entrancelogs | Fawntastic. [CLOSED]

Entry tags:

Fawntastic. [CLOSED]

Who: Cullen Rutherford (

morework) & [CLOSED to Alistair (

backpacking)]
Where: The Dining Hall
When: backdated to Sunday, 3/6
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I don't know about always, but since my memory began. Which, after an encounter with the fawn, is not very much to go on for Cullen.
The Story:
He doesn't wear the armor anymore. The Garden is hardly a pressing threat, even spread through the mansion as it is by now. It will recede again, with time, he is sure of it. Sure enough. The wardrobes are more than happy to provide simpler threads, in the meantime. They feel light, bizarrely so, as if his shoulders couldn't remember a day they hadn't been encased in metal. He smiles at that, a bit. Who knows, his track record is hardly the best either.

His stomach-- hurts, actually, needles that did sharper in some moments than others. Impossibly sharp once or twice, perhaps at the third time he ought to visit the clinic about it. For now he still hears a faint growl, which makes him hope that food in his stomach will quiet the worst of it. And drink. Drink, again.

In the dining hall vines are slung around many of the tables, but Cullen finds an empty seat that will suffice. Anything but venison, he thinks, and a bowl appears in front of him. Some stew that smells of fish, and a loaf of fresh bread, still warm when he breaks it apart. Holds it to his lips and-- feels apprehensive? Can't imagine why he would. If the vines grow, he can always move his seat. If the pain gets worse, there are people to speak to.

Cullen shakes his head, and digs into the stew.

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"The whole outside moving inside thing? I'm not a fan personally." Alistair stops in the entrance to the dining hall, eyeing the vines making themselves at home on the tables. "What if I decide I want vegetable stew for dinner? Are they going to get mad? Will they try and avenge their lost family?"

He turns to the other person already there to see what they think of the very serious matter of invading plants and their quest for revenge.

And stops when he sees who it actually is. Well. There goes his hopes of some lively banter. But he can still have fun while he grabs lunch.

"Are there vegetables in that? You can find out if it's safe for me." Smirking Alistair drops into a seat across from Cullen and watches him expectantly. The way he sees it, it's practically Cullen's duty to see if the plants are going to be offended on their relative's behalf before Alistair himself does.

Cullen shrugs idly.

"It does seem like it should have enough room outside..."

Perhaps there are parts of the Garden they could speak to, to discover why it feels the need to spread out so, or how they might ease it back into occupying a smaller space. But some of them can be tricky to approach, and the Garden's presence is only so pressing an inconvenience. Cullen's smile grows wider, however, at the man's concerns. He laughs, and fishes for a spoonful of peas.

"--All right, but this was your plan, and I'll hold you to the outcome."

He makes a show of leading the spoon to his mouth in plain view of the vines, and chews with just as much emphasis. Swallows, and waits with bated breath, cocking his head. Finally, after the silence, he leans back in his chair with a shrug.

"Seems the Garden is more forgiving than you feared." Cullen grins. "Or on rather poor terms with the pea side of its family."

That-

Wait.

Alistair blinks, rubs at his eyes and frowns at Cullen again. No. It's still there. There's definitely something weird happening to his face.

....And an even stranger sound coming out of his mouth....

...The silence stretches as Alistair continues to stare at the man before him. Finally he shakes himself free of his confusion. "What?" Mostly.

Cullen is humouring him. The templar Commander is humouring him. And smiling. Like it's perfectly normal and they do this every day. Reaching out cautiously he prods at the man, on the off chance Wonderland has decided to start with new illusions that are less obviously not physically there. But no, there is definitely a person sitting there opposite him. A person who seems fairly comfortable here so probably isn't Cullen's identical twin who just showed up.

"Are you drunk?" It's the most obvious answer he can think of. Although there's a distinct lack of any other signs of heavy drinking. "Or did you hit your head? Am I dreaming?" If he is it has to be one of his weirder dreams. And that's including the one where he was surrounded by giant spiders all with Morrigan's face.

Cullen's smile turns bemused, but he lets the man do what he will. Wonders if it would be all right to take another spoonful of soup while the questions come. His stomach says it would be an excellent idea, but the rest of him suspects it might be poor form. He listens to the rest, grudgingly.

"I'm not drunk," he answers plainly. "And my head is--" --aches and pains he cannot explain, coming and going as they please. Sometimes trivial, sometimes a small terror. The man seems troubled enough, best not mention it. "--fine, I didn't hit it anywhere."

Cullen risks another smile, just a small one this time.

"And if you want to know if you're dreaming, you just probably poke yourself instead of me."

Which is all well and good, but it seems to do little to ease anyone's mind, or-- Was the joke in such poor taste? He wouldn't have thought, but something changed rather rapidly, and there are only so many causes in this room he can name. Concern turns his expression serious.

"Are you... all right? Did I do something wrong?"

There it is again. On anyone else it would be a smile. On Cullen it's still a smile it just doesn't belong there. It's like if he saw one of his old teachers smiling at him. If that had ever happened he would have just started running before they could say a word and it's tempting to do the same here. But he does maybe have some dignity left that could be ruined by running screaming from the dining room when Cullen is just sitting there. And he can't pretend he's not curious.

If it's not alcohol or a head injury and Alistair himself isn't dreaming - a fact he tests by pinching himself surreptitiously under the table - then.... What is going on? His confusion is not at all helped by the fact that the source seems just as uncertain as he is. But at least the smile is gone. That's a good thing. Or is it? He can't tell any more.

"Wrong? Depends on who you ask." According to the Chantry? Definitely. They were very enthusiastic when it came to discouraging unnecessary levity among their templars. And all levity was apparently unnecessary. "You are acting weird."

Or so he thought. They didn't actually know each other that well but given how their first meeting had gone? He's pretty sure they're not at the 'laugh at Alistair's sparkling wit' stage yet.

"Weird? Was it the peas, because I thought--" He thought he's find the answer in the moment, that between meeting the other man for the first time and now something had already gone strangely wrong somehow, but it won't be that, will it? "Weird, when you say that... you mean differently, don't you?"

Because he wouldn't be the first with a similar concern, lately. Wonderland is odd like that a lot, you learn to live with it after- well, if you've been here your entire life, but... but this new thing, he'd like to know where it comes from. And when it can stop. Because he's starting to find it a little unnerving.

"You're not the first. People keep talking to me as if they know me-- I don't mind that so much, but I'm sorry, I'm not... whoever you think I am. And I have no idea who you are, either."

He wants to smile apologetically, but the gesture doesn't quite come.

"You have no idea who I am? None whatsoever?" It's not that his fragile ego can't handle not being recognised (really not, fame gets a bit tiring he'd say) but that's pretty much the exact opposite of how their first conversation began so Alistair is understandably a bit confused.

Maybe Cullen really does have an identical twin.... Or an evil twin, those are apparently a thing. Although if that's what this is he's not doing a very good job of being evil. Confusing but not evil.

Orrr it could be a prank. A weird one but it's not like the man would have any practice at that sort of thing. The question is, which option is most unlikely? A bad joke or a twin? And how does he figure it out?

"OK. I'll play along. If you're not who I think you are, who are you then? Because you look and sound exactly like- Wait. Mystique? Is that you? Is this some kind of weird joke I don't get?" He can't think why she'd be pretending to be a crazy version of the Commander with a decent sense of humour even if there hadn't been trouble between them, but at this point it still makes more sense than anything else he can think of.

"Mystique?" All right, now Cullen thinks it's not him this man ought to be worried about. "If this is the same woman I met two days ago, then I have to tell you that I don't see the resemblance. Are you sure you're all right? Should I have asked the same questions? Drunk? Head injury?"

He's not entirely serious about that. If it sounds impossible, then Wonderland usually has a reason or explanation for it. Even if it doesn't always share. He never liked that part of it too much, so he supposes the least he can do is be as forthcoming as he can on his end.

"...My name is Cullen. Cullen Rutherford. I confess that there've been a few things that must have slipped my mind lately, but-- Mystique, she told me I'd met her before. I guess you'll tell me we have, as well- but no, I really have no idea who you are. I... suppose I believe that I forgot as much, but- she was trying to tell me I'm someone from some place called 'Ferelden', but I swear I've never been anywhere other than Wonderland my entire life."

"It's not like-" Ugh. Is there any point trying to explain that there's nothing wrong with him for expecting not-Cullen to be a blue-skinned woman? Probably not.

If it's not a weird game of Mystique's then he's back to square one.... At least until Cullen decides to introduce himself and make it clear it's not just a terrible joke. Or anyone's twin or anything. Cullen has just lost his mind. Well, that makes things much simpler.

"'A few things'?" Alistair shakes his head in disbelief and scowls at the other man. That's more than a 'few things' that just 'slipped his mind' right there. "You are from Ferelden. We both are! Why would you- How could you have been here your whole life? It makes no sense. You couldn't have been born here so you must have come from somewhere else, right?"

Actually, this is creepy if he stops and thinks about it. If the Commander really believes he's been here his whole life.... Do they all need to worry about getting brainwashed into good little Wonderland residents? Is that a thing that could happen?

Just what he needed.

Cullen steals a glance at his soup, and wonders if the response will leave him time to have another spoonful. Time, maybe. Not much of an appetite though, he's starting to discover. He lets out a small sigh as he listens.

"Why couldn't I have been born here? I know I don't remember that, but who does?"

No, this is getting absurd. Wonderland is the only home he's ever known. The only familiarity he has with 'Ferelden' is that people seem very eager to bring it up around him for some reason. He was trying to indulge it all at first, but now-- He doesn't like it anymore.

He starts eating his soup again, after all. Maybe the vines will get upset after a while. He thinks he would prefer such a fight over needing to think about this further.

"Because you couldn't have!" Not a convincing argument? "Because you don't have any family here. And you never did." Or he's assuming not. It's not like Cullen is likely going to be able to argue that point with him.

Folding his arms Alistair scowls at the other man. He should be less frustrated by the whole mess, given Cullen probably didn't wake up this morning and decide he wanted to forget where he came from. But there's just something about the way he's sitting there eating like there's absolutely nothing wrong here that's rubbing Alistair in entirely the wrong way.

Was this what it was like for the Warden trying to talk them all out of the traps the demon made from their group in the Fade? Maybe he'd had a good reason to be annoyed by that if so. If only he could see a demon hanging around to blame for this.

Finally he uncrosses his arms and leans across the table, still glaring as he asks, "You don't think it's weird that more than one person believes you're from Ferelden?"

"Did more than one person ever tell you that you're very frustrating to talk to?" he snaps back. If Cullen's smile was a source for the other man's concern before, then any trace of it has certainly been thoroughly eliminated by now. As has Cullen's appetite, at last.

He sets down the spoon, and crosses his arms defiantly. Tightly. Around his chest, to smother the cold unease of a childhood he wants to argue with, but which he cannot recall - not here, nor anywhere else. There is nowhere else you've ever been, something reminds him gently, with a clarity which reminds him that, no matter what else may be true or false, this will always be true. This is where you belong.

"All right," Cullen says, and wants to say with stern indifference, but somewhere a small crack still lets the uncertainty in. "If you think you know me so much better than I do myself, then who am I supposed to be? Other than 'someone from Ferelden'?"

"Yes." Too many to count in fact.

But Cullen has given up on his meal and is sharing some of Alistair's irritation so score one for being frustrating? It at least eases his own ill-temper some, even if Cullen isn't looking particularly receptive to being told the truth.

"Ah-" And here's another small problem. Alistair doesn't know the other man that well. Barely at all if he's honest. But admitting that will just make it look like he was wrong about the rest too and he wasn't. He knows enough surely. And if it comes to it he can make up a few stories based on personal experiences as a templar trainee. It might even help jog Cullen's memory if he has to try and recall if he really got himself into some of the more embarrassing positions that Alistair did.

"You're supposed to be a templar. From Ferelden." Said with a pointed look. "Someone who's trained to hunt mages. And you're good at it." He had to be to get promoted to Knight-Commander. "Good and too serious, just like the Chantry likes them." His bias might be showing just a little there. But it is true.

Cullen hates to admit it, even to himself, but part of him listens with curiosity, wondering if the next word might suddenly strike a familiar chord. It does not. Nor the one after that, or any others that follow before silence falls again. Too serious, at least that supposed description sheds light on the other man's confusion before. If not on much else.

"A templar," Cullen repeats unconvinced, wondering if the sound might jog a memory if it comes from his own lips. It does not. He breathes a small sigh of relief. "And I hunt... what are 'mages'?"

Not a good start for the man's theory. A good hunter, supposedly, should at least know what his prey looks like. Chantry, that gives him preciously little to think of as well, but one piece at a time.

"Mages? You don't-" Maker. Does he really need to explain what a mage is to a templar? It's one thing to talk about it to people from other places who claim there's no magic where they're from but to have to explain it to someone who's spent more time around mages than he has?

"Mages. You know, people with the gift of magic. Fireballs or changing shape or healing." Does he need to run off and find Anders now to demonstrate some magic?

"And your job is to-" Wait, hold up. Magic. Cullen must be under the influence of some kind of magic to have forgotten where he comes from and everything else. And, well, templar. Or almost templar. And magic. He's never seen a spell like this but it might still work. He'll never know if he doesn't try.

He sits there quietly, eyeing the other man up as he mulls the idea over. If he tries to dispell whatever magic is affecting Cullen and it doesn't work? He's not sure how never-heard-of-a-mage will take it. But he has to try. And maybe seeing something like that will help jog his memory?

It's worth a shot.

"Forget that. I want to try something."

Magic, of course. Wonderland is full of it. Mages. All right, perhaps he should have guessed the term, it hardly sounds far-fetched. He smiles sheepishly at the lapse, except--

"And my job is to...?"

Except that seems a rather important sentence to finish, because there was a reason he never even thought of the connection in quite that way. Trained to hunt them, what sort of person would want to hunt other people? No, worse, what sort of person would be good at it?

"--You know what? Forget that I asked. You're wrong. You're- obviously wrong, and I don't need you telling me stories about- whoever you think that I am. And you can try what you like, as long as you do it far away from me."

"I'm not wrong you- It's the truth!" Shoving himself to his feet Alistair glares down at the other man, frustrated by his refusal to believe the facts. Addled by some spell as he is he could still just listen!

Later he'll think he should have explained better and saved himself some trouble. For all his personal dislike of the templar life Alistair knows the order serves a purpose and its members aren't all bad. It's just that that understanding tends to get buried under years of misery at the Chantry. And right now he's too irritated - and perhaps a little unnerved - to be calm and reasonable.

Leaning across the table he jabs at Cullen's chest roughly to punctuate his next words. "I'm trying to help. And I know what I'm talking about. This place has done something to you!"

They have gone past any point where he could amicably ignore this strangeness. Cullen rises to his feet as the other man does, towering over him-- towering over him as much as any man can tower over somebody roughly their own size. He exhales to counter--

...and lets out little more than a sharp breath. How is he supposed to argue against this? He is not wrong- just as the other man's frustration is clearly that of a man who thinks he is not wrong either. Cullen falters at the thought. Piece by piece he's been told, small impressions of a person he doesn't recognise in himself, and the more he hears, the more he fears himself mistaken - the more he needs to know that he is not.

He takes another breath, so that he can speak this calmly:

"If I let you try- whatever it is you think you need to try-- If I let you try it, and it doesn't work, will you accept that this is where I belong?"

Alistair's own temper cools somewhat in response to the calm words, his glare fading to muted frustration as he shakes his head.

"Of course you don't-" His mouth snaps shut as the rest of him finally catches up with it. None of them belong here but it's not going to help to say as much. Not with whatever it is Wonderland has done to the other man.

"Fine. If it doesn't work I'll leave you alone." Until he can think of another way to try and fix this. He really can't deal with the idea it could be permanent or something they might all have to worry about. "Just... stay calm, OK?"

With those reassuring words he takes a deep breath to centre himself and as he exhales a wave of light bursts outward from him, that should sweep away any magic in the surrounding area. He just hopes it actually does something. And doesn't just make Cullen think Alistair's the one trying to mess with his mind.

"All right," he concedes, and braces himself for--

Something. Should he observe closely? Should he shield his face? Should he relax or stand perfectly still? He should have asked what to expect, that is all. But now the concession is made, and he watches the other man curiously. Calm enough, only his posture tense with some undercurrent of apprehension.

Nothing much happens, at first. And then he takes a startled step back from the blue wave that lashes towards him, only to dig his heel into the floor as he remembers. Calm. Calm. He might not be able to do calm, but he can force himself into rigid. Unmoving. Eyes closed, as something cool washes over him, a slight tingle on his skin, a slight dizziness that tilts the ground underneath his feet. And then it all fades, just as quickly.

He opens his eyes, and finds them both standing just as before. He is well. Cullen is still home, and all is well.

"Was... that it?"

"Ye...es?" No sudden recognition or exclamation over what had been done to him - Alistair is going to guess that was a complete and utter failure. So much for templar training. The only upside he can see is the display didn't leave him with an angry as well as scrambled Commander.

Just in case it's shock that's keeping Cullen from shouting in outrage or declaring war on Wonderland he asks cautiously, "Do you feel any different? Or maybe know my name now?" He'd take even the smallest hint that the other man was starting to remember where was from and who he was. Even if it was just a return to normal templar cheerlessness.

If there was none of the above then it would be time for Plan B. Which is 'come up with Plan C'.

Cullen rolls his shoulders. Somewhere he knows the difference is not meant to be in his body, but he tests it all the same. Fingers flexed, half a step forward taken. A deliberate breath, and a gulp which swallows down the taste of nothing at all. Ferelden is still a meaningless name. He is still looking at a stranger.

"If it was meant to get me to remember something I couldn't possibly know-- But no, I don't feel any different, I don't think your spell worked the way you'd hoped." Cullen shakes his head. "I still don't know your name either, but I did mean to ask."

'Your spell'. Alistair snorts despite himself. But no, it hadn't worked how he hoped. It would have been nice if it had been that simple. Wonderland's magic is strange and seems to have nothing to do with Fade though. He's frustrated but not especially surprised.

"It's Alistair." Since Cullen had all but asked he could be that obliging. He doesn't even add that it's something the man already knows, no matter how much he wants to. Who'd have thought he'd get annoyed by not being recognised by people? Sighing in frustration he arches an eyebrow at Cullen questioningly. "Answer me one more question and I'll leave you in peace, alright?" For now.

...Should he ask about that reaction? He opens his mouth tentatively, but he's not sure about the words, and then Cullen gets ahead of himself anyway; thinks of all the questions he might expect. Just one more of them, but still. Still. Questions he can't seem to answer as well as he'd like, because years and years in Wonderland blur, but they must be years and years all the same. He's never known another place, this is still his home. This is still his home, he repeats silently, and braces himself.

"All right, ask me."

"Was there anything-" Weird? No, that's not going to help. Maybe- "What's the first thing you remember doing in Wonderland?"

Hopefully the answer will give him enough of a hint as to what did this to Cullen so he can avoid the same fate. Unless it's something that can just randomly affect people much as the mansion itself can sometimes change around them. In which case he'd best start praying more and hope the Maker is a little more attached to Wardens than to templars.

"The very first thing?" Cullen huffs. Still trying to trip him, then. "Obviously that would have been years ago, it was..."

He trails off. There. What he was afraid of. A simple question. And yet-- A childhood memory. A memory. Of his early childhood. In Wonderland. The old days of... nothing, where he used to nothing and nothing, with nobody, all day long. Cullen swallows. Tries, desperately, to recall any memory of his years in this world, of recent years, or even months, even weeks, only-- Only nothing.

Grimacing he wants to complain about the incessant questioning, but the words don't come. Stubbornly he wants to make up a memory just to see the man go, but the words don't come. Pleadingly he wants to beg Alistair to just leave, but the words don't come. It's only his silence, draped over a nagging hole of doubt. He does not remember Ferelden, that is out of the question. But Wonderland, the place he is supposed to call his home... why can he recall so little that would make it so?

I let you have your experiment, just leave, and the words almost come. But worse, much worse, Cullen actually has an answer to give, only not the sort he wants to hear himself speak. He hangs his head low, voice quiet to match.

"A few days ago. I must have gone into the forest, I don't remember why. I spoke to the Fawn, but I... lost track of what we talked about. Afterwards I just left..."

Lucky for Alistair that Wonderland isn't really dedicated to this whole 'make people think they belong here' trick or it would have given Cullen false memories to fill in the blanks. It's an oddly reassuring realisation. It has crossed his mind on the rare occasions he's thought about the strange differences in events so many of them remember, that maybe they've had their memories tampered with already. That maybe the reason they remember different people and different histories is because they've had those memories changed and there really is only one Ferelden with one way events play out.

But if Cullen has nothing, if he hasn't been given a life here in Wonderland to recall, then maybe he can finally dismiss that tiny niggling doubt instead just of pretending it doesn't exist.

More encouraging is the answer he gets, for all that the manner of its delivery tugs at him uncomfortably. However unsettled Cullen is by the admission it's only a temporary problem. This has to be fixable. Once the culprit is dead he'll go back to normal. Which is probably a good thing.

"The Fawn? As in a deer?" That's... something. Assuming this... talking deer. Is the culprit. Which. It's a talking deer. He's going to guess it's not just a harmless, possessed bystander. That's good. It's something physical. Something that can be fought. Cautiously, else he might end up wandering around claiming to belong here too, but still vulnerable.

Nodding determinedly to himself Alistair steps away from the table and turns towards the door. Almost immediately he turns back around and points at Cullen. "You should be careful. Don't- Just... try and stay out of trouble, alright?" He feels ridiculous saying it but if there could be trouble wandering around and the man doesn't remember a thing about his life he could be in danger. Although he had been managing for a few days by his own admittance. He should be fine a little longer.

"As in deer," he confirms quietly.

Should this not be a moment of relief? Alistair turns to leave, a finality to his question at last. An end to this strangeness, an end- an end to a man who could say more about an imagined past, than Cullen could about the truth. He feels rather hollow now, for all his certainty. It will pass, he tells himself as he watches Alistair go. It will pass as things in Wonderland do, and he will be at peace in his home again.

"All right," he says too quietly to a man almost out the door, and sinks back into his seat at the table. The soup in front of him has gone cold. He takes a spoonful without great appetite.

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Fawntastic. [CLOSED]

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