fade rift: inbox

[reparo]

Hermione Granger
book | crystals | misc

Comments

[elegiaque]

( from here. )

( gwenaëlle's look is thoughtful, considering; thinking about the different timelines that stephen has talked about. the statue he instantly regretted telling her existed. and of others, here, too— the elves returned with no memories of previous thedosian jaunts. ellie, didn't she remember somewhere other than only thedas and her world? that woman who'd arrived at the same time yapping about soup, hadn't they been somewhere, or something?

somewhere in an aggressively organised, extremely secure room full of notes there is probably a specific note about just that that she'd made and then never thought of again until this moment. she doesn't recall more than that, but it crosses her mind. )

Significantly stranger things have happened, ( she settles on. ) Have you thought about a division, if you join?

[reparo]

[ Honestly, this conversation has travelled to more places than Hermione has in the past three years of her remembered existence. She can't even muster up the indignation, she feels none.

The matter of Healer Strange is dropped, distracted by a shiny new topic.

Has she thought of a division? She never had the choice, in Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor and that was that. And then the Merchant, or his favoured witch, designated roles and that was that.

She has been a seamstress (terrible), tax collector (bad), soldier on the front of a war or two, negotiator, spy, whatever the group needed. But throughout it all, never had she felt more capable than flinging incendios at the undead.

The first one in Thedas, fresh out of a Rift, had landed square in the centre of what she now knows was a despair demon. The relief that it kept working, despite the world, nearly made her weep. After the fight.

And it comes back to it, the question. ]

Someone told me I will need to choose. For when things get interesting, I know who I report to. I'm... I've become unfamiliar with having the choice.

[ She glances down at her hands, that have done so much. ] I have a few in mind. Wherever I'm more useful. [ She looks up, expression intense, ] When I join.

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle is the last person to caution against when. she tilts a hand, acknowledging, instead; promising that she has ideas, that she isn't stabbing blindly in the dark. )

I'm with Forces, ( is less of a surprise to people now than it once was, although it still isn't necessarily the obvious assumption glancing at her. ) Gwenaëlle Baudin, captain of the watch.

( the person who sets the guard rotation, which she mostly doesn't use to her personal advantage other than to occasionally make sure orlov takes a fucking night off here and there. he can't grimly brood instead of joining nevarran language club if the person who has accumulated it around her has made sure she knows exactly what his roster is. )

It wasn't exactly. ( how to put it. she settles on: ) I didn't join as fast. I was here for several years before I let them start giving me orders. Different background, you might say. This,

( a thumbnail rested against the uppermost claw-mark burned into her flesh where it creeps from beneath the neckline of her corseted bodice, )

wasn't battle. Thedosians get anchor-shards from rifts, too, if we have the misfortune of being under them when they open. No one would've forced me into service only because it wasn't safe for me to leave. I always do think that matters.

crystal

[laruetheday]

[ Shortly after Hermione's out of quarantine, and bright and early in the morning... Seriously, like almost verging on too early, juuust skirting past "this is rude" into "this is acceptable"... ]

Morning. You're the new rifter?

[reparo]

[ The joke's on you, Clarisse. Regular sleeping hours are for people who aren't secretly afraid they'll stop existing. ]

Guilty as charged. Hermione, if you'd rather a name than 'new rifter'.

[laruetheday]

Greek, huh. You don't hear that name much.

crystal

[altusimperius]

Excuse me-- Hermione, is it?

[he says it wrong: he's clearly only read it, and doesn't know what Greek is.]

This is Benedict Artemaeus, personnel officer. I wanted to welcome you to Riftwatch, answer any questions you might have, and help you settle in to the best of my ability.

[reparo]

[ Not everyone here is Clarisse's level of genius. ]

Ser Benedict - do I call you that? Is that the proper term? [ Please let it not be one of those cultures where first name and clan name go together, because woof - a mouthfull. ]

It is Hermione, yes. [ There you go, a pronounciation guide for you. ]

[altusimperius]

You'd probably want to stick with Messere if you want the honorific [and because he is a mess,]-- Ser by itself is usually reserved for Knights. Which... [wryly,] I am not.

Her-MY-oh-nee. Thank you. ...sorry.

action.

[portalling]

( continued from. )

Are you familiar with the concept of multi-verses? Hermione asks, and something complicated crosses the sorcerer’s expression.

“Intimately,” Strange says, and he connects the dots, the pieces landing in place.

And perhaps this might be a more disorienting concept for someone else who hasn’t literally studied the multiverse and already crossed it, but this is a man who has met himself, who has peered into other worlds and knows what some of those diverging roads look like for him, and so instead there’s just that restless antsiness in his reaction as he thinks: well, it’s about time.

“I knew one rifter like that,” he says. “She went to another, more futuristic world than her own and developed powers, before she eventually came here. So this isn’t your first rodeo?”

action.

[reparo]

She nods, having anticipated he would connect the two dots into a straight line, clever man he is. Granted, she wouldn't have put it in terms of rodeos, but - Americans.

"It isn't, although I had the powers before that other world, and it was very much not futuristic," the latter part of that, in reminiscence, she almost smiles at. Some parts of it had been modern enough, but Taravast? Ke-Waihu? It had been as if they were travelling back in time, and sideways, and in loop-de-loops.

"Magic," she adds, making a gesture to the wand currenly stuck in her hair, where it secures positively wild curls into a bun. That added, she moves on - because that was the point to this whole thing: "And, from my perspective at least, it wasn't your first rodeo either." A beat. "We've met. I've met you."

[portalling]

“Was he…”

Usually Strange is so quick to throw out his questions, with few barriers to his scalpel-sharp curiosity, but this time there’s an uncustomary hesitation. There’s simply no elegant way to ask, Was he a haggard homicidal maniac or was he, like, normal.

He. I. What an odd sensation. It’s like knowing you blacked out and did something, somewhere out there, because at the end of the day it is still you; but he has no idea what he did or what his relationship with this girl was like.

So there’s that ruminative look on his face as he finally sits down, joining Hermione at the table. Takes a breath, decides to rip off the band-aid, raw honesty.

“Well, I hope it was a positive impression and he wasn’t trying to destroy the world or anything. I understand that’s an occupational hazard with Doctor Stranges.”

action

[aberratic]

[ continued from here. ]

No apologies needed. I can wrap up what I'm working on fairly quickly; I'll meet you in front of the central tower in 15 minutes.

[ a moment later, as an afterthought—]

I'll be the blonde, with my hair under a kerchief.

[ and lo, fifteen minutes later, ness is in front of the central tower, as promised. she watches passersby, looking for an unfamiliar face who might be searching for something, and when she sees someone who fits the bill— ]

Goodlady Granger?

[ more confident in pronouncing that out loud than hermione, oop. ]

action - all dungeons no dragons

[reparo]

[ At least a minute is a minute here, at least that's a reasonable measure of time that she can abide by. And honestly, outside of writing - publicly - in the book, and having her outrage criticised - also publicly - by a few respondents, what else does she have to do with her time right now?

She won't find a beacon back. She won't make her way back home. She's stuck, she's here, and if eventually she'll come to accept that as her truth, she's not there yet.

They did give her some clothes, a pair of robes that go all the way down to the floor, that she's had to hem shorter herself. As much as she is not a stranger to wizarding robes, there's something distinctly odd and unpleasant about wearing these, with nothing but her underwear beneath - so since they were dispensing with breeches as well, she took a pair.

So she stands out, of course. Breeches tucked into boots, long-sleeved robes shortened to under the knee and cinched at the waist with a belt. The glowy hand is a bit of a giveaway. There is no kerchief on Hermione's head (should there be?!), but at least she's tamed the cacophony of curls up into a bun at the top of her head, her wand pierced through it, looking unobtrusive - mere decoration! Pay her no mind!

Except of course, she hears her name be called, and turns with a bit of an overeager smile. ]

Miss Tavane? [ She's coming at you with a hand stretched out for a handshake, Ness. Get ready. ] Please, Hermione is fine.

[aberratic]

[ the good thing about being a people pleaser to your bones is that you get very good at reading people and making intuitive leaps. hermione comes at ness with her hand held out, not like she wants to take something from her but with expectation of reciprocation. this is their first meeting, she's introducing herself—the outstretched hand is a greeting ritual of some kind. does ness hold out the same hand, or the opposite?

coin toss odds she gets this right, she shifts her bundle of books and notes to one arm and holds out her hand in a mirror of hermione's greeting.

(it's the wrong hand, but she tried.) ]

Hello, Hermione, [ warmly, smiling right back. ] You needn't be formal with me, either. If Ennaris is a mouthful, Ness is alright.

@allthatgleamsisgold

[reparo]

[from here.]

Horses are unsettling and harpies are dinner - we come from very different worlds, you and I. Do I dare ask why they horses unsettle you? They're so pretty. [ she hasn't seen the bog unicorn yet. and taking note of the halla being sacred. taking note of all bestiary being classified into 'food' and 'not food' over here.

notes - they are being taken. ]

Are they out and about that it would be easy to meet them, or are they in the wild?

[allthatgleamsisgold]

Have you centaurs in your world? If so, horses look like malformed versions of them. Where you expect to see a torso, there is only a head.

The dragons live out in the wild. Wise of them, as there are fools who would hunt them for mere sport.

As I understand it, they were nearly extinct before the turning of this century.

1/3

[reparo]

It's no wonder, if there are people out here hunting them down for sport! Is there nothing being done for conservationism?

[reparo]

You don't need to answer that - I mean, you can, but I'm not pointing blame at you.

[reparo]

Sorry, what's your name?

crystal

[succise]

Lady Vega Arany of Vyrantium —

(Is an abrupt way to start a conversation, but there you go. Vega is uninterested in the fluff of hello, good to meet you and how are you doing. She cuts to the chase.) I'd like to ask you about your magic.

[reparo]

Hermione Granger. [ Which Lady Vega Arany of Vyrantium would know, given that she used her crystal to send the message, but - nevermind. Politeness. ]

Are any of the questions demands to stop using it and scaring off the civillians?

[succise]

(The politeness is silently appreciated.)

No. Are you doing that? They probably deserve it.

crystals; backdated pre-forgetti

[wythersake]

Mlle. Granger, [ hi ] Are you familiar with Ser Barrow?

crystals; backdated pre-forgetti

[reparo]

In passing, mostly. We coincided on a job in the Silent Plains, but we've not been formally acquainted. Why?