milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

The boxsplosion has been dealt with, and Shephard thanked Kanaya appropriately before taking his various Christmas gifts home. Except the mug- he's keeping that in one of the abstracted pockets of the jacket Kanaya gave him a while back, as he intends to make a point of using it where people can see. He's not drinking now, though. Alene, one of Mrs. Wilson's first litter, insisted on following him when he started putting things away, so she's trotting happily along behind him as he heads out to the target range. It's been a while since he's been able to get in any time with a bow, and he's got some recently fletched and tipped arrows to test out anyway. Best to have one of the houndeyes around in case someone- not naming any names, but they're probably French- wanders through. Again.

He'll be happy to talk in between flights, though.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Shephard nods. "We ain't got elves at all where I come from," he says, and has the good sense not to mention toys or Keebler cookies. "Magic some kind of problem for them?"

Hey, you never know. Maybe they're like Noriko's asshole parents flipping their shit about the mutant thing.

"Most people seem to fear powers and influences they do not and cannot possess. Religion only makes it worse."

She shrugs, mouth twitching into a faint smile as she watches Liranan hold still under Alene's assault -- so he does not send her flying -- then wriggle around ineffectually for awhile more.

"Those with magic are taken by the Chantry to Circles, where we are taught our powers under the watchful eye of the templars, knights with the power to nullify enchantments. If we cannot or will not master our skills, or if we seek to escape all these eyes, we are made Tranquil. Or killed. I cannot say it is wrong to be wary, either, for an unprepared mage or one weak of will may fall to demons and bring death out of the Fade and into the real world. I've seen it happen. But -- "

She shakes her head.

" -- so too is a man with a sword dangerous, if he knows how to use it well, and even moreso if he is good at making friends wherever he goes. And we do not jail all our soldiers."

A pause, and a half-laugh.

"Sorry. You can see, perhaps, why I prefer the freedom of being a Warden to the constraints of a Circle."

Edited 2014-12-30 17:47 (UTC)

Shephard makes a disgusted face, ignoring the dog and the 'dog' for a moment. "Can't say I blame you," he says. "Shit. That's some new shit on me, I got to say. There's folks here I know who git shit for havin' any kind of powers at all, back where they come from, but they ain't rounded up like that less'n there's some extra special assholes makin' trouble. 'Course, all's Nori c'n do is run super fuckin' fast'n throw lightning'n shit, not bring in demons."

He shakes his head again.

"Guess that means congratulations on bein' picked for the Wardens. Sounds like you got the better deal."

"Thanks."

Her expression brightens, for more than one reason.

"There's a chance the Circle in Ferelden will be abolished -- it's the boon I asked of the King, after the Blight. It -- I know something has to replace it, because mages need training, but it won't be a prison. It won't."

Liranan looks up sharply at the sound of her voice, then headbutts Alene in the side. Gently.

"And I won't let the Wardens become a prison, either. Though Maker knows who will become the new Warden-Commander -- Alistair certainly can't be, and aside from him and me there's nobody left."

Alene hops back a pace and shakes herself off; she's not sure what's going on, but that never seems to hurt much.

"There a reason you can't take the post?" says Shephard. "I'm speakin' from the point of view of the last man of the Corps who was fit to fight, myself."

"I might have to. We're too damaged -- Ferelden, I mean -- to readily trust any outsiders right now. I can't say I want it, because I hate being watched so keenly, but. Well."

She quirks a smile.

"Needs must, hmm?"

That gets a snort. "Want don't mean shit at a time like that," Shephard agrees. "Fuckin' pain in the ass, you ask me, but there it is. You Wardens got any kind of a History Division? Archives tend to make shit like startin' over easier."

Or, you know, magic thumbs where you accidentally got the blood of some kind of salmon of wisdom or something into your own circulatory system while out fishing with the Absinthe Faerie. That helps too.

"There's some scattered documentation around, but I think we'll have to send to Weisshaupt for anything more in-depth. They'll have to confirm the appointment, too, though that's largely a formality, or so I hear. Weisshaupt is the central command of the Wardens, but it's concerned primarily with its own affairs."

They can but hope.

Shephard nods. "Good luck," he says. "If it's anything like rebuildin' the Corps it's gonna be slow goin'. Least you ain't got to do it with a full-on Blight eatin' your newcomers, though. Reckon that's somethin'."

"It might be almost everything. I'm sorry that's how you had to reform your Corps, as it sounds like you did."

"Yeah..." Shephard runs a hand over his face. "Far as I c'n tell, all the others still fit to hold a gun or stand on two feet got killed or worse by the Combine. There might not be a whole lot of country left to defend any more, but fuck me if I'm gonna let that stop me from doin' it the only way I know how. 'Sides, I got orders. I ain't allowed to die until I've passed on all the history'n tradition to a whole 'nother couple generations of Marines."

He's only about half joking. When Captain America- any Captain America, including the time-lost version known as Rojhaz- gives you the order to do something before you die, you don't die until you've done that thing.

"Generations, is it?"

She musters a smile.

"You'll have to live a good long time, then. How is the next crop looking, if I might ask?"

"I'm twenty-six. Reckon I c'n make it to eighty if I ain't too stupid."

AAAH HAHA HA HA HAHAHA HAAAA *cough* sorry.

"Comin' along all right so far, I got to say. We ain't had to go to war against humans yet, most folks're still just glad to be out from under the Combine, but there's enough shit from other worlds still roamin' around out there for us to practice on and then some. I got more than a couple of folks who signed up just to make goddamn sure we didn't fuck things up any worse than they already were, but hell, long as they do their jobs I'll take that. Beats what I had to do to impress some of the first couple recruits."

"I'm nineteen, and if I'm supremely unlucky I'll live to be fifty. But I can see you making it to eighty."

Thirty years until the Calling, give or take. It's most likely to be take.

" . . . how terrifying is this impressive task you underwent?"

She's from a world with a hell of a lot of monsters and magic, and she's not human. It does not occur to Shephard that the life expectancy described is anything other than normal for someone of her ancestry and job description, so he just nods.

"I dunno that you'd call it terrifying. It just hurts like fuck," he says. "You ever been hit by an arrow, or a real fuckin' fast and heavy sling bullet or somethin' like that?"

Ysalwen is not about to elaborate, because it is depressing. Also awkward.

"Yes, and yes, and I've also been picked up and shaken by a dragon. That was -- particularly awful."

A pause.

"Did you let someone shoot you?"

"Naw. I mean, I been shot but that wasn't what happened," says Shephard. "See, I was tryin' to git some fellas from a tribe down in the Amazon jungles to join up, only thing is when boys in that tribe become men, they take these ants they got down there- black fuckers as long as my thumb- and let whole shitloads of those ants bite both their arms from finger to elbow for a good ten minutes straight. Bein' bit by one of those ants once hurts as much as bein' shot, and they ain't allowed to scream nor cry nor show the pain in any way until they take the ants off altogether. None of the folks in that tribe would take orders from someone who didn't do the same shit with the ants as them, so..."

". . . . the healers of your world must be great, indeed."

"I spent a lot of time drinkin' after it was over."

"That sounds like it was an excellent idea."

Boy howdy.

"It helped," Shephard says. "Got me some damn fine recruits, so I ain't gonna complain about it too much. I'm just fuckin' glad the others're easier to sign up."

"I can see how you would be. Congratulations on your fortitude. It's impressive even without the actual visual of you being stung."

She's just saying.

"Thank you kindly," says Shephard. "Here's hopin' you don't have to do nothin' like that yourself to git more Wardens. You got enough shit to deal with, sounds like."

"No, getting more Wardens is -- a very different matter to that. Failure is brought on by a lack of internal strength more than external."

She is not smiling now, not really.

"Could the ants have killed you?"

"Only if I'd'a had a weak heart," says Shephard.

Marine Corps boot camp could theoretically kill a recruit, but again, only if they had a physical issue to begin with, so he's not gonna mention that either.

"That rough, huh?"