[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
no subject
Gets the job done. That's how magic works where you come from, you just twiddle your fingers?
no subject
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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
[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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[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.