powersthatbe | Conversation Space III.

"Ah. Yes." There is a woman, blindfolded and carrying both sword and scales, wherever Drizzt has just looked away from. "I shall do so."

And indeed, Drizzt is now wearing denim trousers.

Drizzt starts in surprise when he's suddenly wearing pants as well as the voice suddenly speaking, and he pulls his tunic up to inspect them properly. They're a comfortable fit, although of a material he's never seen before. A medium blue with gold decorative stitching on the thighs in lazy swirl pattern, and the button on the jeans has a small motif of scales and blades not unlike Drizzt's tattoo. On top of the left back pocket, where Drizzt cannot see it, is a medium blue swatch of the same material with Justice For Men monogrammed in the same thread as the other design. And of course, the sizing is for juniors, because Drizzt is very much a teenager, even if he will not fully admit to it.

Once he decides they are satisfactory, Drizzt drops the tunic and shakes his head with a amused chuckle as he relaxes. "Thank you."

He looks at her then properly, recognizing the scales and sword for her symbology. Gods always have that, and the Arcana are something akin to divine in their power. The blindfold makes his head tilt a bit, but he doesn't doubt she can move in the space easily even with it. It's odd, to see her now in what may be her true form. Drizzt couldn't know for sure, as who would he be to claim understanding for beings beyond him?

"You wished to speak to me, then? Like you did when I was temporarily jailed?" Drizzt is curious, not angry, and he is even smiling slightly; he still believes there is a deeper purpose to their existence here than many of the others. "That was you, was it not?"

His heart is pounding, though, even as he smiles. This conversation could make or break his beliefs about the Arcana, or at least about his Arcana. If his Arcana was truthfully a perversion of Justice, it would indeed weigh heavy on his heart.

Edited 2016-11-27 18:52 (UTC)

"That was me, albeit in the guise of a native of that world," she confirms. "My colleague did the same with one named 'Tobi.' I am Justice, who by our reckoning is the eleventh Arcana. If you wish, you may also call me 'Astræa,' the personal name I have taken. Welcome, Drizzt Do'Urden, to our conversation space."

It's good to have that conversation confirmed, and Drizzt's heart soars with pride at his efforts being recongized. The feeling is a momentary relief from his anxiety at this place. His heart will not slow, even as he keeps a firm control of his breathing and himself. He looks confused as his body's reaction steals his smile away.

"I would like to call you Astræa, if that is what you prefer," Drizzt answers softly, bowing his head slightly at her introduction. "It is good to meet you as yourself and to speak with you again."

Drizzt walks over to lifts the chains of one shackle to hear them rattle. "But this sort of room is far too familiar to me." He looks up to where the chains meet the wall, then back to Justice, looking more grim. "I was once tortured mercilessly in a room such as this one; it reminds me too much of it."

It's a confession to his unease as well as a test to see how much she knows about his life; or, at least, if she's good at bluffing knowledge. Drizzt remembers the physical torture at the hands of Vendes, and the mental violations and intrusions of Methil. All too well. The memories are bubbling back, and Drizzt shudders a bit at their power. Why do they come back now, at the worst time for them to do so?

He drops the shackle so that it and the chains clatter against the wall, wincing. "I apologize if I cannot be comfortable."

"The conversation space is an aggregate representation of our archetypes, as filtered through the aesthetic senses of a certain member of our quartet," Astræa explains. "I have no intention to torture you, Drizzt Do'Urden."

Edited 2016-11-28 14:32 (UTC)

"I know," Drizzt reassures her. "It's just the memories which bother me."

He focuses on breathing, and he can find some measure of calm if he keeps his gaze on her alone. Drizzt doubts his heart will stop pounding so fiercely no matter what he does.

Justice had given him nothing to go off in his reply. There isn't much testing of her knowledge of his life if he can do if she does not react to it. Still, the next bit is interesting, and something to remember. Four Arcana are using this space and one in particular had built it, or something like building.

"You wished to speak to me again?" Drizzt prompts, bringing the conversation away from the surroundings and back to the reason behind the 'visit' in the first place.

"Yes," Astræa says. "You are, after all, my Champion."

Well, Drizzt wanted to be distracted from his anxiety, and now he has a perfect one. He freezes, hearing that capital letter to the title she has just used to describe him. The drow sucks in a quiet breath; that could be both a good thing or a very bad thing.

"Your Champion? What does that mean for me?" Drizzt raises his brows at her. "Do you expect me to do things in your name?"

"Yes," she answers simply. "I do. And to uphold the qualities that we share and that I embody."

Drizzt goes quiet to contemplate this. In a way, they really are like gods. Mielikki does not ask him to do anymore than to be himself. It isn't such an impossible task, and he nods with satisfaction that it can easily enough be done. He doesn't need to ask what he wishes to get in return; these sorts of things don't work this way.

"Then I will do so," Drizzt reassures her, trying to think of questions, and when one comes to mind, it takes his breath away by how much he suddenly needs to know the answer. "But I wish to know of one thing in particular, if you can tell me. What... What will happen to my father?"

His voice breaks, unable to help a knot of dread in his heart. It's an open question, purposefully, leaving her to answer as she sees fit. Zaknafein is dead in their world. He is also of a different Mark in this one than Drizzt. But Drizzt is too afraid to ask directly what Zaknafein's fate will be after this is all over. If he is to die all over again, Drizzt would rather not know—he couldn't bare that knowledge, knowing he would lose his father all over again as the time creeps closer to the end. But if he is to live instead, Drizzt will fight all the stronger.

He trusts that Justice will know how to answer it, to keep his heart alive, even if it means lying to him by omission. Drizzt has to believe. But he also has to in some way know something about Zaknafein's fate, either in a small or large way.

There is a silence as Astræa digests this question.

"Zaknafein Do'Urden was chosen by PSYCHE as her Champion," she says finally. "I do not know if she and I will be matched yet in Phase Three, but we are less inclined to make our matches 'PvP.' You will not likely be forced to fight on our behalves. After the final match... that depends who has won. If it is I, I should recognize who brought my victory."

Drizzt appreciates that she's taking time to consider his question. The answer leaves him surprised and confused. And most definitely worried.

The Arcana—Lovers is named PSYCHE—will be matched against each other. A proxy war by the way of their Champions. Drizzt cannot understand why they have chosen this path, and indeed, he has a good mind to get angry about being used in such a way. They are gods, or something like that, and he merely hopes he just doesn't understand. He hopes. Drizzt reminds himself that they send them to worlds needing their help—he has to remember that.

But he has another hope. There's a chance that he can bring Zaknafein home with him. It requires winning whatever this is. Except that's not possibly the only case—Zaknafein will want the same if Lovers wins. Two chances. Or more, perhaps, if he befriends enough people, even if he would not wish to be such a burden on them—but for this one chance to have his father back, he will be willing to rely on the help of those around him.

He has to hope that.

Drizzt just wants to bring his father home.

"Zaknafein would kill himself before harming me," Drizzt states quietly, trying not to remember the view of his father falling into the acid pool. "He has already given his life twice to save mine, and would die a thousand times more if it would keep me safe. Even a non-violent contest he would likely forfeit. Lovers' Mark is apt, not just because of Elphaba."

He swallows, his throat constricting as he finds his eyesight blurry; Drizzt looks down at his feet to hide his expression of pain. "I-If we both fail, and none will aid us through their own Trump... Please let his return to... to death be painless, I beg of you. I do not understand this game you are playing with our lives, or why, but if I lose, please grant me that one favor."

Drizzt just wants to bring his father home.

"Please."

"I will try," she says quietly. "Should I not be dead..."

She trails off, shaking her head. "Synodiporia," she says. "The Mystic Journey. That is what we are playing. We play for many different reasons and one alone: the World. As for myself, I wish to restore balance, which we have sorely missed since the loss of Temperance."

Should I not be dead.

Drizzt's head jerks back up and he stares at her, listening quietly with widened eyes as he continues to speak. Her reason fits with his own world view, his own need to help the world be more balanced, if only in some small way with his blades. At least he knows her reasons, now

"I, too, wish to restore balance," Drizzt agrees; his throat is still tight, and he has to blink back tears, trying to fight back the emotions of just thinking about his father's death. "... What will happen to me if I--we--fail before the final match?"

"You ought to be safe," she says. "Even should you fall out of ambit. A Traveler still, but we do what we may to keep you and these fleshly bodies of yours safe while on Jaunt."

"Thank you."

That's certainly a relief, because it would destroy his father if he were to perish partway through the matches. Wait--

"Then our bodies on Jaunts are not our true ones physically altered?" Drizzt's eyes are wide again, and he's truly distracted from the grief of possibilities that could have overwhelmed him; but a moment later, he can't help but laugh. "That explains my hair!"

Which is unfortunately in a sad, sad shape now, being orange on the upper layers and orange-splotched underneath. But it was so much nicer in the last Jaunt. Drizzt remembered how happy it had made his father, and how hilariously disappointed he was when it was back to normal afterwards. Which reminds him of something else that he now needs to know. One thing that bothered him deeply and altered his worldview of himself.

"Is there a reason, though, you made me look younger?" Drizzt asks, suddenly curious, realizing he might get an answer to that one. "It was embarrassing at times."

She cannot look at him, not exactly, for her eyes are bandaged, but there's certainly the sensation of looking.

"You are an adolescent, Drizzt Do'Urden."

"I am." Drizzt can't help but frown at her look and cross his arms, and he makes an incredibly valiant (and successful) effort to not pout, making a grumpy noise at the back of his throat. "But not so young. Not that young."

Except that he is, and the fact that he complains that he isn't only adds to the truth. Drizzt is a drow, and drow are like all elves in that the growth of their bodies comes well before their minds' truly mature. He's been ignoring that now for decades, refusing to understand it, because that would mean that so many in the world back home had wished to hate and murder a child. And that he was an orphan like Catti-brie, but without a Bruenor to take him in. ~~Except the fact he was RIGHT THERE, DRIZZT, YOU DUMB BUTT.~~ Drizzt cannot bear those truths, even now.

The only reasons he admits he's not fully grown at all now are because his father finds such great happiness in the fact he may have a childhood and that it is truly wonderful, as much as it's embarrassing to admit, to have a parent that's so protective and loving of him.

"Nearly so."

Drizzt stares at her for a very long moment, a mixture of shock and annoyance on his face. "Nearly?" He uncrosses his arms and looks down at his body. "But my true body is clearly far older. An adult's! I clearly cannot be that young of an adolescent. Can I even be considered a child at all?"

Except an adult wouldn't suddenly drop all other threads of an incredibly important conversation to claim they aren't a child.

"There are species who reach physical maturity earlier than mental."

He goes quiet again, the bluster taken out of his argument. What can one say against the truth? Drizzt knows he was physically mature before mentally, but he assumed that he was far further along by now. But to be that young? Truly?

"It seems impossible for me to be that young," Drizzt insists, shaking his head. "Can I truly be that young?"

"Yes," she says, simply.

Drizzt is quiet again before he grumbles a quiet, "Damn."

At least he's not outright refusing to believe it, and a thought makes him shake his head with a helpless laugh.

"My dear friend Bruenor would be so disappointed to know he missed the opportunity to adopt me as well. He has a habit of adopting children that aren't dwarves."

"Should you see him again, you may tell him of your true age," she says.

So guess who has wardrobe manipulation

Someone who has a better sense of style than Drizzt

Re: Someone who has a better sense of style than Drizzt

I lied; it's still not shorter SORRY

Haha it's cool

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He's doubling down on this, and I'm laughing DRIZZT

Re: He's doubling down on this, and I'm laughing DRIZZT

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