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Back in the summer of last year I made inquiries about the experiences of Wonderland residents who hail from time periods before a more "modern" era, in the hopes of creating a guide that might best facilitate the transition for them to contemporary advances. The project fell through for a number of reasons not long after-

[Primarily because she left, died, and came back, which tends to put a bit of a damper on personal research, but that is not known by the general public.]

-but I am happy to have produced a pamphlet that I hope the rest of you might circulate with the...ah, existing one [that nondescript abomination] should you meet someone unfamiliar with the communications devices, or the appliances in the kitchen.

Please feel free to refer anyone with questions about bookkeeping and records to me, I've recently reorganised our archives in the west wing of the library.

[With that, Evelyn cuts the feed.

The project came as a distraction more than anything, something that had been pushed to the backburner in her grief, practically forgotten while she dragged herself through the days following her death in August. Being someone with an immense proclivity to work that others might find tedious or mind-numbing she weighed the options before her following the morning six days ago when she had woken up to find her bed empty again, the only belongings left behind a linen shirt and a cup of cold Turkish coffee on the counter.

It almost came as no surprise as she had sluggishly poured the beverage out in the sink, rinsing the porcelain. Why should it, anymore?

Later in the day Evelyn can be found in the unlikeliest of places: Wonderland's fifth floor bar, drowning dismay with whisky and rye.]

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[...he's taking this admirably well, actually, which is refreshing. Evelyn also has the feeling that he is deferring to formalities out of a need to be polite, that he doesn't actually know that she is, indeed, a countess in Mentmore, but it strikes her as very funny nonetheless.]

Likewise, Sir Alistair.

[She is trying very hard not to grin.]

How long have you been in residence, now?

[Well, he's not trying at all, an amused grin spreading over his face.]

Just Alistair. I'm allergic to titles.

[He blinks at the question and hums, thinking back to his arrival in Wonderland. How long ago was it?]

Me? Oh about... three months almost. [It feels longer somehow, without the darkspawn nipping at their heels the whole time.] How about you?

[Three months seems like an afternoon kip, so comparatively short when held up to her own stay that she's not entirely sure how to respond beyond rote condolences. It isn't easy telling them how long she's been in residence, not when so many of them seem fresh, still becoming acquainted with the grounds and Mansion.

Her demeanour sobers, ever so slightly.]

Four years and seven months.

....Oh. [Alistair's smile falls away, replaced by a look of dismay.

Four years. That's longer than the Blight has been going. Longer than he's been a Warden. Longer than he can afford to stay here. If she's been here that long and is still here.... Does that mean there's no way for them to get home? No way besides hoping they'll just disappear on their own and, if they're lucky, end up back where they belong but without knowing for sure?

Pulling himself out of those thoughts he asks hopefully-] You haven't been trying to leave, right? You're still here because you want to be?

[And not because they are all well and truly trapped.]

[Ah. There it is.

There are few parts she dislikes more about introductions than sharing her time with others, the growing horror as they compartmentalise the information and consider their chances for being trapped just as long. They rarely pity, afraid for themselves and rightly so, afraid that they'll be stuck as she is. She isn't a greeter, a friendly face - to new arrivals, she is a symbol of The Worst That Could Happen to Them.

Evelyn regrets this position in which she is placed, a harbinger of what could come.]

Would that I could go home. I have tried.

[More than anything.]

Maker.

[He hadn't really thought- Somehow he'd expected it to be easy, relatively speaking. Someone smart would figure out how to get to whatever created this place, they'd either convince it to let them leave or - more likely - kill it and then be able to go home. The worst problems would be those he had to face back in Ferelden. Now it seems that's not the case. Oh, he's heard people can go home sometimes, just like that, but it still seems a little too simple given everything else.

Forcing a smile he turns his attention back to Evelyn. She doesn't need to see him worry about something she's been dealing with a lot longer.] I'll have plenty of time to figure out the kitchen and everything then.

[Not much of a bright-side but he's doing his best.]

[People going home "just like that" isn't inaccurate, exactly, but it's not something in which any of them have a say. They leave when they leave, they arrived when they arrive - at times, they come back and don't remember anything at all. At times they come back barely changed. There are no overarching patterns she has been able to define over the last few years, which is unfortunate, but expected.]

I'm certainly you'll adjust well, but please let me know if you have any questions.

I will. Thank you.

[So long as those questions are something better than 'how do you deal with it'. Because he's pretty sure Evelyn doesn't need to be answering that.]

And thank you again for what you've already done.

[With a nod of farewell he switches off the device, needing some time to himself to stew over this new piece of information.]

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