legionworld | I've been hoping for a sign...

Entry tags:

I've been hoping for a sign...

Who| Marjara Lavellan, and YOU?
What| The new kid in town is finding her way around.
Where| Around the ship in general.
When| First arrival.
Warnings/Notes| If you're squicked by mentions of amputation...well. Here's your warning.

As Inquisitor, she's traveled through the Veil to the Fade, the realm of abstracts and dreams. She's traveled through time. She's delved into the literal hearts of beings too massive and ancient to fathom. But this place is something else entirely. Sleek and metal, with no ground or dirt to be seen, outside of the lush forest that's been afforded her as her biome. And Elgar'nan, she'd never seen so many stars in her life.

Yes, she could certainly be found on the Observation Deck, putting it to its purpose with wide, dark eyes. One sleeve hangs empty, but her other arm extends to grip the rail, allowing her to lean forward as far as she dares. It's all a bit dizzying.

People might blink to see her poke her head into the training room, given her size and slender form, but she does so with great interest. With the loss of her arm, she'll have to relearn fighting with a staff, regaining proper balance with the weapon. She'll need to learn sooner, rather than later. Particularly if she's agreed to fight with the Legion.

Another fight to save all of creation. At least it doesn't fall entirely on her shoulders, this time.

She traverses the halls as well, taking in all the sights and sounds with perked ears and all the curiosity of a kitten. There are a great many humans here but none have mistaken her for a servant yet. So that's a pleasant change of pace. There have been whispers of a farm or garden, something of that nature. Perhaps a place she might be able to continue her study of herbs and potion-making? She may as well cultivate any advantage she can get.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Non. I was lucky. The Crisis didn't affect France as much as it did many other countries," Widowmaker replied with a shake of her head. "And I came from the privileged class, granting me shelter from the worst of the Crisis until I was old enough to follow the conflict on my own."

"And what did you think of it all? If you don't mind my asking," he adds after a moment, her brow furrowing. The last thing she wants to appear invasive, especially after she's just helped herself to having a seat here.

But it's hard not to wonder, to want to know. Even a world and a war so far-flung from her own still holds that curiosity for her.

"I did not think of it much," Widowmaker replied. Being as removed from the Crisis as she was, it was simply something that she saw in history holovids. Of course, she sided with humanity and felt for the war-ravaged countries, but it was superficial at best.

"It was simply something that had happened to other people and the after effects were none of my concern. I danced, focusing on my craft in the comfort of Paris. I contributed to charity as most did, to help the areas hit hardest by the omnics, but I did not have a personal opinion on it." She paused a moment then, something briefly flickering in her eyes. "Not until I met Gérard, at least."

"Gérard?"

It looked -- and sounded -- like a lover. It felt like peering a little too closely, maybe brushing up against something she shouldn't be seeing, but she couldn't look away.

The woman's face seems well accustomed to scorn and apathy at best. What she saw in that name? Wasn't either of those things.

For the briefest of moments, Widowmaker didn't want to clarify. She didn't want to speak of him, but she had trapped herself by even mentioning him. Something had to be said.

"My husband," she replied, shifting to cross her legs. "My late husband. He was an agent of the organization responsible for lifting humanity to victory in the Omnic Crisis." Perhaps that would be enough to keep this woman from prying further, allowing her to not have to be rude to shut the topic down.

Yes. Dead husbands, definitely off the menu for initial conversations. "I see." And that's all that needs to be said on that note, isn't it? Marjara just nods once and lets the matter drop.

"And I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name..."

Introductions are a much better topic, aren't they?

One bullet dodged when the pointy-eared woman moved on from the matter. And now she had a second bullet to dodge as she couldn't exactly introduce herself as Widowmaker after having just mentioned her dead husband. She didn't know this woman and until she could assess how bright she was, she wasn't about to hand such an easy to follow trail to her.

"Amélie," she replied, opting to use the name she rarely did these days. It felt like it was from another life of hers, and there was little reason to cling to it. She was Widowmaker. Yet, she couldn't exactly stop being Amélie no matter how she tried.

"Amélie," she repeats carefully, before inclining her head politely and offering a warm smile. "I'm Marjara."

See? No pressure to be had here. Just two people meeting on a weird ship in the sky and exchanging life experiences. It's all good.

"So you were reading up for the next big fight?" she prompts, eyes darting towards the display the other woman had been looking over when she'd arrived.

There was the slightest rise of her eyebrows. It's not often she finds a foreigner that can say her name with so little issue. That was definitely a positive for Marjara. It was almost like she'd had dealings with the French before, been around the language. Of course, that was foolish to think. The woman was an elf.

"A pleasure," she replied then glanced over at the holoscreen. "Reading in general. I have only been here a day, and there are so many kinds of people in this dimension. You are not human, I assume, given your ears?" Of course, Widowmaker's blue skin didn't exactly make her look particularly human either...

Her lips tugged up in a dry smile. "You'd assume correctly. I'm an elf. So far the only elf I've seen here, for all the diversity. What about you?"

Because she might be human, or something else, or a combination. She can't be so sure in her assuming, although with that skin color and height... "You're...not Qunari, are you?"

She doesn't have horns, and the coloring and build isn't quite right, but you never knew.

"I have also not seen any other elves on Legion World," Amélie replied. "But it is a large place and I am still at beginning of these records. Perhaps you will find others in time."

The question about her own species was a bit amusing to her, but she didn't hold it against Marjara. It was a logics conclusion; humans weren't supposed to look like her.

"Non. I am human," she said with a shake of her head. "I have been altered by scientists." Maybe she should dilute that to something simpler. "Doctors."

"Oh." Alright, she can garner the larger part of that from context. Something was done to make her this way by...people who did that sort of thing. Though the next question comes almost reflexively, her voice quiet. "Was it voluntary?"

Because it's one thing to press on about it if it was, if she chose this and was happy with the way she was. If it had been chosen for her...well. That said enough on its own, didn't it?

"Yes and no." As far as she could remember, believing the things programmed into her mind by Talon and having naturally rationalized an explanation that made sense to her altered mind.

"I agreed to the enhancement procedure, but I was not aware of the extent... Or the side effects." She brought a hand up before her, curling her wrist as she rotated it and flexed her fingers. "It does not bother me so much as it does others." How she still lived while practically bereft of a heartbeat was beyond her... And everyone else save for Talon.

That got her a nod of weary understanding. "There's always some kind of trade-off, isn't there?" she replied, not for the first time feeling the notable absence of weight on her left side and wondering -- had it been worth it?

Who else, if not for me?

"Well, it's good to see that you're still doing so well, in spite of the unexpected parts. You look as though you're doing well, at any rate," she added, her lips quirking a little higher for a moment.

"It has been many a year; I have had plenty of time to adjust," she replied with a chuckle. "It makes close, personal relationships difficult," if not impossible, "but.. As I said - I have adjusted."

Amélie turned her gaze to that missing limb of Marjara's and nodded toward it. "Accident, battle or sickess?"

"Would you believe all three?"

Okay, maybe that smile is a little bitter, but being able to laugh about it is a sign of recovery, yes? Surely yes.

"I've had...time to adjust, I guess." A matter of months, and no, she isn't quite to terms with it quite yet, but she's quick to press on to something else if it can be helped. "Everything gets better with time, so they say."

"Now that sounds like quite a story. I would like to hear it some day." But not now. It seemed something best left to another time, much like things surrounding herself.

"Perhaps you are in luck, having been brought here. I am certain the Legion can help you have it replaced." Could they replace it with one of flesh and blood? That Amélie didn't have an answer for. "It may end up being mechanical, made of metal alloys and gears, but such exists in my world. Here the technology is grander."

"You think they could?"

Well. She hadn't considered that. A glance is given down to her empty sleeve as she considers what it would be like having even a mechanical arm in place. "I suppose if I could still practice my staff work," she mused quietly, chewing the corner of her lip.

"I'd just gotten used to...well, the idea of getting used to not having it anymore." Which didn't necessarily equate to being used to it, not just yet.

"I do not see why they could not," Amélie replied. "They offer many things to help our adjustment to this dimension along with the tools to allow us to be better... heroes." That word just felt wrong in her mouth when she spoke of it while including herself within its definition.

"There is an entire planet of sentient robotic people in this dimension. I am unsure how they compare to omnics, but here they are treated like people." Save for a few planets. "Real living robots, however that is defined. Creating working metal prosthesis should be achievable."

Amélie didn't see any logical reason to not look into it. Fear of the unknown or of change were silly reasons to not better oneself. It's not as though Marjara would be switching her whole arm for a mechanical one, just replacing what was lost for maximum effectiveness.

No, that made complete and utter sense, and god. If she hadn't flung herself into the unknown enough times before now for the sake of her world. "It sounds like something to look into. It'll make using my staff a little easier, that's for certain," she replies with a crooked half-smile, sinking back into her seat.

It's reasonably comfortable, actually. This whole place is a lot more comfortable than one would think, just by looking at it all.

"The doctors and scientists here are more than willing to poke and prod at us." Like they were cattle, in her opinion. "Just mention it to them and I would not be surprised if they had several options already available." It would certainly hurt, having it installed, as it was in her own world, but Marjara seemed like she could take pain. She lost the arm in the first place; it couldn't hurt worse than that.

"Your weapon of choice is a staff? They are a bit archaic where I am from - we favor guns - but I will admit it has some elegance to it."

"What's a gun?"

She'll explain why she uses a staff in a minute, but there's an opportunity here to learn about a new weapon. Possibly a new fighting style. It'd be foolish to just pass that by unremarked upon.

It was almost as if some life came into Widowmaker's body at that question. She reached over to snag the holoscreen she'd been using, tapping at it as she searched for a few images - one of what she considered more modern and one that showed some older models from the twentieth century.

"A gun is a projectile weapon that expels a bullet - traditionally of a jacketed metal - through a barrel at extremely high velocity. Think of something similar to a crossbow but instead of using string to shoot a bolt, the bullet is powered by a small controlled explosion and is powerful enough to punch through walls and armor at high distances," she said as she turned the holoscreen toward the elf.

Dark eyes scanned the images in front of her, listening intently. It wasn't so hard to imagine, put into terms like that. There's almost an elegance to the weapon, and she wondered vaguely what Varric would have to say about all this.

"Small but powerful." Her lips crooked upwards. "I like the sound of it."

That got a low, amused chuckle from her. Her own personal rifle was far from small.

"Only handguns - pistols and revolvers," she clarified, pointing them out on the images she'd pulled up. "Longarms such as rifles and shotguns are bigger. The longer the barrel, the more accurate the gun is. The higher the caliber - that is the killing power of the bullet - the wider the barrel. Guns are quite varied."

Widowmaker frowned a little. "I do not have Widow's Kiss with me at the moment, or I would show you a conversion rifle in action."

I've been hoping for a sign...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)