#firmusproeliumus

But consider this: Dorian with a pet parrot.

It came home with him from their little trip to Arbor Wilds. It’s bright and colorful and gaudy; he names it Ignis for the flame-like crest of feathers on its head. Dorian teaches the bird to swear and insult people in Tevene, and it rides around on his shoulder everywhere he goes.

character solidifying!

Specify a character and leave a number in my ask, if you’re feeling so kind!

ok well since you requested all of them u jerk and i really wanna do these i’ll just do ‘em in groups of 10…

Zevran Approves

Send ∞ for my muse’s reaction to yours gently taking their hand.

"Vishante kaffas! Venedhis! Fasta vass!" Dorian growled, voice growing slightly louder, slightlyless controlled, with each curse. "Festis bei umo canavarum!"

He turned and, in asudden, shocking burst of violence, hurled his goblet into the hearth. Theglass exploded into shards and the dregs of wine within flared up hot andbright as the flames drank them. He stood panting, shoulders heaving, staring at the tinydestruction he had wreaked and craving more.He suddenly wanted to crush something, to watch something beautiful blacken inthe flames, cracking open raw and red.

Red as lyrium, redas the eyes of the man behind him, red as blood spilled on fresh snow.

I did not join the Venatori for this.

His hands slowlytightened into fists at his sides, fire crackling between his clenched fingersand dripping black char onto the stones.

"Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo," hehissed, opening his hands and casting them forward, a torrent of white-hot flamefountaining forth across the hearth. The andirons glowed cherry red when atlast he subsided, breathing hard, chin falling toward his chest.

Dorian whirled atthe sound of a soft cough behind him. He had forgotten he was not alone! Cullenstill stood there, the damnable man! The Red Templar looked -- not frightened, exactly, but his eyes hadgone quite wide and his lips were slightly parted; he rocked on his toes as ifmoments from retreat.

Those wide, wideeyes, red as molten metal.

Dorian paused, tryingto collect himself. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself forestalledas Cullen reached out suddenly, his right hand -- the one still mostfunctional, the one the crystals had not yet begun to take -- coiling awkwardly aboutDorian's own.

It’s five minutes past 8 when Vivienne’s phone finally displays the message she wants it to: a text from Josephine, letting her know that her date is ready to be picked up. Normally it’s the other way around, but in this case Vivienne’s willing to make an exception. After all, she’s never even met her date, much less heard of him, and the same is true for him. He doesn’t know her—doesn’t even know of her, according to Josie—and he most certainly doesn’t know where she lives. That’s fine with her, since the simple navy gown she plans on wearing doesn’t take long to put on at all. Makeup is minimal as well; her figure in that dress will make more than enough of a statement on its own.

By the time she slides into the black Bentley waiting outside of her apartment, it’s 8:17 and counting. She doesn’t even need to say a word; Dennet shifts the Bentley into gear and they’re off. He’s driven Vivienne around enough times to pick up when she wishes to talk and when she doesn’t. Most times—now included—she wishes to be left alone, and so the drive is completely silent except for the slight, muted hum of New York City right outside of her tinted windows.

Josephine’s apartment isn’t too far from her own place, making the ride comfortably short. Dennet opens the door for her and she steps out wearing the regality of a queen like a cloak. She nods once to him before entering Josephine’s apartment building. She’s been there enough times that she doesn’t need Josie to greet her; instead she just calmly makes her way to Josephine’s apartment and lets herself inside, not even bothering to knock. The place is expensively furnished and just messy enough to feel lived in—a stark contrast to Vivienne’s own apartment, which is so neat and tidy one wouldn’t even think someone resided there.

Vivienne pushes the uncomfortable thought away and tilts her head as Josie’s voice echoes through the apartment, lovely and lilting and rather exasperated. Her voice is joined by another one—an unfamiliar one—much deeper, masculine, rugged. That one no doubt belongs to Carl (or was it Cody?), her date. For a brief moment anxiety threatens to rear its ugly head, but Vivienne double-checks her reflection in the mirror next to the front door, takes a deep breath, and heads in the direction of the voices.

She finds the two of them in Josephine’s bedroom, surrounded by various articles of clothing that are thrown about the room. It looks as though two tailors went to battle and left behind a flurry of silken shirts and ties and belts everywhere. Vivienne glances around the room at all of the scattered pieces of clothing before at last her eyes land on Josephine—beautiful and immaculate as always, even with her hair up in a messy bun and dressed in sweatpants; she’s clearly not going to accompany them to the party.

But Vivienne’s attention is immediately drawn to the man—the rather tall, well-built man—standing right next to Josephine, who’s so busy focusing on slapping Josie’s hands away from his tie that he doesn’t even notice Vivienne walk in. That suits her just fine; she takes the opportunity to steal a rather long glance at him, surveying him up and down. He’s built like a fighter, and the navy suit he’s wearing only enhances those broad shoulders and defined muscles. A surge of attraction—the sensation so foreign it momentarily alarms her—rushes through her body, and all she can think is that this was not what she had in mind when Josephine mentioned a friend of hers who was the perfect “chump.”

Josephine doesn’t notice Vivienne at first either. She’s too busy trying to shove a bowtie in the oddly attractive man’s face. “Cullen, you have to put this on, before she—”

“No, I’ll look like a waiter!” He hugs his black silk tie protectively.

At that, Vivienne can’t help but let out a snort, though she quickly disguises it as a cough, as though she’s merely trying to get their attention. They both whirl and their expressions change dramatically when they catch sight of her. Josephine looks delighted, but Carl—no, Cullen—adopts an expression that’s a cross between surprise and horror. Vivienne offers him a small smile, stepping into the room as she says smoothly, “My dear, I doubt you could pass for a waiter even if you wanted to.” She tilts her head and does another quick once-over of him before turning to Josephine. “The black tie looks fine, Josie. Really, I’m impressed; you’ve outdone yourself.”

Passing my Harrowing was gratifying, exciting,

An accomplishment.

As I entered the Kirkwall Circle for the first time,

There he stood.

The same expression he had the day he entered my home,

The same formalities,

Just as any Templar should be.

I tried to forget the sympathy he had attempted to show me on that day,

Remind myself that regardless of compassion-

He was still a Templar.

All he did was congratulate me.

I acted as if I did not recognize him,

But how could I not?

Cullen Rutherford.