#antivandelight

A smile is already tugging at her fine mask as the elf addresses her. Though doubtful and sometimes thrown off by the man in the beginning of their journey, she has come to appreciate him a great deal.

His question does not stir her as much as it would have back then.

     ”Tasted? I suppose that is one way to call it.”

A gentle crease lowers her brows into a thoughtful frown, though not unbecoming, until she admits to it with a light gesture and tone.

Pulling her towel about her and tucking the edge, Isabela moved into her room with a hum upon her lips, one of her hands shaking through her damp hair. She opened the drawers of her dresser, drawing from them a couple of articles of clothing before tossing them onto the bed and opening her top drawer… only to be greeted by the most hideous collection of underwear that she had ever laid eyes upon.

The drawer was slammed shut, and she snatched up the shorts that she had pulled from the other drawer, stepping into them and tossing her towel to the side as she slipped her shirt over her head. Isabela fumbled, buttoning and zipping the shorts as she stormed from the room, one obvious name in mind—

Alistair’s never been one to turn down creature comforts, but since his days on the road, the one thing he’s found he just can’t get used to is a comfortable feather bed. Despite how nice it feels to fall asleep on a fluffy, squishy cloud of a mattress, he invariably wakes soon after, tossing and turning for hours and getting nothing near to a good night’s sleep. 

(Not mAsh's Carver) He poured beer. Over my /hair/.

Fenris is tired, in more ways than one, but still almost looks forward to giving this day's martial arts lesson. Perhaps it will... aid him in blowing off some steam. He finds himself more content after this let out. It is what ultimately triumphs the apathy creeping up unto him as of late, at least. 

It is when he is changing into his training garments that some additional steam to blow off boils his veins; pulling off his sweater results in suspiciously bright pink coloration all over his torso. And some... baby blue as well, as he notices a (very) bare moment later. 

"Programmer," he hisses through his teeth, the assumption regarding the perpetrator forming in his mind instantly. 

Laughter is heard from the other side of the room, as two of his pupils enter, one of them nudging the other under his ribs and covering his mouth as to not laugh too loudly. Fenris merely glowers in their direction.