log; the inquisitor & dorian pavus WHO: Dorian Pavus & Asala Adaar WHEN: Friday, January 1st, afternoon WHERE: The Hospital WHAT: Dorian arrives, Adaar hears about it, and there's a reunion.
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Very few conversations end well when they start with "What is the meaning of this?!"
Dorian Pavus woke in a strange bed, surrounded by strange smells, his staff out of reach. Someone was writing things down on a little chart, and there were boxes with little flashing lights. Everything was washed with a blinding white light that lacked the flicker of candles.
He thought he'd been kidnapped. It made sense, of course. A Tevinter magister traveling south, and Dorian was so exceptionally good at making enemies. It only made sense to him to start off with demands and frighten the poor man who was at his bedside, who ducked as if he expected to be struck.
Dorian, however, didn't strike him. He's not a barbarian.
The man's name was Dr. Tam, and the explanation was fascinating but absurd: an alternate world, they were all captive here until further notice, and where was he from so that they might contact anyone who may or may not be here?
There was no recognition when Dorian said he was from Tevinter, but got a knowing nod when he mentioned Thedas and the Inquisition. Dr. Tam asked him if he was one of Adaar's people, to which Dorian offered a rather wary "Perhaps."
Dr. Tam asked Dorian to stay where he was and then went off. Dorian had, in fact, stayed there, watching a funny little circular device on the wall with twelve numbers on it that kept tick ticking.
Asala Adaar did rush when she got the message.
Dorian had to wait for about ten minutes before Adaar came ducking into the room, expertly avoiding clunking her head on the doorframe. She was certainly more relaxed than the last time they'd seen each other, but dressed oddly: boots and breeches, those were normal, but the shirt she was wearing (a henley, he'd eventually learn) and the one she had thrown over it (an oversized flannel, patched together to fit her from three different checked fabrics, all in complementing shades of red) were unfamiliar and must have looked odd. There was still length of sparkly garland wrapped around one of her horns.
"Dorian!" The hug was almost crushing as she lifted him clear off his feet.
"Inquisitor!" Dorian was indeed crushed, and he was picked up before he even had the chance to throw his arms around her in turn. He hugged her tightly for just a moment before he started to feel a bit like a cat out of his comfort zone and he wriggled his way out of her arms and back to his feet.
He looked her over, and for a moment it seemed as if he'd cry. None of this made sense, and while it was all deeply interesting, it was hard to appreciate that when he couldn't wrap his head around it in the first place. He didn't comment on any of that. What he said was: "Well, you look dreadful."
"Only because I've been missing you," she replied easily. "And you look stunning. What room did they give you? I'll walk you there and you can ask questions on the way."
Dorian looked down at a little sheet of paper and a rectangular item that were on the table by the bed. "Is it a thousand miles from here?" he asked. "Because I've enough questions to fill your time from Skyhold to the Western Approach, if we're being honest. I did hear what the man said, but it did go a bit in one ear and out the other. I can't be blamed."
"We'll make more time. Can I?" Adaar gestured toward his tablet rather than just grabbing it, reaching out with her right hand.
It took Adaar taking the tablet to give him pause. It had been so long since he'd seen her that he'd nearly forgotten that she'd lost the arm with the Mark. Her left arm.
Now she was reaching for her tablet with an unnatural-looking right hand while her left hand seemed completely intact. "Inquisitor, you know I care deeply about you and cherish every little detail about you, but I'm afraid some of my memories might be wrong."
The arm was as beautiful as it was bizarre, exquisitely crafted and engraved with elegant patterns, parts of the the metal giving off the reflective sheen of veil quartz, the rest a neutral, gray iron. There were soft, mechanical sounds when her fingers curled or her wrist moved to pick up his things, turning the note over in her hand to look at his housing assignment (somewhere on 506, it turned out).
"No, you remember correctly." Adaar offered him the paper and the tablet, again with her right hand. "You're a few years ahead of me in our own timeline, I just managed to lose an arm here as well. Seems to be fate." Just to make her point, she gestured with her left hand as well, letting him see the anchor.
Dorian frowned, taking the tablet back as he watched her hand. "But that's killing you," he said quietly.
Adaar lets out a breath and scratches the back of her neck. "Not for another couple of years. I have time. Solas isn't here, before you ask."
"Oh, good!" Dorian exclaimed, tossing up his free hand. "And we're all here letting him unmake Thedas in our absence, I hope he writes us all a thank-you note."
He huffed irritably and looked down at the tablet, tapping his fingers against it. "This, what is this."
"A marvel of technology is what it is. It's called a tablet. There are---you know what, it's easier to just let you see it." Adaar pushed the button at the top so the screen would wake up. "Press the button for the network. You can put up messages for everyone in the mountain and speak to them. You can send audio messages as well, the same as you can with a sending crystal."
Dorian blinked and leaned in a little closer when the screen woke up. "I what."
He snatched the tablet away from her and turned his back, just so he could look over the device without her looking at him marvel at it. He didn't want her to think of him as stupid, after all, and he didn't like feeling so wildly out of his depth. He prided himself on being exceptionally brilliant and this was entirely unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
He made a shocked little noise when he pressed a button and jerked his hand back, cursing softly in Tevene. "To call this a 'tablet' is to look at a mountain and call this an anthill," he muttered, tapping his fingers against the screen just to get an idea of what it would do.
"The words are in Trade but the alphabet's Orlesian, who designed this."
Adaar waited, folding her arms and trying not to look too proud that she'd presented him with something new and impressive. "That's how the language works around here. Unless you switched it to French by accident. Most people don't know what Trade and Orlesian are here except for us."
Dorian glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon?"
"We're on a different planet in another reality, Dorian. No one is going to have an idea what you're talking about." Adaar spread her hands apologetically. "You'll see once you start talking to people."
Dorian did his very best to keep his expression passive, but Adaar knew him well enough to know he was probably screaming inside.
"How about this: you escort me to my room, we discuss things, you get me exceedingly drunk, and we proceed to laugh the evening away because we don't care where we are anymore."
His expression softened a little. "I have never been more glad to see you, by the by. A light in the dark, yes?"
Adaar sighed, her expression falling into an affectionate smile. "This has been such a weird year, Dorian. I've never missed you more. I'm sorry for the homesickness, but I'm not sorry that you're here with me." She touched his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Come on. It's a long story, and then I'll take you to the tavern. It's run by the Hero of Ferelden, alongside her king, no less. You'll love it."
Dorian opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. "You know what, Inquisitor, I'm simply going to save up all of my incredulous comments and blurt them all out at the end to save time."