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leavin’ on a jet plane
"Don’t know when I’ll be back again."
ABOARD THE MOIRAThe Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay. Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and offered a contract to sign that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. Any questions you might have would be answered in a straightforward manner as well as an explanation about how the Ingress, the thing that has pulled you onto the Moira, is broken and bringing people here unintentionally. This process also consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand or wrist with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters. Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged. You may notice a slight change in the artificial gravity every once in awhile; however, more noticeable changes can be found in overall morale of those of the crew.
☄ on your ownThere are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) The day begins normally. Or almost.
The Moira has accidentally fallen along the trajectory of an asteroid barreling its way through space. While most things like this are not uncommon, and the ship is far from any potential danger of collision or risk of debris damaging the exterior, there is something particularly odd about this specific occurrence. The rock itself appears to give off a strange light that is both eerie and alive. Often, if looked at in just the right manner, it will shift colors; so, while one person sees one side of the spectrum, someone else could see something entirely different. At first, things continue on as they usually do aside from the glowing asteroid alongside the Moira, but as the hours go on, that does not seem to be the case.
☄ the hours are breathingresignedly beneath the sky the melancholy waters lieWith a rather open view of stars and space, thanks to the skylight above, the pool in the rec area suddenly comes alive beneath the light of the asteroid filtering in. Perhaps it’s some natural response to the chemical composition of the water, or perhaps it’s magic. Yet, regardless of the explanation, those who happen to take a dip suddenly find themselves plagued by despair. The depression and melancholy are not subtle changes either; it slams into you with great force, like a punch to the gut. The longer you remain in the pool, the deeper it grows, like an all-consuming paranoia that settles into the back of your mind and causes your heart to grow heavy. These strong feelings will eventually fade if you choose to leave the pool and dry off, but as long as you remain damp from the pool, those emotions will continue to linger. Even after you’re completely dry, there will be no mistaking just how intensely you felt or why. There is no explanation and might not be. Would you dare a second swim to test whether or not it was a fluke? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
☄ those who have crossedthe eyes are not here, there are no eyes hereThe walls are shrinking in. Every room you step into feels much too small, like there isn’t enough room to even breathe. A crowded place becomes startlingly empty, and no matter how much you run, how much you explore, there is no one there to comfort you or answer your calls for help. Hallucinations run strong between the lulls of obscene loneliness or claustrophobia, and exposure to the glow of the asteroid is really the only thing to thank for that. You’re desperate to claw your way out of the ship—open the emergency hatch in the Cargo Bay, bust the glass of the Observation Deck. What’s worse is that it’s not just you. It’s catching, and the fear of being next is very real. It feels like you’re being watched, that everyone around you is looking and seeing everything you are. Or are not. The only way to make it stop is to admit that you’re afraid of being seen, but who, in the deep madness of the self, has the courage to ever admit the truth? ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
☄ the sun in flightrage, rage against the dying of the lightSomething has drifted its way onto the Moira from the outside. Unlike the faint luminosity they give off, they suck up all the light around them, making them the only source to see by. From far away, they are just flitting balls of light, but if you get close enough to inspect them, they are mean. And have sharp, sharp teeth. Go poking, and they will bite you before trying to fly away while taking that only light source with them. The option to avoid them is quite easy if you’re not the curious sort, but without them around, it will be impossibly dark. As the asteroid moves on in the opposite direction of the Moira, these light creatures begin to dissolve and fade away with it. However, a word of caution: their bites glow. If you don’t manage to find the one that bit you and capture it between your hands, the bite will become a permanent glowing fixture of your body. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. )
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thisavrou_ooc2016-07-08 05:07 pm
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Besides, it's different here. Everyone's a curiosity now, he supposes.]
That's– very kind of you. [And his (almost imperceptibly) deepening frown suggests that the next word out of his mouth is going to be "but…"
But what? It feels like it's been ages since he's had a conversation that didn't have some larger purpose behind it, with someone that he wasn't trying to drag answers out of. Since the attacks, Adam had always dreaded small talk, assuming (rightly, in most cases) that it'd end up drifting towards the inevitable but how do you deal with it conversation. And always the looks he'd get– pitying, fearful, sometimes outright hateful. It'd been more than enough to put him off the whole human interaction thing for a good while.
...No reason it has to be that way here, though. And he won't find out if it is until he tries.
Adam lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, eventually nodding his assent.] Why not? I obviously don't have an eye for what the good brands around here are. [He rubs the back of his neck. Can an asteroid stare?] Besides, I think the view's lost its charm.
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Though perhaps if he did put a bit of that playful luridness into his gaze it would offset any discomfort? Or make it worse? Regardless, he was more fascinated by such things and less judgmental, he was different from most of his peers back home...though sometimes he found it difficult to shake certain ideas given the prevalence of them in his world.]
As long as you do not mind following me all the way to the Mero Deck, I keep the good stuff in my possession, naturally. [Especially since Dorian seems to be one of the few people on this ship who thinks a good drink shouldn't taste like vinegar. Then gain, certain supplies were more limited than others and he managed to stock up on wine when they were last docked. Among other things, but fine wine was very important.]
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["Honest" would be also telling Dorian that he'd kind of made a beeline for the bar once he'd been informed it was a thing, and so he hasn't had the opportunity to familiarize himself with any more of the ship– but Adam considers that sort of information to be on a need-to-know basis. It isn't as if the alcohol can really damage him – his health maintenance systems are nothing if not effective (too effective) – but he's not really looking to give anyone the impression he's a raging alcoholic.]
May want to be careful though. Saw some of these... [He mimes a blobby sort of shape with his hands. Could be anything, really.] ...Jellyfish things, on the way here.
[Giving up the attempt at description, Adam grabs the bottle and glass. If he leaves it behind, some innocent bystander could pass by and think to sample its contents; he's not going to be the one to inflict that on them.
He shrugs lightly.] They didn't look dangerous, but I kind of got the impression that they weren't supposed to be there. Call it a hunch.
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[Pity, because Dorian rarely hides the impression that he is a raging alcoholic, he's just very good at acting like a normal person when he drinks. It helps that he's gotten so good at it that he's learned not to mix his drink, sticking with wine when it's available. Why else would a man have his own wine stores in his quarters.
He was also a man who knew when to be sober as well, so it could be worse, it could be a lot worse.]
Oh? I don't suppose that would be the strangest thing I've seen since I've been here. [Granted, Dorian has had a lifetime of strange things.] If they do decide to come between us and good alcohol, I'm here, I'll protect you.
[It's at this point Dorian dips his toes in the water.] Not that you need it, yes? You do look rather strapping.
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Charming phrasing on that last comment, though. A snort that can kind of pass for a laugh.] Nice of you to notice.
[But he's had no truck with romance and interpersonal contact and whatnot for more than half a year (having been distracted by a near-death experience, kidnapped ex, etc.) and so, for all his powers of observation, Adam does an incredible job missing most of the subtext in Dorian's words. The way he reacts – doesn't react – might be indication enough that no, he didn't pick up on that. Or maybe it'll just come off as par for the course for him, impassiveness and all.
(Give him a few minutes, and it'll finally hit him that he's sharing private stores of wine with a man who apparently finds him "rather strapping.")
He shifts his weight so he's no longer leaning on the window.] I can take care of myself. And you, if it comes to that.
Don't see any weapons on you, though. [An arched brow.] So I'm guessing you're magic?
[He's joking, mostly, and it's just barely audible in his tone. Swords, shields, dwarves– only thing that's missing is an elf and a wizard, right?]
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If he needed to. Was asked to.
Still, they had only just met and Dorian would have plenty of time to get the measure of him, but for now he would lead the way I the direction back to the living sector. He'll have enough time to figure it out between the observation deck and his shared room.]
Oh? Truth be told, I do enjoy being taken care of. [Well, he did look the part of a man who was well pampered and cared for, even if he was the one doing most of the caring for himself.
The question, however, earned Adam a velvety chuckle.]
I don't know how anyone can see with sunglasses on, but clearly you see quite a bit.
[And without further ado Dorian holds up his hand, electricity sparking between his fingers. He wasn't casting a spell or anything, he was just emitting enough magic to prove the man's theory.] I am a mage. I do have a staff, but it acts more like a conduit for my spells.
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Pretty much every part of Dorian's response, from his choice of words to the light show, earns him both raised brows from Adam; the surprised look, obvious even with the shades on, is just about the strongest show of emotion he's made this entire conversation (and apparently it only took six more seconds for him to finally catch on!)
So– he's flirting.
The attention's not an annoyance, per se, but… Preferences aside, his relationship situation's a little Complicated with a capital "C." And (regardless of how good the wine turns out to be) he's not quite ready to explain how he'd gone through hell to hunt down and save his "dead" ex-girlfriend, only to find that she'd been a willing captive of the people who'd turned him into the half-machine thing he is today. Just call what he has the mother of all hang-ups.
But assuming that he has to explain any of that whenever Dorian throws a compliment in his direction isn't exactly fair to him, so– acceptance it is, at least until any more overt moves are made. He's kind of getting the impression that the guy's a chronic flatterer, anyway.
Eventually he realizes his mouth is slightly agape (mostly at the show of magic) and he hastily wipes the look off his face. A few seconds pass in silence before Adam speaks up again, keeping pace at Dorian's side. By then, his tone's back to its usual neutrality.]
Well, I guess I called it– but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still surprised. Can everyone do that, where you're from?
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The situation was stickier than that, but Dorian liked thinking about it almost as much as he liked talking about it. Regardless, while Dorian had his own preferences, he flirted with anyone on two legs. He wasn't a habitual seducer, in spite of his history for it and complete debauchery, but an unapologetic flirt.
And until or unless such things bothered or made someone uncomfortable, not that he wasn't tactfully complimentary, he would continue on.
Dorian is, at least partially, amused by Adam's reaction to it all. It's the strongest expression of emotion he's shown so far, granted magic tends to be impressive to most people aboard the ship. Impressive, or weird because they couldn't make sense of it.
Dorian felt the same way about technology.]
No, not everyone, and it is the reason why being a mage is complicated in my world. In the North mages are revered as tyrants, in the South they are stigmatized and rounded up to spend their lives behind great big walls.
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Seems like some things just don't change, one world to another. People are always looking for ways to draw dividing lines between themselves, set themselves apart.
[He raises a hand to one temple, frowning; his retinal implant is still streaming confused warnings about nearby electrical hazards down the sides of his vision. Clearly, the designers had never thought to account for magic when putting these things together. After a few distracted seconds, he shakes his head and continues:]
Augs – people like me, I mean – they can experience similar treatment. A lot of it depends on where you're from, or how well off you are.
[Even with the riots and protests, things aren't nearly as bad as they could be where he's from– which is why Adam doesn't say "we." Or… They weren't. Who's to say what things are going to be like now, after the massacres? He might be looking forward to a great, big wall in his future as well.
He won't ask whether Dorian's one of those Northern or Southern mages – if it really is anything like his own situation, then it's likely to be a bit of a sensitive topic.] I wish I could say that things were different. But "complicated" is the right word for it.
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[Dorian dismissed the bit of magic he performed just moments before, hopefully that would put an end to any hazardous warnings, not that Dorian knew what was going on with his companion's body.]
And mages are the same way. Where I come from, it is a cautionary tale, much as I cannot grasp the idea of my people being rounded up in circles to live the rest of their lives away from people who might hurt them, away from people they might hurt. It's all so convenient. There is the opposite argument as well, mages who rule strictly, tend to abuse their power.
[And Dorian wasn't entirely certain where to find the equilibrium there.]
I'd enjoy nothing more than beating the corrupt systems my homeland stands on into submission, but...
[...but. It was more complicated than that, and he was one man.
Though it did answer the question of where Dorian came from, he came from the place where mages were corrupt tyrants and he had no reserves talking about it. His skin was thicker than that and time had given him an open mind.
There were other things that he was far more sensitive about than the corruption in his homeland.] I think complicated is the only word for anything, no matter the day, no matter the era. Still, I'd rather try to navigate the situation then idly sit by and let it continue.
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Adam understands, to some degree (as much as he can really say he understands, given what little he's heard so far.) It's one thing to rise up as part of the oppressed, but when one's part of the elite… There's this responsibility, one feels, to use every advantage they've been granted to change things for the better. Whether it's magic, or augmentations, or anything else.
(It's that conviction what's been the only thing keeping him from completely losing it every time he accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.)]
The world could use more people that think the way you do. Either of our worlds.
["Gentle" isn't a word anyone could possibly use to describe it, but Adam's voice loses a bit of its usual edge when he says that. It's too tempting to think of himself as one person against the world, that he can trust no one but himself… But if even a quarter of the people on the ship have the same attitude Dorian has, then things could be different here.]
Anyone who's been in power that long– they've found ways to hold onto it. [A pause.] But if I know one thing for sure, it's that nothing lasts forever.
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He's used to compliments, certainly, about his appearance and his skill with magic. It wasn't very often people said anything good about his character or suggested that there should be more people that think like him. It was enough to make him speechless, and that didn't happen often.]
Rare to get it, hard to keep it...power is such a slippery beast, people will do anything for it...defy death...become gods or parasites. [Ugh, this wasn't exactly a pleasant topic.] Ah, nothing lasts forever, that's the only thing that gives anything meaning.
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He shakes his head, offering another one of those wry half-smiles.] Way this conversation is heading, I'm really starting to wonder if you've got enough of that wine.
[In lieu of said wine (and the effects of the whiskey having long since worn off, thanks Sentinel RX Health System!) it's best to head this talk off before it gets much heavier. He's not entirely sure how large the ship actually is, but they must be getting close to the housing decks. A change of subject – a segue, really.] So how about the people who are in charge here, then – what are they like?
[Because while he knows there are captains, he doesn't even have an idea of what they look like. He's always found, though, that the best way to get stock of a CO is to see what the people working beneath him say about him. Any bit of information he can have when going into actually dealing with them will be an advantage.]
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The walk from the deck G to deck P isn't a long one, before Dorian even realized it, the door to the main hall was sliding open. Mero deck was sterile, polished, and almost too white for his taste. Still, it could be worse, it could be abundantly colorful or rustic and bland...but it was clean and that was the most important thing.]
The people who are in charge? The captains you mean? I don't know how in charge you would say they are, but if I had to give you the measure of them...so far, they seem incompetent at best, negligent at worst. They seem to have their own agenda. [Dorian hasn't known them long, so his opinion might be a bit snap.] Then again we are coming off of the back end of a battle that could have gone better.
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The change of scenery is a distraction – this hospital corridor is supposed to be part of the living quarters? – but he resists the urge to stop and take it all in, instead insisting on pushing the point. Dorian's given him a taste of information; his curiosity's clearly piqued.]
I'm not looking at a Lord of the Flies situation here, am I? [Ah, right– that particular reference is probably lost on him. Quickly he adds:] Or what I mean is– you're not saying the crew is basically just governing itself, are you? Someone must be giving the orders.
[It's harder than he'd like to admit, imagining a life without direction. Probably why he finds it as unrealistic as he does. Adam's brow furrows.] If not, I... Can't say I'm surprised this battle didn't go as well as it could have.
[Might sound a little judgmental, but given Dorian's comments so far, he's pretty sure the guy's not going to take it to heart.]
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[Ah, finally. Dorian opens the door to his quarters, the rooms on the Mero deck are nice, sterile, clean, and that is something to be grateful for. However, each room had three spacious beds and very little in the way of privacy.]
They do dictate our living situation, there is an unspoken agreement that since we are here then there are certain things we are to comply to as conditional. I won't say that they have no authority, but it feels like an absentee parent, that there is more agency within the crew to fix problems and less with the captains.
[Dorian was, clearly, a difficult man to offend and simply nodded in agreement of the battle outcome.] Yes, we are alive, we won, but we've lost pieces of the ship and then there's this-
[There was a reason that Dorian favored robes with high collars They easily concealed his neck and the parts of his face he wanted concealed. Tugging the collar back, one can see that the skin along his neck and jaw had been transformed into glass.]
Most of us did not walk away unscathed. It's difficult to look at without thinking "what if it breaks?"
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They're at the room now; he uses it as an excuse to glance around, arms folded, opinions carefully kept to himself for the time being. This isn't something he can fix on his own – and if Dorian hasn't been here long enough to make any judgment calls, then Adam certainly hasn't – so he's not going to gain anything by spitballing ideas just yet. He'll need to see how things operate, in person, before really deciding how he feels. His slowly deepening frown is all that gives away any of his thoughts.
The rooms are clean, sterile, white – like a LIMB clinic operating room. Not singles, he notes, fixating on the three beds while Dorian continues to speak. Shared spaces. Great – just like summer camp, he thinks wryly. Motion in the corner of his eye prompts him to look back around at Dorian in time to see the collar come down and…
A sharp intake of breath.] Jesus…
[Stupidly, he almost asks, "Can't you just heal it with magic?" Clearly not, otherwise Dorian would've done it already. Even as he stares, eyes tracing lines back and forth across the smooth sheen of glass several times just to be sure, his retinal implant continues to offer its expert analysis: weak points just below the jawline, ideal targets in the event of attack and also the number one reason that the person he's looking at should already be dead. Adam manages not to groan aloud – at the rate he's running into unexplainable phenomena, his threat analysis module is going to be in dire need of an update, and soon.]
More magic? [It's the best he's got. Adam takes a step forward, unfolding his arms – but seeming unsure of what to do with them (in stark contrast to the casually confident way he carried himself before.) He's not a doctor by any means, what could his hands possibly do to help?] What the hell kind of enemies were you dealing with, that could do something like that?
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As Adam seemed at a loss for what to do with himself, Dorian broke out the wine and a few glasses. It would keep his hands occupied, at least, and the wine was better than what he had been drinking, Dorian didn't need to be a connoisseur to know that...granted he was, but that was aside from the point.]
Not any sort of magic that I am familiar with. The glass is oddly flexible, but more fragile than I would like. [Not that he's tested how fragile, he simply knew. Oh it wouldn't break if he tapped it or touched it, but blunt force wouldn't be a good idea.
Passing off a glass of wine to his guest, Dorian glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few moments.] A foreign enemy. I wasn't aboard the ship before we made such enemies, but apparently they had docked on a glassy world called Caducus Prime. For whatever reason the crew had worn out its welcome, and when we refused to leave the first time we were then forced to. This triggered a beastly transformation in one of our crew members who apparently damaged Caducus Primary's on-planet Ingress and splintered their world. A good many of the natives were killed in this incident, so I am told.
[Dorian took a sip of wine, clearing his throat before continuing on.] Apparently they have a sister world, Caducus Secondary. They felt revenge should be had and they brought their ships, weapons, and glass manipulating ways with them. Whatever happened when we defeated them impacted our ship, we took damage as well, the parts of the Moira that were lost seemed to integrate with their technology or magic...or whatever...replacing them with glass structures, but effecting us as well. That is my best estimation of our current predicament.
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(It doesn't, but the concern is still there, etched subtly in the hard lines of Adam's face.)]
Explains some of what I saw earlier. I kind of thought the random patches of glass around the ship were an interesting design choice, but I wasn't going to say anything about it. [His tone marks it as an attempt at humor, though the continual frown somewhat ruins the effect.
Adam takes a moment to take his first taste of the wine, which turns out to be a grateful one; he'd never really developed a taste for the stuff, but it'd be obvious to anyone with functioning tastebuds how much better this is compared to the whiskey from earlier.
He takes another, much larger, drink before continuing (he'd never really learned to take sips, either.)] Wish I could say I'm a doctor or a magician, but… [Frankly, no one would mistake him for one.] The crew members who are, though– have they made much headway in finding out how to put things back to normal?
[He'd signed the contract, so it's just as much his problem as theirs – though he's not sure what he can do about it at this point, himself. These Caducans are long gone, as far as he can gather, along with anything they might know about how to fix this. No one left behind to work his own personal brand of magic on (because his knack for getting answers out of people can certainly be described as a sort of magic!)]
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Still, Dorian does have to tease, it's just the natural order of things.]
I'm sure glass structures are very modern, sadly we still use wood and stone in my world, but it certainly stands the test of time. [Structures from the Imperium are still standing thousands of years after they've been built, not a thing changed.
One thing Dorian can be grateful for is a drinking companion who can keep up, there's more wine where that came from. Granted for his part Dorian is more for savoring his wine, not that he's sipping it daintily.] I'm sure you would have no shortage of patients to admire you, but to answer your question, I do not think they've made much headway in the glass catastrophe. I'm hoping it is just a temporary affliction.
[Not unless someone is keeping it really hush as to not get anyone's hopes up. Dorian's hoping for progress soon, however, because protecting his neck is becoming a pain in the neck.]
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I think I'd have to work on my bedside manner first. [Wry as ever. He focuses his attention on the glass he's holding instead, other hand resting in the crook of his arm.
The stemware's delicate – much more so than the squat lowball glass he'd swiped from the bar earlier – and it requires that much more care to make sure he doesn't accidentally snap it in two in his hand...And there it is, he notices now: a small spider's web of cracks in the thin glass where his fingers grasp it. Must've happened when he was distracted (by different glass, ironically enough.)
A faint look of frustration passes over his face, quickly stifled. How to manage the pressure his fingers exert had been one of the tougher things for him to learn during his recovery, and (although he's gotten much better at it in the past couple of months) his particular model of prosthetic wasn't exactly designed with a soft touch in mind.]
Anyway, I can drink to that. To temporary afflictions.
[And with that, he raises his glass with a slight nod at Dorian before downing the rest of its contents in one go. With any luck, the damage is less noticeable without any of the wine in it.]
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I have a gardener back home who needs to work on bedside manner, you are a delight. [Dorian's tone is sanguine, by comparison, even though he is implying that he has been treated a lot worse. Not that Adam is anything remotely approaching disagreeable, not by Dorian's standards anyway, he's friendly enough, and he seems concerned about the state of the ship and the people on it.
That's worthy, that's what counts. Besides, if the man has yet to meet Dr. McCoy then he has nothing to worry about in terms of his bedside manner.]
Oh, can't we all. [Dorian is surprisingly good when it comes to draining the contents of his own glass before pouring another and moving to refill Adam's glass.
Dorian is rather observant, noting the cracks in the glass around the stem and the bottom of the bowl, it doesn't stop him from refilling it anyway, not bothered at all. Anything can be replaced, if not repaired.] You have a remarkable grip.
[Fortunately, Dorian's good at fixing things, with magic mainly, and with a light touch he runs his fingers over the fragile stem, repairing the network of cracks and following it up with a barrier to strengthen the glass. More for Adam's benefit, there was nothing to be gained from breaking the wine glass, one could not drink from it after all.]
Better?
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It's going to take me a while to get used to that.
[He gives the glass an experimental squeeze between forefinger and thumb, and is surprised to find that it holds after whatever the mage did to it. A little more pressure – this time, more than enough to crack it – and still nothing, like he's pressing against some protective shell.
Adam leaves off there (not wanting to push his luck) and makes an impressed sound.] …But I can't argue with the results. [A grateful nod.] Better, thanks.
[And all the more so, with more alcohol in it. He looks like he's got something to say but takes another drink of wine first, as if to work up to actually speaking the words aloud.]
My employer wasn't exactly thinking about wine parties when he put these on me. [The arms, of course, are the only things he can be referring to. It's an apology couched in an excuse couched in sarcasm (with more than a hint of bitterness underlying it all, if Dorian continues to be as perceptive as he's shown himself to be.) Excuses are rarely something Adam feels he owes anyone– but then again, it's just as rare that he finds himself imposing on someone's hospitality like this.
Not needlessly breaking people's things: it's only polite.]
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He watched Adam with interest as he experimented with the glass, testing his hold on it. It would take a lot of pressure over an extended time to break that barrier, but it would also hold up to casual pressure as Adam experienced it.]
Magic is meant to serve man. [The mage lifts his own glass to his lips, sipping and smiling, satisfied.] Or so the Chantry tells us back home.
[That smile melts into a look of contemplation and concern as he takes in that final statement, his eyes moving over Adam's arms. Not that the other man needs to apologize or make excuses for what his hands did, the glass was nothing valuable, but apparently it meant something to Adam. These arms meant something to him, like he had not chosen this- and while the bitterness wasn't as heavy as his other sentiments...Dorian could detect it.
He understood it, actually.
And though he knew it must be a sensitive topic, he couldn't help himself.]
I take it this was not your idea then? But your employer's? Your prosthetics...
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Now, looking into his glass and reflecting on some of Dorian's earlier comments, he can't help but wonder if any of his questions about magic had hit the same notes.]
I didn't say "yes, please replace most of me" in those words, no. But they did safe my life, so– I'm grateful for that at least.
[There was a time when he wasn't, but it's going to take way more wine than Dorian actually owns for him to share that little tidbit with someone he's only just met. At the most, Adam doesn't exactly sound as grateful as he says he is– but some of that can probably be chalked up to him being... Him.]
And I can't deny that they made me better at what I do. [He shrugs one shoulder.] All in all a pretty good deal for both of us, I guess.
[The way he says it sort of implies that, even so, his boss got the better deal of the two of them– but again, he's keeping things purposefully vague. As the running theme for the night seems to be: things are complicated.]
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