NO ONE EXPECTS THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION!!!!!



Industry wasn't supposed to be here: in the epicenter of the Fade.



No, it's supposed to be on it's beloved world of Earth, populated with indomitable and insatiable Humans, which was past the very edges of the Fade and lived in the magicless Beyond. And it liked it that way! It meant that the humans had to feed into it's aspect to create the miracles that they did, the glorious terrible inventions that make Industry sing.



And yet the Breach, the Whirlpool, has forced Industry deep into the Fade with a pull that caught the spirit just off guard enough that it was torn from their spot in the Beyond, spat through the tear and into the tiny pocket that was protected from the Fade by the Man Made Veil.



All the Spirit could really think was "Oh, its like the Ozone Layer" before the utter lack of technology hit it like an exploding neutron star and it shrieked as it started to warp into Recession almost immediately.



<NO!! NO NO NONONONONO!! I REFUSE!!> The Spirit snarls, holding itself together with sheer will as is searches for a way to anchor itself to its favored role. The havoc of The Twisted running about and the sky collapsing in on itself makes it hard, but Industry will be damned if it allows itself to be reduced to fucking Recession. Ew.



There!!A body that still lives, if barely considering the long piece of stone shrapnel through its eye. The soul has already fled its container and it has enough power to force it away from the brink of death when it puts it on! Industry shoves itself into the half corpse, shuddering with the force of its desperation and practically shredding it's own mind upon entry. Knowledge not its own claws their way through the Spirit and Industry can only manage to let out a whimper, body so incredibly heavy despite the power humming in its bones, before darkness takes it completely.



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Industry wakes up feeling groggy and half sitting up in a cot. The first thing that it feels through the disorientation is confusion. Why was it asleep? Industry never sleeps. The second is abject horror.



What has been done to it?Before Industry can even think to form a proper response, it already has the hands of its flesh suit in it's curly hair and is screaming. People run in shortly after, hands reaching out for it and Industry pays them no mind as the reality of its situation fully sets in. Mortals are shouting to each other over it's screeching, hands trying to force it to lay back down but the Spirit refuses!!



It can still feel the lack of it's embodiment in this world! The empty black void where there should be machinery and technological progress and innovation. What backwater hole has it been dragged to?!?! It misses Earth!!! Take it back!!! Kill it!!!



This must be what the humans call Hell!!!



Hands keep pushing at it and Industry ignores them as it wordlessly screams its despair and agony at being forced into a place and body so horrible. It feels a spell cast over it, fogging it's mind with drowsiness, and then darkness once again.



Industry would like to say that's the last of the screaming, but that whole song and dance happens two more times before the mortals try something different.



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It's body feels heavier than its previous awakenings, lethargic, and the spirit wonders if that was because the quack doctors used a sleeping potion on it instead of a sleeping spell. Whatever it was, it gives Industry enough time to brace itself for the void of its aspect before it devolves back into screaming. The spirit, instead of trying to sit up again, instead sorts through its new brain to see what the body knew apart from the soul that had been housed inside of it. Only when it does a lance of pain spears through it's head. Industry grunts at the sensation and reaches up to press a hand to the epicenter of the pain, right over it's empty fucking eye socket, as information sloshes around inside its cranium.



Information, but not memories.



Ah. So this body lost the episodic memory, but not the semantic or procedural memory.



Great.



"[Fuck.]" Industry croaks, reaching back to feel at the rest of it's skull and frowns when it feels sensitive pointed ears attached to the sides of it's head. Oh, fantastic. It's an elf now? Why must this world be so much different than their own? The spirit grumbles wordlessly as it opens it's one good eye to see who the fuck was whispering beside it. Industry blinks in confusion to see the pair of Quacks congratulating each other on something cheerfully. Huh?



"[What the fuck?]" It asks itself in english and ignores when the two Quacks startle at the language being used. Industry decides it doesn't want to deal with all of this and works to shove itself up into a sitting position, staring down at its new tanned and soft hands with an expression of disgust. The spirit always thought that any body it gained would be a mechanical one, not organic. The thought makes it shudder with revulsion.



If it's going to exist in this world until it's new body dies it needs to indulge in its aspect to a considerable degree, so its going to have to work these new hands to the bone. Calluses and burn resistance will need to be developed. Whoever had this body before had obviously been a scholar, not a craftsman. It's going to have to find a Smithery to work at or something. At least nearly every visible inch of it's new skin is covered in small and intricate script tattoos that remind Industry of it's spirit form. (Though they do look strangely new and feel a little tender??? Weird.)



"[Starting from scratch. This is going to be a headache without fossil fuels.]" Industry grumbles, knowing that this world didn't develop in the same way Earth did so there are no un-decayed dinosaurs to be turned into fossil fuels. That and because of the meddling of magic, The Carboniferous Lag hasn't seemed to have happened. Industry's new body has no knowledge of fossilized wood as evidence to back this up. Fascinating. However, it's going to have to resort to electricity or coal and steam power now. Though, it may stick to cleaner methods of power to prevent this planet from destroying it's own ecosystems so that it can last longer and therefore develop new industries to feed the Spirit. (So, no coal…)



"Maybe you should lay back down, darling? You've had quite the day." One of the two Quacks, a big boned woman wearing a filthy white Nun's Habit, says gently as she offers Industry a glass jar filled with a small amount of water. It takes the makeshift cup but doesn't drink it, not knowing what kind of bacteria could be in the water, much less on the woman's filthy hands… maybe they should do something about the quality of Health Care they have here first…



"Do you have a name? Any family we could contact?" The other Quack asks, wearing some strange looking robes. The air around him is all tingly with magic and if Industry shifts their sight slightly into the Fade, they can make out what the mage's aura looks like. (Stale, it looks stale and dull. Like a faded motion blur in a photo.)



"I don't- I don't remember." Industry manages to get out in one of the flesh suit's remembered languages, the common hesitant on its tongue as it tries to get the shapes of the words right. Mage Quack, looks quietly displeased despite his expression not changing and Industry squints at him in annoyance, trying to figure out why he's even here. (Hey, it's not confused by the magic existing. Earth is an outlier in that aspect. It just wants to know why the guy is in it's business.)



"This should have been expected considering- how is your eye feeling? Your head? Is there anything you do remember?" One Quack asks and Industry blinks up at her as it tries to get it's bearings, scrambling over the information in its skull. It remembers spells and what appears to be the inside of an organization called a Circle? It looks hideous and Industry decides that it's definitely not going back to whatever hell that is, nope. It would like to remain free so that it can start building.



"I'm a- a [scientist]? I think? I'm sorry, but my head hurts." Industry lies and blinks in confusion when Quack Two's lip curls in distaste like it just admitted that it had COVID. Not that COVID was a thing here, but it bets that Plagues are. Ugh, it needs to fix that immediately.



"And I was so sure you were one of mine when you started- well, never mind." Quack Two comments half to himself, looking disappointed as he glances between Quack One and Industry. The Spirit looks down at its bloody and shredded clothes, completely unrecognizable, and absently wonders what the fuck his problem is… probably being raised as a weapon to be feared, actually. Maybe Industry should change that too and start up an educational facility. It has time, after all. It's not like it can leave this body any time soon.



"Now that it's confirmed that you're… alright, I'll leave you be. Sister Claudia? Do you mind?" Quack Two asks as Quack One reaches up to unbandage Industry's eye with her absolutely disgusting hands. Oh hell the fuck no!! It's not letting her germ covered hands anywhere near the open wound that is it's empty eye socket!



"Of course not. I need to run some checks to see if his eye is stable anyway." Quack One says peaceably and Quack Two look relieved as he ducks out of what appears to be a spacious medical tent. Industry doesn't hesitate to slap her grimy hand away from it's eye and leans away from her with a wrinkled nose.



"If you're going to put your fingers in my open wound, wash your hands with soap and hot water first. If you don't, then don't bother checking on my eye." It says firmly and the Sister's mouth drops open in shock before her cheeks get red with indignancy.



"Why I never-" She starts and then begins to rant, or maybe it's a lecture, calling Industry a rabbit for some reason? Oh! She's being racist! Well don't mind if Industry argues right back! It's right anyway because of course it is!!



"Now listen here, Sister! You and your other Healers are using an outdated method and I refuse to let you touch me when your hands are infested with [microbes]!!" Industry snaps back, refusing to take this sitting down, literally, and standing despite how shaky it's knees are. (Ugh, this language sucks. It has none of the concepts or words that make up Industry.)



"Outdated!!! Well then why don't you show me your so called 'better' method that gets rid of these 'microbes' you speak of!!" The Sister demands, red in the face as she looks up at Industry (it didn't know it was actually this tall…) and the spirit enclosed in flesh grins in victory even as the other Quack doctors in the room are looking on in annoyance.



"Gladly." Industry sneers and then gets to work, grabbing her disgusting hand and sticking it into the barely filled glass jar of water. A good deal of the grime just sluffs off and into the water, turning it cloudy, and Industry gathers up the other materials it needs (it has to break a second glass for some makeshift slides) as the Sister sputters at the indignity of it touching her like that. The Spirit ignores her as it makes a water drop microscope (with multiple drops of various sizes to increase magnification) and places it over a bright light with a smug look.



"Go ahead and take a look, Sister." Industry taunts and the woman huffs as she moves to peer into the quickly made microscope, the other sisters looking at her face in curiosity. Sister Claudia's annoyed expression immediately takes a turn to confused and then drops into disgusted horror.



"What are those?! And why are they moving?!?!?!" She shrieks as she reels back more than just a few feet to look at Industry with wide eyes and the spirit can't help but be more than a little smug as it proves an idiot wrong. It also doesn't hurt that this also gets it a jump start on the Industrial Revolution that it had planned to start anyway. The other sisters approach the microscope and peer into it briefly only to have similar reactions to Sister Claudia.



"Those, dear Sister, are those microbes I was talking about. Creatures that are too small to see with just your eyes, live on absolutely everything, and love to make wounds fester. Those were all on your hands and guess what? Washing with soap and hot water kills them. So does wiping things in pure alcohol, lye, and bleach." Industry explains and before it's even finished Sister Claudia is rushing to boil a basin of water. Many of the other sisters rush to join her.



"Are we all going to be okay?" One of the nearby injured asks as he looks at Industry with an alarmed look. The spirit simply grins at him sharply.



"You will be now that I'm awake. I'm going to teach the sisters the best healing methods." Industry assures him as well as all the other injured individuals that were lucid enough to understand it. Soon enough the sisters come back to where Industry was standing, hands flushed with heat and still damp as they all seem extremely paranoid about touching anything.



"Are you ready for me to teach you about how sickness works now? I am quite the adept [scientist], hm alchemist, and am more than willing to impart my knowledge for free." Industry says smugly, though earnestly and the sisters murmur their agreements. The spirit's grin probably looks more than a little manic judging by the hesitance on Sister Claudia's face but Industry is just happy that it's already in a perfect position to create progress.



It isn't until much much later, past the day and all through the night of just straight up teaching, cleaning, and synthesizing of chemical cleaners, that Industry manages to step outside. The morning light is just peeking over the horizon and Industry is trying to figure out why it's eye isn't staying open as easily as it was before. It blearily blinks at the sunrise and then follows the green beam all the way up to see the massive glowing green hole in the sky.



That's when "reality" it hits it.



That's the Breach.



It's in god damned Thedas.



"[Oh motherfucker.]" It croaks and that's when it's eyelid finally decides to stay shut for good and everything goes dark.



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Industry is dreaming and it finds that the strangest experience it's ever had, and that's saying something because it's seen a lot in it's 300,000 some odd years of existence. Spirits older than it have seen less, but Industry is a very powerful spirit when on it's own planet. Not so much now, thanks to the Breach mostly cutting it off from its world of power. (Thankfully it still has a narrow tether reaching back towards Earth.) The Breach, that it is currently staring up at and squinting in displeasure, is still horrific looking on this side of the Fade. It looks like the innie version of the Breach in the waking world, power and light just collapsing inward like a black hole.



It feels like screaming, but that would attract the Twisted and it would rather not deal with that, thank-you-very-much.



"And who might you be?" A stranger asks to their left and Industry doesn't even bother turning around to talk to whoever thought addressing a spirit that looks like a collection of burning circuits made of script was a good idea. It's seen what spirits around Thedas look like, like nervous systems of the fallen, and knows that it looks nothing like them.



"Too new to speak, are you?" The stranger asks in amusement and that's when Industry slowly turns it's gaze to give the annoyance a look. New? New?!?! Before Industry was Industry, it was Progress and Progress has existed since the first human wanted to improve something. It's old as fucking balls!! The annoyance is a rather tall man with pale freckled skin, barefooted, bald, and dressed like a hipster. His purple eyes are lit up from within with curiosity as well as lit from the outside with the light of the Breach.



<I am in no mood to talk. This is deeply unpleasant.> It says with the spiritual approximation of a scowl.



"The Breach?" The stranger asks, trying to get it to specify and Industry's form components shift like someone moved an asset a pixel too far in Microsoft Word. It almost wishes it had eyes to roll.



<Magic.> Industry corrects, much to the stranger's intense confusion. Spirits of Thedas are magical first and foremost. So a Spirit saying it hates magic must be a very very new concept. Especially to someone that feels as intrinsically tied to the Veil as this Stranger is. Which is also weird now that it thinks about it. Who is this guy? It leans in close enough to sense his aura and lets out a resonant hum as it gets a read on him.



<This hole isn't just pulling in Spirits from Thedas. The Breach has stolen Spirits from other worlds. Myself included.> Industry explains irritably as it can feel it's flesh suit get moved about even while it's mind is in the Fade. It instead focuses on the Stranger. This guy is something like it currently is. Was once purely a spirit but now has a body he has made as his own. His aspect is a little confusing? No longer Wisdom but not quite Pride. Hubris maybe?



"You are quite… intense aren't you?" Hubris asks rhetorically and Industry remembers that personal space is a thing that people with bodies like to enjoy and shuffles its form components as it shifts away again with a staticky fuzz of something between annoyance and amusement. It doesn't quite know for sure but it's probably both.



<Leave me to my snooping, [Hubris]. I promise not to touch.> Industry comments dismissively as it follows the beam down from the Breach to try and see what it's connected to.



" 'Hubris'? Is that a word from your world?" He asks with curiosity and an expectation to be answered, following behind the spirit with his own dream form and Industry is tempted to turn and slap him back into his own body to wake him up so he leaves it be.



<It's [Greek] in origin. It's literal definition is 'excessive pride' but in stories it's used to describe that a hero that is usually clever, but in one short instance let their ego get the better of them and it gets them killed.> Industry says as it spots the Fade copy of the big fancy church building and continues following the tether into the building passing through halls at a moderate pace.



"How did you-" Hubris starts, obviously offended and hurries his steps so that he could walk beside the floating spirit.



"Were you intentionally insulting me or are you just that unused to social niceties?" He nearly snaps and Industry chimes in confusion. It though it's reasoning was pretty obvious, after all.



<Social niceties are, as the name implies, social constructs. What is rude in Thedas might be polite on Earth. Additionally, how else would I learn your Purpose?> It asks as it peers down the stairs that lead to under the Chantry, wondering why Cassandra and the Nightingale had put the Herald down here in the first place.



"By asking, da'len." Hubris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation and if Industry had eyes it would be rolling them right now. Industry twitches at the word spoken in elvhen and decides right then and there to learn the language as soon as possible so it could tell what he was calling it.



<But then you would give me your name, which is an entirely different thing. I wanted your Purpose. Which I suppose I got, but you are half Twisted so it's not like I got anything clean cut.> The spirit points out as it shuffled it's components again so that it's gaze is split between in front of it as well as behind it so that it could see the elvhen man that is following it.



"You are a very strange Spirit." Hubris' expression becomes more confused than annoyed as he follows it down into the depths of the castle.



<In comparison to the spirits of Thedas, I suppose, but I am quite normal by my world's standards.> Industry comments mildly as it keeps going down the stairs. The tether ends somewhere in the dungeon and Industry peers into the cell to see that it ends at a bright star of green light. The star is attached to the dream form of the future Inquisitor, of course, but the spirit can't see what they look like around the light.



Not like it really needs to. Industry is very familiar with the ins and outs of the Gaming Industry and so definitely knows the contents of a game that came out in 2014 so they are not looking forward to the future-



Wait.



Industry slowly turns it's gaze away from the future Inquisitor to Hubris and nearly curses aloud when their still frazzled mind finally remembers: 'Hey, this dude is an old Elvhen god that wants to tear this world apart.'



<Well. That's my curiosity settled. I'm leaving now.> It says, trying not to show what it just remembered and curses that it now has over 300,000 years of memories now swimming in a wrinkly lump of salty wet fat and is powered by 25 watts of electricity. Remembering things consistently is going to be a bitch from now on. That is, unless, elf brains are different from humans ones because they used to be immortal so their brains may have been designed to contain more.



A spirit can dream.



Wait no, that's what cause this problem in the first place!



A spirit, this spirit, does not want to dream!!



"That's all? Truly? I doubt it. Curiosity spirits aren't usually this… easily satisfied." Hubris' voice is a little tight and Industry ignores him as it drifts away from the Anchor and the Inquisitor, meandering back up the stairs and internally cursing when Hubris follows after it.



<That would be because I'm not Curiosity. This language doesn't have a word for my Purpose.> Industry answers as it tries to figure out how to wake itself up to get away from him.



<Having a body is tedious. How the fuck do you wake up on purpose?> It grumbles to itself, properly ignoring both Hubris as well as it's earlier revelation as it shuffles itself repeatedly and makes it's mind spin as it tried to figure it out. Eventually, which is barely any time at all really, Industry decided to just will itself awake. The Fade starts to shrink as if falling down a tunnel and Hubris' confused but indignant face does as well.



Then: Warm darkness and sticky eyes.



Or, well, eye.



It should really make a glass eye for itself. Something fancy and covered in script like it's tattoos.



Speaking of, it should probably get a mirror too. It has no idea what it's flesh suit looks like from above the collarbones.



"Ser… You fainted in front of the healing tent." Sister Claudia sighs when it manages to pry an eye open as she's passing by, the tent awash with the warm glow of the noon time sun.



"Please remember, despite our need for instruction, that you are a patient as well as only one man." She scolds and Industry blinks twice at her as it tries to properly wake up. Why does it feel so awful?? Like heavy but also pain at the same time? Ouch.



"Gender is a needless social construct. I've never seen a point in it. Why do strangers need to know what bits you have?" Industry mumbles mostly to itself and the Sister sighs again, this time in exasperation. Apparently being beheld to too many of Industry's "nonsense ramblings" in a single day has made her grow tired of them rather than confused or awed. It'll be sure to fix that. Later, of course. Now it still felt like it stuck it's head in concrete.



"Go back to sleep, Ser. We'll wake you for more lessons later." Sister Claudia promises and Industry grumbles something about remembering to wash everything constantly before getting pulled back under into a dreamless sleep.



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Industry decides that, while it still loathes it here, it's new life could be worse.



It's mornings are spent with the Sisters and the few Mages left alive that are healers, teaching them about the wonders of internal anatomy, modern medicine, and pharmaceuticals. Well, as modern as one can get without proper electricity and equipment. While it's afternoons are spent in the smithy with Harritt, using its metalworking and glassblowing skills to create some tools that would benefit literally anyone and everyone. It's evenings are then spent in an old cabin it found laying empty that it converted into it's home, lab, and workshop. It preforms a variety of experiments to get some stuff that this world solely lacks: Drugs and Antibiotics.



Smokeless gunpowder too, but the first two are more important.



It thinks that this has been a very productive month.



Yes.



Month.



The Mage of Equality that is the Herald is up and doing things in the Free Marches after stabilizing the Breach with Solas, Verric, and Cassandra on her tail. Industry didn't reveal itself or go help for obvious reasons. (It doesn't exactly know how magic works other than willing ones dreams into existence and it also has no desire to be discovered by such dangerous individuals.) So instead it stayed behind to continue improving the lives of the people in Haven while also exploring the Fade as they slept. The managed to find an old spirit of Knowledge and traded German for the Elvhen Language with them, mostly so that it can understand what Solas is doing when he thinks no one else can understand him.



"Sister Gloria, what did I just say about about saliva?" Industry asks tiredly, as it pauses its lesson to the new sisters about how "airborn" diseases spread to turn to a woman who was about to do something stupid, like dab at an injured patient's wound with the same cloth she had used to wipe a sick patient's drool.



"…That it's a carrier for the viruses and bacteria that cause sicknesses, Ser?" She says tentatively and Industry nods in encouragement.



"So that means-?" It leads on and the sister pauses as she looks down at the cloth she was just about to use, understanding dawning on her face.



"That this cloth should go in the wash bin, I should wash my hands again, and then get a new cloth." She finishes dully, tossing the cloth into the bin and tiredly turning back to the constantly refreshing wash station. Since Mother Giselle and her posse of Clerics showed up this week, Industry has been having to have a more in-depth refresher course on the joys of cleanliness and how it prevents the spread of disease and infection.



Industry is just eternally grateful for Sister Claudia's work in convincing the Clerics not to be sneaky little unwashed shitheads behind it's back and for it's own forethought into making a much more advanced microscope for all of the healers to look through and see what germs they're fighting against when they wash everything constantly. As bad as the portly woman was on the first day, she's been a lifesaver since.



Though it thinks one of the Clerics must have complained about it because what it thinks is one of the Nightingale's agents came in last week with an injury and has been watching it from under this cover pretty closely ever since. He's still here even, watching as Industry gives medical lectures to the Sisters and Clerics and even sneaking to look at the presented evidence when he thinks it isn't looking.



Which, Industry always is because if it isn't watching then one of the Clerics will forget to wash again! It has cleaned this entire place top to bottom with bleach and lye and keeps it just as immaculate with the help of the Sisters!! Because of it's hard work deaths have gone down by half and infections basically vanished overnight and it refuses for it's work to be squandered by Unwashed Zealots!



"Ser- Ser I think you're about to be late for your second job." Sister Marie, a sweetheart, points out as it's lecture comes to a close and Industry curses as it glances outside of the tent to check on the size of the shadows in the sun. Small little things those shadows were which meant noon was here and Industry was late and didn't even get to eat lunch!



"[Satan's] frozen nips!" It curses, racing over to the washing station and scrubbing it's arms, neck, and face with soap and hot water. Usually it would eat lunch by the stream and wash up there before heading off to the forge, but it had gotten distracted by the lecture about bodily fluids and how balancing the Humors was not a thing.



"Don't let the Clerics skip out on the washing!!" It orders it's Sisters as it races out of the Healing Tent and towards the smithy. It hadn't even finished stepping through the door before a very heavy leather apron smacks into it's face and Industry squawks as it's arms pinwheel in an attempt to keep itself standing upright.



"Harritt, you cocksucker, what the fuck?" It demands, pulling on the apron and rolling up it's sleeves. It's flesh suit still hasn't developed any respectable calluses, but at least its hands were already fairly heat resistant. Probably from spell fire, actually.



"You're late." He says mildly and Industry sticks out it's tongue as it gets to work on the project it had left behind the afternoon previous.



"My other job kept me. Mother Giselle and her Clerics don't know the modern healing methods so I've had to do a lot of teaching these past few days." It explains as it gets to work on rifling the second barrel of one of their Double Action Revolvers. Industry may know how to fight, martial arts education was an industry after all, but it doesn't have any of the muscle memory to accompany this knowledge yet. That and being a mage that doesn't really know how to cast spells, much less offensive magic, means that Industry needs to use alternative methods to defend itself. Thus: the guns.



It's already made a snubnose style revolver to holster in the center of it's back, hidden under it's outer layer of clothes, but it wants two longer barreled revolvers to be it's main weapons at it's hips. Maybe later, it'll even make a rifle and a shotgun when it gets the chance. The only problem is that the bullets, that it hasn't assembled yet, could probably be stopped by barrier magic.



Wait!



Templars and anti-magic stuff is a thing here! Fucking Duh!!!



It has to find Cullen and ask a lot of questions!!



"Do you really not get paid enough as a healer to have to work here too?" Harritt asks as he appears to be shaping a sword out of a bright orange brick of metal that Industry forgets the technical term for.



"I don't get paid, Harritt. Plus, I dont work here for the money. I work here for the forge access. How else would I make my tools?" Industry cant help but grin as it blows the curled metal shavings out of the barrel of the gun and peers down it to check the cut of the spiral grooves and the straightness of the barrel. Immaculate as always. It gives itself a mental pat on the back for the good work finished and pours molten metal into some plaster investments it had made of the more harder to hand make parts of the revolver. Wax casting may have been made for jewelry smithing, but works just as well for this sort of thing as well. Industry sighs wistfully at the thought of machined parts as it starts making nails as the molten metal in the investments cool.



"What do you mean you don't get paid?" Harritt interrupts Industry's daydreaming and the Spirit blinks at the blacksmith who's frowning quite hard behind his bushy orange mustache.



"Other than being able to get food from the mess and stay in one of the cabins, I receive no compensation for my work. Unless you count the materials I'm using to make all of my things as payment, but that's not really monetary." Industry clarifies, thinking back to all the beakers, magnifying lenses for the microscope, hollow needles, glass syringes, ampules, petri dishes, a glass eye, and gun parts that it has made with Harritt's supplies. That's not even counting all the plants that it took from the Healer's stores to make drugs. None of those things were cheap.



"Oh kid." Harritt sighs as he scrubs at his face with a soot covered hand and gets his own face covered in the stuff.



"What?" Industry asks in confusion, wondering why Harritt is being all weird. It's perfectly fine with not getting any money for it's work. Money just reminds them of Capitalism and it would rather not think about her if it doesn't have to. Especially considering she's so… handsy with it. Industry is pulled out of it's thoughts as Harritt drops his hands down onto it's shoulders and starts to lead them out of the smithy, towards the Chantry Proper.



"What are you doing???" Industry asks in mild alarm.



"Getting you your fucking pay, kid." Harritt says firmly and Industry just gets even more alarmed as it's practically frog marched to the stone keep in the distance. Oh this isn't good.



"No no. I don't need money. I would like to not talk to the big wigs, thank-you-very-much." Industry squeaks, knowing that it looks like a sooty mess and is about to get fucking noticed when it really should be staying under the radar. It digs in it's feet and sets it's jaw as it tries to slow Harritt down but he just pushes a little harder and eventually Industry is standing in front of Josephine's office. Her assistant looks at the two of them with wide eyes that just get wider when Harritt speaks.



"This worker here hasn't received any pay for their two jobs in a month." He announces and then Josephine herself is sitting at her desk in front of them and Industry strongly feels the urge to curl up and bury itself under the flagstones.



"They've been working a five hour shift in the morning with the Healers. Then a five hour shift with me in the forge making specialized tools for the Healers on top of repairs for the rest of Haven. And they've been doing it unpaid for 37 days, without a day off." Harritt announces to the entire administration team and Industry's face burns in embarrassment. Is this what it's like to have a parent fuss over you in public? If so, Industry now understands why all of those teens seemed to want to crawl out of their skin, because the spirit would love to do that right now.



"It's not that bad, Lady Montilyet. I get free food and housing-" Industry starts only to get interrupted again by Harritt again.



"They're also the one who's been improving the Healer's effectiveness by teaching the Sisters about Dalish healing methods." The man finishes with confidence even though those words were an outright falsehood. Just because it has facial tattoos, or so it's been told because it still hasn't found a mirror, doesn't mean it's Dalish. In fact, the body's original owner was likely a city elf.



"Well this is a problem we must rectify! An effective worker not receiving compensation is just not something that is done!" Josephine is offended on Industry's behalf and Industry just really really wants to tell her not to bother as Harritt pushes it into a seat in front of Josephine's desk. But, hold on to your hats, it gets even worse.



"What's your name, dear, so I can find your employment records." She asks as she opens up a draw of, lo and behold, papers with all the people that are employed by the Chantry.



Oh.



OH!!



NAME!!!!



INDUSTRY DOESN'T HAVE ONE OF THOSE!!!!!!!



SSSHHHIIIITTTTTTTT!!!!



Industry wracks it's brain for a name it could use, mind instantly going back to when it first changed from Progress to Industry and listening to the children in the English textile factories tell each other stories just barely over the sounds of the machines. (Now the thought of children working in factories sickens it, but it had seemed normal at the time…)



"I'm My'Ainsel." It says before it can really question itself on if it's a good idea to use Fae Name Rules in Thedas (while Common definitely wasn't English, the Not-Name somehow works in Common too) and immediately wants to smack it's palm into it's forehead as Josephine goes looking for it's obviously fake name in her files. It should have just chosen a normal Thedasian name, fuuuuccccckkkkkkkk!!!!



"That's strange. I don't have you in my files." Josephine says in confusion and Industry rubs at its face and prepares to admit something that might cause problems.



"That's because I'm not part of the Chantry. I'm one of the Mages that came for the Conclave." It explains tiredly, not looking up as the whole administration office goes quiet.



"Ah." Harritt says from behind it, probably just realizing why Industry hadn't wanted to meet Josephine Montilyet in the first place.



"Well that would do it." Josephine says, a little faintly.



"I'm not even a good Mage! I can barely summon a fire! I was brought as a scribe!" Industry half lies, trying to make itself seem harmless.



"And then I just wanted to help the Sisters that saved my life. I had a piece of rubble stuck through my eye!" It continues to the noblewoman, trying to get her on it's side.



"Please don't rat me out to the Templars or the Circle Mages. I'm tired of being a captive and just want to help." It finishes in a small voice, honestly this time as it wrings it still un-calloused hands. An equally tanned hand settles over it's fingers and Industry looks up to see Josephine looking at it softly, smiling a little.



"You are safe here with us, I assure you My'Ainsel. Now, how about we get your employee records in order, hm?" She says gently, pulling out a blank employee form and writing it's fake name at the top of it. Industry is literally about to cry, omg.



"Can you tell me your skills, age, and place of origin?" Josephine asks as she begins filling in the other areas of the form.



"I'm twenty six and was taken from Antiva to become part of a Circle as a teenager. While I'm not the most skilled Mage, I am an adept Alchemist and am a passable inventor." Industry makes most of this up on the spot, not really knowing if what it's saying was verifiable or not, but at least it was kinda truthful about it's skills. As for it's age, it's been Industry for 266 years so it just took off the duplicate number.



"Thank you for your assistance so far. I'm sure you will be indispensable to the Inquisition going forward." Josephine says with a smile and Industry's whole body relaxes in relief even if it knows that this paper is going to be looked over by Leliana as soon as the spirit leaves this office.



"How does one Gold Sovereign and ten silver coins sound as a payment? Weekends off as well?" The noblewoman asks and Industry blinks as it comes to a realization.



"I have have no idea how this currency works, but weekends off does sound nice." It admits, much to Harritt's amusement seeing as he starts laughing immediately. At least he's getting a kick out of Industry's pain.



------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Industry frowns as it looks at the Soldier's barracks and makes sure it's magical aura is as close to nil as they can get it. It cant make it's aura vanish completely, unfortunately, because its own aura is also tied to a tether that leads back through the Fade and into the Beyond to where Earth is. The tether's energy signature feels almost like magic and so it can't really feel like a Non-mage ever in the history of forever, always. The spirit sighs and just goes for it, walking through the small training yard to the building and knocks on what it knows is Cullen's room and office combo. It waits for a long moment and doesn't pay attention to the sounds of the man grumbling as he gets the door.



It's the evening so it's likely that Cullen had been just getting ready to go to sleep or sitting down to do work till he collapses from exhaustion and is displeased that he's being bothered. He opens the door, probably expecting a soldier with how he looks right over Industry's head and then has to correct himself with a tired blink as his gaze moves down to meet Industry's eyes. Eye, whatever. Industry smiles sheepishly with a little wave and the Commander's eyebrows furrow in confusion.



"Yes? How can I help you?" He asks and Industry prepares itself to maybe make a horrible decision, but if it gets them anti-magic knowledge, then that's good enough for them.



"Hi. I know Ms. Montilyet probably told you about me because, yeah, but I'm My'Ainsel. I came to ask about some ah-" It lowers it's voice here as it says these next words even though no soldiers are really close enough to hear their conversation anyway.



"Anti-Magic wards? I was hoping to make myself an amulet that I could wear that would keep me from casting? Or to disrupt my spells? Is that something that can be done?" It asks and watches as Cullen's face cycles through several emotions as the words register in his tired mind. Annoyance, then confusion, to understanding, then to grudging respect. Huzzah! Their little ruse about wanting to stifle their own magic has worked in their favor! Now they can learn about how to make spell disrupting bullets with assistance!



"I- yes. Lady Josephine did tell me about you. Please, come in Lady Ainsel." He sighs, running a tired hand over his face and then stepping to the side so that Industry could step into his office.



"Sorry to bother you so late. I would have come earlier, but you are a had man to get by himself." Industry apologizes as it steps into the room and folds its hands in front of itself so that the ex-templar could see them and feel at ease that it wouldn't attack him.



"I recommend sending me a message next time." Cullen suggests and Industry really does slap it's forehead this time because that would have been so much easier.



"Of course! Messengers are a thing here! Ugh, I am so used to-" It stops before it can say 'texting' or 'phones' and gets back to the subject.



"Right, sorry. I really would like to get something that would disrupt any spells that I might accidentally cast. I'm not terribly strong, but magic is still magic." Industry feels a little bad for preying on Cullen's prejudices like this, but it's all in the name of Progress so Industry really doesn't feel too bad.



"Are there runes for that sort of thing?" It asks as Cullen sits down heavily at his desk and it moves to stand in front of it. The spirit perks up in delight when Cullen confirms that yes there are runes that can create anti-magic areas, but the radius on the area of effect was so small it was considered negligible. Also, the runes needed to be placed by a mage first, but those needed to be refreshed very frequently, or needed to be filled with lyrium to keep them permanent. The Templars considered them to be too much of a hassle to look into further than that and so left the research there.



"So you're saying that it's nearly impossible to make an amulet that would make me unable to cast spells with this rune alone." Industry asks slowly as it thinks of putting the rune on the back of the bullets it's going to make and making a lyrium resin to fill the runes with. Oh! This was an excellent idea! The area of effect for the rune was the size of a quetzal, after all.



"Correct. But considering you're an alchemist I think you're about to go and experiment with this rune and discover a way to make it happen anyway." Cullen says dryly as he holds out a piece of scrap paper with the rune on it for Industry to take.



"I mean, yeah." Industry says, delighted that it now has a way to shoot anti-magic bullets. Will it actually figure out a way to make a non-lethal anti-magic area as well? Of fucking course! It'll definitely be useful in the future and Industry loves useful things!



"I'll get back to you on this!" It says to Cullen with a bright smile as it folds the paper up and slips it into it's pocket. The Commander smiles back, though he looks exhausted and also a little wary, but that's okay. Industry will win him over eventually.



"Of course you will, Lady Ainsel." Cullen sighs again and stands from his desk to lead it to the door again.



"And next time, please send a messenger instead of coming directly to my rooms." He pleads and Industry smiles at him with a chuckle.



"Of course, Commander. Good night." Industry nods a partial bow to the man and makes an estimation of time that it has left to be able to make as many bullets for it's revolvers that it can while it steps out of the man's rooms. The door shuts quietly behind them and the spirit cheerfully whistles the Chemical Worker's Song as it heads back to it's own cabin. It looks down at the lyrium potions it had stolen from the man while he was distracted talking and gives itself a pat on the back at getting his temptation out of his reach while also getting the resource it needed.



It had some work to do.



Maybe it should make a Gatling gun too.



------------------------------------------------------------------------------



As the months drag on, more people keep showing the fuck up. First it was Sera, the elf showing up and immediately trying to prank the Healers by stealing their "Fancy Nob Made Shite". Industry immediately put a stop to that and told her that it was the one that was making the equipment in it's free time and if she tried to break it's hard work it was going to light her pants on fire right here, right now and it wouldn't need magic to do it. It may have been holding a flaming cauterizer at the time.



She stopped after that, thank goodness.



Then Vivienne shows up with basically an entire house's worth of stuff. It didn't have to go and see her at all, thank Everything, because it remembers her being a stuck up Princess. Usually, Industry wouldn't care at all, but the Enchantress reminded it too much of Capitalism for comfort and so didn't want to see her. It does see her around Haven every now and then but her eyes seem to just skip right over the Spirit like it's part of the background and it assumes it's because it's skin suit is Elven and she usually associates those with servants rather than powerful spirits. That's Nobles for you. At least Sera has fun pestering her.



The next to show up was a minorly injured Warden Blackwall, who because he was posing as a Warden, meant his blood was a Major Bio-hazard and so Industry had to treat him in a separate area and with leather gloves. As it stitches the man up with waxed thread it silently wished for some latex gloves or for the man to fess up that he wasn't Tainted. Not that Industry said any of this aloud. It also wishes he really was a Warden because then he could get a sample of the Taint, Blight whatever, to study and maybe figure out a cure for it. It was clearly some kind of disease, but it has very little details on the matter. Alas, the man is a Liar and so Industry doesn't have a sample.



The third to show up was The Iron Bull and all of his Chargers. Which, gotta say, Industry didn't enjoy them purely because they kept breaking their weapons during training and then expecting Industry and Harritt to do instant miracle repairs. Or maybe it's just that Bull wanted to keep an eye on them and that was his excuse… It was probably the second one. Industry knows that the background it gave was shady as shit and now it seems that Leliana and Bull were trying to see what was up with it. It should have expected this.



And the worst of it all was that Inquisitor Herah Adaar and her party came back to Haven to rest up before going out to do something else equally heroic, ugh.



That also meant that Industry had a neighbor now, apparently the cabin across the way was the one that Solas had claimed for himself before he left for the Hinterlands with the Party. Double ugh. Industry may not have liked dreaming before, but that was before it had made friends with Knowledge! It doesn't want to have it's dreams interrupted by Mr. 'I'm Better Than You'.



All in all, most of the main Cast of the "game" was here and none of them were Industry's favorites. (Other than Adaar the Mage of Equality. She's cool.)



What it wouldn't give to have a second spirit to talk to, especially if it was Compassion. Compassion spirits were by far the best.



Hubris, Solas, doesn't count. He's been flesh for far too long.



It's the weekend, something Industry has come to hate in it's new life because it's banned from working and it doesn't have a single idea what to do with it's free time that isn't making something. The first few weekends they managed to "sneak" into the smithery to get to work on their own projects instead of whatever Harritt needed making but after the second weekend, the man got wise and started kicking it out before it could even pull on it's apron. So instead it would just do more work in it's workroom with it's chemicals, runed bullets, and assemblies.



Then Solas showed back up and Industry started avoiding him and that meant not being able to do diddly in it's workshop because it was all the way on the other side of Haven.



So then it started practicing martial arts by the river where it usually eats it's lunch and washes up, but last week it figured out that these little exercises sessions were being spied on and it wants to cry with frustration. It drops it's head into it's hands and sighs so loudly it's sure that the spies were able to hear it from their hiding spot. It's sure it's one of the Chargers too, because Bull is a dickhead that is nosy as shit.



"[Oh I am about to hail from the same Circus as the rest of the idiots in Haven.]" Industry grumbles into it's palms as it decides fuck it and whirls around on it's heel with the most determined expression on it's face as it stalks towards the spy's hiding place. It can basically feel their incredulity turning quickly into alarm as whoever was watching them realizes they've been had and Industry sticks it's hand into the bushes to drag a wide eyed Grim out of the foliage by his ear.



"Time to make myself everyone's fucking problem, come on." It says firmly, surprised at how easy it is to drag a grown human man around before remembering that it hauls around massive hunks of molten metal, heavy as shit hammers, and injured men armored to the nines around nearly every day. It's probably built up an insane amount of muscle that it hasn't noticed because it's an elf and those little twig looking fuckers are all sleeper builds.



The training grounds are easy enough to get to, even with a sputtering man on it's heels and an entire Conclave worth of humans in the way. The soldiers are running drills on one end while Bull and his Chargers are on the other. Industry doesn't even hesitate in dragging the naughty little human over to his co-workers before tossing him to Skinner with a flat expression.



"Stop sending your little spies over. I tolerate Leliana's people because she's my boss, but you are an outside hire that I do not have to pretend is not infringing upon my privacy." It says firmly. Skinner bares their teeth at it and it merely looks at them evenly with it's mismatched eyes. (It's often told that it's gaze is intense and so have decided to use this to it's advantage.)



They hesitate.



The Iron Bull, on the other hand, laughs at it's audacity.



"I'll be sure to be more subtle in the future." He promises with what's probably a wink but it's hard to tell when the man only has one visible eye and Industry just raises a skeptical eyebrow at his words. So he's not backing off. Peachy. The elf sighs and decides to do something foolish but would probably grant them some privacy from the Chargers and their illustrious Iron Bull.



"How about a wager then? I hear mercenaries are fond of those." Industry offers flatly, not quite nice enough for the offered wager to be a friendly one, but a bet none the less. Predictably, Bull brightens with a twinkle in his one visible eye. Industry is a little irked that it's Cyclops Buddies with that asshole…



"Depends. What will this wager be, hmm?" He asks, leaning on the pommel of that massive weapon of his and Industry looks up at him unflinchingly.



"A hand to hand fight with one of your Chargers-" It starts mildly and glares when Bull opens his mouth to interrupt.



"And that excludes you, The Iron Bull. I am not crazy enough to fight against someone over three times my size." It cuts in before Bull can and the Qunari closes his mouth, looking amused despite it's words. Industry huffs and continues.



"Whoever gets knocked down first wins. If I win, the Chargers stop spying on me. If your Charger wins, I'll answer 10 of your questions with complete honesty." It finishes, propping up it's hands on its hips. Bull, of course, laughs again but harder this time. He even slaps Krem on his shoulder to the point that the man almost falls down to his knees. It's obvious that he sees that Industry is tipping this deal in its favor. Bull is smart and Industry isn't being subtle.



For those not following: If Industry wins, it gets left alone. If it looses, it only has to answer 10 questions instead of all the questions that Bull wants.



Either way, Industry gets out on top and Bull knew this as soon as it spoke.



"Only if you come for drinks with me afterwards, win or loose." The Iron Bull counters and Industry frowns. It doesn't actually know what alcohol tastes like or what being drunk is like. It should be fine? It has a neigh iron will as long as War and Capitalism aren't involved.



Industry cant really fight against their... partners isn't quite the right word but it's one that somewhat fits. Toxic Exes might be a better word but that would imply that Industry had a choice in when the other spirits used it intimately. (It's aspect!! Only that!! Get your mind out of the gutter!!! Spirits can't have sex!!)



What was it thinking about again?



Right, alcohol.



"I can do that." Industry agrees, holding out a hand to shake and scrunching up its nose when the Bull's hand completely engulfs its own. Huge fucker. Glad it didn't agree to fight him.



"You'll be fighting Skinner seen as you two already have some tension." The Iron Bull says with a waggle of his eyebrows and Industry grimaces at him, but doesn't argue. It did say any Charger that wasn't Bull, but picking the most ornery fighter that already doesn't like them?



Bitch.



Well, whatever.



Skinner gets ready to fight, by de-knifing themselves from their over abundance of blades without breaking eye contact, while Industry internally hypes itself up as it shakes out its hands before holding them up to its face with open palms. The two people stand in front of each other for a moment, Skinner bouncing and Industry swaying, sizing each other up.



Skinner strikes first, obviously.



Industry ducks under their throat jab and spins itself into a high front kick, it's foot whiffing over their head as they lean back to avoid getting their jaw dislocated. Once Industry's foot is no longer in danger of hitting them, Skinner lunges back within reach again, grinning smugly as they think they've got a clear hit in.



Unfortunately for Skinner, Industry keeps turning, using the momentum gathered by its heavy boot and leg to make it go faster and it's elbow essentially rockets into the side of their face faster than they can so much as blink. The SMACK of skin impacting hard against skin is louder than Industry would have expected and Skinner falls back unconscious, but still stiff and twitching on the ground.



Industry swallows back a curse and looks down at the person to make sure they're really down, open hands still guarding it's face, before glancing at the other Chargers. Krem is gaping widely, Dalish is covering her mouth, Grim looks stunned, and Bull looks like his eyebrows want to escape off the top of his head.



"May I remind you that while I am currently working as a doctor, I am not on duty so I'm not going to check if they're okay." Industry points out and that spurns Dalish into motion, her scrambling over to check on Skinner. She relaxes after a minute and says:



"Just unconscious. No damage other than some light bruising that's likely gonna get a lot worse in an hour." She proclaims after checking Skinner's eyes and Industry finally lets its open hands fall with a nod. It then turn to Bull and makes sure the smugness it's feeling doesn't show on its face, what-so-ever. Nope, no smugness to be seen here.



"So, you'll be buying my drinks then?" Industry asks cheekily and Bull chuckles in that way that meant he did it before he could stop himself.



"Maybe one drink. The rest are on you though, Ainsel." Bull says as he keeps an eye on his Chargers as they pick Skinner up, their body no longer stiff or twitching with the suddenness of their loss of consciousness.



"I'll see you tonight then and I better not spot you or your lot spying on me from now on." Industry says with a firm nod, turning on it's heel and marching off back towards the river it had been hanging out at before it got tired of the spies.This went better than it thought it would! It was sure that it was going to loose.



------------------------------------------------------------------------------



<Solas POV>



"C'mon Chuckles! We won, made it back! We need to Celebrate!" Varric, an absolute enigma of a Child of Stone, says as he manages to bully Solas into the ramshackle 'tavern' that was basically the first thing in Haven to be rebuilt. Solas had no desire to drink beer, liquid bread that happened to be alcoholic, and their mead left much to be desired as well. He missed the fragrant wines and liquors of his own time and indulging in the Shems' drinks of choice left him more bitter than at ease.



"I'm not one for drinking however, Varric." Solas tries to argue as the dwarf calls out an order for two meads and before he can argue further a loud and quite drunk voice interrupts him.



"And that-" The Shem Elf is someone Solas has never seen before but feels somewhat similar. He cannot discern their gender but their skin is dark, but not as dark as their curls which are so black that they shine blue in the sunlight. Their intact iris is a dark but violently vibrant blue that even the daze of drunkenness cannot dim and their long lashes frame their slanted eyes. But their facial and body tattoos poke at his memory. Something from Arlathan distorted by time to something nearly unrecognizable, no doubt. A Dalish elf, ugh.



"-is how a brain is structured and operates! A human one at least. I haven't been able to get my hands on any other kind, but I assume they're similar!" The elf continues, slapping at one of many pieces of paper, not parchment, that were strewn across the table. The Iron Bull, their drinking companion Solas assumes, drags a hand down his face.



"Kid, all I asked was if you could remember where you're from." He says, trying to remain friendly with the elf who seems to be quite the passionate drunk.



"And I told you that that's in the episodic memory, which I don't have!! Not the procedural memory, which I do have!" The elf proclaims as if this was the most true thing in reality as they gesture at their work with a stick of charcoal and the Iron Bull sighs, looking down at the papers tiredly.



"I kind of hate that I understand what that means now." The Iron Bull mutters to himself and Solas can't help but glance down at Varric, who had watched the whole exchange with an ungodly twinkle of delight in his eyes.



"Oh no." Solas let's slip before he can stop himself and Varric grins.



"Oh yes. Come on chuckles! Seems like there's a story over at that table." Varric grins as he shoves Solas down onto one of the stools at the others' table. The Iron Bull looks up at them with an unreadable look and the strange elf scowls at the two new comers, doubly so when their mead get added to the two mugs already on the table.



"And who is this lovely lady you've been trying to get to know better?" Varric asks Bull and the Stranger.



"This is Miss My'Ainsel, though she answers to Ainsel as well. The Nightingale and I haven't been able to verify the background she gave Lady Montilyet when she was hired on after being discovered as a rogue mage so we've both been trying to persuade it out of her." Bull says under the noise of the tavern but still loud enough to be heard by those at the table. He likely got this My'Ainsel drunk enough that they, she?, won't remember what he's saying considering he just outright said it in front of her.



"And judging by your reaction, you've run into a problem?" Varric asks, still delighted despite himself and Solas takes the time to look at the papers strewn across the table and what My'Ainsel has drawn on them.



"Turns out the injury that took her eye also wiped a good portion of her memories about her life. She can remember information, but not the events that taught her the information." Bull explains as he motions to a paper with highly detailed diagrams of a brain drawn on them, even a drawing of what the inside of a brain looks like... how did she learn this, what??? Solas only knows what a brain looks like due to visiting Ghilan'nain's labs once or twice, and even then he doesn't exactly know how they function.



"How did a Dalish elf end up in a Circle anyway?" He asks, thinking that the Circle she must've been a part of cut apart corpses for study.



"I'm not Dalish! Why does everyone think I'm Dalish? Is it the tattoos? These aren't elvish tattoos." Ainsel gripes with an intense stare that sends a shiver down Solas's spine with familiarity as he illogically thinks that she could see through his skin and into his body. Even with just her one eye, the other one being made of a featureless deep blue cobalt glass. How in the world did it slip his mind that she was still at the table with them??



"And I'm not a woman either! Or a man! Gender is a social construct that I refuse to participate in!" She, they, continue and Solas nods in understanding. Many of his Spirit friends do not have genders, seeing as they do not have bodies and so he understands their sentiments. Though he's never heard the phrase "Social Construct" and wonders where My'Ainsel had learned about it.



"What is a social construct?? How is gender a social construct?" Varric asks, confused about whatever the strange elf had said. Ainsel turns their unsettlingly intense attention onto the dwarf and they point at him with the charcoal stick.



"Oh, here we go again." Bull mutters half to himself.



"A social construct is an idea, concept, or category created and accepted by the people in a society. It does not exist naturally or in objective reality, but functions as a real, working truth because everyone in that society collectively agrees to acknowledge and maintain it." Ainsel recites like they're reading off of a book and Varric blinks rapidly at the presented information, opening his mouth to no doubt ask questions.



"Social constructs are generally unique to the society they were created in, but there can be overlap when societies have physical things in common: such in the instance of Gender being developed around people's physical Sex. Though there are some variation to the roles and stereotypes assigned to each perceived gender." Ainsel cuts Varric off before he could so much as make a sound and Bull sighs, clearly settling in for the oncoming lecture. Varric sends Solas a wide eyed glance before Ainsel once again barrels onward.



"For example: In human society 'women' are generally seen as lesser, if not outright objects or property. As such they are usually relegated to roles of service. Cooking, cleaning, mending, tending, child bearing and rearing. While Men do more of the physical labor, leading, and military service because they deem themselves as more important." Ainsel continues as they outright put words to something about humans that Solas had always been discomforted by, but couldn't quite place. The other men at the table also shift in discomfort.



"While the Tama of the Qun-" Ainsel starts, making Bull startle as his own people are brought up.



"On average, they still don't go out to do military service and stick to child rearing but that's because they are seen as invaluable. Their men, on the other hand, are more expendable, which is why if they die in battle its not as big of a deal. The Qun as a whole already sees its people as objects, but the Tama are especially precious to their society because they are able to create life and increase Qun numbers without bringing in outsiders, who since they haven't grown up as Qun would like chafe at their way of life and cause chaos." Ainsel explains and the more they speak the stiller that Bull becomes, probably wondering how they know so much about his people.



"So while both have the same physical sex and their roles somewhat overlap, Human Women and Tama are dramatically different genders because of how their societies value them. Ergo, gender is a social construct." Ainsel finishes to a gaping Varric and an assumedly on edge Iron Bull.



"That's interesting, Kid. Where'd you learn that." Bull eventually says and Ainsel's single eye immediately turns it's unwavering attention back to him.



"It was an ongoing process started by John Money in 1955 and gained more traction [circa] 1970 by [Feminist] socialists and finally reached the conclusion I presented to you in 1990 when Judith Butler published the book 'Gender Touble'." Ainsel answers with a whole great deal of nonsense when before they had been so logical.



"I'm guessing the nonsense is also something that's been giving you trouble?" Solas asks dryly, wondering if this is a result of their previous head injury much like their memory loss. Bull responds in a positive as Ainsel shifts their attention back to Solas and he uncomfortably feels like he's been seen through again.



"Listen, Hubris-" Ainsel starts with a unnerving sudden calmness and just like that, Solas knows exactly who he's talking to.



The sky within the Fade, ripped open into Reality, spirits funneling into it with a cumulative wordless roar of fear in the distance. A second tether, reaching down into the Fade from the Breach, white strand thick with unreadable script. A condensed collection of burning words that shuffle and shift with interruptions of light. It's gaze brushes over him dismissively at first and then bores into his very being once he speaks to it.



<This hole isn't just pulling in Spirits from Thedas. The Breach has stolen Spirits from other worlds. Myself included.>



"You." Solas cuts in before he could really stop himself and Ainsel pauses as they visibly shift their mind to the new topic at hand. He can almost see their separate pages of searingly bright script shuffling and rearranging as they do so. So that's why their tattoos were so familiar.



"Yes. Me. Though also, hm, not. The flesh suit is unfortunate." Ainsel says mildly, still quite drunk and Solas' mind whirls into motion. They must've been pulled in when the Breach first opened, entering the first body they could get a hold of to keep themselves from turning into a demon. A spirit made physical with their own body, he assumes at least, for the first time since Arlathan. By the Creators he's ecstatic. Are they as immortal as he? A new start of the Elvhen race? Now that his plan to unlock his Focus has failed, maybe he should instead work on replicating these results en-mass.



"Flesh suit?" Bull asks in confusion and Ainsel, a chosen name it must be, turns their attention to him with a scowl pulling at their own pointed ears in a way that must hurt, dangly silver earrings jangling wildly.



"Flesh suit! People are just brains piloting a skeleton wearing a suit made of flesh! It's very frustrating! I don't like it!" They declare rather morbidly and Solas is begrudgingly impressed that Ainsel is able to give Bull the run around about their state of being while drunk for probably the first time in their entire existence.



"It's so gross and leaky and filled with a colony of [bacteria] that I'm not allowed to get rid of!" The spirit turned elf declares and Varric can't help but burst into laughter at the outburst.



"I think you got them too drunk, Bull. Thats why theyre speaking gibberish. Elves are lightweights. You may have to carry them back to their tent." The dwarf says, as he takes a small sip from his own tankard of mead and Ainsel whirls on him with the same amount of single minded passion that they had almost unleashed on Solas.



"It's not my fault that this language is stupidly narrow! It doesn't have any of the words I need! Why does it have porn but not [tabloid], compressed information hand out for sensational news, or [mechanical], descriptor word for metal devices made to preform a non static task under its own power?" Ainsel defends themselves and Varric's eyes light up at the same time as Bull's do.



"What's your preferred language then? Because I assume it's not the Trade Language." Bull asks slyly, thinking he's found himself a lead. Solas takes a sip of his weak mead as he tries to keep himself from laughing at the Iron Bull trying to figure out the Spirit's country of Origin when they are, in fact, from a world separate from this one entirely.



"[English!] It's not an easy language, not even by a little, or a perfect language, that doesn't exist, but it's the language that most [scientific] papers are either written in or translated into! Its the [Universal] language of [Science]!!!" Ainsel expresses passionately and the two spies sit back in disappointment, stumped.



"Where did they say they were picked up from to become part of a Circle?" Varric asks Bull, stumped.



"Antiva." Bull responds despondently as he takes a big swig of his own drink.



"That's the biggest Port city state in Thedas. There's a high probability that they came from a continent in the Northern Hemisphere that we don't know about." Verric points out and Bull sighs heavily, nodding in agreement.



"That's my best guess so far. Ainsel, have you ever been on a boat?" The Iron Bull mutters this first part to Varric before asking the Spirit his question.



"Of course I've been on a fucking boat. Love those things. Especially the big steel [commercial liners]. They get everything, everywhere, all at once. None of this multiple trip shit with [planes]." Ainsel says nonsensically and Bull sighs again.



"Looks like the Nightingale is just going to have to be happy that our resident rogue mage isn't from Thedas." The boisterous spy gives up, but the Storyteller does not. Solas decides not to get involved further and keeps to his own drink. He'll help his new kin if it looks like they're in trouble, but Solas would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about Ainsel's World of Origin: Earth, if he remembered correctly.



"Do you like Thedas, Ainsel? Better than your continent?" Varric wheedles and Ainsel sends him an unimpressed look that borders on offense.



"Fuck no. You guys don't have proper doctors or plumbing or [electricity] or transportation or [manufacturing] or education or standards of living in general. Thedas disgusts me." They say with a bluntness that even sends Varric into a fit of speechlessness, gaping at the spirit. Though Solas and Bull seem to silently agree with Ainsel's harsh sentiments.



"I'm glad to be here, regardless." Ainsel admits without prompting, looking deeply into their mug with that intensity that Solas has come to understand might just be how they are.



"My partners aren't here and don't know where I am." The spirit is quiet now as they seem to be thinking about something that haunts them.



"I don't like them all that much. They made me do things that I didn't want to. Horrible things... they can't find me here. No one touches me without permission here." Ainsel admits almost as if they were talking to themselves. Solas, Varric, and Bull all share a three way glance as they come to the same conclusion about Ainsel's previous "partners" and silently agree not to share this gossip around.



"I think that's enough mead for you." Solas says to the spirit, removing the tankard from their hand and setting it aside. They don't argue, mind somewhere else, and Solas gets up from his seat with a silent sigh through his nose.



"I'll get them to their bed." He says to the others, using this chance to skip out early. He always was an opportunist. He almost goes to pick Ainsel up out of their seat, but remembers their words and instead asks while holding out his arm.



"Do you need some help to your tent?" He asks with a smile he knows looks kind. Ainsel simply gives them a flat and almost dour look, but grabs his arm and lets him pull them up. Like most elves of this Shem era, they are short and lean, but they feel less like a shadow than the Elves of this era. The Fade hums readily under their skin.



Though, if he recalls correctly, they don't actually like magic for some reason.



"Why don't you like magic, da'len?" Solas asks as he starts bringing them to his cabin, not actually knowing where their tent is located.



"My world doesn't have any magic. Which I know is non standard, but I think magic is confusing as shit. Barely any logic, highly untested." Ainsel complains as they reach the small collection of cabins. Instead of following Solas into his own cabin, they start pulling him over to the cabin across from his, ignoring him and his own whirling mind.



A world entirely without magic? Was such a thing really possible?



"I don't think whoever lives here would appreciate-" Solas starts only to stop and sigh as the new elf pulls a key out of their shirt and unlocks the door. Of course this was their cabin. How has he not noticed them before? All he can see through the partially open door is a discarded couch piled high with blankets by the cold hearth and a long table filled with glass bottles and metal devices that he's never seen the like of before. Clearly, Ainsel as been building a great many things in their free time.



"Get some rest, alright. Your head will not be kind you in the morning but it's better than not sleeping at all." Solas advises as he realizes that the spirit will not allow him into their home to investigate further.



"I know what a hangover is." Ainsel informs him flatly, promptly shutting the door in his face, the lock clicking closed... Well then. Maybe, Solas muses as he heads back to his own Cabin, he should go perusing in their dreams for more answers then. A world without magic means a mind without barriers.



By the time Solas slips into the Fade, Ainsel is already dreaming, the bubble of Fade that is their mind was dark and thruming with muffled noise. He steps up to the bubble and reaches out to gently touch the surface, startling when instead of the feeling of a gossamer thin barrier he feels a nearly invisible cube of overly thick dark colored glass.



He knocks on the surface hesitantly, requesting access. He startles when a 7 foot tall rectangle cuts into the surface of the Cube, and slides to the side to create a doorway. The muffled noise from before becoming clearer, but the strange and literally otherworldly music still muffled for some reason. He steps through the opening and jumps again when it slides shut behind him, the glass seamlessly melding back into place. The room he finds himself in is dark and things are messily written all over the walls in a script significantly different from Ainsel's tattoos. There's a door on the far end of the room, a metal bar attached to the front of it and no door handle in sight. Above the door is another bar, but this one is made of a strange purple light that barely illuminates anything and makes his eyes go fuzzy when he looks at it directly.



Solas thinks he may have entered Ainsel's dream a bit hastily...



"[You going in or out?]" A masculine voice asks in an unknown language and Solas nearly jumps out of his skin, turning to see a very large man he hadn't noticed before, looming out of the gloom. His skin appears to be a dark purple and the whites of his eyes and teeth glow a very pale yellow in the dark room.



"I beg your pardon?" Solas manages to get out, making a note of the man's bizarre clothing. Complex fabric shoes with sculpted soles that glow in the purple light, slacks that are have a crease down the center of them, and an incredibly form fitting shirt with short sleeves and an absent collar.



"[Give me your hand.]" The man rolls his dark eyes and holds out his hand, palm up and motioning for Solas to give him something. Solas conjures some imaginary coin and moves to hand it over only to flinch when the man instead grabbed his hand, revealing that Solas' own skin is just as dark and purple as his own, and stamps something glowing on the back of his hand. The Mage yanks his hand back and studies the glowing script with one eye while keeping an eye on the man warily with the other.



He didn't even take Solas' coin...



"[Okay. You're good. Come on in.]" The man drawls, pressing down on the Iron bar attached to the door with a loud 'clack'. Ah, he was a guard. Solas leans forward for a moment and is the forced to stagger back as a wall of sound slams into him, the sound of music so loud that it physically reverberates in the air and he can feel it in his lungs with every breath he takes.



Solas forces himself further into Ainsel's dream, still dark but illuminated with vibrantly colored shafts of light, watching the door behind him shut with a drowned out slam. He slowly turns to the rest of the room and can feel himself gape at the sight before him. What he thought was a room is more like an indoor amphitheater, with a raised stage on the far side of the massive enclosed space. There's a band up on the stage, singing in a language he doesn't know and playing with bizarre instruments he's never even imagined. Colored spot lights are blazing down on them and the strange devices that make the music volume possible are scattered along the walls. Sparkling dust and reflective confetti rain down from the ceiling and down onto the noisy crowd.



But the crowd, by the Creators, the crowd. There must be over a thousand people here! Over ten thousand! Solas cannot even count because there are just that many writhing bodies dancing to the music. He can't even tell of they're all human considering the variety of them all. Strange clothes, glowing fabric and jewelry, tattoos and piercings galore. He swear he even saw a humanoid dragon somewhere in the distance.



How is he going to find Ainsel in this chaotic mess of a revelry?



"What are you doing here, you fucking Sneak?" Ainsel's voice says right in Solas' ear and he jerks away before he can really stop himself, whirling around to see the spirit made flesh. Ainsel is dressed much like the people here, ripped pants, tight cropped shirt, glowing bangles, and sparkling powder covering them head to toe. Their tattoos are a bright and burning white in the dim and Solas is shocked he didn't see them earlier.



Actually, no he's not. This place is a nightmare on the senses.



"I wanted to talk when you weren't drunk." Solas lies and Ainsel hums mildly, putting their hands on their hips as they study him.



"You could not have come at a worse time. Lady Gaga just started performing. No one skips Lady Gaga." Ainsel complains with a heavy sigh and Solas just moves past the weird title, no longer trying to understand the weirdness that is Ainsel's home world.