ᴀʟᴛᴜs, ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴍᴀɢɪsᴛᴇʀ (tevene) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-09-02 10:57:00 |
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Dorian had a few places he liked frequenting in Vallo, especially when it came to enjoying an adult beverage or two. He also enjoyed sharing these places with others - and after the rocky start Captain Laurence had to this topsy-turvy world, it seemed like a quiet spot to drink was just what the doctor ordered. As he said before it didn’t really make anything better - it was a bandaid slapped on, at best - but sometimes you just needed to give your brain a chance to take a break and settle a little; if things were always going in there, swirling around like a drone of mad bees, you’d only end up making yourself sick. Thus, he met Laurence at Morningside and brought him to a classy establishment called the Bittersweet Baron - tucked away in a snug city spot, it boasted plenty of dark wood and twinkling chandeliers, along with a lot of red velvet upholstery. Very lush fabric, a good ambiance for the Silniara coven to showcase their wares in the form of fine wines - there were even maps on the walls, detailing their expeditions and adventures with the wine-making process, and literal bottles as decor too. Though wine wasn’t all they had - plenty of hard liquor as well, and some beers on tap. He settled into a booth, adjusting the shiny cufflinks on his perfectly pressed shirt, and surveyed his companion as cocktail menus and wine descriptions were presented to them. “So, you’ve been relatively well I hope?” he inquired, then motioned beside him. “I brought you a little stack of books I gathered from the reserve and from Skyhold’s library. Sir Frederic was right on the brink of discovering a cure for a black sludge disease called the Blight sickness and wrote about the various uses of dragon’s blood. It’s a project I’ve continued here and thought you might be interested. No rush to return them, of course.” Dorian smiled charmingly. “I know where you live.” Laurence wasn’t embarrassed about the fact that he only owned one suit - he’d come to Vallo with nothing but the dirt stained clothing he’d been wearing while he and Temeraire had been doing their seeding, and he kept his suit in pristine condition - cleaned, starched and pressed, today with a neckcloth of a rather lovely periwinkle blue that complimented his eyes. His boots were freshly polished the evening before, though with the paved roads instead of the gravel and dirt he was used to, it had hardly seemed necessary. Still, when he’d seen Dorian’s outfit today, he’d regretted his own lack of variety. He still felt the absence of Temeraire keenly, and worried what the dragon was doing alone in New South Wales. He hoped he wasn’t causing trouble for the covet or the government out there, but he’d rather that than having him go careening off into the interior by his lonesome; if he was to do that, Laurence hoped that Temeraire had learned some basic navigation skills in their years together. It had always been Laurence who guided them to their destinations, but Temeraire was devilishly clever and once Laurence had had time to think of it, he thought the dragon likely to be capable of guiding himself by the sun or prominent stars and thereby finding his way to the coast and a settlement, and so his anxiety of Temeraire flying himself in circles and falling prey to dehydration had lessened. Still, he welcomed to the distraction from his own thoughts, and there was little that was a better distraction than imbibing with good company. He’d been impressed by the Bittersweet Baron from the moment he stepped through the doors, and while he wished to take some time to examine the maps on the walls, it would have been the height of rudeness to ignore his companion to do so; he had made a mental note to take some time to take a look later. “I thank you, I will look at these at my earliest convenience,” Laurence said, taking the books and putting them aside. He supposed he would have to read them, sooner or later. It would do no good to be blind to the dragons; they existed whether he cared for them or not. “I’ve been relatively well, all things considered,” Laurence said. “I think that it may be about time for me to begin looking for work. I had thought I might start looking into some of the Defense Teams.” Mr. Frye had mentioned a certain bar called The Underground. “And how’ve you been, Dorian? Keeping busy, I hope?” “Ah, yes - so the settling in begins,” Dorian replied grandly - and he was glad to hear that Laurence was finding his footing a little better. He seemed so distraught at the conclusion of their adventure at the reserve - admittedly, Dorian had been a bit concerned so while he was grateful Laurence accepted the invitation for drinks, the mage wouldn’t be over here hovering. Or smothering. Neither option happened to be his style, really. “There are a plethora of options when it comes to work. The Defense Teams are always looking for new people, and we certainly get our fair share of situations here where the Team is necessary.” Vallo was a melting pot of experiences. And monsters. And beasts. And other unsavory creatures - occasionally even murder birds. “I’m certain you’ll find something with no trouble. As for me, I’ve been keeping busy with a variety of nonsense. We’ve lost a couple of instructors at the University recently, so I’m personally struggling to find others to fill the void.” Julia’s absence was keenly felt - she had a Magical Theory class that was interesting to sit in on, on occasion. Herbology and Botany too, with another instructor who vanished. But such was the sometimes-not-permanent state of Vallo. “I’m afraid I have very few practical skills, aside from fighting, sailing, or most recently, farming,” Laurence admitted. And the Defense Teams… well, he felt like that was the area where he was most likely to do some good. He glanced at the drink menu as he continued the conversation. “I am sorry to hear about the loss of instructors. Finding proper educators is key - I’ve often found myself in charge of the education of my young ensigns and midshipmen, and it has never been a particularly easy task. Though, I imagine much of that comes from how little they wish to do the work.” Still, a posting on his ship had always been considered an ideal one upper class parents of the boys who’d join his ship, as it was well-known that he’d be sure to drill them with their numbers and their letters, and he’d kept up the practice when he’d moved on to the younger ensigns of the Aerial Corps. He settled on a wine, and put the menu to the side. “This isn’t the first I’ve heard of these disappearances.” Eloise had likewise mentioned something of her siblings disappearing. “Are they very common?” Dorian’s wine was decided on as well - it was a fragrant white, something that promised the aroma of juicy apples and clean flowers, something zingy and rich. It would no doubt hit the spot and he was looking forward to trying what Silniara had to offer in terms of what was produced from their vineyard - he knew their apothecary in the city was quite successful on its own. “Well, then I’d say you’d have your pick of jobs - farming and sailing are quite marketable around here, in addition to fighting,” he noted. Especially farming. Magic helped with the crops whenever they were inevitably set on fire thanks to quirks but - there was only so much it could take care of. Menu set aside, he folded long fingers, hands set on the table. “Unfortunately though, the disappearances are quite common. You never can tell when they’ll happen and we don’t really have a reason why they do either. I suspect it’s due to the fact that Vallo is itself magical and there’s a balance that must be maintained there - so whenever it tips too far to one side or the other, something glitches and we get a disappearance notification on our mobile devices.” “I’m afraid I’m still quite new at farming. This is,” he stumbled, and corrected himself awkwardly, “would have been the first year I’d made the attempt. Is there a Navy?” he asked after a moment. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to join the Navy of another land, and to start as a midshipman while in his mid-thirties would be too much to bear, but without Temeraire, perhaps it was something to return to. Laurence had very little knowledge as to how magic worked in general, so he would have to take Dorian’s word on the balance of things, though it all seemed very ominous, especially when he thought of how they knew to send the notification. He was saved, temporarily, from thinking too hard on it when a member of the staff came, and Laurence ordered a red that had been promised to be dry and robust. “And it’s believed these people go home, with no memory of what’s happened here?” he asked. Hmm, a Navy - Dorian wasn’t quite certain of that. He supposed that there had been several Outlanders who had come and gone, who had Naval experience, but - he couldn’t quite place anything official. “Not that I know of, for a Navy - not since I’ve been here, and it’s been awhile. Over a year.” Maker. The thought of that was almost daunting - and to consider everything he’d been through, while in Vallo? Love and loss and heartbreak and triumph? It was a whole gamut of situations, nothing he could have ever contemplated even while with the Inquisition and unsure of where the next day would lead. It was like that here too - you just never knew, you couldn’t hold the future. What you worked hard to build, what you cared about could be gone in an instant, after all. Made sense to hold fast to what you did have, while you had it. “Yes, when people disappear it’s believed they return home,” he confirmed. “Sometimes they return and they do remember. Sometimes they don’t. It’s an odd sort of thing as well - while we’re here, we’re also existing back home. So it’s as if we’re in two places at once, you see what I mean? Odd, like I said.” Hopefully that provided some measure of comfort, anyway. It was enough to do one's head in. It seemed impossible that he could both exist here and in New South Wales, but he couldn't decide if it seemed more impossible than anything else: the different worlds, the being flung 200 years in the future to a land of magic, all of it. And it would be a relief to think that back in New South Wales, Temeraire wasn't alone. It was if a hand that had been wrapped around his chest since his arrival loosened its grip, just a little, and he felt a tension he hadn't known he was carrying leave his shoulders. "Thank you," Laurence said softly, and offered Dorian a smile. "But here I am, always asking you dreary questions; I don't mean to be taking all your time with my troubles. What is it you teach at the University, Dorian?" “Oh, don’t you worry about that - this is all a lot to get used to, and I’m just glad I can help somewhat,” he returned the smile, a flash of those pearly gates. The wine arrived, dropped off for them to enjoy, and Dorian slid the glass toward him so he could swirl the liquid around and really appreciate the aroma. When he would visit Beketh, deep in the heart of their cave city and the labyrinth of their home, he would often bring libations or Beketh would share their own - there was nothing quite like a good glass of wine, a deep Merlot perhaps, that paired perfectly with something decadent containing dark chocolate. Their blackberry chocolate was also divine. Now he was getting hungry. They might have to stop for something sweet later on, but he wouldn’t put the cart before the horse. “I keep the place running and I also teach Necromancy, plus a few classes on Elemental magics. Fire, ice, lightning - things like that,” he explained. “Elementals were the first spells I learned, as an up-and-coming mage, and I was adept at them before shifting off to Necromancy as a focus. Most of the spells are offensive, used in battle - but there’s some defense too and other fun tricks, as it were.” He thought maybe he’d go for a demonstration - if nothing else, Dorian enjoyed showing off. “Hold out your hand,” he instructed, setting down his glass. Again, there was the mention of Necromancy, and Laurence’s stomach gave a visceral sort of jolt. Dorian had mentioned that his particular breed of necromancy didn’t involve calling forth the dead, and Laurence was, for the most part, if not content to leave it at that at least willing to do so. To ask for further details seemed as though it could bring offense, and there was a small part of Laurence that worried that Dorian’s particular brand of magic was untoward; as Dorian was, perhaps, the only man that could be so far considered to be anything close to a friend, Laurence thought he’d be happier in the dark. He was reminded, uncomfortably, of how long he had remained blind to Rankin’s neglect of Leviatus; he should have realized it sooner, but had, perhaps willingly, turned a blind eye to it. Laurence took a fortifying mouthful of his wine, before he set it down and held out his hand. “I hope that my hand will remain intact at the end of this demonstration,” Laurence said, and while his tone was light, almost teasing, it did overlay a slight anxiousness. “You only need one anyway, yes?” Dorian quipped, with a wink, but oh - relax, he was merely joking. Dismemberment wasn’t really his thing. No, it was just a light-hearted little adventure - one hand he placed under Laurence’s and the other he held above, with a swish of fingers. Subsequently, there was a lovely little swirl of magic - ice bloomed, the shape of a blossom like what you might find with any sprouting flower. And it wouldn’t do anything untoward at all - might feel slightly cold, from the residual chill, but nothing more. All until he let it disintegrate, petals and leaves fading and evaporating like a bit of fog beneath the hot sun. “Usually I do much larger-scale things with ice, like a wall for example - but that makes for a neat parlor trick, I suppose.” And he didn’t even feel winded at all, or like he’d wasted any mana - rather than drawing from the Fade (which was tiny, or even non-existent here in Vallo), he simply drew from Vallo itself. There was always plenty of strength to draw from, to spare. When it all wasn’t being sucked up by a tall monster lady wearing high heels, anyway. “Ha ha,” Laurence said dryly. When the magic started though, he let out a surprised “Oh”, his eyes widening somewhat, his mouth falling open just a touch. It was lovely, the first real bit of magic he’d seen outside of the Waypoints and, potentially, Brigette’s specialty bullets, though he wasn’t sure if those were magic or technology; sometimes it was difficult for him to tell the difference. This though, this was unequivocally magic, and he was afraid, almost, of breathing lest he destroy it. But then it melted away, the fog sliding through his fingers, and he could take a breath again. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. Temeraire, he thought, would have been even more awed. There was so much he wished he could show him. As far as easing someone into the idea of magic and all it could do, Dorian thought that was a decent introduction. The least of it all, surely, but the really big things would probably be put into practice the next time there was some kind of emergency or disaster (and this happened frequently). “Oh, I’ve plenty of tricks,” he replied grandly, saluting with his wine glass before taking another sip. “And if you’re ever curious about Necromancy I’d be happy to share knowledge about the subject. It’s less about raising the dead and more about working with spirits of death - small ones, we generally call them wisps. They’re not even fully-formed spirits - more like the shell of a shell of one.” He’d always been fascinated with the Moralitasi in Nevarra, in their power and influence and the respect they had for death and the actual dead - made sense, since the order was founded by a Tevinter mage. Cassandra telling him that the Grand Necropolis smelled awful and was plagued by constant moaning and groaning was sort of a letdown, but he was still fascinated in general. Laurence swallowed another mouthful of wine, taking the time to mull over Dorian's explanation. “But by doing so,” he began, slowly, “are you not preventing those spirits from returning to God?” Laurence had never believed in ghosts or spirits like so many of his contemporaries did - in fact, he’d always scoffed at the idea of them, much to Temeraire’s bemusement, as the dragon had been unable to reconcile Laurence’s believe in the Holy Ghost, but not in ghosts themselves. But it had seemed simple enough: when people died, their souls were returned to the Lord; they did not linger on Earth. “Mm, I’m not that powerful, I’m afraid,” Dorian replied. “Also by God I assume you mean the Maker - it’s a bit different in Thedas. Different belief systems and all of that, depending where you come from and what you were raised with.” Were they going to have to go over the ‘every world is not the same’ thing again? Well. Probably not. That seemed to be hammered home relatively decently after the whole dragon reserve adventure. He twisted his glass around, the stem in his hands, as he considered how to best explain things. “All souls enter the Fade when they die - they’re spirits, some restless, some jealous of those still living, others wandering. Like I said, it depends on what you believe but one popular theory is that some spirits pass on to sit by the Maker’s side. But given how full the Fade is, not every spirit gets there. Spirit wisps are also energy, in a sense - as I said, they’re not fully formed spirits. A Necromancer casting a spell isn’t preventing them from moving elsewhere, it’s simply - manipulating a different form of energy, if you will. Which is mainly what magic is anyway.” That part seemed to be common across many worlds. And he supposed he could raise the dead, if he really wanted to - but that sounded like a terrible way to spend a Friday night. Laurence sipped his wine thoughtfully as Dorian explained. Different worlds there may have been, but as God was omnipotent, he believed the same God created all of them. It wasn’t too different to reconcile, however - even in his own world, different cultures had different beliefs. The Chinese, he knew, had their own spiritual ideals, and while Laurence didn’t know them well, he knew they didn’t all align with his idea of God; in Africa there were few who were Christians, and more who were not. Even within the Abrahamic religions, the Church of England did not hold the same beliefs as the Catholics, or Judiasm, or Islam. And none of them had any direct contact with the afterworld like it seemed that Dorian’s world did - it was all theory and debate, most of which Laurence had very little desire to participate in, hence his running away from home at twelve years old to join the Navy instead of the Church as his father had wished - and so he was willing and able to accept Dorian’s explanation of the Fade. For all Laurence knew, God had different afterworlds in different worlds, and it wasn’t for Laurence to know with any real certainty. His beliefs boiled down to “if you were good, if you tried to be good, if you lived your life spending each day trying to be a better person than you’d been the day before, then you’d be rewarded in the afterlife even if you made mistakes along the way.” “I’m afraid I’m ill-equipped to understand the intricacies of such a thing,” Laurence said at length, “though I’ll trust that you understand it far more than I’m capable of. I thank you for setting my mind at ease. There is no magic in my world, but we’ve stories - fiction, of course - told of Necromancy, and it has always seemed less than savory. I hope I caused no offense.” Dorian chuckled warmly, waving off the idea that he was offended. He most certainly was not. “You haven’t,” he assured. After all, Necromancy in his homeland wasn’t always viewed favorably either - it wasn’t quite up there with blood magic in terms of taboo, but it wasn’t widely practiced and he’d picked up the specialization because he was a scholar, a researcher, a devourer of arcane knowledge including that which may be considered unsavory. “And I think that the whole explanation of the belief systems in Thedas are far more complex to be discussed over simply one bottle of wine. Perhaps when we’re both sloppy drunk one day, we can attempt it.” Of course, if he tried it then it would likely be him stumbling about with a monocle and a cravat or some such, announcing, “I have seen the Maker!” and then promptly collapsing onto the fainting couch. No matter what though, religion wasn’t something he got terribly wrapped up within - there were far more pressing matters to be concerned with. “We can talk about your outfit instead - for example, I do love that neckcloth.” Laurence smiled. “I’ve always been under the impression that getting drunk and discussing religion was nearly a straight road to violence,” he said. “But then, I can’t say I’ve ever made the attempt.” Laurence, for the most part, steered clear of religious discussions; politics was a different matter, but then, being an officer in the King’s military and having his father in the House of Lords made the topic near impossible to avoid in a way that having a brother in the Church did not. He touched his neckcloth, pleased at the compliment though a little embarrassed as well. He was not used to people being so forthright with their compliments, but since one had been paid, Laurence was less hesitant to return the compliment. “I thank you. I’m afraid I’ve only the one suit so far, but I made sure to procure a variety of neckcloths to make up for the lack. I must say that I’m afraid it pales in comparison; men do not often wear much colour where I’m from. I’d especially admired your ensemble when you accompanied me to the Preserve.” The esteemed compliment of men do not often wear much color where I’m from, well, Dorian would take it - it sounded like a compliment? How sweet. In Tevinter, color was often absent from wardrobe choices - it was usually a sea of darkness, shades like deep crimson red, moss, and black favored among the likes of theatre-goers (half the fun of attending performances was the Judgment part of the evening) and the elite. With spiky outfits that resembled horned wildebeests to boot - he was just trying to add something besides dreary black to his collection here in Vallo. “Oh, there’s more where that came from, my friend,” he assured. “I have a whole wardrobe. It’s a thing.” And a whole skincare routine too - how else would he get this olive-toned glow that so nicely complimented his eyes? Never before had he realized the benefits of a gentle yet effective sugar scrub, and now here he was. “Should we have additional outings, I will gladly show off. Though I do hope to have many more of those.” It was, in fact, the most blatant compliment Laurence had given to anyone outside of Temeraire in years, and would have embarrassed him too much to say had Dorian not gone first. "I'm afraid my lifestyle up until now has never quite allowed for a large wardrobe, though I've always thought a well-put-together wardrobe was essential." He did love to shop, and the clothes he did wear were inevitably of high quality, but as he'd rarely remained in England longer than a few months at a time - and those during peacetimes - owning a great many possessions was out of the question. "Then I'll very much look forward to it. What is there to do?" There had been a time, before Temeraire, when Laurence couldn't imagine life without the opera, of dancing, or the symphony and concerts. He could only imagine there was all of that and then things he'd never before dreamed of. This was the beginning of something beautiful, then - if Laurence enjoyed making the rounds to find fabulous clothing, then Dorian would enjoy obliging. He could use a shopping partner - it was no fun doing it by himself (that sounded a lot cleaner in his head, but anyway). “A lot of people like eating,” he laughed a little. “There’s much to try - the city has just about anything you can think of, in terms of cuisine. But there are other shops, video game arcades - “ He only knew about those because of Max’s boisterous spouse, “... and parks and some enjoy the beach as well - there’s good sailing here, decent beaches.” Dorian could be finicky about sand, but - he also could see the appeal in lounging under an umbrella and reading a book? Something like that? “Plenty of plays and musicals as well - many Outlanders participate in a production every few months or so, there’s always a different one. It gives the performers a chance to shine.” He hadn’t attended the latest one, but it seemed interesting - and he had a few friends who took very well to the performing arts. Laurence puzzled over video games for a moment. He knew what videos were now, of course, though he wondered what sorts of games one could play using them. “I have to say, I am astounded in the variety of food here,” Laurence said. He hadn’t had a chance to talk of the food to anyone else, but he’d felt lost enough most of the time that he’d gone with the simple fare he recognized. Laurence travelled all over the world in his nearly twenty years at sea, and his further five years in the Aerial Corps, and had been exposed to a wider variety of culinary styles than many of his peers, but he’d seen shops offering pumpkin coffees, despite the fact that Laurence hadn’t been aware that pumpkins could be juiced, and he’d seen on the menu of an ice cream shop not long ago an item called Worms and Dirt which had sounded utterly horrific, even if he logically knew that it was unlikely to contain actual dirt. “And the prices of spices! They’re very nearly the same price they are back home, but everything else’s price is so much higher; I simply can’t understand.” When a suit that may have cost $10 back home cost in the hundreds here, but the price of spice certainly hadn’t scaled accordingly. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Dorian shook his head. “We certainly didn’t have such a variety of foods back in my world. I’ve been here quite awhile and I still haven’t tried everything.” There were some things he was loath to try, however - so he tended to stick with his favorite new discoveries and be content with those for the most part; on other instances, he was feeling adventurous and wished to venture out of his comfort zone. The prices differed too but money and even the type of coin were a far cry from what he would use in Thedas - he came from a family of wealth and privilege, but he’d also fallen from the ivory tower and gave all of that up to join the Inquisition, so he wasn’t entirely pampered. Now that the dust from all of it had settled, his estate back in Tevinter felt empty with hardly anyone in it save for the paid staff (and they were paid now - slavery wasn’t an option for him, and one of these days, it would no longer be an option for Tevinter as a whole either). “All sorts of things that not many think about,” he said. “Especially if they’re from a similar time and place. But I will admit, Vallo’s been an educational experience if nothing else.” Fantastic places to drink too. He would give credit where it was due. Laurence smiled, a little relieved, because it was true: so many people didn’t seem to consider it strange. He’d been to a coffee shop that had had a shaker filled with cinnamon just sitting there, and had seen people add the spice to their lattes as if it were the most common thing in the world. “I’m certainly glad I encountered such a capable educator early on,” Laurence said. Navigating this place without Dorian’s help would have surely been impossible. “I truly am in your debt.” At some point, he’d have to find a way to repay him. “Oh, hardly,” Dorian scoffed teasingly. “Though after you slay your first monster for coin or what have you - “ Because that was a thing, with the various hunts posted on the boards in the Crossed Quills. He admittedly didn’t pay much attention to it because while he was skilled in battle (and looked fabulous wielding his staff, such a flair for dramatics and showmanship) he preferred to not really jump into one unless it was necessary. “You can buy us a round of drinks.” Seemed like a fair trade-off, no? That way Laurence wouldn’t be in his debt or what have you, and they could probably get to that sloshed conversation about religion sooner rather than later. Or simply get sloshed, that was fine too. He did wonder what the fellow looked like when he cut loose and began dancing on top of a table. Dwarven ale was not out of the question. “Is that a thing people do here for money? Truly?” Laurence asked. He shouldn’t have been surprised; he’d been warned of the monsters in the forest and had even purchased some weapons to be better prepared should he chance upon one, but he’d not thought of the possibility. In all actuality though, it probably shouldn’t have surprised him. “I don’t know if that is something I’d seek out for myself; I’ve never been much of a hunter myself.” His family estate had a large deer population which may have made for good hunting, though his family generally left them alone, and while fox hunting was considered a gentleman’s sport, it was on that Laurence had found always put a bad taste in his mouth. “But I will, certainly, buy us a round the next time we go out.” Though, if Dorian was hoping for Laurence to get so drunk so as to cut loose to any substantial degree, he’d be disappointed. It was similar for Dorian. He knew how to hunt, to fight, to defend himself - and Maker knew that while he was with the Inquisition they spent their fair share of time traipsing around awful locales looking for something or another because Max literally took it upon himself to literally save the world. It was just that he didn’t want to - why do that when he could lounge in a bathtub, read a book, and decadently indulge in candied dates one by one? “You and me both, my friend - though I must say, I do look fantastic wielding a staff as a conduit for magic. I’m certain I’ll end up showing you at some point.” They could battle together and wasn’t that fun? A good way to bond. But so was another glass of wine and, well, Dorian would spring for one of those - they still had much of Silniara’s wares to sample, and the night was young. |