[ There's some good things and there's some bad things about trying to unfuck literally all of magic. Traveling to a brand new world to fix it is squarely in the middle, in a 'really cool but I hope it's nothing like Game of Thrones' sort of way. Jury's still out, but so far, it's just a peaceful forest.
His friends are all scattered to the four winds--four worlds, technically--and Quentin's got the solo op. Magic is gone both on Earth, in the fantastic land of Fillory, and if they're going to get it back, they need to track down seven golden keys, which is about as vague and frustrating as it sounds.
So he's here, on some world they know extremely little about other, and he'd be lying to himself if he wasn't a little bit excited when he'd emerged from the portal and smelled it in the air: magic. Magic's gone back home, but here, it's alive. It's stronger than anything he's ever experienced, like a constant electric charge in the air. It ripples through him, and he's not ashamed to admit he spends a solid three minutes with his eyes closed, just soaking it in.
It feels good. More than good--for a brief moment, Quentin Coldwater feels alive. Temporarily, his life has meaning.
He wanders aimlessly for most of the day and a little into night, mostly just trying to find some form of civilization, or some sign of people. There's some form of smoke in the distance--a campfire, it looks like, and Quentin forges ahead.
He looks strange in comparison. He knows it already--this place is far more medieval than New York, and he's got a backpack, jeans, a flannel a henley, long hair tied into a bun. He's expecting peasants, maybe, as he moves towards the campsite (he's not exactly quiet about it, he's got the gait of a New York City ivy league kid when it comes to the woods). ]
Hey--uh--I need directions, and, uh--
[ That is a very, very large bull-like man he sure is staring at. ]
[The Bull smiles, his expression balancing on that plausibly-deniable edge between 'welcoming' and 'bloodthirsty'. His arms are crossed. His axe sits on his back with its end sticking up over his head, obviously there but not a direct threat. The Bull's ready to make it into a threat, and he doesn't mind if that's obvious - in fact he is kind of banking on it - but he'd rather talk a little bit first, get a handle on just who it is who's headed apparently on his own directly for their camp.
Getting a handle on it might take a minute because this guy, whoever he is, is weird. He was weird from a distance and he's weirder up close, and the Bull's trying to do a little bit of quick thinking about what exactly needs to be done about it.
It's hard to know just yet, because there's not much to work with. Even outside the fact that the Bull didn't recognize the language one of those words came from - not impossible, but rare - the clothes scream 'weird' so loud the Chargers in their various hiding places behind and around him probably see it. But it doesn't say weird in any recognizable way, which is the problem.]
Directions, huh?
[He asks it evenly, his words themselves not acknowledging that familiar shock people get when they're not expecting a Qunari right in front of them, even as his expression and tone sort of hints at the hard, unfriendly pleasure he takes in it.]
Where to? I know how easy it can be to get lost in a new place.
[That last two words he says with particular emphasis, his eye sharp on the guy to try and catch any reaction. Sometimes the best thing is to call out what you see right away, just to see how someone reacts to being confronted with it. Because, sure, it's not impossible the Bull's just being paranoid and reading things wrong and there's a totally normal explanation - it's happened before - but it could do worse damage not to prod and poke and try to check.]
Edited (it's late and i SOMEHOW totally missed that i was responding in the wrong format XD why, brain) 2020-07-09 04:56 (UTC)
[ That's a big axe. He's lucky he doesn't say it out loud, but his gaze certainly shifts over the handle and the blade, raking over the weapon. He thinks he gets the sort of place this is right now. The type to have a minotaur--he assumes that's what the guy is: bipedal, horns, absolutely ripped.
It's a nervous habit: he brings a hand up to tuck a bit of his hair behind his ear, even though it's already in a short manbun, and clears his throat, gaze shifting from the axe, to the stranger's horns, and then back to the axe before settling on his face. ]
Uh--just like, uh, a tavern, or inn, someplace with food. Or, like, this kingdom's castle would be pretty cool--hey, uh, so--also maybe the name of where I am right now?
[ He phrases it like a question for some reason, but he's always been prone to ramble when nervous or passionate. A jumbled It shouldn't be, but Quentin's just realized the guy has a fucking eye patch. ]
[It's not an offer, exactly; it's calculated to be close enough to one to continue to make the stranger uncomfortable, maybe put him on the back foot if he's the type to worry about being rude - which apparently he is, at least while the Bull's axe is apparently taking up a big part of his attention.]
Did your kingdom's one castle not tell you where you were going before you went out into the world?
[The Bull has more questions now, but questions are probably the best he can hope for at this point. Does this guy just want to know the name of the woods he got turned around in? Maybe. Does the phrase 'this kingdom's castle' make that really fucking unlikely and also significantly fucking weird? Yeah. Yeah, it does.
He should try to get the guy's name, at least - but that's not as important as some clues about where it is he came from. Names are easier to fake.]
[ The stranger's uncomfortable aura rolls off of him, but Quentin's got a talent for being too stupid (stubborn?) to just leave. Plus, he's kind of fucked in terms of options. ]
Not really. [ It's a blunt and honest answer, because Quentin is socially awkward on the best of days and he knows he'd prefer people being upfront, at least with things like this. His hands move to his backpack strap, clinging onto it, pressing his lips into a thin line. ]
Look--I'm kind of over my head and you have the upper hand and I know that's at least a little fucking obvious so if you could throw me a bone I would appreciate it.
[ Was that too much? There wasn't any heat in his words. He's fairly certain he just sounds tired (which he is) and a little overwhelmed.
At least if he's said the wrong thing he can throw up a shield charm and run like hell. ]
[The Bull considers him. He's quiet a moment. When he speaks his tone is a little more blunt, following the other guy's lead in putting at least some of his cards on the table.]
Look - if some weird guy came up to your camp, wearing weird clothes and talking about weird crap, would you let him in range of your men right away just because he asked nicely or would you try to figure out what was going on first? Let's make a little deal: you tell me what you're here for, and I'll see how big a bone I have on me to throw you.
[From the bushes behind the Bull and to one side, there's a quiet little snorting noise. The Bull makes a mental note to lecture the Charger who made the noise, later. Just because the Bull lets himself make dumb - completely solemn sounding, and dumb - innuendo at inappropriate moments doesn't mean someone who's supposed to be hiding needs to react to it.]
That's....fair. [ Quentin winces. It's not that he's caving too quickly, it's more that a relatively privileged live in New York City makes him pretty ill-suited for anything like this. Even when he'd found Fillory, he barely had time to be the King he was crowned for--too much trying to solve one crisis after the other.
Plus, even when he was just a grad student, all he really did was hole himself up in his room and read. He sighs. ]
Okay--mulligan. [ He squints at the other, before figuring he may as well just be upfront about his Magician status. If the Minotaur can look...well, like a minotaur, he can admit he has magic. ] I'm not from here, uh, at all. You're the first person--group-- [ a glance at the vague direction the snort has come from ] --since I've arrived here this morning. Multiverse traveling is, like, super taxing.
[The Bull's eyebrows scrunch up together in confusion, and he frowns. His crossed arms move a little with his deep breath in and the slow, exasperated sigh that follows.]
I'm going to need a mage to understand this, aren't I?
[He isn't happy about it. He doesn't hide that he isn't happy about it. These woods aren't close enough to any ocean that the weird and mysterious stranger could conceivably have sailed over from somewhere outside Thedas and just happened across the Chargers first, so along with all the other stuff, them being the first he's come across confirms the theory that this is all a bunch of magic crap.]
Nevermind.
[That part of things doesn't have to be his problem. He can make it Dalish's problem.]
You can make it up to me by telling me why you're here. It must be a pretty important reason if doing it takes all that work.
I'm looking for a key. Sort of the matter of saving my home sort of deal. [ Quentin has no problems answering that question--it's fair, he figures, and this is already such a weird situation, may as well just be upfront. He gets the distinct impression being honest is probably the best policy here.
Plus he's a shitty liar unless it really counts. ]
And, uh, if it helps, I'm a Magician. I'm assuming that's probably the same thing as a mage here.
[ He does take a step forward, extending a hand to shake. ]
[The Bull doesn't exactly warm up as he holds out his hand, this weird shit is trouble and he's still not happy with it, but he's stopped making an effort to look unfriendly.
There are some things you can tell, sometimes, about a person by the way they shake their hand. This guy, for example, doesn't seem like the type to try and squeeze the crap out of the Bull's hand just for some stupid power game against the big bad Qunari. It won't necessarily mean he isn't trouble, but it'll say at least that he isn't stupid.]
They call me the Iron Bull. So this key - are we talking the metal kind, goes into locks? I've got plenty of those.
[While he throws in a little of the dumb ox act his mind is working. This has got to do with the fade, doesn't it? Maybe. It's likely. And if so, the key could be - the boss's freaky hand thing, maybe? He needs to ask more about the magician thing, try to get a handle on what kind of place this guy's come from and the situation that place is in.
Ugh. Fucking weird fade crap. And this day had been going okay, too.]
i just compared their height and i'm losing it https://imgur.com/y1XUDud
[ Quentin's handshake is normal -- not wimpy, not too tough, just average, like most things about him-- but he finds himself momentarily taken aback at just how huge The Iron Bull's hand is. The guy himself towers over him, and he finds himself having to crane his neck now that he's closer. ]
Special keys -- yea big -- [ he gestures the appropriate side with his other hand. ] --gold. Makes you feel funny if you hold one. They tend to do pretty weird shit, so I wouldn't recommend it.
[ He's got one in his bag, but he doesn't know Iron Bull yet and-- ]
Hold on, did you say your name was Iron Bull?
and people say Bull was originally designed to be even bigger XD
The Iron Bull, yeah. You were expecting something else?
[He grins a little, pleased at the surprise, and considers Quentin. If the guy's a threat, it doesn't seem like he's a straightforward one - but there's caution and there's paranoia, and the Bull decides to take the risk. He'll make sure Dalish stays close, just in case. But not too close.]
Come on, you said you were hungry, right? We can eat while you tell me about that weird shit your magic keys are supposed to do.
that is literally the best thing I've heard (hi i'll be more frequent again!)
[ As if on cue, his stomach rumbles, and Quentin doesn't bother to hide the wince at how pathetic that probably sounded. He doesn't have an inherent need to be liked or needed--although those are all very good things--but there's something about how cool The Iron Bull looks that makes Quentin want to at least appear competent.
Sure, he's a magician, but he's in a brand new world and still trying to find his bearings. ]
Kind of... turns magic back on.
[ Now that sounds stupid. Quentin looks up at the sky, squinting. ] Here, though, the circumstances to cast are different, but I can still manage most of it. Your whole place is just... magic is dripping off of everything here.
You never said where 'here' is, by the way.
my kingdom for Bigger Bull. but yeah I'm in no hurry
[He watches Quentin's face for a second as he says it, looking for any recognition, then turns and starts walking toward camp. Yeah, it's not the answer Quentin probably wants, but the Bull's not in the habit of giving info away to weird mages whose motivations he isn't sure of.]
I'm not sure what kind of 'where' you're looking for, though. Tell you what: you tell me what kind of stuff you want to know- [Because knowing that might tell him enough about the guy that telling him where they are is worth it] -and promise to stop talking about magic dripping off things, and I'll tell you what I can.
[ Bull might as well have been talking about taxes with how much Quentin doesn't understand the meaning. Is Emerald Graves bad? Is it good? The moment's gone because the other keeps talking, and Quentin finds himself squinting up as the minotaur does so. He nods, tearing his gaze away and to where he assumed Bull is making his proper camp. ]
Sounds like a deal. I don't mind, the dripping--it's--it's, uh, kind of like... [ It's absent, but he's curling and stretching his fingers as he talks. Do they have cocaine here? Probably not. ]
It's kind of like being a little drunk. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to maybe make you feel a little bit like somebody again. You ever feel like that?
[He could tell the guy Quentin himself minding the whole dripping thing isn't the problem. He could tell him that talking about magic that way isn't exactly helping the Bull trust him. But the fact that he feels free enough to talk like this is a good thing on its own, whether or not it feels good to hear it. So he just notes that movement of Quentin's fingers, listens with a blank expression, tries to go along with it in hopes that'll encourage the guy to talk a little more.]
I've been drunk before, yeah. Never had trouble not feeling like somebody, though.
[ Maybe they don't have depression in this world. That would be nice. He lapses into silence, though before he reaches the camp he glances over at Bull, scrutinizing him, before deciding to just say fuck it and ask what's been bothering him since he saw the guy. ]
So I don't mean to be insensitive or anything, but we don't have...you...where I come from. With the, uh, horns...
[Yeah, he notes that. Magic making this guy feel like he's somebody - and there's not a lot of detail there, but he sees enough ground to plant a little red flag by. This particular mage might be vulnerable to power, for whatever reason, and so is not quite to be trusted.
The Bull will keep an eye on it.
For now, he smiles. It's easy to smile. The impressed disbelief Quentin's shown since he first caught sight of the Bull is pretty good for his ego, and kind of funny, too. It's easy to focus on.]
But you have me without the horns, huh? It's just those that are tripping you up?
[His smile turns knowing and spreads into a little grin. Yeah, he knows the horns are kind of the bow on top of the whole package, but the Bull's the kind of guy who likes to hear it.]
[ It's hard to tell if Quentin's quip is a joke or just him being purposely obtuse, though after a split second his lips, previously pressed into a thin line, begin to crack into a half-smile. ]
That's mostly a pirate thing.
[ And a Margo thing. He wonders if she's doing alright wherever she's gone, and if she has the keys yet or not. ]
[He snorts, amused. Quentin's dangerous, maybe, but there's a hint of some kind of sense of humour there.]
What, only pirates get eyepatches where you're from? What about mercenaries? They're kind of like land-pirates, right? Land privateers? They get eyepatches too?
Here we are, come on. Let's get the fire started over here and see what we can dig up.
[He walks toward a fire near the edge of their camp, turning for a second to meet Krem's eyes and jerk his head deeper into the camp. Krem knows what the Bull wants - food, yeah, but also to let everyone know they've got an unknown element in their midst. Just so everybody is on their toes.]
Not really a thing. [ There's soldiers, sure, but Quentin can't honestly recall a time he's seen anyone with an eyepatch that wasn't Margo Hanson, and even then, her eye was a pretty abnormal thing to begin with.
Don't mess with Fairies. They'll fuck you and your body parts right up.
They actually get to the little encampment and Quentin immediately calms down a little--he's always tense, always a little nervous, but a place to sit is sounding really good now. ]
Yeah.
[ He adjusts his bag as he approaches the fire, raising a hand. It's a blink of an eye--he stares at the fire, twisting his fingers into an odd shape, rolling his knuckles like it's second nature, and when he brings his hand up fully, the fire jumps to life like it had been roaring happily 20 minutes ago. Quentin absently shakes out his hand, tearing his gaze away from the fire and looking over at Bull. ]
Good enough?
[ Bull's never answered his question, he realizes. He'll broach again when he's sitting. ]
[ ooc: the exact spell is timestamped here you're curious~ ]
[The Bull grunts a vague affirmative and allows himself to move again, settling in front of the fire like nothing's wrong at all. He focuses on strategy; noting that hand movement might be important for the mage to cast, and that he doesn't need to speak.]
Gets the job done. That's how magic works where you come from, you just twiddle your fingers?
[ Quentin glances back, temporarily confused, and after a moment of silence as he looks over his surroundings--and people, which he half-waves to awkwardly--he takes a place near Bull, rummages through his bag once he takes it off, and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. ]
That's the gist of it. You have to account for a bunch of things, we call them circumstances--star position, tides, phases of the moon, altitude, temperature, which direction you're facing, the seasons, blah blah blah--and then yeah. Fire.
It's easier here. More circumstances, but it's like there's something guiding me to the conclusions instead of trying to do all the math in my head. Want one?
[ He's got a cigarette in his mouth, offering the pack to Bull without even thinking about it. ]
You never answered my question. About what you are. Like, I'm human.
[His eye darts over the- whatever it is he's being offered. It's not like he's never seen anyone roll up a bunch of 'special' herbs and smoke them before, but there's something about the weird pouch Quentin holds them in, the material the Bull doesn't recognize, that brings home the fact that he's really not from around here in a way his clothes and words and general manner don't.]
I'm something you've never heard of. If you don't have guys like me in your... multiverse, or wherever it is you come from, is 'Qunari' really going to mean anything to you?
Well, no, but why would that stop me from wanting to know? [ He lights his cigarette the same way he lit the fire, although his hand motions are much smaller. He's stressed. Stress means chain-smoking, like any good late 20's millennial would do. ]
Closest I can come up with is a minotaur, but that's a myth where I'm from. [ Are minotaurs real on Earth? Are they in Fillory? Quentin hasn't really stopped to look for any while surveying the magical kingdom.
Come to think of it, Quentin hasn't been able to do anything in the whimsical world of Fillory. He got a crown, became a king, and then immediately had to deal with the loss of all magic. He adds 'find minotaurs in Fillory' to his mental to-do list. ]
Are there a lot of you Qunaris? Do you all look like you can snap me in half without even trying?
[He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and blinks his one eye in a slow, deliberate way, because flirting is easy, and fun, and it tends to disarm people. Which is probably a good thing to try to do with a guy like this one, who's giving him all these tiny little danger signals.]
Tell me about your minotaur. Big, I'm guessing? Horns?
Half bull, half man. Mean. Chased a lady through the labyrinth if the ancient Greeks are telling the truth. They usually are, so...
[ It also has a cow head, but Quentin is a little tripped up by that long, slow blink to mention anything else. So much so that for a brief moment the cigarette dangles limply between his lips, trying to process if this is just an Iron Bull thing or if their culture's the same when it comes to slow blinks (winks? he's got a fucking eyepatch). His stare probably lasts a little longer than necessary, and he clears his throat. ]
[ He can put two and two together: the eyepatch, the scars, the sheer hulking presence of the guy. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the big fuck-off axe has actually been used once or twice. If he wasn't so tired, he'd probably be geeking out a little more over it.
It's the fit in comment that has him flash a smile: not nervous, but like he finds that comment hilarious. The Iron Bull has just told the funniest joke in the world, and it's met with a dry, humourless laugh. ]
I've never fit in in my entire life.
[ Which isn't exactly true--he'd found Brakebills University, he'd found his friends, yes, but even they didn't quite fit in. A group of Magicians that can do anything they want--have done anything they want -- and the only similarity they have was that they never quite got the social acceptance thing going.
The dry smile fades, though, and he takes a puff from his cigarette before surprisingly slender fingers start digging through his bag again. ]
So what's the story with your band of merry men? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, or are you guys more the ransacking and pillaging type?
[Not 'fitting in', depending on how it turns out he acts around other people, is another potential red flag. The Bull notes it and tucks it away.
Shit, are those our only options? We can't be, say... on some noble quest to find a key that will save my world with magic, or something? Mages from distant, exotic lands have a moratorium on that kind of thing?
[ Quentin shoots Bull a Look, though it's devoid of any warning or insult. In fact, there's a bit of amusement in his eyes as his lips try not to quirk up into a smile. ]
Guess I walked right into that one.
[ Bull: 3 Quentin: 0.
He pulls out what he'd been rooting around for in his bag, stopping only to tap ash from his cigarette: it's an old leather bound tome, with seven keys embossed in gold on the cover. ]
Here. This is what I'm going on.
[ He figures if Bull takes it he can just get the book back by magical means if it's in peril. This is probably the easiest way to get Bull to trust him: just be honest and upfront. There's also the fact of why Bull's so wary--does it go beyond common sense? Is it something different? The other's fascinating, and not just because he looks like he could snap Quentin in half with a sneeze. There's something else in there, something he can't quite put a finger on. It's fascinating.
Also, you know, so far Bull's the only person he's 1. seen and 2. is even remotely interested in entertaining his crazy idea. He leans in. ]
So-- it's written like a fairy tale. My working theory is that it's more of a myth or a legend. It's about a Knight who tries to rescue her father from being trapped in a castle by an evil witch, right? So she has to get seven keys.
[ He starts flipping the pages. ] We've got two keys so far, but the rest of the chapters are incomplete. They fill themselves in once we find the key we're currently on a quest for, and right now, I'm on-- [ more page flipping. Quentin is animated and engaged, all traces of nervousness or apprehensiveness gone. He tucks a strand of his hair that has gotten loose from his bun back behind his ear. ]
--this one.
[ The page is pretty stark. The writing is appropriately vague--keys in a distant land, one of dragons and rifts and magic, and there's a familiar eye-and-sword sigil of the Inquisition on it. That's all the information Quentin's had to go on. ]
We popped a few locating and divination spells using the last of the magic reserves. Took us half a fucking month to make sure the math was right and we could do it with what little power we have.
You're kind of like, my only hope.
[ The rest of the book is blank and incomplete. He shuts it, handing it to Bull if he wants to read it with his one good eye. An idea strikes him. ]
So if you're not marauders or freedom fighters and you do have something bigger than that, and that is an option, why don't we just help each other out?
[He huffs, amused, as he pages through the book. His big, calloused fingers are careful, gentle with the old paper - and gentle, too, because he doesn't really want to touch a magic book - but if this thing fills itself in, he wants to know what kind of information it might reveal about him, about the Inquisition, whether that might end up sharing any of their secrets with this guy and whoever he's working with.]
[Nothing specific, it looks like - like Quentin said, fairy tale stuff, with that kind of storytelling you get with old tales where most of the little details are gone, if they were ever a part of the story in the first place. The Bull's probably going to have to tell him about the Inquisition, at least - the book already gave Quentin their symbol, and he even if there was a reason to the Bull couldn't pretend not to recognize it - but he might have ended up telling Quentin that part anyway.]
Guess you got me there.
[He closes the magic book and hands it back, feeling that phantom-itching on his palms that always makes a part of him think some of the magic rubbed off and decided to keep hanging out there.]
What's the witch going to do with those keys once she's got them? Seems like a lot of power to trust to one person. The knight might be making a big mistake.
[ Quentin doesn't really notice his discomfort--mostly because he's focused in on the book anyway, and 'guess you got me there' is met with a rare but genuine grin of excitement. He's going to count that as a win, and it shows in a very puppy like fashion. For someone so bitter and jaded at the world, he's awful easy to read.
Maybe he can do this. ]
It's more metaphorical--I, uh, hope. We know the keys and the castle at the end of the world lead to a way to turn magic back on after we fucked it up, so-- [ His brows lift, sheepish but still explaining. ] --if we're making a mistake like the knight...some things are worth shooting ourselves in the foot for.
[ And the next is a gentle tease, testing the waters: ] Like you're not a sucker for lost causes. You haven't kicked me out yet.
[The Bull makes a wordless acknowledging noise. Quentin isn't entirely wrong, in a larger sense, and it's better to let him see more of that side of it, not remind him that wariness isn't a bad reason to keep an unknown element close by, either.]
So, your uh- home. [That's probably the best word to use until he understands more about wherever Quentin came from, whatever bizarre magic he used to get here.] It runs on magic, I guess? That why you're so set on getting it back?
[ Quentin frowns, mostly because he's not sure how to answer that question. His lips quirk downwards, but he doesn't seem upset. Tired, if anything.
Then again, Quentin's almost always tired. ]
Earth doesn't--my home, I mean. There's magic in it, I mean--I'm a Magician, we've got schools for it and everything--but other worlds rely on it. [ Like the fantastical kingdom of Fillory, where Quentin is a King and absolutely fucked everything up. ] Just trying to fix what I broke. [ Which is all of magic. It's fine, he's not an anxious mess over it at all, really. He clears his throat, flicking his finished cigarette into the fire. ]
I'm going to need a crash course if I'm going to even attempt to fit in, and since I don't know about literally anything here. other than you. Qunaris. Qunari? Do you guys have Elves, too? Oh--oh my god, wait, are there--are there hobbits here?
[ He's not joking or sarcastic--he genuinely looks exited, looking imploringly at Bull, though his gaze does dip down to the other's jaw momentarily. ]
[Just trying to fix what I broke is probably important to note. Sure, the guy has enough little red flags floating around his personality to keep a templar on their toes, but someone trying to fix their fuck ups needs a certain amount of personal responsibility.
Not that trying to get his own magic back too is exactly a selfless goal.]
Some Qunari, mostly up north. Some elves, dwarves. Lots of humans. I haven't heard of hobbits, sorry. We're not going to lie to get you to 'fit in', though, so you don't have to know everything. Oh, hey- thanks, Krem.
[He takes the bowls Krem hands him, watches Krem nod at both of them, then looks back to Quentin as Krem walks off. That tells him Krem's got the others on their guard - if he hadn't, he'd be finding something to mock the Bull for right about now, preferably in front of whatever new person the Bull wanted to impress.]
Hope you like- ugh. Nug soup. You said you were hungry, right?
[ His gaze flicks from Bull's good eye to the eyepatch -- he makes eye contact fine, but committing shit to memory means actively paying attention and looking at the person instead of, say, the book he should be shoving back into the backpack.
Qunari live up north, elves are a real thing here (he's wondering if it's the Keebler or the Arwen type), dwarves. No hobbits. ]
What about fairies? Centaurs, talking animals? Oh--questing beasts?
[ Worth a shot. He's handed the bowl and eh takes it, murmuring a polite thank you, and just to pile on questions upon questions in such a short amount of time: ] What's a nug?
Body of a man, bottom half of a horse--really good doctors. Fixed my arm and saved my life.
[ Once he sees Bull eating, he's going to, too. It's not out of fear of it being poisoned, more that he has no idea what cultural norms are here. He's surprised it's not too bad. It's not a good slice of pizza, but you can't win them all.
Holy shit. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now. ]
They're real. Sort of. Different world from where I'm from. [ He presses his lips into a thin line, almost apologetically. ]
Yes. Uh--no. I mean--uh, so I said this stuff wasn't new to me earlier, right? Going to different places. Where I'm from, it's just humans. Place called Earth. Nothing but humans. I didn't find out there was other stuff or places or even that magic existed until I was 23.
[ A bit of a wry smile. ]
Do you know how boring it is to be in a world full of nothing but people like me when there's so much out there?
[He takes another spoonful of the soup, thinking, aware that if he wants this weird unknown mage to get closer to trusting him, he should try and be a little friendlier. He swallows the soup and looks up with a grin - brief, not overdoing the whole friendliness thing, but there long enough to lighten his face a little.]
So, somewhere that would drive me nuts. I'm going to level with you, though, a place where people don't even know magic is a thing is kind of tough to swallow. The fewer people know to look out for it the more out of control it's going to get, you'd think.
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castlewhitespire2020-07-08 12:59 pm
first meeting;
His friends are all scattered to the four winds--four worlds, technically--and Quentin's got the solo op. Magic is gone both on Earth, in the fantastic land of Fillory, and if they're going to get it back, they need to track down seven golden keys, which is about as vague and frustrating as it sounds.
So he's here, on some world they know extremely little about other, and he'd be lying to himself if he wasn't a little bit excited when he'd emerged from the portal and smelled it in the air: magic. Magic's gone back home, but here, it's alive. It's stronger than anything he's ever experienced, like a constant electric charge in the air. It ripples through him, and he's not ashamed to admit he spends a solid three minutes with his eyes closed, just soaking it in.
It feels good. More than good--for a brief moment, Quentin Coldwater feels alive. Temporarily, his life has meaning.
He wanders aimlessly for most of the day and a little into night, mostly just trying to find some form of civilization, or some sign of people. There's some form of smoke in the distance--a campfire, it looks like, and Quentin forges ahead.
He looks strange in comparison. He knows it already--this place is far more medieval than New York, and he's got a backpack, jeans, a flannel a henley, long hair tied into a bun. He's expecting peasants, maybe, as he moves towards the campsite (he's not exactly quiet about it, he's got the gait of a New York City ivy league kid when it comes to the woods). ]
Hey--uh--I need directions, and, uh--
[ That is a very, very large bull-like man he sure is staring at. ]
Jesus fuck.
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Getting a handle on it might take a minute because this guy, whoever he is, is weird. He was weird from a distance and he's weirder up close, and the Bull's trying to do a little bit of quick thinking about what exactly needs to be done about it.
It's hard to know just yet, because there's not much to work with. Even outside the fact that the Bull didn't recognize the language one of those words came from - not impossible, but rare - the clothes scream 'weird' so loud the Chargers in their various hiding places behind and around him probably see it. But it doesn't say weird in any recognizable way, which is the problem.]
Directions, huh?
[He asks it evenly, his words themselves not acknowledging that familiar shock people get when they're not expecting a Qunari right in front of them, even as his expression and tone sort of hints at the hard, unfriendly pleasure he takes in it.]
Where to? I know how easy it can be to get lost in a new place.
[That last two words he says with particular emphasis, his eye sharp on the guy to try and catch any reaction. Sometimes the best thing is to call out what you see right away, just to see how someone reacts to being confronted with it. Because, sure, it's not impossible the Bull's just being paranoid and reading things wrong and there's a totally normal explanation - it's happened before - but it could do worse damage not to prod and poke and try to check.]
we can do prose if you want!
It's a nervous habit: he brings a hand up to tuck a bit of his hair behind his ear, even though it's already in a short manbun, and clears his throat, gaze shifting from the axe, to the stranger's horns, and then back to the axe before settling on his face. ]
Uh--just like, uh, a tavern, or inn, someplace with food. Or, like, this kingdom's castle would be pretty cool--hey, uh, so--also maybe the name of where I am right now?
[ He phrases it like a question for some reason, but he's always been prone to ramble when nervous or passionate. A jumbled It shouldn't be, but Quentin's just realized the guy has a fucking eye patch. ]
nah this is good
[It's not an offer, exactly; it's calculated to be close enough to one to continue to make the stranger uncomfortable, maybe put him on the back foot if he's the type to worry about being rude - which apparently he is, at least while the Bull's axe is apparently taking up a big part of his attention.]
Did your kingdom's one castle not tell you where you were going before you went out into the world?
[The Bull has more questions now, but questions are probably the best he can hope for at this point. Does this guy just want to know the name of the woods he got turned around in? Maybe. Does the phrase 'this kingdom's castle' make that really fucking unlikely and also significantly fucking weird? Yeah. Yeah, it does.
He should try to get the guy's name, at least - but that's not as important as some clues about where it is he came from. Names are easier to fake.]
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Not really. [ It's a blunt and honest answer, because Quentin is socially awkward on the best of days and he knows he'd prefer people being upfront, at least with things like this. His hands move to his backpack strap, clinging onto it, pressing his lips into a thin line. ]
Look--I'm kind of over my head and you have the upper hand and I know that's at least a little fucking obvious so if you could throw me a bone I would appreciate it.
[ Was that too much? There wasn't any heat in his words. He's fairly certain he just sounds tired (which he is) and a little overwhelmed.
At least if he's said the wrong thing he can throw up a shield charm and run like hell. ]
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Look - if some weird guy came up to your camp, wearing weird clothes and talking about weird crap, would you let him in range of your men right away just because he asked nicely or would you try to figure out what was going on first? Let's make a little deal: you tell me what you're here for, and I'll see how big a bone I have on me to throw you.
[From the bushes behind the Bull and to one side, there's a quiet little snorting noise. The Bull makes a mental note to lecture the Charger who made the noise, later. Just because the Bull lets himself make dumb - completely solemn sounding, and dumb - innuendo at inappropriate moments doesn't mean someone who's supposed to be hiding needs to react to it.]
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Plus, even when he was just a grad student, all he really did was hole himself up in his room and read. He sighs. ]
Okay--mulligan. [ He squints at the other, before figuring he may as well just be upfront about his Magician status. If the Minotaur can look...well, like a minotaur, he can admit he has magic. ] I'm not from here, uh, at all. You're the first person--group-- [ a glance at the vague direction the snort has come from ] --since I've arrived here this morning. Multiverse traveling is, like, super taxing.
[ His brows arch. ]
Look. I'll make it up to you somehow, alright?
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I'm going to need a mage to understand this, aren't I?
[He isn't happy about it. He doesn't hide that he isn't happy about it. These woods aren't close enough to any ocean that the weird and mysterious stranger could conceivably have sailed over from somewhere outside Thedas and just happened across the Chargers first, so along with all the other stuff, them being the first he's come across confirms the theory that this is all a bunch of magic crap.]
Nevermind.
[That part of things doesn't have to be his problem. He can make it Dalish's problem.]
You can make it up to me by telling me why you're here. It must be a pretty important reason if doing it takes all that work.
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Plus he's a shitty liar unless it really counts. ]
And, uh, if it helps, I'm a Magician. I'm assuming that's probably the same thing as a mage here.
[ He does take a step forward, extending a hand to shake. ]
I'm Quentin. Quentin Coldwater.
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[The Bull doesn't exactly warm up as he holds out his hand, this weird shit is trouble and he's still not happy with it, but he's stopped making an effort to look unfriendly.
There are some things you can tell, sometimes, about a person by the way they shake their hand. This guy, for example, doesn't seem like the type to try and squeeze the crap out of the Bull's hand just for some stupid power game against the big bad Qunari. It won't necessarily mean he isn't trouble, but it'll say at least that he isn't stupid.]
They call me the Iron Bull. So this key - are we talking the metal kind, goes into locks? I've got plenty of those.
[While he throws in a little of the dumb ox act his mind is working. This has got to do with the fade, doesn't it? Maybe. It's likely. And if so, the key could be - the boss's freaky hand thing, maybe? He needs to ask more about the magician thing, try to get a handle on what kind of place this guy's come from and the situation that place is in.
Ugh. Fucking weird fade crap. And this day had been going okay, too.]
i just compared their height and i'm losing it https://imgur.com/y1XUDud
Special keys -- yea big -- [ he gestures the appropriate side with his other hand. ] --gold. Makes you feel funny if you hold one. They tend to do pretty weird shit, so I wouldn't recommend it.
[ He's got one in his bag, but he doesn't know Iron Bull yet and-- ]
Hold on, did you say your name was Iron Bull?
and people say Bull was originally designed to be even bigger XD
[He grins a little, pleased at the surprise, and considers Quentin. If the guy's a threat, it doesn't seem like he's a straightforward one - but there's caution and there's paranoia, and the Bull decides to take the risk. He'll make sure Dalish stays close, just in case. But not too close.]
Come on, you said you were hungry, right? We can eat while you tell me about that weird shit your magic keys are supposed to do.
that is literally the best thing I've heard (hi i'll be more frequent again!)
Sure, he's a magician, but he's in a brand new world and still trying to find his bearings. ]
Kind of... turns magic back on.
[ Now that sounds stupid. Quentin looks up at the sky, squinting. ] Here, though, the circumstances to cast are different, but I can still manage most of it. Your whole place is just... magic is dripping off of everything here.
You never said where 'here' is, by the way.
my kingdom for Bigger Bull. but yeah I'm in no hurry
[He watches Quentin's face for a second as he says it, looking for any recognition, then turns and starts walking toward camp. Yeah, it's not the answer Quentin probably wants, but the Bull's not in the habit of giving info away to weird mages whose motivations he isn't sure of.]
I'm not sure what kind of 'where' you're looking for, though. Tell you what: you tell me what kind of stuff you want to know- [Because knowing that might tell him enough about the guy that telling him where they are is worth it] -and promise to stop talking about magic dripping off things, and I'll tell you what I can.
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Sounds like a deal. I don't mind, the dripping--it's--it's, uh, kind of like... [ It's absent, but he's curling and stretching his fingers as he talks. Do they have cocaine here? Probably not. ]
It's kind of like being a little drunk. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to maybe make you feel a little bit like somebody again. You ever feel like that?
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I've been drunk before, yeah. Never had trouble not feeling like somebody, though.
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[ Maybe they don't have depression in this world. That would be nice. He lapses into silence, though before he reaches the camp he glances over at Bull, scrutinizing him, before deciding to just say fuck it and ask what's been bothering him since he saw the guy. ]
So I don't mean to be insensitive or anything, but we don't have...you...where I come from. With the, uh, horns...
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The Bull will keep an eye on it.
For now, he smiles. It's easy to smile. The impressed disbelief Quentin's shown since he first caught sight of the Bull is pretty good for his ego, and kind of funny, too. It's easy to focus on.]
But you have me without the horns, huh? It's just those that are tripping you up?
[His smile turns knowing and spreads into a little grin. Yeah, he knows the horns are kind of the bow on top of the whole package, but the Bull's the kind of guy who likes to hear it.]
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[ It's hard to tell if Quentin's quip is a joke or just him being purposely obtuse, though after a split second his lips, previously pressed into a thin line, begin to crack into a half-smile. ]
That's mostly a pirate thing.
[ And a Margo thing. He wonders if she's doing alright wherever she's gone, and if she has the keys yet or not. ]
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What, only pirates get eyepatches where you're from? What about mercenaries? They're kind of like land-pirates, right? Land privateers? They get eyepatches too?
Here we are, come on. Let's get the fire started over here and see what we can dig up.
[He walks toward a fire near the edge of their camp, turning for a second to meet Krem's eyes and jerk his head deeper into the camp. Krem knows what the Bull wants - food, yeah, but also to let everyone know they've got an unknown element in their midst. Just so everybody is on their toes.]
You have anything to start a fire in there?
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Don't mess with Fairies. They'll fuck you and your body parts right up.
They actually get to the little encampment and Quentin immediately calms down a little--he's always tense, always a little nervous, but a place to sit is sounding really good now. ]
Yeah.
[ He adjusts his bag as he approaches the fire, raising a hand. It's a blink of an eye--he stares at the fire, twisting his fingers into an odd shape, rolling his knuckles like it's second nature, and when he brings his hand up fully, the fire jumps to life like it had been roaring happily 20 minutes ago. Quentin absently shakes out his hand, tearing his gaze away from the fire and looking over at Bull. ]
Good enough?
[ Bull's never answered his question, he realizes. He'll broach again when he's sitting. ]
[ ooc: the exact spell is timestamped here you're curious~ ]
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Gets the job done. That's how magic works where you come from, you just twiddle your fingers?
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That's the gist of it. You have to account for a bunch of things, we call them circumstances--star position, tides, phases of the moon, altitude, temperature, which direction you're facing, the seasons, blah blah blah--and then yeah. Fire.
It's easier here. More circumstances, but it's like there's something guiding me to the conclusions instead of trying to do all the math in my head. Want one?
[ He's got a cigarette in his mouth, offering the pack to Bull without even thinking about it. ]
You never answered my question. About what you are. Like, I'm human.
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[His eye darts over the- whatever it is he's being offered. It's not like he's never seen anyone roll up a bunch of 'special' herbs and smoke them before, but there's something about the weird pouch Quentin holds them in, the material the Bull doesn't recognize, that brings home the fact that he's really not from around here in a way his clothes and words and general manner don't.]
I'm something you've never heard of. If you don't have guys like me in your... multiverse, or wherever it is you come from, is 'Qunari' really going to mean anything to you?
5 million years later
Closest I can come up with is a minotaur, but that's a myth where I'm from. [ Are minotaurs real on Earth? Are they in Fillory? Quentin hasn't really stopped to look for any while surveying the magical kingdom.
Come to think of it, Quentin hasn't been able to do anything in the whimsical world of Fillory. He got a crown, became a king, and then immediately had to deal with the loss of all magic. He adds 'find minotaurs in Fillory' to his mental to-do list. ]
Are there a lot of you Qunaris? Do you all look like you can snap me in half without even trying?
you're good, I'm in no hurry
[He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and blinks his one eye in a slow, deliberate way, because flirting is easy, and fun, and it tends to disarm people. Which is probably a good thing to try to do with a guy like this one, who's giving him all these tiny little danger signals.]
Tell me about your minotaur. Big, I'm guessing? Horns?
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[ It also has a cow head, but Quentin is a little tripped up by that long, slow blink to mention anything else. So much so that for a brief moment the cigarette dangles limply between his lips, trying to process if this is just an Iron Bull thing or if their culture's the same when it comes to slow blinks (winks? he's got a fucking eyepatch). His stare probably lasts a little longer than necessary, and he clears his throat. ]
...You don't trust me, do you?
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If I trusted everyone I'd just met, I wouldn't be alive right now.
[It's the better explanation to give a weird, foreign mage like this. It's true, too, so that's convenient.]
Why? You expected to come here and fit in right away, huh?
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It's the fit in comment that has him flash a smile: not nervous, but like he finds that comment hilarious. The Iron Bull has just told the funniest joke in the world, and it's met with a dry, humourless laugh. ]
I've never fit in in my entire life.
[ Which isn't exactly true--he'd found Brakebills University, he'd found his friends, yes, but even they didn't quite fit in. A group of Magicians that can do anything they want--have done anything they want -- and the only similarity they have was that they never quite got the social acceptance thing going.
The dry smile fades, though, and he takes a puff from his cigarette before surprisingly slender fingers start digging through his bag again. ]
So what's the story with your band of merry men? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, or are you guys more the ransacking and pillaging type?
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Shit, are those our only options? We can't be, say... on some noble quest to find a key that will save my world with magic, or something? Mages from distant, exotic lands have a moratorium on that kind of thing?
im just making shit up lmk if it works
Guess I walked right into that one.
[ Bull: 3 Quentin: 0.
He pulls out what he'd been rooting around for in his bag, stopping only to tap ash from his cigarette: it's an old leather bound tome, with seven keys embossed in gold on the cover. ]
Here. This is what I'm going on.
[ He figures if Bull takes it he can just get the book back by magical means if it's in peril. This is probably the easiest way to get Bull to trust him: just be honest and upfront. There's also the fact of why Bull's so wary--does it go beyond common sense? Is it something different? The other's fascinating, and not just because he looks like he could snap Quentin in half with a sneeze. There's something else in there, something he can't quite put a finger on. It's fascinating.
Also, you know, so far Bull's the only person he's 1. seen and 2. is even remotely interested in entertaining his crazy idea. He leans in. ]
So-- it's written like a fairy tale. My working theory is that it's more of a myth or a legend. It's about a Knight who tries to rescue her father from being trapped in a castle by an evil witch, right? So she has to get seven keys.
[ He starts flipping the pages. ] We've got two keys so far, but the rest of the chapters are incomplete. They fill themselves in once we find the key we're currently on a quest for, and right now, I'm on-- [ more page flipping. Quentin is animated and engaged, all traces of nervousness or apprehensiveness gone. He tucks a strand of his hair that has gotten loose from his bun back behind his ear. ]
--this one.
[ The page is pretty stark. The writing is appropriately vague--keys in a distant land, one of dragons and rifts and magic, and there's a familiar eye-and-sword sigil of the Inquisition on it. That's all the information Quentin's had to go on. ]
We popped a few locating and divination spells using the last of the magic reserves. Took us half a fucking month to make sure the math was right and we could do it with what little power we have.
You're kind of like, my only hope.
[ The rest of the book is blank and incomplete. He shuts it, handing it to Bull if he wants to read it with his one good eye. An idea strikes him. ]
So if you're not marauders or freedom fighters and you do have something bigger than that, and that is an option, why don't we just help each other out?
it does!
[Nothing specific, it looks like - like Quentin said, fairy tale stuff, with that kind of storytelling you get with old tales where most of the little details are gone, if they were ever a part of the story in the first place. The Bull's probably going to have to tell him about the Inquisition, at least - the book already gave Quentin their symbol, and he even if there was a reason to the Bull couldn't pretend not to recognize it - but he might have ended up telling Quentin that part anyway.]
Guess you got me there.
[He closes the magic book and hands it back, feeling that phantom-itching on his palms that always makes a part of him think some of the magic rubbed off and decided to keep hanging out there.]
What's the witch going to do with those keys once she's got them? Seems like a lot of power to trust to one person. The knight might be making a big mistake.
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Maybe he can do this. ]
It's more metaphorical--I, uh, hope. We know the keys and the castle at the end of the world lead to a way to turn magic back on after we fucked it up, so-- [ His brows lift, sheepish but still explaining. ] --if we're making a mistake like the knight...some things are worth shooting ourselves in the foot for.
[ And the next is a gentle tease, testing the waters: ] Like you're not a sucker for lost causes. You haven't kicked me out yet.
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So, your uh- home. [That's probably the best word to use until he understands more about wherever Quentin came from, whatever bizarre magic he used to get here.] It runs on magic, I guess? That why you're so set on getting it back?
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Then again, Quentin's almost always tired. ]
Earth doesn't--my home, I mean. There's magic in it, I mean--I'm a Magician, we've got schools for it and everything--but other worlds rely on it. [ Like the fantastical kingdom of Fillory, where Quentin is a King and absolutely fucked everything up. ] Just trying to fix what I broke. [ Which is all of magic. It's fine, he's not an anxious mess over it at all, really. He clears his throat, flicking his finished cigarette into the fire. ]
I'm going to need a crash course if I'm going to even attempt to fit in, and since I don't know about literally anything here. other than you. Qunaris. Qunari? Do you guys have Elves, too? Oh--oh my god, wait, are there--are there hobbits here?
[ He's not joking or sarcastic--he genuinely looks exited, looking imploringly at Bull, though his gaze does dip down to the other's jaw momentarily. ]
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Not that trying to get his own magic back too is exactly a selfless goal.]
Some Qunari, mostly up north. Some elves, dwarves. Lots of humans. I haven't heard of hobbits, sorry. We're not going to lie to get you to 'fit in', though, so you don't have to know everything. Oh, hey- thanks, Krem.
[He takes the bowls Krem hands him, watches Krem nod at both of them, then looks back to Quentin as Krem walks off. That tells him Krem's got the others on their guard - if he hadn't, he'd be finding something to mock the Bull for right about now, preferably in front of whatever new person the Bull wanted to impress.]
Hope you like- ugh. Nug soup. You said you were hungry, right?
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Qunari live up north, elves are a real thing here (he's wondering if it's the Keebler or the Arwen type), dwarves. No hobbits. ]
What about fairies? Centaurs, talking animals? Oh--questing beasts?
[ Worth a shot. He's handed the bowl and eh takes it, murmuring a polite thank you, and just to pile on questions upon questions in such a short amount of time: ] What's a nug?
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[He looks down at his soup for a moment. Then he shrugs - it's food now - and takes a spoonful, speaking around a chewy bit.]
What's a centaur? That anything like your legendary minotaur guys?
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[ Once he sees Bull eating, he's going to, too. It's not out of fear of it being poisoned, more that he has no idea what cultural norms are here. He's surprised it's not too bad. It's not a good slice of pizza, but you can't win them all.
Holy shit. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now. ]
They're real. Sort of. Different world from where I'm from. [ He presses his lips into a thin line, almost apologetically. ]
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[He nods, playing along with the different world thing without complaining too hard about it. For the moment, anyway.]
And where you're from? What kind of stuff have you got there? No centaurs, no qunari - some humans, I guess?
[He nods at Quentin. You never can tell if someone has a little bit of something else in their family tree, but he's at least half human.]
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[ A bit of a wry smile. ]
Do you know how boring it is to be in a world full of nothing but people like me when there's so much out there?
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[He takes another spoonful of the soup, thinking, aware that if he wants this weird unknown mage to get closer to trusting him, he should try and be a little friendlier. He swallows the soup and looks up with a grin - brief, not overdoing the whole friendliness thing, but there long enough to lighten his face a little.]
So, somewhere that would drive me nuts. I'm going to level with you, though, a place where people don't even know magic is a thing is kind of tough to swallow. The fewer people know to look out for it the more out of control it's going to get, you'd think.