driftfleet | oo1; accidental video/action

Entry tags:

oo1; accidental video/action

Who: Alistair and YOU?!
Broadcast: Fleetwide; mostly accidental.
Action: On the Marsiva!
When: Now? Now. Sure, now.

Teagan? Teagan! [ The man on the camera is young, handsome, and looking a bit put out to be where he is. This isn't his castle! What is this place? He's also sort of looking away from the screen, not fully aware he's broadcasting. He mostly thinks he's talking to himself. ]

Okay, hah hah, very funny, you've had your joke, now where are you? And where am I? I'm sure I've got a very important meeting with someone who will be very angry when I don't show up - not that I care much if I'm making the Orlesians angry, it's sort of funny when their faces get all red and they start trying not to swear, but still...

Have I been kidnapped? Has someone kidnapped me? I'm pretty sure kidnapping the king is treason. I can have your head for that. [ He doesn't sound so much angry as... vaguely confused and disoriented. ] Off with your head. Whenever I figure out who you are, I suppose.

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[Today was supposed to be a nice day.

Riona is giving herself the day off, more or less. One can only get beat up in illegal underground fighting rings so many times before their body needs a break. Her eye is still healing from the shiner she got the other night, she's got a gash with stitches on her arm, her ankle is still hurting, and her lip still stings like a bitch. That and she really doesn't want Beverly scolding her again for getting into another fight.

So she's on the network, checking things and seeing what's new. A habit she's finally developed, one that's essential to this place. She checks for anything from her crew, anything from Azula, and of course any newcomers that may have just arrived and are panicking. And sure enough, she sees one coming from the Marsiva. She chuckles wryly as she plays the message, waiting to see how this poor sod is-

And everything seems to screech to a halt when Alistair's first words carry through the speaker. Her heart slams into her chest.

He's here.

She listens to his message in shock, her mind scrambling to accept that it's really him. Her husband is here. It takes a moment or five; she's more inclined to believe this is a trick. Could she really be so lucky...?

Well, why not? Other people have had siblings and the whatnot show up. Why not her husband? She beams at the thought. She plays his message again, this time paying more attention.]

You can't go just declaring someone's head get lopped off. [She rolls her eyes at him, but in a loving way. And he can't see her doing it anyway so it doesn't matter. She'll set him straight in a moment.

All but bouncing in her seat in the galley, Riona goes to hit the button to reply, so happy and excited and-]

[-but her caution rears its head, and an unpleasant reminder stills her finger.

People come in from different points in time. What if he doesn't know you?

It's a paranoid thought that she logically recognizes as ridiculous. But to allay her fears, she plays the message a third time, getting a closer look at his features. He looks just like she did when she left him. And he sounds just as lost and confused as to how to be a king as ever. Perhaps a little more so than when they parted, but it's hard to say with any certainty. After all, he's in a new place and he's confused. She was, too.

But another thought, a much worse one, trickles in as she reconsiders her response:

He might not be your Alistair.

Varric warned her about this, that there were different "versions" of Thedas. Things played out differently in each one. Different choices, different players. And the thought cripples her, wiping out her joy and replacing it with cold, sick dread. Slowly she sets down her communicator, her breath stuck in her lungs as she considers the awful possibility. If he's not her Alistair, not the one from "her" Thedas, then she can't assume anything. Their relationship might be entirely different.

He might not even know who she is.

It terrifies her more than she can express in words or thoughts. She almost wants to shy away and not reply. But no, she has to. She can't ignore him. And there's only one way she's going to know for certain whether or not it's "her" Alistair.]

[It takes a long, long moment to gather her courage. Idly, she wonders if she should leave the galley, but she can barely think right now, let alone move. And every bit of her strength and wit to figure out how to reply without giving anything away. The panic makes it hard to think, but eventually she comes up with this:]

Your Majesty, you're not wrong. You've... been kidnapped, yes. The people responsible for it keep hidden, so lopping off their heads is going to be difficult.

[Also, she realizes he's not looking at the screen so he might not know what to do.]

If you're wondering where my voice is coming from, look to your side there, on the desk. There's a little black box. It allows you to communicate with those of us who've also been taken.

[That's all she can do to help, for now. Until he responds. All she can do is sit, and wait. And pray.

Please know who I am.

Please.]

Unfortunately whoever's done it doesn't really answer to the laws of the land. I hate to be the bearer of bad news.

[ Your Majesty is something he is definitely still getting used to. Alistair often finds himself wishing he could go back to being a nobody, the Your Majestys get really tedious after a while.

But all that is beside the point when he glances over at her instructions, a look of growing surprise on his face. Not recognition, just - shock at the box. ]

Maker's breath! How do you do that? Is this some new kind of magic I haven't heard of?

[ Alistair, still trying to work out just what this little box is and how it might operate, is looking very confused right about now, just poking and prodding at the thing. ]

Can I ask what land this is? I seem to have stumbled out of my own at some point...

[This man is a king. Lord Stephen would have this man for breakfast, but then again, Lord Stephen was stiffer than a bundle of sticks. Clearly not this man.]

Have you been king for very long?

[Who needs preamble?]

I think it can only be treason if the kidnappers are from the country you rule

No, not very long. Why?

[ Are you insinuating something, sir???? ]

That doesn't make any sense! Just because I'm probably not in Ferelden anymore doesn't mean I'm not still king! And besides, isn't kidnapping illegal everywhere?

Oh no, it's still absolutely illegal. It's just not treason...[He's a king. Manners, Syeira.] Your Majesty.

Well it should be!

[Oh. It's the king of Ferelden. A younger one than the one who showed up in Kirkwall that one time, but the king of Ferelden all the same.

...Sure, why not at this point, Fenris thinks. Why the hell not. Everyone else has shown up. He doesn't sound all that impressed, but he isn't impressed by most people as a general rule.]

I'm sure they're absolutely terrified with a declaration like that.

I empathize with you. Take heart in that you're not alone, at least. We've all been there.

[And... nothing. No recognition. No relief at seeing his wife in this foreign place. Just surprise and Alistair's usual childlike enthusiasm.

It's heartbreak in its most pure form. Her chest literally hurts from the realization, made worse by the excitement and hope she felt just minutes ago. She quickly turns away from the camera, hoping she spun away in time to prevent Alistair from seeing her misery.

Her shoulders begin to shake. You are a Cousland. You will endure this and you will not show your pain. A mantra she repeats over and over in her head to try and stave off the tears. But they come, and Riona has to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. The fingers from her other hand dig into her thigh, hoping the pain will ground her.

Stop. Stop. She inhales, pulling in breath between her fingers as she fights to get herself under control. He's waiting for your answer.

She presses her hands against her eyes, blocking the tears. She gets up and grabs a drink from the kitchen, sniffling and pressing under her eyes to try and rid of the redness she's sure is forming. You are a Cousland. You will endure this and you will not show your pain. Do not make this harder for him. Do not make this more awkward.

Despite her resolve, she can't stop the slight shaking in her hands as she picks the device back up. She forces an apologetic smile.]

Pardon my abrupt leaving. Ah, as to your question, it does not seem to be magic. Unfortunately I don't entirely understand how it works myself.

[She hopes her voice isn't wavering as much as she thinks it is.]

They should be! I have people!

[ It's not that he expects anyone to be afraid of him, per se. He'd much rather be a lovable, jovial, amiable king! ]

We'll have to form a committee of some sort.

[ Or he would, if Eamon were here and he could make him do it. Alistair is pretty terrible at committees. ]

A committee? To do what exactly?

None of whom are here.

...Though you are fortunate to find a few Fereldens in the Fleet. If that counts for anything.

[ Unfortunately, Alistair may be a little oblivious at times, but he's not going to miss her covering her face, the shaking shoulders, the reddening eyes. He doesn't have any idea why she might be suddenly so upset, but nonetheless his face scrunches up in concern. ]

Are - are you all right?

...Things. That's what committees do, right?

A technicality!

A few, eh? Don't suppose it'd be anyone I know. Not that I'd want anyone I know to be kidnapped to a dark, cold metal prison in the void.

Edited (wow I can English) 2016-01-28 00:48 (UTC)

I have...no idea. I've never been on a committee.

Neither have I! I'm the king, I form a committee and tell them what I want to have happen, and they do it. I think. In theory. Anora probably knows.

In..theory?

[Hmm.]

Haven't had the job long, have you?

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oo1; accidental video/action

eventually video; 1/fuck if i know. 3?

eventually video; 2/3?

video; 3/3.

audio

video; TRAINWRECK INCOMING

STILL VIDEO he doesn't know how to change settings

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choo choo motherfuckers

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