#lorin.

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Ah. Lorin. He was using metaphor. The issue, it proved, was that he was being nonliteral and dealing with Linshaw Frain. And he mentioned punching. (In a roundabout way.)

Their captor had his back turned to them. Talking, ad nauseam, about how pleased Loghain would be to get the Wardens delivered in nice little packages- in pieces, of course. Their hands were bound behind their backs- standard bindings that the Denerim guards would use. Child’s play to get out of for anyone who grew up in the rougher parts of the capital city. Child’s play, that was, for Linshaw Frain.

He took the cue from Lorin, whose veins were bulging in his throat and forehead as he ground out through his teeth. The situation affected him more than it would even someone normally, something very deep in Lorin screaming at being bound and sent to his death. Shaw did not know, did not ask about how Lorin became a Warden, but he knew he would deliver him from the torment the lowly whelp of a noble was putting them through.

@veilsong | lorin plz

It gets a rare smile from the other Warden- more of a smirk, a crooked pull to his lips and that catlike narrowing of his eyes. Confusion, too, which is probably how Lorin got the sour warrior to smile at all. Taken off guard by the noble’s sudden movement and- er- paleness. He closes the gap between them, looking at Lorin’s torso.