Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2016-06-24 05:18 pm
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[sandbox] out of the abyss
It starts as a shimmer out by the lake. Look at the water from the right angle, and the light glinting off it looks a bit...green. Sickly.
(Familiar, if you're from a certain time and place in Thedas.)
Look up some minutes later, and you can pinpoint the source: a thin, glowing ribbon uncoiling in the sky. It emerges slowly, but the more light it casts, the more momentum it gains, until it explodes outward with an enormous crack like lightning splintering the ground.
A much quieter thump follows as something hits the dirt.
Someone.
The glow vanishes; the person doesn't move for a long beat. (Get up, he's telling himself, get up -- ) He manages to drag his hands level with his shoulders, press down to bear himself upward an inch, look up at where he's landed.
Get. Up.
Another shove, and Alistair lurches to his feet, sword hauled from its scabbard and shield at the ready. His breath rattles, harsh against his throat, as he stares wild-eyed around the grounds.
(Familiar, if you're from a certain time and place in Thedas.)
Look up some minutes later, and you can pinpoint the source: a thin, glowing ribbon uncoiling in the sky. It emerges slowly, but the more light it casts, the more momentum it gains, until it explodes outward with an enormous crack like lightning splintering the ground.
A much quieter thump follows as something hits the dirt.
Someone.
The glow vanishes; the person doesn't move for a long beat. (Get up, he's telling himself, get up -- ) He manages to drag his hands level with his shoulders, press down to bear himself upward an inch, look up at where he's landed.
Get. Up.
Another shove, and Alistair lurches to his feet, sword hauled from its scabbard and shield at the ready. His breath rattles, harsh against his throat, as he stares wild-eyed around the grounds.
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"It's been a while," he mutters.
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Or a guess. Whichever.
"Considering you ended up here. And solid. And -- "
Incredibly paranoid and disoriented.
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Uncertain, and smaller than he means: "Do you know how long it's been?"
He doesn't know if he wants to hear the answer.
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"Not for you. Time -- sometimes I come here once every week, sometimes months go by. Not years, yet, but -- "
Maybe someday.
"And I think you're ahead of me this time."
Ysalwen exhales.
"You aren't sure either, I take it?"
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"Maybe try a little bread? If you feel up to it."
A breath.
"I don't mind sharing."
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"Probably best I don't," he says. "Water's bad enough."
If his stomach aches this much from half a glass of water, Maker knows what solid food will do to him.
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She'll keep some bread set aside for him.
"Or brother, perhaps. Hmm."
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Gingerly, Alistair rolls his right shoulder. The longer he sits, the more things seem to hurt. Everything he could press back and ignore isn't so easy to ignore anymore.
He tries to press it back anyway, and ignore it, and finishes off the glass of water.
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She breaks off a piece of bread, adds some cheese, and takes a bite.
"Do you want me to talk at you as background noise? Or -- "
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At last, Alistair nods. "Something you're...working on. Lately. If you're working on anything."
Most of the time, when Ysa starts talking about a project, Alistair can barely follow along. He knows he'd never be able to make up whatever vocabulary she uses -- which means a demon can't, either.
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"Well. It's -- a little terrifying? But some friends here have a seemingly omnipotent enemy that works through causality and can't be killed or destroyed in any of the ways they have available to them?"
She exhales, keeping a careful eye on Alistair.
"So I've been looking into -- well. He's made of matter, which is to say 'stuff', which -- "
Another careful breath.
"Basically I am finding a way -- or trying -- to take all the bits that make this person up and have them repel each other and scatter off to all the corners of the universe. So -- it's slow. Very, very slow. It doesn't help that most Earths whose work I can follow don't really understand the forces that hold atoms together, not really."
And she is not about to start experimenting without a very good framework. Nope.
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"How's that different from just -- " Halfheartedly, he mimes an explosion with one hand. "Blowing him up?"
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Ysalwen is quiet for a minute, fingers twined together in her lap.
"It's more like unmaking than anything else. Which usually isn't what I do. So."
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"Right." Very quiet.
He can feel his chest clenching up. Alistair tucks his arms closer, then presses one palm to his forehead, fingers digging into his hair.
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"You know I would only bring it out for special omnipotent enemy occasions. And we don't really have any of those, thank Andraste's grace."
So far, anyway.
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He sounds like he doesn't. Not really. Alistair shuts his eyes.
"Explain it like you're talking to somebody else. Not me." The words gain momentum, speeding up, on the verge of tumbling over one another. "You know, someone who understands all the -- the things you're saying, the technical bits."
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"So the basic particle of material existence is an atom. It, in turn, is made of up tinier particles called protons, neurons, and electrons. No, wait -- neutrons, that's it. And those, or in among those, are other, smaller particles, and they're held together by forces. It's sort of the same way that planets and moons orbit due to gravity, but also not like that at all. You can't even use the same math to describe it, which is interesting in and of itself. Remind me to show you some of the modeling I've played with, some day."
Anyway.
"Now, the way in which worlds with science understand fire is that it requires three things. Material to burn, such as wood or oil or anything made of carbon, an energy source for ignition, such as an already extant fire or a spark of some kind, and oxygen. In the absence of one of these things they cannot make fire. Now, if I were to cast a fire spell, I need actually none of those things. I did some experiments once and I can cast fire in a vacuum -- that's a place with no air -- no oxygen. Theoretically impossible, but because of how magic works in Thedas, possible for me."
A soft exhale.
"So while mathematically it's impossible to figure out how to interrupt the forces holding atoms together -- using the right magic in the right way at the right time -- "
Dreaming it often enough that a person who knew it was there could reach into the Fade and bring the dream of dissolution into the waking world --
" -- I can do it. Potentially."
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But not all of it. That's the important part. Gradually, the rapid flutter of his heartbeat eases back; the weight on his chest lifts. He makes himself draw a deep breath as the unfamiliar words settle into his mind.
His eyes have started to burn.
Another breath, shakier, and he looks up at Ysa. "You're real. Aren't you."
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Her smile is tiny and crooked and a little bit rueful.
"Sorry to disappoint."
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"I'm -- " His voice cracks.
I'm alive.
"I'm out."
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Um. Well.
"Do you -- we could hug, if you wanted? And then no one could see you cry."
And, well.
"And you know I would burn anything that tried to touch you to a cinder. So."
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(Ysa gives good hugs. He remembers. And -- he's starved in other ways, inside the Fade. No touch that wasn't a battle blow for Maker knows how long. Like the thirst, the mere suggestion makes him realize how badly he needs that sort of comfort.)
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Her voice is quiet, now, even as she settles next to him and tugs his head down to her shoulder.
Hugging time.
She can keep this up for an hour. At least.
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Wrapping both arms around Ysa, he buries his face against her shoulder, trying in vain not to get her shirt too damp. His own shoulders shake -- even he's not sure, at first, whether it's relieved laughter or sobs he can't manage to contain.
Around each one, more words emerge.
"I'm alive. I'm alive."
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