entrancelogs | Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket

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Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket | OPEN

Who: EVERYONE and all the stars in the sky
Where: Mostly on the grounds, though some have crashed through windows and walls.
When: 2/29 → 3/6
Rating: PG-13, label it if you're gonna go higher.
Summary: Shooting stars have fallen in Wonderland, and they're bringing with them glimmers of Wonderyears past! A catch all log for the fallen star holograms.
The Story:

Each glittering, golden star brings the woosh of a sonic boom and there are impacts that shake the whole world. They crash hard into the snow, the trees, and even break through a few windows. None of them leave behind meteors or space debris, but instead just a glimmering cloud at each point of impact. In each gold light is a projection, a scene lit by starlight and moondust, a memory of years ago. Even if someone were to be struck by one, it would simply pass through them.

These are just the first stars to fall. More will come the next night, and the night after that, and perhaps even more. When budding astronomers look upward, they will notice fewer and fewer constellations dot the night sky with each passing day.

All memories are semi-opaque, and will play in a loop in one spot the whole time. Most stars will have landed somewhere on the grounds, but some might have crashed through a window, playing their memory inside the mansion. Characters can listen to and watch the scenes as many times as they like, but they will be unable to influence or interact with the memories in any way.

You can make a top level comment with all the scenes people will get to see. Please include who is in your memory and where it can be found somewhere in your top level. Either prose or [action brackets] are welcome! And finally, check out our plotting post for reminders on what everyone's doing, or ideas for the finishing touches on your memories or the most recent event announcement for more on the falling stars.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A mage! In the chaos of falling stars and memories, Anders' eye catches on a woman and her staff in one of the repeating visions. Familiarity shines through the cacophony like a beacon, drawing him in closer to watch. Her garb is simple, almost primitive-looking, but he couldn't fail to mistake one of his kind.

A fellow mage, no doubt about it. And a beautiful one, at that.

"Now that is a vision," he admires, smile sly.

But the raven-haired mage with the impressively sharp tongue isn't the only noteworthy actor in this scene. He notices Alistair straightaway--Alistair, who in his mind is still the king. And the third person...? The third, Anders doesn't recognize, but he grasps they're all from Ferelden.

That's rather interesting... and unexpected. What does it mean? Too bad the ghost-like figures scattered around Wonderland seem incapable of telling him.

The ghostly memories can't speak to the mage, but one of its figures can. Having made a point of routinely stopping by the strange fragment, Robyn stops a short distance away on this trip, noting a stranger observing the false memory. She hesitates, glancing over his garb, the presence of the staff, and approaches with polite curiosity... except, there's something about him, something familiar, despite the fact that they've never met.

"You're him, aren't you?" She questions, hastily tucking a loose braid behind her ear. "The most recent Warden to arrive." Robyn admits a little smile, then quickly adds: "I could tell."

Can't they all? It'd been the same when Alistair had appeared; he'd come with the strange humming of the taint in his blood, too. This man (had it been Anders that Alistair had said?) had the same feeling about him. The sense of a person who'd been through the Joining.

"I'm Warden Cousland," she continues, "though I can almost guarantee you don't know me."

Oh, Maker, it's weird every time he finds one of these illusions and spots their real world counterparts walking around in the flesh. It's extra weird in the case of the young woman who approaches him--he assumes she's a Warden, being an identical twin of the woman in the vision, but not a Warden he knows from his active duty days.

"It's either that or I stole the uniform." He greets her with a shrug and a light smile, the "yes, ma'am" formalities on hold until he gets a feel for where he stands in a meeting with... well, apparently a sister in arms.

But before he can apologize for getting caught ogling her mage companion, she introduces herself.

Cousland...? She'd said Cousland, hadn't she. That would mean... Shit. Anders' eyes widen as does the deer's right before it steps into the path of a hunter's bow. He hadn't recognized her, but he knows of her. Or him. Or...

Double shit.

"Warden... Cousland. It's, uh, great to see you. I've heard so much. Good things, of course! Congratulations on," he gestures vaguely at her person, "being yourself, I suppose. And alive. And all of that."

Well, that was only mostly awkward instead of monstrously awkward.

"I'm Anders."

Edited 2016-03-07 06:00 (UTC)

Alive. There it is again, the second time she's heard mention of it, the first having been Cullen describing the infamous Aedan Cousland. It isn't enough to send her into a panicked spiral, both considering she's heard it before, and that she's heard other, more encouraging stories. ... If you can count scouring the Deep Roads for a cure for the taint to be encouraging. At least in the Inquisitor's stories, she's still breathing.

"No one would steal the uniform. Not with the potential threat of being mistaken for a Warden."

Her smile is a little more strained, but it's still there. It's hardly his fault that her life has become so immensely complicated since arriving in Wonderland.

"It's nice to meet you, Anders. ... Just so I know, though, is the Cousland you'd heard of a man called Aedan? There's no relation, but I'm obviously not him, and... not dead, either."

That she knows of.

As her features pull taut, the discomfort concealed beneath her smile gives Anders the inclination she's gone through this song and dance before. He can relate. Different worlds? Different times? Different people? It's a lot to get one's head around--and in her case? Especially true.

He has a hard time not openly staring, even so. If what he's heard from Alistair is true, she's supposed to be the Hero of Ferelden--a version of one.

"You do have a point," he replies, tone light. Banter is safe, common ground. "Not many people want to wear them if they don't have to."

It appears that she's interested in taking the bull by the horns in asking about the actual Hero of Ferelden, though, and Anders resigns himself to wording a more thorough explanation. He releases his breath, shoulders lowering a degree or two. Now that she's in front of him, it's not a topic he can easily shrug off.

"Aedan Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, yes. He's..." He glances to the side, choosing his words. How to put this? "It was before my time as a member of the order, but he gave his life defeating the archdemon. But King Alistair's filled me in on some of the paradoxes that have taken hold here. I wasn't sure what to think when I first heard about people being gender-swapped, but I can't be the judge of what's possible. That is to say, I've gotten the scoop on a little of your situation and... that's good! That you share a name but aren't, you know, the same."

She probably wouldn't want to be a dead guy, even a dead legendary guy.

"Hard to believe, isn't it? With all of the benefits you get living as a Warden."

Very funny. She notes him staring and can only assume it's because he's wary of a person claiming to be the would-be Hero of Ferelden and one of the last of the Cousland family when he knows that person to be otherwise. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, she shifts her weight where she stands, glancing from him to the memory as he speaks.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she says, finally, still watching herself, Alistair, and Morrigan on loop. "Wardens die more often than most. To die defeating the Archdemon-... that he did, anyway, Aedan..."

Well. He earned his title, she guesses, though Alistair speaks very poorly of the man.

"Not the same, no. We don't share much, the way I hear it."

Not the same choices by a long shot, for one thing.

"You may know the Inquisitor, or Hawke. They're two others who've been mistaken for another gender, or even for another race."

In her case, Morrigan had claimed that she'd been an elf. Commander Cullen had sworn up and down that the Inquisitor was a dwarf.

Benefits. Very funny indeed. Her efforts at making light of their dire future are met with a hum of amusement.

"That's what the stories say in the Ferelden I left behind. But you certainly haven't shared his fate, and that's one major difference to celebrate," he says to make up for having brought mortality into the conversation. No Warden needs to think about that before they absolutely have to.

Neither the Inquisitor (seriously, what kind of title is that?) nor Hawke are familiar to him, but he concedes her point with a lopsided smile. "I must be a leggy broad in another universe. I'm in no hurry to find out for sure, though. The musical chairs game with anatomy and race aside, it's a pleasure to meet you officially as well. Should I be thinking of you as the Cousland who protected Ferelden against the Blight, or..." He hesitates. "... is that not the case?"

Anders isn't sure what to think. He can at least take his cues from what she remembers so as not to step on her toes in the future.

Some futures are more dire than others, apparently. Better to keep conversation light when they can.

"Not yet, but... if you are from further ahead in time, then I've been brought here just before the Landsmeet." Her smile turns thin, and maybe a little trepidatious; even if the outcome of the one in his Ferelden had been different than what hers would amount to be, it's still difficult, and unpleasant, to hear about her possible futures. She's been of a mind that she and Alistair, the furthest back in years, compared with the others, should be able to make their own way without it being pre-determined.

"A leggy-" she repeats, and laughs, genuine and with an honest smile. "Yes, well, I can't attest to that, but it's a bit of a relief to hear you don't know them, either. It begins to feel as if you're the only one not invited to a party, once you hear about these things over and over..."

If their muddled futures could be considered a party.

"As the Hero of Ferelden, you mean" Robyn asks, with a strained smile. "Yes, though I really hate the title. 'Robyn' is more than enough."

"Ah, yes, the Landsmeet..." Anders rubs his stubbled chin. The Landsmeet obviously means something to him, but he trails off without elaborating just what that is. "Alistair had I had a little left-footed dance between the two of us regarding the current state of Ferelden. The Landsmeet concluded months ago, but the last I remember, it was still 9:31."

There. Not too vague, but not too overly-detailed. Early conversations with Alistair and Cullen had taught him the value of being mindful of what he lets slip.

"I know the feeling. I thought the ability to travel through time was pipe dream and with good reason--it's confusing. One Thedas is confusing enough." He can empathize, and he smiles when his attempt at playing it off with a joke is rewarded with a laugh. "I'm sure Aedan Cousland earned his laurels; however, I, for one, can appreciate a lovely woman in armor. But are you sure? Going by a single name is nice and simple--I do it myself without any complaints. It's less of a mouthful that way. But it seems like a Warden who survives a Blight deserves something out of the deal."

Teasing her about titles has a dual purpose--she can set the tone on whether he ought to adopt her given name or use some other respectful form of address for a senior Warden.

"Then you still have a leg up on us," Robyn concedes, shrugging lightly. "Alistair and I are both from just before it, though not from the same Thedas."

By a long shot. In comparing the states of their respective 'worlds,' they'd found that the two couldn't possibly be any more different.

"One Thedas is more than enough," she agrees, admitting another smile. "With too many complications... and yet, here we all are, faced with a dozen variations, at least."

Maker preserve them in trying to keep all the details straight.

"I haven't survived the Blight yet," she tuts lightly, nose wrinkling briefly. "'Robyn,' or 'Warden Cousland,' if you have a compulsion for formality that you can't move past. I'd still prefer the former, if you can."

Anything but the blighted 'Hero of Ferelden.'

"You can rest assured it's not much of a leg." After his encounter with Cullen, his thoughts on the matter are rueful. "Not one I'm crazy about, anyway."

On the other hand, he wouldn't want to be saddled with a Ferelden still threatened by civil war and an archdemon, either. Why couldn't there be a Thedas where mages frolic happily through fields of flowers under rainbow skies, and why couldn't he have been born into it? Life is unfair.

"Walking away from the Battle of Ostagar is a good start," he offers in lieu of trying to offer her rock solid hope he doesn't possess. Aedan Cousland hadn't walked away from the archdemon in the end, and there's no guarantee she... has? Will? He can understand why someone in her position would be uncomfortable brandishing his title like a member of the Legion bragging about their inevitable death to anyone who'll listen. Smile turning dramatically weary, he adds, "It'll be an effort on my part, but if you insist, I think I can manage Robyn Cousland."

He then turns and points at the three apparitions bickering among each other--specifically at the mage with the dark raven hair.

"Assuming these are your travelling companions from Ferelden, is she who I think she is...?"

Edited 2016-03-13 02:33 (UTC)

Maybe, in an alternate Thedas, there is a Ferelden like that. Where nugs run free, squeaking happily, without any weird toes. Where everyone has enough blankets and no one sends their children to awful, magic summer camps for the rest of their lives. Maybe. But not in their Thedas.

"Walking away from Highever was a good start," she corrects, albeit carefully. If she thinks too much about that night, the brick and mortar of the well of those grieving emotions begin to crack. "If Duncan hadn't been there, I wouldn't have made it to become a Warden in the first place."

Funny how life works like that. ... Well, maybe not funny, in this case, but.

"Morrigan," Robyn confirms, nodding, with a little smile. "You can tell because she gets on the worst with Alistair." The Warden watches the scene, studying her own, strange reflection, shaking her head slowly at it all.

"She was here, you know, when I first arrived. And... in person, not just in a vision. Though... she vanished not long after that."

Highever, in contrast to its name, is in fact a major downer when it pops up in casual conversation. Anders grimaces slightly, but he has the foresight not to make it worse by revealing how he's familiar with the name Highever.

The Wardens' love of shovelling dirt on one another means Anders had known for a while how Nathaniel's father had fallen out of favor and what he'd done to leave the rest of his family all but destitute, but if the Howes and the Couslands' history remains the same in both timelines, Nathaniel Howe is... probably not the best topic to shine a spotlight on.

"There is that. Wardens seem to have an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time." Thinking it best to keep the conversation moving on, Anders turns toward Morrigan. His interest isn't entirely to do with wanting the distraction; her identity is a sight more fascinating now that he knows she's one of the Hero's companions. You hear stories about the Witches of the Wilds... For supposedly being a terrifying forest-dweller, she's sure easy on the eyes."

There's nothing wrong with reporting the facts! Unbeknownst to him, another appreciative smirk sneaks up and settles at the corner of his mouth until the smaller woman beside him reveals all three faces in the memory had been here at one time. "Was she? That must have been before my time."

"For being in the right place at the right time..." she repeats, chuckling lightly. "Or, being in the right place to take care of all the deeds other need done." It had been Alistair who'd commented on how often they seemed to do menial tasks for others, and though she's usually thought of it as being helpful, as doing their duty as Wardens, it... does get a little tiring.

"She is at that," Robyn agrees. "A beautiful woman and skilled mage." One with a silver tongue, and a sharp one, if her bickering with Alistair is any indication. "I'll never understand why she decided to travel with us, but I think the change in scenery must have been nice, at least."

From swamp to... camp, mostly.

"It was months before. But, you know, she may still come back. That is the way of things, here."

People come and go, are remembered and forgotten. It's a stranger place than the Fade, certainly, which is saying something.

"I can only imagine that's true for a Warden during the Blight," he muses, head tipped to the side. "Doing everyone else's dirty work, that is. Perhaps the Wardens have some sort of magnetic allure to apostates I didn't know about--that would explain why so many of us end up in their company. Well... that and the fact the Wardens have more appeal than the Circle."

Or death, which is usually the other outcome for mages who reject the Circle of Magi system. Anders thinks instincts for making the most of opportunities been sharpened to a rather fine point by now, hence how he'd ended up as a Warden himself; maybe this Morrigan had found value in working with them, too.

This vision, or whatever it is, doesn't exactly make her seem the type to stand against a darkspawn horde on account of her big heart.

"For her sake, I hope she doesn't. But it makes these looping scenes even more peculiar. This conversation didn't actually happen while she was here, did it?" It doesn't seem likely, given they're talking about designing another building in it.

"I don't think Morrigan considers herself an apostate in the same way that so many others do," Robyn muses, looking to the vision - 'memory' - of the woman in question. "She was never afraid that templars would come for her, she... seemed to be out of their reach, somehow. Considering the strength of her mother, I can say with some certainty that it would be difficult to capture or persecute the pair of them."

The Warden watches the scene again, brows knit slightly, considering it. Finally, she shakes her head, as if disappointed that she couldn't confirm.

"Not that I can remember. For one thing, Alistair wasn't here before Morrigan disappeared, and there never was talk of building another mansion. I think this must be an illusion, or it's more likely to be so than for it to have been real and that we've all forgotten."

Then again, there's been so much confusion with all of their memories that just about anything seems possible at this point.

"Her mother?" Anders can't imagine what being unafraid of the Templar Order is like as a mage captured by the templars early, and for a few rare moments his feelings and his demeanor are perfectly in sync in their wistfulness. "I envy that."

But that's all Thedas politics. He's had his fill of it for one day and he shakes the blanket of longing off.

"It makes for interesting theatre," he says in an effort not to be sucked into heavier thought. "Then again, so does most of Wonderland."

"The original Witch of the Wilds, I think." Her smile turns faintly grim at the memory of their encounters with Flemeth and what had ultimately happened (or, didn't happen, according to Hawke). "Best hope you never meet her."

Would she seek revenge for their attempt on her life? Would she even remember that it happened?

"So it does, though it's without much of anything to be learned from it." Robyn peers again at the memory, considering. "As you say, though, that does seem to be a theme throughout Wonderland."

"But they've been telling stories about them for decades. Longer than that, I'm sure," he replies, looking thoughtfully at Morrigan's likeness. "Whoever started the myth must be long dead. I thought it was like a title passed down to any female, tree-hugging hedge mage willing to live in the deep forest and scare passer-by."

It doesn't occur to him the stories could be about the same woman.

"I couldn't tell you why some of us seem to be swapping genders or popping up in these little vignettes." An apologetic shrug. That's a bit above his pay grade. "I'm still working on figuring out what kind of realm we're dealing with."

So far, "a confusing one" is about the long and short of it.

"It may be..." But Robyn knows, or thinks she knows, the truth of Flemeth's longevity. Of how stealing her daughters' youth for her own. It had been why Morrigan bid them to fight and kill her, though that hadn't worked out well for anyone, apparently. It reminds the Warden that Morrigan may still be in danger.

"I don't think any of those are easy answers," she says, with a bit of a grim smile. "We don't have many, in Wonderland."

If only it were a simple thing to take all this at face value.

"I wonder if the other residents have the same issues, the same... inconsistencies between their memories from home," she muses quietly, trying to think if she'd heard as much from any of the people she'd met who hadn't been from Thedas.

The unanswered questions about the origins of the Witches of the Wild aren't as important as those regarding Wonderland, but Anders' smile suggests he's not bothered by the severe disadvantage they're in. "You seem like a go-getter. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Heroes of Ferelden in any universe must be good at that, or else Thedas wouldn't have a future to screw with everyone's memories.

"Or maybe we pulled the short straw and the memory manipulation was reserved just for us."

He's kidding. Mostly.

"Ah, we'll see. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Anders." Robyn laughs lightly, glancing again to the mage. "I hope you'll share any answers you find so I'm not still poking around for them like an idiot."

She can be very persistent, but their current home doesn't seem very willing to offer up solutions to their many, bizarre problems.

"It's possible. The queen may have some issue with those from Thedas." It's a joke, though, just as his is, since... well, what are the odds that they've been picked from such a large group to suffer an additional, especially-confusing problem? No, whatever it is, it can't only affect them. Can it?

"We wouldn't want that," he teases, smiling. "We're both still Wardens, albeit in a weird way, and we're on the same side. I'm happy to help pitch in if it means putting an early end to this transdimensional holiday."

Things to do, people to see. She understands. If she still thinks she has an archdemon to fight elsewhere, she's probably more motivated than most to get back to Ferelden.

"As she should! If she's behind this and she thinks she can hold us here forever, she has another thing coming."

"Then, that can be our official, Grey Wardens mission for the time being," she says, nudging him lightly. "Ending the holiday. It sounds much better than our usual list."

List, yes, because there's always so many things to do. Not to mention the general 'stop the blight' and 'defeat the darkspawn.'

"Maybe not forever, but she's managed to keep a number of the others here for a long time." It's concerning, to say the least, and it brings about more questions than it answers about the abilities and powers of the person (people?) who are in charge here, if it can be called that.

"I like this plan," he declares at the nudge. She has a fun side for being a Hero of Ferelden with breasts.

Not that Anders is overjoyed to get back to the usual list of darkspawn and impending doom, but this time loop business is dangerous, not to mention that any world like this that has remained hidden by virtue of its memory-wiping is not a place Anders feels comfortable leaving to its own devices.

"That's reason enough for a good, long chat." He rests a hand on his hip. "And I'd like to ask what these strange "events" are all about. This picture show with the stars seems to be a message for us--but what about, I can only guess."

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket | OPEN

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