A CULLENITE'S GUIDE: HOW TO BE INQUISITOR

STEP ONE: LOSE YOUR GODDAMNED MIND

The room flickered weakly in the darkness; the light of the flat screen television was the only illumination in the room. Cora blinked down at her coffee cup, the dregs at the bottom were ice cold. God, how long had she been playing? She debated on a shower and food - the third time she'd had this argument with herself since last night - but that bastard Samson was still roaming Thedas like he was top shit, and she had promised Cullen -

Cora sighed. Christ - she was taking her relationship with a video game character more seriously than she did seventy-five percent of her real life relationships. Still, if any one of those 'real' people smirked at her like the dear Commander did...

She chucked and tapped the hotkey to pull up the tactical screen and freeze the game as she stood from her couch, spine popping and cup in hand, to get her fourth - or fifth - cup of coffee since she had started her marathon play-through. The bright green haze of a fade rift halted in mid-flare consumed the screen as she plodded off to the kitchen, thinking about the left-over tai in the fridge. She could eat that cold as a quick snack before heading back to duty.

But before she could pull at the fridge door what sounded to be an explosion of shredding fabric and vocal cords, accompanied by clattering pots and pans exploded in her living room, followed by a shallow grunt, and Cora froze, panic immediately kicking her nerves into overdrive.

Someone was in her apartment.

Someone was in her apartment!

She thought of her cellphone, which was sitting on the coffee table, and bemoaned not having a landline for the first time; the wall outlet for the phone jack mockingly empty above the counter.

Thinking quickly Cora ripped a steak knife from her countertop block and, her hand pressed over her heart, slowly rounded her way back towards the entry into the living room. If she could just get to the front door; get out and get next door to Mr. Isaacs' apartment... or downstairs to the apartment building's doorman...

With her heart fluttering madly in her throat, Cora crept around the corner to peer into the oddly lit living room.

Thankfully the knife slipped from her fingers before her hands clapped over her mouth.

Sprawled on hands and knees before her television, her intruder lifted a head of mussed curls and peered about himself with wide amber eyes, his face partially obscured by the animal pelt draping his shoulders; sharper here - the pixelated edges smoothed and softened by reality.

And when those eyes trained on her, and that familiar yet impossible face stared at her incredulously from her living room floor, Cora let fly from behind her fingers the only words that her mind could wrap around - lost to how absurdly appropriate they were:

"Maker's breath!"

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She considered herself a fairly rational person. Okay, maybe rational wasn't the right word. But she pulled some pretty impressive grades in college, had made some - not a lot, but a few - good friends, and lived in a nice apartment that her dad helped pay for; a gift to get her away from wife number three, who was about as charming as a fucking ally cat, though probably not as disease free. The woman was a troll, and Cora wasn't beyond pointing it out. Loudly. In public. It made holidays more entertaining, that was for sure.

All right, so these were not exactly the actions of someone with a lot of rational. But still, she liked to think of herself as as someone who wasn't prone to flipping out at the drop of a hat.

So when she watched through a stupor as he pulled himself from the carpet, gazing around the room before finally locking eyes on her again, a singular thought bounced around her head, while she stood by like a mannequin:

This can't be real-this can't be real-this can't-

"Where are we?" His voice was uncertain, slightly quavering though not fearful. Wary. She knew that tone. She'd played through enough times to know his every innuendo. And fuck! That voice! She opened her fingers to release her mouth and together their eyes roved back to her television, still displaying the odd green glare. "Did we fall through the rift?"

"We?" She asked dumbly. She was dreaming. She bit the inside of her cheek and felt the sharp sting of her teeth. No, not a dream.

She was dead. Unlikely. Nothing had happened that could kill her.

She had lost her goddamned mind.

Plausible.

Because Cullen I-Will-Sex-You-With-My-Voice-and-Smirk Rutherford looked at her as though seeing her there with him was an every day thing. Slowly he took the two steps needed to stand before her and reflexively she drew back; a puzzled frown instantly twisted his features.

"Inquisitor, are you alright? You sound different..."

Cora peered around her apartment, noticing that everything was just as it should be, except for the armored fictional character currently tuned in on her.

"What did you just call me?" She asked, trying so hard to figure out just what in the hell was going on. Cullen's scowl deepened.

"Inquisitor," he repeated slowly, though not condescendingly. He seemed worried for her. "Why are you speaking so strangely?"

And somewhere in the back of her mind, that little piece of rationality clicked in.

Of course! She had made her latest Quizzy into herself. It had taken her an entire afternoon to do it, and a couple of mods - okay, more than a couple - to get it pretty close to spot on except for a few freckles, a little extra blue in her eyes like she wanted in real life, and some other very minor details and facial definitions that couldn't be helped. And of course her voice. She'd used the Western accent in the game instead of the European, but her voice was higher-pitched in reality.

Still it was pretty damned close. Same blonde colored hair; same messy bun at the base of her skull that she loved to wear. Same face and body build. Really close. Close enough for Cullen to think she was the real deal.

No. Wait. She was the real deal. It was her character that was copy!

"I'm not the Inquisitor," she said slowly, "my name is Cora."

Cullen's frowned deepened. "Cora." His voice was deadpanned.

"Yes. Cora."

"Yes, I know." Said fictional character was now looking at her like he was concerned for her sanity. A fucking video game was worried for her sanity. "Cora Trevaylen."

"No." She replied, shaking her head. "Cora Dempkowski. Of Chicago. Illinois." Each fact was met with an unwavering look of uncertainty, yet like an idiot she kept pressing the issue. "America? Planet Earth? Any of this making sense?"

"Love, are you-" Those gloved fingers lifted to comb through her hair and Cora nearly flipped her shit as his fingers pressed tenderly to her temple; the leather warm and soft and very solid considering just minutes ago he had been nothing more than digital coding in a machine, translated into colored light on a screen.

"Whoa!" She crowed, leaning away for who-the-hell knew why. "Whoa. Wait. So you're real? Like, here, real?" Her hands flew back to her mouth, as her brain tried and failed repeatedly to wrap around what was happening. "Ohhhh... oh shit. I mean - shit! What is going on here?"

"That's precisely what I would like to know." Cullen announced petulantly. "Did you or did you not take us through a rift? Or... are we in the Fade?" His eyes widened fearfully. "Maker, no. No, not again..."

And it hit her like an ice bucket of water to the face as she watched him almost physically curl in on himself. He was terrified. Like before, in Origins... like when-

"No!" She blurted, a bit too loudly judging by the way he startled. "No, it's not like the tower. You're not about to be tortured or anything."

Cullen's eyes only widened. "I never told you that part," he whispered and her heart twisted at the fear there; at what she had just done to him. She forgot to be afraid of what was happening here; forgot to wonder if she was losing her mind. She'd played the games. She knew that if anyone was a candidate for PTSD it was Cullen; and right now she did not want to be the cause for that breakdown.

"No, listen," she sighed, her hands waiving gently, "just... okay. Okay." She had to slow down, to speak carefully so he would understand. It would be easy enough because-

-because she was the Inquisitor. Maybe not physically, but everything the Inquisitor did in the game was a direct reflection of her personality; all of the actions committed had been by her choice.

Cora moved over to sit at her couch, and waving a hand at the armchair for Cullen; knowing before he even shook his head that he would rather stand. She took a little comfort at that. She knew this man.

"So let me start with some facts." She said, sitting forward so she could run her fingers over her lips thoughtfully. "Yes, I am Cora. You know me as the Inquisitor, that's true. But I'm a little different in this place from what I am in Thedas. You see, I've never been to Thedas physically, though I know a lot about it. That's how I know about your past - or some of it. I travel there through that," she said, pointing to the television. "It lets me interact with the world of Thedas and see everything that is going on without physically being there."

"That's impossible," Cullen scowled, "you are there. Or you were."

"That was a..." she searched for the right word, "a projection of me. A copy that could be there physically when I couldn't. I controlled that copy. Here, watch." Cora leaned forward and retrieved her keyboard, resting it on her lap with her legs crossed before her in her typical gaming posture as she pressed pause again. The screen came to life and Cullen startled at the sudden flickering lights and noise. On the screen the fade rift roared as she moved her Inquisitor into place and held the button to close the rift. The whining increased in pitch and ended with a loud concussion of sound; leaving nothing but a small green pile of debris in its wake. Slowly Cora rotated the camera view until the face of her Inquisitor was visible.

"See?" She said. "Watch. I'm going to draw my weapon." She pressed the appropriate button and the woman on the screen pulled her staff from her back. "Now I'm going to return it." Again she followed through. "See?"

Cullen moved slowly to the television, his hand lifted to rest against the thin screen. His eyes turned back to the Cora on the couch.

"If you know so much about me, you know that I am not going to just accept that."

"I know," she said, "but I don't know how else to prove it to you."

Cullen stared at her thoughtfully for a moment before stepping towards her, his hand extended down to help her from her chair; his expression determined, but not threatening.

"I do."

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