fade rift inbox.

[technologist]

( voice | text | action )

Comments

crystal.

[glandival]

Hallo. You would like to know about elves.

[ Down the line comes a slightly husky feminine voice, fake French, slightly more chill in affect than would be implied by a long con about dick and boob drawings. ]

Are you one of those Rifter shems who have never met one? Or a Rifter elf. We have one of those.

[technologist]

[ Sounding very Starkhaven, and probably also as tired and slightly tense as would be implied by his response to a long con about dick and boob drawings. ]

I'm a— [ Wait. ] What? Neither. I'm a human Rifter. And no, I've never met any elves.

[glandival]

Shem as in shemlen. Human.

[technologist]

Okay. [ a bit slowly. that's a question for later. ]

Fine, yeah. Then I'm a Rifter shem who's never met any elves. What was all that in the book?

[ research and gossip: a very fine line ]

[glandival]

Nothing I have not encountered before.

[ But where to begin? Thinking back to other Rifters, how it had always been a strange thing never to assume they knew what you think everyone should know. ]

The elven people have a fucked up history, and it led to a division, of kinds. There are those that chose to live in clans, the Dalish people, separated from human civilisation, digging around for fragments of forgotten language and practice and then making sure no one else gets to experience it.

Even other elves, the ones that live among humans. City elves, like me. And it is just like a Dalish to think my being Orlesian overrides being an elf.

[technologist]

That makes sense. [ Followed by a thoughtful beat of silence, then an indecisive addition. ] With the book and your response, that is.

[ The clarification might be overkill, but "explains it" would've been better. ]

You said the Dalish elves avoid humans. They're still helping Riftwatch?

after jane austengate, but not that long after;

[heirring]

[The stack of papers hitting on the table top - what table top? Whichever one Fitz happens so be sitting at when she successfully tracks him down - is so heavy that it thumps. Wysteria is all smiles, if slightly breathless from hauling an encyclopedia's worth of research notes around in her arms.]

Good morning, Mr. Fitz. I thought we might spend some time getting you up to speed on the work.

[technologist]

[ The table is conveniently in Wysteria's own home (because they invited Fitz once, their mistake). It's now also very lightly doused in tea, which isn't a huge loss on the front of it being awful tea and mostly cold — but still, the cup jumps slightly when the papers hit the table, liquid hopping clear of the rim to splatter the wood.

Fitz hears her coming. He just doesn't care enough to stop squinting intensely at the book he's reading (trying to read), which means he also jumps. Only a little. ]

What?

[ The automatic response, deer-in-headlights. Then his brain catches up, confusion audibly shifting over to interest. ]

Yeah. Yes. That'd be fantastic.

[heirring]

[Not to worry, Mr. Fitz. Worse things have been spilled across this table, as evidenced by the deep scoring toward its middle which is absolutely some kind of chemical burn. No big deal.]

Excellent. Now, there are a few details that I cannot give you the full details yet as they are not strictly mine to give but I will naturally give you the broadest of views so that you might understand the direction if not the letter. Sometimes it's better that way in any case, particularly in these very early stages. Fresh eyes on old problems, and all that.

[All this at a clip, cheerfully as she divides the stack of papers into distinct sections. Wysteria shoots him as glittering sidelong look. She lowers her voice to the level of secrecy.]

And after this, maybe I will show you my special project.

[technologist]

[ Is that a come on?

Is a thought that tragically occurs but thankfully doesn't stick. It's a departure from the formality he's used to, but she probably means special project like a fun side gig, a hobby; not a highly illegal experiment that'd get you arrested in 194 countries. Or a euphemism. ]

Yeah, that's— that makes sense. The direction's fine. [ He's pushed out of his chair to better reach the tea, shifting some garbage Orlesian poetry onto the spill to halt its progress. Whoever had said the libraries (and Orlesian) would be pointless was right. Once that's done, he reaches for one of the scrolls she's just dropped. ] Is this your research?

[heirring]

In part. It is a combination of mine and Mr. Stark's, including some exploratory notes taken from conversation with a number of Riftwatch's mages. In addition to our work with the rifts, we've been exploring how to utilize lyrium as a conductor for Fade energy. [Fade-iation sounds absurd.] Not raw lyrium, obviously. But how the refined product might be adapted for use by non-mages to achieve similar effects. Personally I would like very much to study the abilities some Rifters like Madame Baudin have developed, as I believe that may reveal some interesting link between the two, but we are still very much in the preliminary stages of the research.

[Somewhere in there, she has fetched a seat in one of the other chairs and has set her chin in an upturned palm.]

You may of course ask me any questions you like.

[technologist]

[ Fitz stays standing for a moment to carefully rearrange the desk, shifting stacks over to the edge or onto another stray chair so they can see each other across it. He isn't really looking at what he's doing, focus on her while she talks. He eases back into his chair somewhere around Madame Baudin. ]

Yeah, sorry— [ One hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sifts through what she's said, what he already knows. ] Madame Baudin— what are her abilities, exactly?

[ He's heard of her. Maybe? He's working with an entirely new set of data, here. It's kind of a mess, not helped by how much of the literature considers every single useful topic off-limits or seems more interested in fear-mongering. ] And why not raw lyrium?

a note;

[heirring]

On top of a small stack of miscellaneous items (a scarf from winter, perhaps forgotten for its lack of necessity given the turn in the weather; a dirty cup that Fitz absolutely used last; et cetera, et cetera) which may have been left about the house and is now ordered with extreme neatness on whichever workspace in the haunted hightown mansion that Fitz prefers best lies a neatly trimmed note. In exceptionally good handwriting (indeed perhaps even more lovely than is usual), it reads—

Mr. Fitz,

I believe these may belong to you in some capacity and have merely been overlooked. I have taken it upon myself to collect them for you here so as to remind you of their existence. It was no trouble whatsoever.

Best Wishes,
W.A. Poppell

pre-ghislain?? idk time is fake.

[heirring]

[Ten minutes ago, they were arguing about how best to consolidate a series of Rift and Rift-related records. When she opens her mouth, one might be forgiven for quailing at the thought that it might be more of the same.]

I'm throwing a party. Would you like to come? You may bring your friend if you like. Miss Johnson.

me tagging threads across an ic span of 5 months with the same cr: haha fuck time

[technologist]

[ You can almost hear him gearing up for round two (three? four??). He deposits the book he's holding onto the shelf a little too aggressively, turns to face Wysteria, stalls. With some suspicion, ]

A party. [ Against all odds, he doesn't hate parties. He's just trying to conjure up an image of a Wysteria party. Daisy might appreciate something vaguely normal, too. A way to settle in without mission statements. Right? ] What's it for?

yolo

[heirring]

[She has practiced this pitch in dozens of letters, and so manages it without an ounce of disrepute.]

De Foncé and I are raising funds, so it is something of a charity event. We're inviting members of Kirkwall high society and various supporters of Riftwatch to have an opportunity to converse with members of the outfit. It's dinner and dancing and so forth.

[technologist]

[ Oh, that kind of party. Gross. ]

And drinks. [ He clarifies, perhaps needlessly, but honestly: on a Riftwatch budget, who knows. And out of genuine curiosity, ]

What are the funds for?

[heirring]

Mr. Fitz, please. [For a moment, she seems genuinely alarmed.] You cannot having dancing without drinks.

[Much less pressing, apparently:] It's for the rifle. And so the funds are not strictly for Riftwatch, but rather to the benefit of it. Which is how it should be worded should anyone ask. The 'for the benefit of' bit. You may leave all the rest off, of course.

[technologist]

[ Distinct 'sorry he asked' gesture. Predictably, however, 'for the sake of making a cool gun' is one of the few reasons he'll put up with schmoozing. ]

Alright, fine. Yeah. I'll ask Daisy. [ He starts to turn back to the shelves, stops. ] Do we have to dress up?

notes.

[propulsion]

[ Left in Fitz's workspace are a collection of notes, written in a lot of shorthand that is probably decipherable to anyone with similar work patterns, along with some well sketched schematics. It takes a little shuffling through to find a more total diagram of what Fitz is supposed to be looking at.

A bulky, two-legged, two-armed figure, with a reactor in its chest. Tony is nothing if not consistent.

All of this seems to be context for one set of even more detailed diagrams featuring a robotic arm. Sleekly designed mechanics infused with tracks of lyrium to take the place of sensors and electrical conduit, which all ostensibly link back to the reactor.

Written just above the crab claw type design at the end of the arm, is; ]

I could use a hand
- TS

enchanted book.

[propulsion]

hey Google
who is Mr Erik Stevens

[technologist]

No clue. Why

[propulsion]

new guy from our world
knows Avengers trivia
maybe he's a fan

[ :| ]

[technologist]

Or maybe he just likes reading the backs of cereal boxes.

[ But also: paying significantly more attention, now. ]

What sort of trivia?

[propulsion]

public knowledge. the roster + NY.
figured I would check that he didn't kick the future puppy I buy for my future son's eleventh future birthday party before we have an awkward meeting at the watercooler