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

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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.

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"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."

Widow's kiss. How oddly fitting. She wondered for a moment if this woman was seeking revenge on those responsible for her husband's death, but it seems rude to pry so soon.

"So the bigger the gun, the better?" she remarks, arching an eyebrow before leaning closer to the images to study them.

"That depends on the situation you intend on using it in," she replied. "Handguns are quick to use and concealable, using only one hand to fire, whereas rifles have better range and stopping power, but they have a slower rate of fire, need two hands and are far from concealable. Also, the higher the caliber, the more 'kick' it has, meaning recoil."

Oh, she could talk forever about guns if given the chance. She'd rather be shooting them, but that was neither here nor there.

Fortunately, she had a very attentive and very curious audience to discuss them with.

"Very much like a crossbow then. Or a very powerful spell. So it's the usually trade-off of speed and mobility for power." She thought on this for a moment, tapping her finger against the back of the couch she'd seated herself upon, before those dark eyes wandered back up to Widowmaker.

"You said hand-guns are possible to wield one-handed?"

Widowmaker was pleased her initial crossbow comparison worked to help frame guns in Marjara's mind. But... "Spell?"

Regardless of her really wondering if magic was real in other worlds, she focused on what was asked of her, nodding a little. "They are specifically designed to be wielded one-handed. Many will still use two hands to help steady the gun to increase its accuracy, but that is a matter of personal preference."

She looked Marjara over, clearly assessing the elf's physical attributes, and hummed as her brow creased. Marjara looked like a strong gust of wind could blow her over. Even Tracer was more stoutly built than the elf. That did not bode well for handguns with an appreciable recoil. Lighter handguns weren't particularly useful for killing someone that was trying to kill you back. Again, it was going to come down to what Marjara wanted to do with a handgun as to what kind to start with.

"You are slightly built. Do you possess strength beyond how you seem?"

She hesitated for a moment at that question. "That's right, spell. You're not the sort that has something against mages, I hope." She really, really does actually hope. Supposedly that sort of thing was more common here, but...well. She's not expecting miracles here, and a tolerance for mages seemed in that territory even now.

But ah. She recognizes that look-over, and she tries not to smirk. A second later she lifts her good arm, flexing it slightly and offering it up.

"You tell me."

Amazing what a lifetime of hiking mountains, climbing trees, and beating people upside the head with a staff will do for you, even at her size.

"I have never met one before," Widowmaker murmured offhandedly as she shifted in her seat so she could lean over toward Marjara. Such things were fantasy where she was from, much like elves. She'd had no reason to form an opinion, being from a world of science (even if some of the science was really messed up).

Two hands reached out to grasp Marjara's forearm, slowly moving up toward her shoulder. It didn't occur to Widowmaker to warm the elf about how cold her hands would be, likening more to a corpse than to a living being of flesh and blood.

"You are stronger than you look."

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I've been hoping for a sign...

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