(now, while some taverns in the south of thedas might be considered shitholes, the majority of them are not! they're cozy. homey. a warm bright spot in an otherwise bleak landscape. well, at least the the frostbacks. it's shitawful out here, not as bad as the anderfels, but. nothing's really that bad.
anyway. the point is, is that it's offensive to call taverns shitholes just because it's not the poncey north. that's just rude!! so alistair would say, anyway.
it isn't long before alistair comes loping through the door; while his posture remains disciplined, there's a small rounding to his shoulders, a tightness to his jaw, that has nothing to do with the frigid air outside. the moment he spots dorian, he kind of feels as if this might be a bad idea or something of the sort. having a fun little chat at a distance is one thing, usually alistair can keep his bumbling to a minimum and not completely embarrass himself (usually), but sitting together is quite another. dorian is so skilled at disarming a person. he's well-bred and intelligent, a mage of high standing. what he's doing slumming around with some warden is a bit odd.
but, it's not like he can just turn around and walk out now.
nearing dorian, he parts his lips to offer a greeting but gets beaten to it (kind of?) and he makes a very intelligent) Uhhh... (before glancing down at his boots. that are a bit wet. and muddy. and have definitely made friendly with the pelt beneath his feet. maker, this is going well already, isn't it?) Bugger. Well, that'll be our little secret.
(he sits in the other chair, setting his pack beside. after a moment, he realizes he's been just staring at dorian, so he clears his throat and glances around as if that never happened.)
I'm not that late. But, I wouldn't fault you for starting without me.
[ For all that Dorian fusses about the climate, and the food, and all the barbaric practices and people of the south... Well, perhaps Bull has his over-large finger on the pulse, even if Dorian refuses to admit it in so many words: there is something alluring about all the muck and mire.
Not the muck on Alistair's boots, mind you. But after years of Dorian's parents attempting to marry him off to the most well-bred women of Tevinter, slumming around with a Warden is refreshing. Perfectly in line with his notorious rebellious streak, even if he's not having as many brothel orgies these days.
And, in case Alistair hadn't noticed--which Dorian would put money on--he's not at all bad to look at.
Dorian's nose crinkles momentarily at the muddy boots, but there are more pressing matters to attend to, like pouring them both a generous glass of whatever watered-down red they've been given. ]
I wouldn't dream of starting without knowing the occasion for the--what was it?--quarter wheel of cheese and seven glasses of wine. [ Eating one's feelings, as Alistair has said. Something Dorian has never done in his life, obviously.
He pushes Alistair's glass across the table to him, curling his fingers around the stem of his own. ] Has some pretty girl run off with the Warden's heart?
(that someone would even think of him slightly in the way of slumming around and aiding to a rebellious streak, he might laugh. and feel a little proud, or something like it, anyway. but, no, he'd never admit to being someone to look at. get real. maybe when he was younger, but certainly not now, not after living through what he's lived through.
dorian, though. well, everyone including the man himself knows he's good looking. so much so that alistair wonders what he's doing with someone like him. but, he's not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.
he takes the glass, his fingers curling around the stem of the glass and nearly knocking it over in the process at dorian's question. an awkward, almost hysterical sounding laugh bubbles up and he shakes his head. as if that would ever be a worry.)
There isn't— no— I don't— (how charming to stutter like a blushing child. a breath through his nose and he downs what's in the glass instantly.) Nothing like that. No one wants a man on a time limit.
(he leans down to root around in his pack and drops the cheese on the table, breaking off a piece after unwrapping and stuffing that in his mouth.)
You really weren't kidding about the cheese. [ It's an impressive wedge. Thankfully not smelly. Dorian beckons the barkeep over again, for some bread and a knife, because he needs to eat his share with some degree of civility.
The barkeep refills Alistair's empty glass while she's there, and Dorian takes the cue to take more generous sips of his own. It's not terrible, and it's less-watered down than the last bottle he bought here - someone's been appreciating his tips. ]
Oh, you'd be surprised by how many people want nothing more than a man on a time limit. [ Dorian folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair to look Alistair over properly. ] Something about the urgency of it all. Gets the blood pumping.
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anyway. the point is, is that it's offensive to call taverns shitholes just because it's not the poncey north. that's just rude!! so alistair would say, anyway.
it isn't long before alistair comes loping through the door; while his posture remains disciplined, there's a small rounding to his shoulders, a tightness to his jaw, that has nothing to do with the frigid air outside. the moment he spots dorian, he kind of feels as if this might be a bad idea or something of the sort. having a fun little chat at a distance is one thing, usually alistair can keep his bumbling to a minimum and not completely embarrass himself (usually), but sitting together is quite another. dorian is so skilled at disarming a person. he's well-bred and intelligent, a mage of high standing. what he's doing slumming around with some warden is a bit odd.
but, it's not like he can just turn around and walk out now.
nearing dorian, he parts his lips to offer a greeting but gets beaten to it (kind of?) and he makes a very intelligent) Uhhh... (before glancing down at his boots. that are a bit wet. and muddy. and have definitely made friendly with the pelt beneath his feet. maker, this is going well already, isn't it?) Bugger. Well, that'll be our little secret.
(he sits in the other chair, setting his pack beside. after a moment, he realizes he's been just staring at dorian, so he clears his throat and glances around as if that never happened.)
I'm not that late. But, I wouldn't fault you for starting without me.
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Not the muck on Alistair's boots, mind you. But after years of Dorian's parents attempting to marry him off to the most well-bred women of Tevinter, slumming around with a Warden is refreshing. Perfectly in line with his notorious rebellious streak, even if he's not having as many brothel orgies these days.
And, in case Alistair hadn't noticed--which Dorian would put money on--he's not at all bad to look at.
Dorian's nose crinkles momentarily at the muddy boots, but there are more pressing matters to attend to, like pouring them both a generous glass of whatever watered-down red they've been given. ]
I wouldn't dream of starting without knowing the occasion for the--what was it?--quarter wheel of cheese and seven glasses of wine. [ Eating one's feelings, as Alistair has said. Something Dorian has never done in his life, obviously.
He pushes Alistair's glass across the table to him, curling his fingers around the stem of his own. ] Has some pretty girl run off with the Warden's heart?
slides in late; holidays 🤷♀️
dorian, though. well, everyone including the man himself knows he's good looking. so much so that alistair wonders what he's doing with someone like him. but, he's not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.
he takes the glass, his fingers curling around the stem of the glass and nearly knocking it over in the process at dorian's question. an awkward, almost hysterical sounding laugh bubbles up and he shakes his head. as if that would ever be a worry.)
There isn't— no— I don't— (how charming to stutter like a blushing child. a breath through his nose and he downs what's in the glass instantly.) Nothing like that. No one wants a man on a time limit.
(he leans down to root around in his pack and drops the cheese on the table, breaking off a piece after unwrapping and stuffing that in his mouth.)
No, it's dreadfully boring Warden business.
no worries, same here!
The barkeep refills Alistair's empty glass while she's there, and Dorian takes the cue to take more generous sips of his own. It's not terrible, and it's less-watered down than the last bottle he bought here - someone's been appreciating his tips. ]
Oh, you'd be surprised by how many people want nothing more than a man on a time limit. [ Dorian folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair to look Alistair over properly. ] Something about the urgency of it all. Gets the blood pumping.
Bore me, if you want to offload. I'm all ears.