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video | CALL | un: wardenka

[At first, the wrong camera turns on, showing the book Katherine has laid out on the table, pages bathed in sunlight from a nearby window. It's nonfiction - biology, in fact, and its target audience likely in the young teens crowd. The open page displays a labeled diagram of a strand of DNA and a Punnett square with an explanation in small print, courtesy of a cartoonish character sitting on its corner, clearly drawn by an adult attempting to appeal to a younger crowd they only superficially understand. The normal-sized text at its side explains hereditary traits, with a side of how DNA determines everything about a person's appearance. It's helpfully colloquial.]

Well, I can't say I completely understand all of this, but- oh, wait, I've got it the wrong way, haven't I?

[She switches to the front camera to show her face instead, bags under her eyes indicating a rather long self-imposed study session. She raises a mug of something no longer hot enough to require one to her lips and sets it down offscreen with a gentle thunk. The window beside her reveals the skybridges, flying cars, and gleaming metal towers of Tomorrow, from several stories up.]

There we are! Now, as I was saying, am I right in guessing this means the...the essence of who we are is in...all of us? Does that mean spells that require a bit of, say, hair, from the caster have worked on the same principles as blood magic all along?

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I...

[A finger touches under an eye. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she quietly corrects her initial assumption - she may not understand the terms he's using, as usual, but those herbs are a sedative, not a stimulant.]

...um.

[And then it all sinks in: his own makeup...]

I don't need...um, anything like that. I don't have trouble sleeping, I just sometimes get so caught up in doing something that I forget!

[Don't need? Oh no, he is not so sure about that.]

And quite caught you have proven to be! A fish ensnared in the trapping teeth of the sea-beast. On the eves in which my diction is most permeated with the talk and tell of the bright arcane, my palest brother speaks to me words of wisdom; [He clears his throat first, so as to better mimic the voice.] bro, if you're thtill up vaporizing those thirthty demon bitcheth with your crazy voodoo thhit, we should totally hang out and thlam our way to thleep.

[Kurloz beams.]

Um...?

[He's lost her. Not an uncommon occurrence, of course, but in this case it's his use of "slam" she's unfamiliar with. It seems like anything involving slamming would keep one awake, after all...]

"Slam" what?

[He blinks at her.] Working wicked verbiage. Throwing the soul into a fierce battle of wits and rhyme. Slam poetry? [Searchingly, he stares into the camera at her sleepy face.] It is an ancient art.

So you...came up with poems until you were sleepy? That's an interesting way to do it!

[She smiles a bit, clearly not having completely understood the concept as described.]

I didn't think of you as a poet, Kurloz.

Exactly, for my brother understands that one those bright things call loudest, that is when we are most in mother fuckin need.

[Like usual, her lack of understanding goes unnoticed. He inhales deeply, a wide grin forming.]

In the sirenic theater's chest cage, poetry lives.
It pulses, breathes, and teaches. At times even forgives.
Reaching deep within us all, it spills to the happy gathering.
Kindly scavengers, they applaud the sacrifice's unveiling.
Recognizing they readily eat what lays within as it lays the fuck within them too.
And how miraculous, to find mother fuckin company there in the devouring of truths.

[He finishes reciting and beams.]

I would deem Hamlet a sort of poetry. Hamlet is the mother fuckin shit.

[...somehow, it's much easier to understand what he's saying when it's in the form of a poem.]

I've never heard of it - it might not exist in Thedas. Maybe I'll find it here, somewhere. But I like that poem's message - grisly as the comparison is, that is the allure of sharing tales, isn't it?

Yes! Fuck yes, my wicked sister! It is one of the greatest of miracles, to exchange tale and passion and all feeling we would not otherwise seek to expose. Seen though gruesome and ugly on the outs, we allow ourselves the freedom to express when the thespians take to stage and illustrate all we share. How mother fuckin beautiful it is. My dear matesprit finds similar joy in that. [And that thought of Meulin softens his exuberance. She would relate it to shipping of course, the wonder of romance. And he would pull her near.]

I must seek out a copy of Hamlet, so that I may share with thee. I suspect thou to be unable to read Beforan, but I may recite it's passages to thee, should thee desire it. [He smiles brightly at her.]

Edited 2016-11-29 03:56 (UTC)

There's an app on this device that says it's for books - I wonder if buying Hamlet on it will translate it for me. Aside from one person I've met who arrived completely unable to understand the words we're speaking, I haven't had any problems reading anything here.

My sister, you speak a brilliance! You must acquire a copy at once! The poetry within is no less than divine!

[There is a very long pause where Kurloz is not looking at the camera, but looking around, seemingly outside somewhere.]

...Sister Katherine, I am uncertain how to locate you.

Edited 2016-12-02 02:45 (UTC)

Um...where are you coming from, exactly? I can tell you how I got here from the McAran building.

[She describes a library on the third floor of one of the towers about two or three blocks from McAran. It's still a little vague, but surely he can find it.]

The tower! So you are within Tomorrow's great city! [That saved him a lot of walking, for certain.

He takes in the latter bits of her description, then nods, hurrying along. He's been here long enough he at least has a vague idea how to navigate and, despite what his enthusiasm would tell, he's always been on the smarter side.

When he finally steps into that library, the hand not holding his bag of products and nip rises up to touch on the side of his painted face. There are so many books. It appears like an imperial library. It must be full to the brim with alien wonders and occult and- Focus Makara.

He makes his way down the isles, peering about for an alien with bright orange hair. He calls her name in a cross of a shout and a whisper.] Katherine!

[Katherine looks up when she hears someone loudly whisper her name - the gray skin and painted face give the boy away immediately, and she gives him a little grin and waves him over, closing the book she'd been poring over. It's kind of cute that he did come to find her, but she is going to have to turn down that face paint.]

Hello, Kurloz. It's good to see you in person.

[It's even weirder, somehow, seeing him with her own eyes, no aid from their devices.]

[He is tall for his age, with all the gangly awkwardness of someone not yet grown into their frame, though he does his very best to show grace. Tries.

He jumps a little at her greeting, not out of any surprise, but merely because his excitement demands it. He does not run ahead, however. Instead, with his bag held at his side, he preforms a deep and princely bow, horns down and all. Then he runs.

There are no other trolls here thus far that he's seen, but plenty of creatures that resemble Sam, the angel, and Katherine, the... whatever it is that Katherine is. The sense of wonder has not yet faded.]

Gracious greetings, Sister, upon this most miraculous eve! I have brought many a material for thee. Has thou progressed in the researching for the bright arcane of blood magics?

[He clambers upon a nearby seat, setting down the bag so he can start pulling out his various things, make up to rolled herbs.]

[The reaction is...probably not quite what he was expecting, as her first instinct is a panicked sweep of the room, as if looking for listeners. She hunches over the table a little, clearly still anxious, and speaks in an urgent whisper.]

It isn't blood magic! It may be related, but I'd never cross that line if I didn't have to.

[She doesn't shout but she doesn't have to. The fear spikes in a way he wasn't expecting, causing a sharp inhale like the floor's dropped out on him. There's a sharp crack and a crunch as he snaps his eyeliner pencil to bits in his hand.]

Oh-oh. My sincerest apologies, sister Katherine.

[He didn't even think. Why must he be such a fool?

He opens his palm to inspect the damage and frowns. Stupid highblood strength. His eyeliner is ruined... He shoves it back in the bag and rubs his hand clean on his thigh. There's little pricks of indigo but that's alright.

He returns his focus to Katherine, starting to reach out, hesitating just a moment, then completing the motion of placing a hand on her.]

Be at ease, my sister, for you are safe here. I shall let none harm thee. [His frown deepens.] Why such response in thee, I wonder.

[For a moment, she's quiet, reassessing the surroundings. There is no danger, of course. No templars for anyone to run off and tell, and probably nobody who would run off and tell them in the first place. With a deep breath and a sigh, she looks up to acknowledge Kurloz's comforting gesture.]

Thank you. It's-... Where I come from, an accusation like that could be the death of me, if overheard by the wrong ears.

[It is not that he doesn't think it is truth. Her fear confirms it as truth. Such intense fears don't occur often. But it's... it's wrong.]

I do not understand. This proclamation suggests a betrayal the likes of which have not been known. I have bore witness to the strange. I have played prophet to the un-mother-fuckin-believable. Yet I am to hear of those who would wish you harm?

[And, strangely, he feels not fear, nor simply sadness though that persists too. There is anger. The anger is entirely his own.]

What magics would inspire such cruelty? The mere administrations of blood to your wicked work and this is thought due? You are good and kind and righteous and unworthy of this savagery! This is mother fuckin unjust, my sister Katherine! Honk. Honk! With whom must I converse to clear this wretched ruling from being? I must appeal to this power at mother fuckin once! Honk.

Oh, they'd just think you're some kind of demon anyway, Kurloz.

[Katherine holds her head in a hand.]

It's not unjustified, you know. Blood magic is a dangerous path. Its reliance on draining away life can attract demons, and it offers temptation of its own, in the ability to control the thoughts of others. I'm only studying its theories for useful applications of it - not the magic itself.

Oh... [He blinks. He appears as a demon? But he isn't. He doesn't look anything like a demon, last he checked. Not a feather in sight. But... he supposes he is rather alien by her standards.

He deflates. He listens.

It makes sense, he supposes. There were trolls out there with abilities... like Aranea. Like himself. One had to be careful not to push the line. That wasn't the way of their people. It was important to protect one another.

He straightens up. It is important to protect one another. He turns his focus back on her, face firm, not a smile in sight.] It is not justified, my sister. An ability and study is no proof of cruel act. The threat faced by they ought be that which is looked out for. You are good and your protection is just.

[He puts a smile back on, a softer one, and reaches out for that hand so he can take it between both of his, give a gentle pat.] I shall protect thee, sister.

Thank you, but I don't intend to go far enough to need it. If you knew what blood magic has done to my world, to people I once called my friends, you might not say that. A blood mage can have good intentions, but... [she gestures vaguely at the air around them.]

...a demon could be lurking. Waiting for a host. They play tricks of the mind, and the strongest of them are the most clever at it. It's easy to keep moving the line you won't cross inch by inch for what seems like the greater good. Until you're killing someone when they don't need to die. I've seen it.

[That is wrong. So much of that is wrong. People shouldn't be killing one another. But neither should people be afraid of those who are most in danger.]

No disrespect meant, sister Katherine, but I protest that there is no need for protection. [He doesn't buy it, not after what she's said.] Thine preach laid tell, if you did not have to. I can scry an implication of unrighteous incident. I need no prophecy discern possibility. Although one hosts ability to harm, this does not determine they shall. Thou ought not fear that thy might be mistaken for the unrighteous by mere means of protecting thine own. And thusly, with those respects, I shall keep word of protection all the mother fuckin same.

[He pauses, falling quiet. Then he bows his head.] I am sorry for misspeaking in such ways as to summon your fear and possible dangers, sister. I am of loose tongue and ill thought.

Oh Messiahs, let not my step slip that others fall to harm. Protect all from my carelessness. Keep steady my self that your word may be spoken clear.

You couldn't have known.

[She heaves a sigh.]

You couldn't have. It's all right. There's no danger here, it's only that I've seen so much pain and suffering come of it, no matter how good the intent. I lost a friend to it. We were so close he might as well have been my brother.

[It's not often he's at a loss for words. Beforus has death, of course, it was a dangerous planet and... and one always heard about the vast lengths of time the higherbloods had to watch the lower die. But he's never seen any of that. And this is different.

She uses brother funny, like it's what she means but also not what she means. Like it's something more and less all at once.]

The gates of the dark carnival close not eternal. They are open, waiting for the people to behold the wonders within. I believe one day your brother can be mirthfully met once mother fuckin more, if so it was wished.

[He then moves to wrap his arms around Katherine in a hug, made awkward by the angle.]

[Was Jowan even dead? She had no idea. Either way, he was certainly gone, if not dead then stripped of all emotion, no longer anything like the man he used to be. She hadn't seen or heard anything about him when she returned to the Circle in her search for Morrigan. She doesn't move as the lanky boy attempts to comfort her, staring down at the open book before her that the Chantry might warn against for the very reason she lost Jowan.]

...I certainly hope so. There was too much left unsaid.

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