revivalproject | Lurking Shadows

Entry tags:

Lurking Shadows

WHO: Celty, Open!
WHERE: Around Temba
WHAT: Another new...face?
WHEN: This week
WARNINGS: N/A

Around Temba
There's no warning, other than the light crunch of gravel beneath tire treads, or the scattering of loose stone and dust from a tight turn. And yet there it is, a black motorcycle speeding around the wider avenues of the ruined city. There's no growl of an engine that those familiar with such models would expect, and yet it can't simply be powered by gravitational momentum as there are obvious times it speeds up or slows down.

Its rider is difficult to discern given they're likewise dressed in black, a full bodysuit and gloves to match. The brightest thing is the yellow helmet with its blue trim, with molded cat ears and a dark visor. Where they're going is anyone's guess, but if there's someone out on the road or somewhere nearby, they'll make a stop.

SPACESHIP?!
I've been kidnapped by aliens.

She's been trying to deny this as fact ever since she'd touched that horrible glowing ball thing at the fountain, but even then it had been a slippery uphill battle. And now she's found her way to the hangar, filled with actual spaceships. In her thoughts she might be screaming, just a little bit.

Slowly, hesitantly, the helmeted rider walks her motorcycle along towards one of the closest shuttles, the Starduck. Maybe they're just...movie set props? Yes! They've gotten really good at models! That's all this is! Wariness bleeds away from her shoulders at this prospect, and she steps over to the hull to run a hand over its surface.

Eeeh. It's...very solid for a set piece, she notes, pulling her hand away. That hesitancy has returned as she starts to circle around it, and she just about jumps when the shuttle opens up as she nears its hatch. Shoulders hunched, she backs away hurriedly with her bike, looking on the verge of panicking.

No way! It's not real! Aaah, why did it open up?? Are there aliens inside?!

All the while she's silent, her thoughts a nervous swirl as she edges back a little more, looking just about ready to vault onto her motorcycle and speed away for whatever reason.

Network - Text

I found this device when I arrived. If it belongs to someone, I'll return it. It's a lot different than what I've used before.

I seem to be missing my phone, but I guess it probably wouldn't work here anyway. Still, it's important...

Is anyone else here? I really hope the alien thing is a joke.

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Shooter. Like someone that used a bow - like Sera or Varric?

Lerith crouched before the vehicle again, still marveling how he couldn't see his own reflection, and all of the strange parts that apparently made it go and make noise.

[i used to live in a city, but i was a slave there. i escaped and headed to safety with teh inqusition. we were attacked by a dragon when i found msyelf here.]

He held up a hand with a questioning look to Celty, asking silently if he could touch the bike.

To some extent it amused her that the man- elf? was so enthralled by her bike. But then if he'd never seen one before, it wasn't probably unusual for anyone to be so curious. She supposed she never gave herself the chance to be that excited about a new mode of transportation at the time, when she was just seeking for a way to blend in. Times had changed. People had changed. Ah, but that was long ago.

She nodded, gesturing with her free hand for Lerith to go ahead. Shooter wouldn't bite.

[Wait, an actual dragon? Like, big reptiles with wings, breathes fire?]

Celty hesitated before typing again.

[We must truly be from different places. Dragons only exist in stories and shows and games where I'm from. It's a little difficult to wrap my head around the possibility that they actually exist somewhere.

...this may be rude of me to ask, but are you...actually an elf?]

Lerith had untapped curiosity, but never really a safe space to do anything with it. He had started tapping into it with herbs at Haven, but then the dragon attack... Here, according to Kaz and Lord Felwinter, Lerith should be safe from slavers and the motorcycle was just fascinating...

His hand carefully felt the metal that was Shooter. Was it warm or just his imagination? Ah, but it was smooth, such as high grade armor was. The elf wondered if one could actually have armor made of such metal. Smooth to the touch, with no seams or anything.

Yellow eyes looked up on the device. 'yes, real dragon. lots of fire, was burning the refuge called haven. everyone was escaping through the chantry building, but some didn't make it. i made it ou of the tavern but i tripped and fel. woke uphere. still not sure about this new here though.'

He studied her for a long moment. If she was asking that, then elves probably weren't common for her. 'yes. there are two types of elves where i am from. ciyt and dalish. dalish are wild but they have tattoos like me,' he indicated. 'it is a long story.'

Funny how the motorcycle vibrated under his touch, a ghostly nicker rumbling lowly as though from somewhere within the vehicle itself. Celty couldn't smile but she felt like she might be. Shooter liked attention when he could get it.

She immediately felt bad about bringing up dragons after reading Lerith's explanation of what he'd gone through, looking a little flustered as she gave a wave of her hand and ducked into an abrupt bow in apology.

[I'm sorry- that sounds terrible. I think here is substantially better than being in a dragon attack, but I guess it's a little early to tell for sure.]

That wasn't very reassuring, she realized, cringing at her own words as she thought them over.

[I've never heard of either sort of elves. I won't ask you to tell me any stories but maybe some day you might indulge me?]

Somewhere in a strange distance Lerith thought he heard the knicker of a horse. No, surely his ears were just playing tricks on him here. It wouldn't be the first time he heard echoes of some sort. But because of the faint sounds, his hands were still very careful and gentle, like he would with a real horse.

He watched her bow and tilted his head. Maybe she had been a slave or a servant in her world? That's the only time he saw people really bow to others. How peculiar. But he didn't remark on it because he felt it too impolite.

'there are worse things than a dragon attack.worse thinsg than bein g broght here' He tightened the scarf a little more around his neck, skin tingling at the sudden awareness of the collar around his neck. Like when you suddenly think too much about the sensations your fingers are feeling with touch. Nope, those thoughts were too deep when there were other things to think about. 'city elves live in the city, don't have the markings like i do. dalish are wild and savage but have these. the elf that marked my face tho, said we needed it to die like adults instead of slaves where we were living.'

Worse things... They'd have to be pretty bad if she couldn't really think of anything worse than a dragon attack. Even being attacked by a demon sword didn't seem as bad as a giant fire-breathing lizard in the city. Celty looked a little concerned at the thought of worse, but she nodded a little. Hopefully those worse things wouldn't come to be, whatever they were.

She looked hesitant at the implications as she read Lerith's next words, helmet tilting towards the elf.

[They're very intricate patterns. Do they mean anything?

...it sounds like it was not a good place for you to be.]

Lerith thought silently for a moment, seating himself on the ground in front of the motorcycle name Shooter. Did the markings mean anything? Yes. He had to remember. What had that other slave said?

'Some words remain unuttered. Truths are pushed down, down where they shall never arise again.' She had said, holding his face in one hand as she inked his skin with the other. 'You have lost your brothers being brought here. You are Dirthamen, wandering until you have found your Falon'Din. You just don't remember who your Falon'Din is, da'len.'

[a secret keeper. she told me and the others that the marks are for the dalish gods. dirthamen she said. keeper of secrets, wandering until they could find their not-of-blood brother, falon'din. she said we were all lost since we lived in the villa. i don't know what she meant by that.] Being here, he couldn't ask her though.

[I'm not quite sure I understand either, but it all sounds very...poetic?]

Celty tilted her helmeted head at that, uncertain if that was the right word she was wanting to say. But she supposed it did sound rather poetic, even if that probably wasn't the intention.

Lerith had to give a little smile at that. It did sound poetic, didn't it? The elf smoothed a careful hand over Shooter once more before standing up. Less slouching this time - he was quite tall for an elf from Thedas. He was just a little taller than she was at that.

[i do not remember anything before being a sleave so maybe she was referring to something about that. she did not talk about it thouh in case the magister overheard and punished her for it.]

He looked to her, studying the helmet she wore. [is that your own armor? i have never seen a helmet like that. like a cat.] Lerith let her read it, then pointed to the ears of her helmet before pinching and pulling away at his cheeks. Like a cat's whiskers.

[Cat.]

It wouldn't be the first time she had to look up at anyone. She had a few tall acquaintances.

Ah, so he was some sort of slave wherever he was... she thought, sobering a little as she put his earlier words together. Perhaps it was all the better for him to be here, then.

As Lerith started typing anew, Celty tilted her head. Her shoulders shook in a brief, silent laugh. Armor. That was a way to look at it, wasn't it? She studied his movement before bringing up her own hands to mimic the gesture.

[I guess you can say it is. My roommate gave this helmet to me. Maybe he thought he was being cute.]

That absolutely seemed like a Shinra thing to do. Well, she'd grown rather attached to it. She liked the way it stood out from her blacks, like a strange trademark.

Lerith was accustomed to slouching given how tall he was compared to other elves in his world. He knew his height was an outlier for certain. But he could reach where others couldn't, like on top shelves or the heads of the horses to brush them.

He gave a little smile at what had to be a laugh. She couldn't talk either it seemed. Maybe she had a blood magic curse too. [do you have a curse in your throat too to keep you from talking? or do you not like talking? maybe they do not have curses where you are from?]

The woman paused at that. Funny how it wasn't a question she often received in spite of things. But then a lot of people already seemed to have some preconception about her, bred by the rumors that labeled her as the black rider.

Her fingers swept across the tablet's screen.

[There are strange things even back home. I've recently encountered a demon blade, so maybe actual curses aren't unheard of. But I've never been able to speak, I think. I don't have the ability to do so.]

And if she ever did, well, that was another memory lost with her head, she supposed.

A demon blade? That sounded cool and frightening at the same time. Funny how that worked out. Did the blade have an actual demon in it? Or just the powers of one?

She was so fast at typing. Miss Celty must have one of these devices at home.

[that sounds like a curse. but things are different here than where i am from, so maybe what is a curse to me is normal fo ryou. it might sound starnge but it feels nice knowing that there are others like me? who can not speak.] That last sentence is added hastily, in case it was insulting without it.

Keyboards, she was used to. These tablets were interesting but she missed the feel of physical keys beneath her fingers.

[I can understand what you mean. It seems like people need to be loud in order to be heard, but I am happy to be able to communicate at all.

So you are normally able to speak?]

[i used to be able to speak. but i disoebeyed really bad once so my owner used magic to seal my voice away. another elf taught me how to sign so i could still somewhat talk. does not do much good if no one else can understand it though.]

He gave a little sheepish shrug and adjusted his scarf a little bit.

[i know a lot of loud people. they like to talk over people like us, the quiet ones, who need to be heard more than they usually are.] He looks to her Shooter not-a-horse-motorcyle and gives it a soft stroke on the handlebars.

[i should head out. can you contact people on here? so if you need help you can ask me?]

So it really was some sort of curse, one that kept him from speaking. What a terrible thing... But it still did not keep a person silent. Celty was glad he'd found a way around it, although she could understand the downsides of not being understood.

[I know people like that as well, but sometimes all they really want is someone to notice them. They just go about it the wrong away. Others actually just want to be left alone.]

It was interesting, the things you noticed when you were put into an observational position due to personal circumstance. Reading Lerith's next message, Celty paused, somewhat surprised at the offer there, but it warmed her knowing in a place like this people were willing to help others out.

[I should be able to. Thank you. I won't keep you any longer.]

Lerith wanted to be left alone a lot, but that... that was in Thedas. There were seemingly more dangers there than here. No slavers, little to no magic - from what he had experienced - so Tembas was better.

His smile at her thanks is genuine. He wraps the scarf around him a little tighter and nods. [bye miss celty!] is all he shows to her before heading down the street back to the hotel.

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Lurking Shadows

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