#fxreball

  ❛    diamond ss-cit-ty’s fun--n. but it g-guh-g-... gets kinda borin’!           how-how-w.. ‘s it .. outside?

DON T KINKSHAME ME

           The cold granite feels kind beneath his fingertips, gloves tucked            neatly in a thick waist-belt. Who knew the battlements would            become a place of inspiration and general escape over time;            who knew that he needed it these days more than ever? Tossed            into the throng of crowds and amused courtesies, one could have            implied that the dwarf required the presence of social institutions.            Yet every now and then? A little one on one solitude had become            a welcome reprieve. Familiar footfalls harken to his ear though, a            smile flitting across broad visage, and his eyes roll so hard there’s            almost a twinge of a headache blooming above a thick brow.            Aimless conversation serves to distract, but anything regarding            an old friend? Always wanted. 

She considers, tongue clicking against teeth as fingers rap against wood,  grain course ‘neath her nail. The quality reflects her findings of Kirkwall thus far; wanting and unsatisfactory. Fitting, that this is where Danarius’ parum lupus has run to. If the matter were left to her, she would leave the  brat to his tantrums -- ungrateful, horrid beast of a creature. It is insult enough that she has been sent to fetch this errant child; that she has stooped to barg- aining adds injury. 

❝  I can tell that you are a reasonable man, Hawke ❞ smile is saccharine and   insincere. Severing his fool head from his body is much more preferable, but she tires of seeing her men slaughtered. Incompetent to the last; it seems to hold true that if one wishes to see something done, they must deal with the  matter personally.  ❝  A good head for business, you have. Surely you’ll see ratio.  You and I, we need not be enemies in this.❞

Any more blood split and she is ready to cancel this whole silly endeavor.   Resources beyond count have been poured into these expeditions of her  master’s, and this has not gone beyond the notice of the magisters. Laughing  stocks, they have become! Stulti! Embarrassment enough to sully the rest  of her line for centuries! 

The chair barely tolerates her weight as is, and when she shifts she can feel  the wood complain. Ah, much like her patience, then. 

      && HAWKE. 

                                                           he’s skulking in the corner of the hanged man, not furtively but not peacefully either. his fingers curl against each other, nails clashing, and they tug at the ends of fraying silks. it takes a conscious thought to settle himself so that he seems calm again, but the chair he rests in creaks as if in ancient mockery, and he frowns. there’s a brawl brewing - any fool could see this. ( what he cannot see is a path to the exit that will not take him by any potential troublemakers  ). in the end, he takes the only option available to him - he remains exactly where he is. and a spark - just a spark ( and guilt gnaws at his heart too, lends a weight to his words because there was a time that spark would have been a fire, but what is he meant to give, now? ) - of compassion prompts him to speak to the lonesome stranger nearby who looks as worn as himself.

                                   ❝  - the folly of shemlens; they’ll fight for nothing at all.  ❞  

m e 2