses for a moment, frowning.]

I have no interest in the affairs of this world. Stopping Corypheus means nothing to me. And so I find myself at odds with those more entrenched within the politics of this world, for their goals are about stopping a god, and mine are simply leaving. And I find the endless moralizing tiring.

What of yours?

[Oh but hold on now— ]

Are you not concerned about said god finding you before you've finished facilitating your escape?

Not particularly.

[Should she be? Perhaps. But it's very hard to attach herself to the world. Harder still to remember that she's temporarily mortal once more, and subject to all the whims and wills that comes with such a status.]

I have served under evil men before. I do not particularly relish doing it again— and yet I will, if that's what it takes.

Don't mistake me: I don't relish the thought. It would be better if he were killed, I have no doubt, and his forces scattered and disposed of. But I'm not going to throw myself into a conflict I have no stake in, not when I'm a mere visitor.

Do you not feel the same?

[He's lying to himself by way of pressing Fenris' deep-throated tenor to the back of his mind for just a fleeting moment, obscuring the obvious (first) thought that comes to mind when he imagines either flight or freedom; it's there, bearing down along his spine with all the weight of an undeniable truth, but there's a great deal Astarion finds himself capable of ignoring when he sets his mind to it.

It isn't a denial. He's not so stubborn as to shun the only good thing he's ever known for the sake of saving face, although it's taken time to make peace with the idea of letting someone into his long shadow. But if he's to mask what could be used against him— against them— or seen by higher hands as liability, well, the logic that he leans on needs to function like his first.]

Unless you've unearthed a loophole that I've yet to find: no, my dear, I do not.

Kirkwall is our weakness, after all. All Corypheus need do is take the city in a southbound show of force, and wait: it won't take longer than a month for us to either be caught funneling in or out like rats to alleviate the burning of our anchor shards, and he'll have all the Rifters he pleases for those rumored experiments of his.

Ergo until something changes or we find a much more viable way out, call me our most devoted soldier.

[He's not wrong. Rosalind glances at her hand, grimacing as green light glints back up at her. Easy to think that she would rise to the top, and perhaps she would. Brilliance has a way of surviving, and she is no stranger to manipulation, but . . . it isn't a guarantee. There are so many stupid people out there, after all, and rarely do they listen to their captives. How long would she spend rotting in prison cell, or screaming at the hands of some sadist with a blade and red lyrium? And all for nothing.]

I suppose we shall see. Though your efforts seem to be paying off so far.

[Her fingers close, sealing away that light. It's as close to you're right and I have avoided thinking about the realities of this world as she'll get without further prompting.]

Would you care so much if you had a way out?

[Or would you leave as I plan to? It's a real question, for she's as foreign to morality as she is this world, and it helps to hear what others think.]

Only for you, I mean. If you had a doorway into another world . . . would you stay and fight, or flee?

[There's something about the mansion that makes it feel emptier when only Astarion is present. There's more weight to the dagger at his hip, and he feels more avidly the softer calfskin of dark gloves against his fingers, as though even his own consciousness is determinedly swearing that the wind whistling against stone isn't the same curdling hiss of air through mausoleum walls.

Permanence is a hard concept for his mind, apparently.

But it makes it easier to consider what she means— what she really means— when she asks those questions.]

Well now that depends on what's on the other side, wouldn't it?

[Has all the conveyed tone of a quill twirling idly between fingers, crowishly unfettered.]

'Better or worse than Corypheus' seems an easy enough metric of measurement until you start factoring in whether it not one can come back once they've broached that crossing—

[His pen traits off abruptly; curiosity fills the void.]

Do you actually remember all the other worlds you went through?

[It isn't no, I could never abandon the others to this fate, and that's something. She isn't certain what it means, exactly, but it's . . . mm. Comforting, perhaps, in a strange sort of way. Pleasing to have confirmation she isn't the only one who thinks first and foremost of herself.]

No.

Not all of them. Some better than others, but to remember all of them would be to go insane. Some linger, for better or for worse, and all were fascinating. But we visited countless ones, all of them unique.

Why?

Curiosity.

I've tumbled out the other side of only one rift and happened on a world where elves are societally tread upon and magic is— in some cases quite literally— a blight. It begs the question of odds in flight. Whether it's worth attempting to even leave in the first place.

It begs the question of just how nasty our universe can get.

The answer is, of course, both.

[And what a helpful answer that is.]

There are thousands of worlds in which elves rule over all other sentient species, or live peacefully among them. Others where they alone are the sole species in the world, and their lands stretch out as far as the eye can see. Even more where they don't exist at all, save in myth and legend.

It's a gamble, as unsatisfying an answer as that is. Whatever you can imagine has a world and a counterpart.

But there are times when anything is better than where you are.

We aren't there yet with Thedas— though I can respect that my position is easier than yours here. But it may be worth the gamble if Corypheus does indeed attain his victory.

[. . .]

But for what it's worth: in my living memory, Thedas is the only world I have encountered where elves are treated as chattel, not revered. So the odds may well be in your favor.

[Or not! That's quantum for you. Fucking quantum.]

If you wish to hear more of what I recall, I will tell you. But not like this, for it would take pages upon pages. Bring over a bottle of wine some evening, perhaps, and we will speak.

[Heads or tails: his odds have never been good, or kind, or merciful, or even mildly disdainful.

But at least he trusts she isn't lying when she pens those words. She doesn't seem the sort for pity or pandering.

She does, and doesn't, seem like him.]

A bottle of wine?

Nonsense my clever little mind. I tell you what, I'll supply the goods you're after— hand delivered— to whatever port or promenade you call your own, and there you'll teach me everything you know.

Well.

Everything you please, anyway. I suspect everything you know would take the rest of my eternity and we both have our schedules, after all.

Deal?

[So it's on me to supply the wine, then, she drawls to no one, an old habit that's hard to break. And though nothing and no one will ever come close to Robert . . .

Well. This fellow is agreeable enough, and seems to have that rare quality of charm, intellect, and common sense that's such a rare trio among the population. And there are worse things than having an audience to hear her pontificate.

And maybe he'll be a useful set of hands once she goes about building all of what he delivers.]

I'll hold you to that, if you truly wish to learn.

Bring them here.[An address written in neat script: a Hightown townhouse, though not one of the prettier ones.] Tell me whenever you plan to go, for I do not take well to surprise guests.

[That is to say:]

Deal.

INBOX II

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wow whether or not, not whether it not, gj sick me

*PERFECT job sick you :3

no subject

no subject