villagelogs | 065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 065-071
WHAT: The residents of Mathias reunite under unnerving conditions.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross "Outside"

DAY 065-071
ASSIGN TO OBLIVION
“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes
place in the interim, there are some things we can never
assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.”
— Haruki Murakami

Only two days have passed since the town was fractured, leaving residents cut off from those they'd come to know and even care for. A mere two days of wandering the new streets, uncovering more secrets that continue to make little sense of this strange place. Two days with sunrises, sunsets, and nights that seem like any other.

And yet.

When residents wake on this third day, they will find that much has changed. All around them, wherever they may be, there are signs that time has passed without them. Dust covers everything, indoors and out, even areas that were spotlessly clean seemingly hours ago. The residents themselves are covered as well, dust clinging to their hair, skin, and clothing—

Clothing that they may not have been wearing when they went to sleep. Each resident, regardless of the state they were in previously, is now clad in a pair of white pajamas, with long pants and button-up shirts. Those who thoroughly explored Baneberry Hall will easily recognize these articles as identical to those well-stocked in the decaying great house. On top of this, the clothes they wore from home have disappeared, along with anything else they may have brought with them when they arrived or items from home that have been found within the borders of Mathias.

There is no sign that anyone has entered their place of shelter, nor is there any sign of what may have been done with these items or how they came to be wearing these clothes. The dust all around them is undisturbed, almost as if they had been sleeping there for quite some time, though it seems impossible for such a thing to have occurred naturally.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the lawn of Town Hall, at the center of the little town square. They, too, are bereft of any items from home and clothed in the identical white pajamas. There are shops all around them, with houses just beyond, and at first glance, everything seems almost picturesque. Except for the silence that is at times so complete as to be maddening... Welcome to Mathias.

SUMMERTIME
— When summer arrives, so too does an outdoor stand in front of the General Store. Sporting a handpainted sign proclaiming Whateley Farm, the stand is overflowing with a variety of produce: berries, plums, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, green beans, leeks, onions, peppers, potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, and garlic bulbs. These do not replace the produce offerings normally found inside the market, but they do behave strangely. The stand replenishes sporadically, sometimes every other day or every five days. There is no discernible pattern to when it replenishes, nor is there any sign of how it came to be there at all.

— With the now-complete reverse change of season, much of the autumn debris has cleared from around town. Only a few stray leaves and fallen branches remain, their crisp colors at odds with the warm summer days. The forest has also cleared of much of the fall detritus, making it easier to both follow the paths and potentially spy things that might be out of the ordinary.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER Summer has arrived in Mathias, bringing with it warm days that average 70°F and comfortably cool nights. The skies are clear throughout the week save for Day 68 when a light rain falls from a grey sky throughout the day.

— THE FOG has maintained its new boundaries.
— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated from the western section of town entirely.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.

— DISAPPEARANCES AND DEATHS continue! Max Guevara and Liz Brundy have disappeared, and now that everyone is back together, residents will notice that Yennefer, Number Five, and Tony Stark have also vanished.

— ALCOHOL supplies have run dry, save for any dregs that have been squirreled away by individual residents. Moonshine can still be acquired by those in desperate need.

OOC NOTES
— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made. IC events are also helpful to know about in advance so they can be included in the log write-ups.

— MOD STATUS My non-RP life is busy and chaotic and I continue to ask for your forgiveness and understanding as game things continue to be slower, as I cannot promise timely mod responses beyond weekends and even that is not wholly guaranteed.

— ITEMS FROM HOME All items from home that characters would normally possess have vanished for this log and will return in the next. This includes clothing and possessions they had when they arrived in Mathias, items that were found in the rain, and items that were found in Baneberry Hall and removed from the property. Items from home that were left behind by other characters no longer in the game have also vanished. (All other items and clothing still remain, it is only items from characters' homes that have disappeared.)

— BANEBERRY ITEMS The items from home that were not removed from Baneberry Hall in the last log have vanished from the property. These items will not reappear in the next log. (Please be sure to comment in the appropriate spot on those logs about the state of your character's item for inventory purposes, ie whether they were removed from the property or left behind.)

— ACTIVITY CHECK Beginning with June's AC (posted at the start of July), all tags that consist of only dialogue will count as 0.5 points, not just those that occur in an inbox thread — this applies to both AC and AP totals. This adjustment is an extension of what has been in place since the start of the game: that all dialogue-only inbox tags counted for a half-point. Since such tags have occurred regularly in log threads as well, the half-point status is simply being extended to all tags regardless of location in order to be fairer in point distribution. (Examples will be provided in the AC post to assist with proper counting.)

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"1,500? My goodness." He clears his throat again, giving it a little time to adjust before he dares another sip.

"What does a Deputy Marshal do? Is it an army rank or something else?" He sips slowly, it's definitely getting a little easier. The first taste hit his stomach like a rock but the burning is so delightful he doesn't mind much. He'll mind it less when it starts swimming pleasantly in his head. He might be a little dehydrated from the heat and wandering, likely hasn't eaten much all day either.

"A wrestler?" He quirks a brow at the thought, he knows what the word means of course, but wasn't aware it could be used as if to mean some kind of profession. At least that's how the context seems to be. He can't help but chuckle as his mind goes elsewhere, however.

"He's likely done a lot of wrestling in his free time." Monsters, people in his bed, drunken horsing around with his companions, with his emotions or religious turmoil.

"It's a very fitting name, if you ever met the man, he's a Qunari. They are built solid, large, metallic-skinned and they all have a varied rack of horns on their heads. He just so happens to look like a steer. Long out to about here--" He motions from his forehead out to the sides with his hands to show how big Iron Bull's horns are, then points up for emphasis.

"And pointed up at the ends for goring. He's quite a sight in battle, charging head-long into anyone stupid enough to stand in his way." He ponders the rest of his response, grinning a little more.

"Yes, we have many types of dragons, and Bull loves to fight them. I'm glad to say I haven't ever actually swallowed dragons fire, I don't think I'd be standing here otherwise. Imagine what that would do to my velvety voice?" He tsks. Said voice, btw, is very victorian foppish with his accent, very prim and proper sounding.

"What a shame. But in any case. They tend to come in all shapes and sizes and spit all manner of different elemental death." He pauses.

"So, for all of the awful things I've heard of this place, there aren't any Dragons?"

"We work for the civil government, chasin' down bad people. Sometimes that's fugitives, or prisoners in need of transfer. Sometimes that's chasin' a hillbilly into a swamp and draggin' him from gators. Broad job." He was a Justice Man. Good news is that Justice Man knew where the food in the kitchen was and how to put it together in ways that weren't guaranteed to kill someone.

"A what-" Rhetorical question, considering the way Raylan's head pulled back with a little shake as he worked through that, hazel eyes narrowing with it all before he huffed out an incredulous laugh and emptied his glass in one swallow. If it wasn't for Quinten Coldwater, he'd be a lot less prepared for hearing all this.

He waves a hand- "Wait a minute. He fights dragons? A giant man. With horns. Fights Dragons." Raylan poured himself another drink as he continued. "Dragons, in your world, are.. real. Like real actual dragons. Like Big ass, fire breathing gold hoarding dragons. Different colors? And not having them is a.. a bad thing?"

Edited 2021-07-08 01:09 (UTC)

Dorian keeps the information tucked away in his mind, likening the man's former profession to something like a Templar. He doesn't think that will mean any trouble for him of course, different worlds, different forms of law and justice, but it's good to note. He supposes that sort of thing -- his knowledge and skills because of his job and a healthy moral standing-- will be very useful here.

It's amusing the way the other stutters in his disbelief, watching him try to parse through the very real things he was describing. If he's honest with himself it's rather refreshing meeting someone who's never met the horrors he has face to face. Especially in a world that is completely alien to him. It makes him feel a little less alone, in a way.

"Yes, very enthusiastically." He lays a hand on his chest, "I personally do not share his vim and vigor for facing down something that could probably swallow me whole or turn me to ash with one breath, but he enjoys the challenge. Something about taking down a big, ferocious creature makes him feel powerful and strong."

He shakes his head, "For me, facing down such a thing make me want to vomit, but like a fool, I stand there lobbing everything in my arsenal at it to keep us all alive."

He drinks the rest of his moonshine, wincing and making a short, squeezed-off sort of noise of disgust, like someone sucking on a lemon. He shakes it off though and slides the glass forward for more. He'll get the hang of this yet.

"No, good heavens, I would count us all lucky they don't exist here. But I assure you they are very real. I don't know about the gold hoarding part, but they do often have some valuable things stashed about. Otherwise, we can usually get quite a lot of money for their parts, skin, teeth, claws.. the leather of their wings, or their organs. Their head is typically taken to be mounted somewhere in the keep." He'll fold his hands on the bar.

"I personally have only been along for one dragon encounter, and that was one dragon enough for me, thank you."

Edited 2021-07-08 01:32 (UTC)

It wouldn't mean trouble for Dorian unless he started gutting or hurting people, neither of which looked like this particular man's gig. He'd be fine.

Later, Raylan would appreciate the fact that Dorian didn't laugh in his face but for now, all he could do was screw up his face and stare as he listened to the answers to his questions. Who was this minotaur sounding person? Raylan had a lot more questions about Skyhold, now that the walls of expectation, however low it was in the first place, had been blown off their foundations.

What little he knew of D&D sprung to mind, but what else could be expected when you brought dragons and Iron Bull into a situation. Raylan lifted and pointed one finger but didn't interrupt, even turning that hand in concession that yes, good - Dragons here would be the worst cherry on top the shit pie.

"Good to know that capitalism is alive and well-" He almost said 'Universially' but that wasn't quite accurate was it. Multiversially? Was that even a word? 'Keep' was a word he understood in context, but it didn't drag him far from his first D&D foundational understanding. The best anyone could ask for, really. "I-uh.."

He had questions.

But first, moonshine. Raylan gestured for Dorian to wait and he drained his glass with a gentle hiss before pouring another and leaning onto his side of the bar, one hand left up for the gesturing that he couldn't help. "'Keep' makes you sound like you're out of some kinda Medieval age which 'Dragons' doesn't help but - 'Your arsenal'. Might I ask what types of things are in your arsenal?"

Weapons was something else he was interested in, generally speaking. Useful tools.

"Keep as in the remains of a fortress on a big snowy mountain that the Inquisition has put down roots in. We are the only thing standing between the world and certain doom. For the abridged version in any case. There is a lot more to it, of course, politics, war, a great undead dragon, and a man who thinks himself a God, you know. The usual." That's a joke. At least, he hopes most people aren't facing the same things they do on a daily basis.

Dorian will pick up his glass once full again for another swig. It's getting easier, he's fairly certain he didn't wince as much this time.

"My arsenal," He lifts a hand, unfurls his fingers from his palm then stops and thinks better of it.

"Well, I would happily show you but as it stands this world is making my magic a little unstable so I don't want to potentially set the bar on fire. I'm a Mage if that explains any. I have a few elements and some healing or shielding abilities. When they work properly. I imagine if I had my staff or at least a spellbook to use for focus we may all fare better for it. But alas. Not so lucky."

A wistful sigh, "Anyway, needless to say, I'm a little out of my element here, most of this place is unfamiliar ground for me. So if there are any pointers you have or suggestions, I'm all ears. I feel rather useless."

"Not the Spanish Inquisition, I hope." Joke aside, nothing with the name 'Inquisition' brought good things with it. But If Dorian was on that side, maybe it was worth a review later, when he had more information. "But that sounds about right for any place that houses any version of humanity."

There would always be those most basic things. Religion. Power. Dynasties and Governments and Kings and Tyrants. War. Suffering. But also Spring. Flowers. Good things. Raylan tried to keep that in mind when he got too far into the weeds.

The furl of fingers was telling enough and Raylan straightened, gaze inquisitive but not hostile or panicked. "You're not the only one." He blinked and realized Dorian would need more than that.

"Not the only Magician, Mage, Bard, Magic user, Gifted, whatever you want to call it," Raylan started, waving off that argument before it could begin. "I'm not the arbiter of nomenclature. And not the only one that's finding things aren't as they should be with.. all. that." He gestured with his just now recaptured glass before taking a sip and bobbing his head.

"As far as your element, well." Raylan bobbed his head and winced sympathetically. "There's frightening little to do here that doesn't result in painful things. You could catch yourself up on all of Earth's culture via Reel Rentals, though I'm fairly sure we'll look just as ridiculous as we are. There's a garden that's found itself free of gardeners and we've got tunnels to map out to completion. The rest is just.." He took a deep breath and shook his head again, useless himself. "Survivalism. I've got a boat load of pointers, but - I'm not the first face you're seein' here, am I? How's about we start with what you already know, that might make it easier."

"No, at least, I don't think so, the army and allies we've gathered are from all over our world." Spanish isn't a familiar term to him but he gets the gist of it being a people or region perhaps? Whereas their Inquisition is an eclectic gathering of people trying to do the right thing.

"And we're sort of a neutral party trying to save the world when no one else will. We aren't everyone's favorite, but the intent is in the right place. Better than the Chantry or even my people from Tevinter. Smack dab in the middle of a lot of chaos, trying to sort it all out." He waves a hand, there's a lot A LOT he could ramble on about but that's for another time. Or not at all, honestly, it's exhausting.

Also, sorry Raylan the joke is lost on him. He listens intently though as he talks of other magic users, nodding along and taking another sip of his moonshine.

"I'll be very curious to study your culture. You may find me at the Library on the daily, it'll at least keep me busy I'm sure. The garden and tunnels are new information." To the rest though he sits in thought, tapping his chin.

"Well, let's see, I gather the general feeling about this place is that it's awful and dangerous, with no shortage of things trying to kill us. There aren't any answers as to why we are here or how we all got here, and I've been told I likely won't find those answers. Not that that'll stop me, mind you." His eyes drift upwards as he thinks.

"The Fog is unpleasant and I should stay away from it. Find shelter at night, as it's especially dangerous when it's dark. There seems to only be a handful of us. All of which have various skills to contribute at least. At least our gracious faceless overlords have decided to feed us and provide supplies, but it all appears that their goal is to make our lives miserable." A shrug and a sigh.

"At least I'm familiar with surviving, not exactly excited about the idea, but I'll get by."

"Takes a lotta work and sacrifice to stay neutral. And to save the world." It could get messy and complicated. He wasn't going to ask, brain already far too happy to fill out all the High Fantasy details for now. The politics of it sounded exhausting. There was a reason that Raylan wasn't higher up and it largely had to do with paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. The size of his file didn't exactly help matters though.

Dorian fought a Dragon which definitely put him on the good side of the line, right? Until he was given a different vibe, that's what Raylan was going to assume.

"A reader, huh?" He bobbed his head, lips pulling in approval. "Good." This might mean that Dorian might make better heads or tails of what they already know, what they already had.

"Well, those are the basics, yeah. Suvivalism isn't the hardest thing here, by far. Well, outside of one blip in supplies. Anyone mention the Cult we're huntin' after? Spooky spirals on cave walls and in the houses?"

"You have no idea." He gives a soft dry chuckle, finishing off his second glass of moonshine and shaking his head with a wince, and pushing the glass forward. No more, for now, this is sitting heavily but warm in his system, slowly making him relaxed and a little light.

Dorian is one of the good guys, despite what he may or may not say about himself in jest. At least, he tries to be one of the good ones, he knows there is plenty in his past that would say otherwise, but compared to his countrymen he's leaps and bounds above. He's doing his damnedest to do the right thing.

"An avid reader, yes, but to be fair there isn't a whole lot else to do at times. I'll certainly be interested to peruse the selection in the library and learn what I can." He sighs, folding his hands in front of him.

"Hm, no, I haven't heard of a Cult yet, I don't believe. Sounds like something in my wheelhouse though. I've seen similar things back home. In fact, I have a way of detecting magical glyphs like that or potentially revealing hidden things, assuming it even works in this world, however. Considering the trouble I'm having with my magic, it may not be something I can do but may be worth a shot."

Edited 2021-07-12 17:27 (UTC)

Raylan took the shake of the head for what it was and didn't fill up Dorian's glass with more. He was sure the man could already see why it was dangerous when it was free flowing in a full, merry room. Took those unused to it's 'charms' fairly quickly.

"You'll find that's often the case here too, but I'm terribly interested to see what you think of our genre of fantasy fiction." What would a person from that kind of world think? Then again, if he ran across alien westerns, he'd be all in out of curiosity alone.

"Mm, just so long as you're aware of what the costs might be. Obviously, you're not the first Mage, Magician, Occult Specialist, whatever you'd like the general application label to be - to try. Last guy I watched do it coughed up a piece of his lung, though we can't say that thirty plus years of smoking and the effort of castin' wasn't enough to do that on it's own. Even if you don't opt to take that chance, experience is a hellva teacher and considerin' we don't have any weapons here, we are functioning on a more baser 'Knowledge is Power' kinda scale."

Raylan considered him over the rim of his glass. "It's the shittiest follow-up cart to the welcome wagon, and I do apologize about that. Good news is that you're mostly caught up.

And to think I used to just chase assholes up and down hills." He chuckled and threw back the rest of his glass, corking the bottle and tucking it away again. That was probably enough for the afternoon. Once the evening came, he could start all over again.

Dorian isn't too proud to admit his limit, especially with a new and fairly strong spirit he's imbibing. He has a lot he wants to accomplish in the morning, or even in the next few hours, so he'll wait it out and see what Moonshine does to him. For now, he's comfortable and loose, despite some heavier topics of conversation.

He can't help but to laugh softly, "Oh, don't worry, you'll be the first one I'll give my review to. Can I usually find you here? Or do you haunt other places?"

Then a pause to consider Raylan's job description, "And you got paid for that?"

A scoff, "Templar are the law enforcers where I'm from so if that's anything like what you used to do then if you were from my world you'd be chasing this ass up and down Thedas in an attempt to corral me home, I'd wager. Or try to arrest me and put me in a Circle."

He hums in thought and smiles, moustache curling just so as he rests his chin in his hands, "At least you'd have something nice to look at whilst chasing me around."

He's normally flirtatious and quite vain when it comes to his own good looks. Though this part of him doesn't typically and immediately pop out around strangers. Well, he loves talking, especially about himself, but the flirting is typically reserved for at least the second or third time they run into one another. Blame it on the moonshine for having him in a warm and comfortable place. His tolerance is fairly good, but the Moonshine is proving to be formidable.

Nothing good ever came from Men who were too proud, so better that Dorian called it when he felt it was appropriate. He'd find very little of the toxic masculine kind of mocking competition around that sort of thing. Well, except maybe at one of the rare parties they threw.

Smiles beget smiles and Raylan was happy enough to provide one in return. It didn't hurt that he knew that it was a good look for himself. "Here, Phillips Drive, the tree line, the fog line, Stoker Park way.. I'm around. Easy enough to find. Oh. You should be warned. There's another dude that has.. very very similar features runnin' around. There's been confusion before. And no, I don't get paid for this. But it keeps me busy when I'm here."

Something to do, to keep his hands busy. As Dorian went on, the smile broke into a grin and Raylan bobbed his head and eyebrows good naturedly. "Anything that adds to the joy of gettin' the man I'm after." No, he wasn't arguing a very fair point. "But I doubt you're gonna be doin' anything that'll even stir that particular call to arms. Unless you're the kind to assultin' innocent people. I mean, honestly, the bar is pretty low."

Noting the slumped position Dorian had taken, Raylan continued. "You eaten recently? If you have and you're still feelin' wobbly, walkin' helps."

Edited 2021-07-14 01:18 (UTC)

Dorian's slender brows loft as he lists off the various locations and his head bobs along as he describes his face twin.

"Another man that looks like you? No relation?" He lets that image swim about in his mind a moment trying and failing not to let his thoughts go right into the gutter about it. Look. You don't stand there and tell a man that there are TWO identical hot men running around and expect him NOT to think of an Effiel Tower or something to that effect. And you know, the rest that follows, whether it's meant to be veiled innuendo or flirtatious in any way it's hard for Dorian not to chuckle at least a little. There's a look that goes with it, knowing and lidded, though he's probably the only one reading into all of this wrong. It's a coping mechanism fueled by Moonshine, don't judge him too harshly Mr. Givens.

"Not recently, no." To the harming of innocents. Look, he won't deny he's done some bad, bad things from time to time, but he does his level best not to get innocents tangled up in the danger these days.

He's done so very well, biting back several comments that wanted to float from his tongue but this time he can't help himself as he quirks a brow and sits back as if even remotely surprised. It's exaggerated and playful.

"Why, Deputy Marshal Givens, are you inviting me out on a dinner date?" He knows that's not what he said but he can't help but joke a little about it.

"I could go for a sandwich followed by a romantic stroll on the beach." It's lies, that beach out there is no more inviting than the Storm Coast. The Sandwich comment is a throwback to the idea of there being TWO of Raylan running around, but it's subtle enough it could be missed entirely.

"None whatsoever," Raylan supplied, sparing Dorian the Parent Trap reference he was sure would go over the man's head. "We don't even explode when we touch."

It was an offer made for comfort, Raylan oblivious to the fantasy brewing in the back of Dorian's head. Just like Dorian's last innuendo, Raylan was far enough removed from that line of thinking that it blew over his head in kind. Even if it hadn't, there'd be no judgement. It'd be a lie to say a little.. mutual masturbation, if that's even what it was called, hadn't crossed Raylan's mind at least once.

He was a very pretty man.

Raylan only hummed to the 'Not recently'. Where he'd normally give out warnings, he had a feeling that a few basic things were backwards between his world and Dorian's and even if he didn't, he had a good sense for people. Dorian was charming and likely a bit reckless; Raylan gut suggested the most harm that Dorian would bring would be accidental, on a base level. There was always a fraction of room left for Raylan to be wrong, but he doubted he was.

Laughing softly at the question, Raylan's everything curled in his amusement, eyebrows finding high-ground on his forehead. "I am inviting you to make sure you've got somethin' to cushion that moonshine unless you want to be puking up what I assume are very fine shoes. If a sandwich is what you'd like," he offered with a thumb towards the kitchen.

Yeah, right over his salt and pepper head.

Raylan isn't wrong with a lot of his assumptions of Dorian, so it seems his sense for people is spot on. To be fair, with the way this world is interacting and messing with his magical ability or focus, it's only a matter of time till someone gets caught in the cross-fire or is too close to avoid being caught in his magic. He's doing his damnedest to avoid that by practicing daily and trying to strengthen himself so that's less likely to happen. He's not entirely sure it's making any headway but he's going to do it anyway, just like being back in the Circles of Tevinter and having to relearn things from scratch. Beyond that though, there had been times where innocent got caught up in his more destructive behaviors, but he's grown a lot since then.

Dorian mirrors the laugh, realizing the other likely didn't understand his gentle innuendo and he debates with himself for a moment continuing with the fun. Especially as the other juts a thumb over one shoulder to suggest he go into the kitchen and fix himself some food.

"That is a sound suggestion, I must say. But I think only half of the ingredients are available for my sandwich. Unless of course, you're feeling like inviting that twin of yours." He smirks playfully, chin in hand, expression wry and flirtatious. He lets the moment draw on for a bit so the other can put two and two together before once again chuckling.

"I'm joking of course. Honestly, I'll take whatever is available, I realize supplies are limited and food is a good idea."

It would be the same thing if Raylan fired and the ricocheted bullet killed someone. He would be sad, more mindful in the future, but that wasn't enough to drag someone away to the jail cell they didn't have or call out a parade of hate because an accident happened.

But the look on Dorian's face, the tone, the jest of a joke Raylan hadn't quite gotten yet had him reexamining the information. Realization dropping in three, two, one - Raylan hoisted his eyebrows before breaking out into an earnest laugh, chin ducking with the sound and bobbing to the side a little as amused hazel eyes boldly came back to meet Dorian's.

"I don't think we're ready to blow up this universe just yet, but you see him, tell me what he thinks of the idea. I'm fairly sure he'd make an incest joke." In all actuality, he had no idea how Jeff would take it, but what was a not!twin for other than to introduce embarrassing conversations.

Raylan jerked his head a little towards the kitchen and rolled himself by the hip off his lean to amble back that way. "Everything is regenerating right now, so Doc's been - he's the other cowboy that you'll find around - got a 'stache himself - been storing supplies around like a squirrel hoarding nuts. We only really need to worry about it when the eggs aren't the same number in the morning. But we got a decent selection. Bacon, some chicken, some deli meats, cheese, some grains like grits and flour, sugar, shit like that, but not too many of us cook on that level. Lotta eggs with bacon and fried chicken, if I'm honest but fried chicken's my favorite so that's just fine."

He could also put away an impressive plate of eggs.

His grin widens a little more and he nods, "I'll be sure to do just that whenever I see him. Jeff, was it?"

Dorian straightens himself up from his leaning posture to feel the warm pool of alcohol in his system. He's not quite wobbly yet in his walk, thankfully, he's drunk enough with Bull to at least build up some semblance of higher tolerance for spirits. It's a good thing he cut himself off when he did, however, and it's making food seem like all the more of a good idea. He follows after the other easily, taking stock of the kitchen once they arrive there. There isn't a hearth, but a bunch of appliances in its place he's never seen before.

"I can always appreciate a man with a 'stache that knows how to properly survive." He sighs softly with something almost disappointed.

"Sadly, I'm not much of a cook myself. I had staff for that sort of thing you see, never had the need to learn." He motions to the kitchen.

"Not that I'd know the first thing to do here even if I had any inkling of how to cook. Where is your hearth?"

Edited 2021-07-18 02:04 (UTC)

"Jeff Calhoun, yes." If only he could be a fly on the wall for that conversation. "He's hard to miss."

Raylan wouldn't say why. He also wasn't going to ruin the surprise of Doc's general attractiveness that made that 'stache worth suffering. Dorian's was nice. Doc's was a push broom that came to life and decided to live on the man's face.

He did, however, move to the fridge and open it up, looking at the supplies as Dorian talked, hips cocked unevenly and his free hand propped on them. Raylan looked over at the comment about having staff, eyebrows hoisting up into the wrinkles of his forehead before furrowing at the question. The fridge was slowly closed.

"Staff, huh? What are you, a Lord of the Court or something?" One finger lazily turned out towards the stove. "We lost hearths around the late 18th century. We've moved onto to stoves now, but it's the same thing. Just no firewood to collect for it. You have any inclination to learn? Though I'm sure you could get by for food on goodwill alone here."

The name is tucked away in his mental notebook, but he can imagine it'll be easy to spot a man that looks like Raylan but isn't. It'll just be a matter of him trying to determine if he's just run into Raylan somewhere again or not. Little does he know that they sound or act completely different.

Dorian might be a little distracted, following the line of Raylan's back to those slightly cocked hips. He's not dead, he has eyes, and it's hard to keep them off of a man that cuts a nice form, especially when he stands attractively at a fridge. It's like he's doing it on purpose. He'll shake himself from it though and snap his eyes back up as soon as the door closes.

"I'm an--well,was--an Altus." He says with a soft chuckle, knowing that word likely doesn't mean anything to the other man.

"My father is a Lord, yes. He's a Magister and consiliare to the Archon. Which is like something of a King, only the Archon isn't only chosen by blood relations, someone with enough prowess and power with magic can become Archon. So all the children of the noble houses, like me, are literally born and bred and trained in hopes of perhaps one day becoming Archon. Where I'm from having magic ability means a higher station. And if you are born without you are of the lowest caste. That's only in Tevinter, however, outside my home it's very different." He wanders over to look over the thing known as a stove as he talks, puzzling over the knobs and coils.

"I suppose I could learn, should I need to. But I would likely be terrible at it. I can cook things over a fire in a pinch to survive, but I would give nearly anything to have decent food with actual spices."

Thankfully, Raylan knew that people staring at him wasn't always a bad thing, however accidental it was of them or himself for being that kind of distraction but he didn't hold it against Dorian. Hell, the man had already insinuated a fuck sandwhich, why shouldn't he look?

But he was right - Raylan had no idea what that was but he took the description well, nodding slightly as he picked through all that.

"So what you're sayin' is that you're, what, sort of a prince?" Well that would explain the Staff he'd mentioned before. "Don't think we've had one of those around yet." Good job breaking Mathis mold?

Raylan huffed a smile. "I am sorry to say that our spices range from salt to pepper. I think there's some cayenne and garlic too, but it's not exactly FlavorTown. We make edible stuff though. Eggs and bacon ain't too hard, if you eat that kinda stuff. Grits and oatmeal barely make the edible grade but that's the tough tack. When things get low."

"Not quite, but close enough. If only for the sake of being born with some of the most potential to become Archon should I ever choose to go home again." He's thought about it, or at least somehow becoming a Magister and making a difference, that is if someone didn't assassinate him for his views. He tends to break quite a few molds to be fair, it's basically his M.O.

"Not that I expect anyone here to understand or even respect my station and treat me differently, this world isn't mine. So don't worry, I won't be insulted if you aren't calling me Ser or Lord or whatever title, I'm fine with just Dorian." He smiles warmly.

"Simple spices are better than nothing at all. I won't complain too much. I promise." He might complain a little.

Raylan grinned crookedly, eyebrows lifted in obvious amusement. "Well, that is new. Someone akin to royalty that has a sense of situational awareness and half decent common sense. Good. It's no offense to your station or your world, of course, but most of us only know one or two royal families and their place in the world is largely gone. Not too many people would accept the.. formalities required, even if they knew what they were."

More than satisfied with Dorian's answer, Raylan re-opened the fridge and examined the goods.

"Simple would be bacon and eggs. Twenty minutes and I can panfry you some chicken." Rosemary, lemon, they had the goods. "It'd be terribly in hospitable to let you starve."

Dorian grins and gives a soft chuckle, "Yes, I do tend to break a lot of molds when it comes to any kind of expectation of me or assumption of my character based solely on my status. So much so in fact that it's made me a pariah back home. I own that."

He's quite proud in a lot of ways that he's not like his countryman. He's doing everything in his part to not be like them and to give into the temptations of becoming like them. There's plenty he's yet to learn or unlearn in a lot of ways, but he's made progress into becoming a better man.

"I haven't really even expected any kind of respect for who and what I am back home. In fact, I expect the opposite in most cases. My people aren't very well-liked in much of Thedas, not that I blame anyone for it, but I've had to work hard to earn the respect or prove myself to those in the Inquisition. I imagine it'll be the same here, just with less vitriol at the start." He sighs, almost wishing they'd brought the moonshine along.

"Surprise me, Marshal," A pause, "Or would you prefer I simply call you Raylan? or Mr. Givens?"

"What you've told me so far puts it radically different from what you'll mostly find in experience here but I doubt you'll find any kind of ostracization waiting for you." Better to go that way than speak in any more details about 'molds'.

Raylan glanced over. "The provin' you'll do here is in what you're not doin', if my own experience tracks. There's not a lot of aggressive people in the handful we've collected," he continued, pulling out bacon, eggs and milk to set them on the counter before hitting the pot shelf and pulling out two pans and a medium sized mixing bowl. Spices were next with salt, cinnamon, and a sugar pot.

"Ain't none of us at home. Gives us all different priorities. Different options about how to exist in a general kind of sense. Takes a few weeks for all that to set in."

Raylan glanced over with a crooked smile as he started cracking eggs. "Raylan is fine. I'm not doing a lot of Deputy Marshalin' these days and I'm only ever Mr. Givens when I'm in legal court. Right now, I'm gonna be Chef Givens and I hope you like bread."

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065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

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