( 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?
[ 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.
( 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.
[ Setting aside the faux-pas on the network earlier in the day, which earned her some level of - diplomatically put - apprehension from others, Hermione has no doubt that she'll join.
It's less a matter of if, but when. When she's read up, when she won't be a danger to herself and others. When the quarantine is over and all she can do is figure out how to live.
This Hermione Granger, who may not be the original anymore, but who still feels as real as ever. You can't tell her she's a dream. ]
Captain Baudin. [ Says it with that French pronounciation that's just right, and a respectful nod.
This is before she's being directed to actually look at the scar (and the... there's cleavage, and it is objectively very pretty). Unintentionally, her tongue feels tangled up in a knot and her face hot with a blush. She does, thankfully, hear the words. ]
I wouldn't join because I think I have no choice, Captain. I would because I can't just retire to the countryside while there's suffering going on around me, and I might have a way to make it happen less. I'm not the kind of person who can easily tolerate injustice when it happens.
[ She's the kind of person who rushes at it, fists raised. ]
matter of fact. taking hermione at her word, at face value, and declaring it good. if you can, then you must, mustn't you? it hadn't been a moral choice for her, at the beginning, but a practical one: of course she wants to save the world she fucking lives in. of course she's going to do something about it, if she's able.
it had not come by nature, for her. but if you can, do is what she expects of herself, so why not expect it of everyone else, too? the moreso that it wasn't her nature. if she can get it the fuck together, no one's got an excuse and she's going to remember everyone that didn't.
rifters don't have to fight and it matters that it's a choice, but she has habitually judged the ones that don't or don't want to, using up riftwatch resources, made safer than most can hope to be by their work and walls, and for what? and ungrateful. it isn't fair, maybe, the way she sees it — none of this is, though. what about the things that they can make fairer. what about the things that they can claw back from the conflict.
they can so they must so they do. good. )
It's not that I don't appreciate what you've lost, ( after a moment, though she knows there was a time that absolutely would have been part of it, ) it's just tomorrow doesn't give a shit what any of us have lost getting here, you know.
( there's a certain camaraderie to that; from the conversation they've had, she says it as if she has every expectation that hermione does know, that she is not high-handedly asserting a new truth but acknowledging the shape of something familiar to them both. )
[ That's one (blunt, frank) way to put it, and that's going to be the lesson, isn't it? Pick yourself up, and get the fuck moving.
She might start swearing more here. As a treat.
Her smile is rueful. ] Indeed.
[ the conversation feels like it's reaching an end, and yet... And yet. ] I might come to you. In Forces. [ She glances at her notes. ]
I know that I would probably fit in Research just well, but I've gotten accustomed to aiming myself at fearsome foes more often than not in recent years' recollection.
[ A pause, then a sheepish shrug, ] What would be the point in brewing all those healing potions if I keep them in a lab instead of shoving them into someone's hand [ Or mouth, if they're passed out. ]
It wouldn't stop you from aiding research where it makes sense, ( she notes, a tempered encouragement; diplomacy probably has the hardest job, but forces has the best one, if you pressed her to say, but all things being equal she doesn't seem inclined to outright lean a finger on the scales of someone else's choice.
push them to make one, yes. decide it for them ... not her style. )
I'm not completely sure Stark realised I wasn't actually in Research, ( is a bit ruminative, bittersweet fondness. did it matter, anyway. ) And like I said, I work in the infirmary when I'm available. Someone who can stock, dispense and defend the medical wagon in a battlefield situation is worth their weight in gold, besides.
( ghislain could have been worse. starkhaven could have been worse. )
[ It wouldn't?! That is a fact that perks her right up, heart on her sleeve, no poker face. Then again, Gwen also helps in the infirmary - with Healer Strange, is it? - so clearly the Riftwatch also operates on a 'everyone pulls their weight where they can' basis.
And then, that possibility, dangled in front of her. Worth their weight in gold. Hermione wants to be - she wants to matter, and make a difference, and help. She may have a lot to chew on, but that line will stick with her. ]
Thank you, I - you've given me a lot to think about. [ A small, tentative smile, ] Including that elfroot could be smoked like weed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
( 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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
It's less a matter of if, but when. When she's read up, when she won't be a danger to herself and others. When the quarantine is over and all she can do is figure out how to live.
This Hermione Granger, who may not be the original anymore, but who still feels as real as ever. You can't tell her she's a dream. ]
Captain Baudin. [ Says it with that French pronounciation that's just right, and a respectful nod.
This is before she's being directed to actually look at the scar (and the... there's cleavage, and it is objectively very pretty). Unintentionally, her tongue feels tangled up in a knot and her face hot with a blush. She does, thankfully, hear the words. ]
I wouldn't join because I think I have no choice, Captain. I would because I can't just retire to the countryside while there's suffering going on around me, and I might have a way to make it happen less. I'm not the kind of person who can easily tolerate injustice when it happens.
[ She's the kind of person who rushes at it, fists raised. ]
no subject
Good.
( not doubtful, not snide, not challenging—
matter of fact. taking hermione at her word, at face value, and declaring it good. if you can, then you must, mustn't you? it hadn't been a moral choice for her, at the beginning, but a practical one: of course she wants to save the world she fucking lives in. of course she's going to do something about it, if she's able.
it had not come by nature, for her. but if you can, do is what she expects of herself, so why not expect it of everyone else, too? the moreso that it wasn't her nature. if she can get it the fuck together, no one's got an excuse and she's going to remember everyone that didn't.
rifters don't have to fight and it matters that it's a choice, but she has habitually judged the ones that don't or don't want to, using up riftwatch resources, made safer than most can hope to be by their work and walls, and for what? and ungrateful. it isn't fair, maybe, the way she sees it — none of this is, though. what about the things that they can make fairer. what about the things that they can claw back from the conflict.
they can so they must so they do. good. )
It's not that I don't appreciate what you've lost, ( after a moment, though she knows there was a time that absolutely would have been part of it, ) it's just tomorrow doesn't give a shit what any of us have lost getting here, you know.
( there's a certain camaraderie to that; from the conversation they've had, she says it as if she has every expectation that hermione does know, that she is not high-handedly asserting a new truth but acknowledging the shape of something familiar to them both. )
no subject
She might start swearing more here. As a treat.
Her smile is rueful. ] Indeed.
[ the conversation feels like it's reaching an end, and yet... And yet. ] I might come to you. In Forces. [ She glances at her notes. ]
I know that I would probably fit in Research just well, but I've gotten accustomed to aiming myself at fearsome foes more often than not in recent years' recollection.
[ A pause, then a sheepish shrug, ] What would be the point in brewing all those healing potions if I keep them in a lab instead of shoving them into someone's hand [ Or mouth, if they're passed out. ]
no subject
push them to make one, yes. decide it for them ... not her style. )
I'm not completely sure Stark realised I wasn't actually in Research, ( is a bit ruminative, bittersweet fondness. did it matter, anyway. ) And like I said, I work in the infirmary when I'm available. Someone who can stock, dispense and defend the medical wagon in a battlefield situation is worth their weight in gold, besides.
( ghislain could have been worse. starkhaven could have been worse. )
no subject
And then, that possibility, dangled in front of her. Worth their weight in gold. Hermione wants to be - she wants to matter, and make a difference, and help. She may have a lot to chew on, but that line will stick with her. ]
Thank you, I - you've given me a lot to think about. [ A small, tentative smile, ] Including that elfroot could be smoked like weed.