#malcolmhawke

[ The Iron Bull has been watching him. Of course, he watches everyone, so perhaps it's not so strange. Except where he looks on his chargers with something protective and possessive, instead there's calculation in Bull's  remaining eye every time it turns to Malcolm.                 And the next time the food gets passed around,               the Qunari is there, broad enough to block out               the fire's glow as he leans close and hands Hawke               a bowl. Before the other man can pull away, he says. ] "-- I have one question. Only this."              [ Bull nods to the lingering bruises,               what's left of the injuries from the night                the Chargers had found Malcolm. ] "... is who ever did that   going to be a problem? Because I'd rather handle them now rather than later..."

HONHONHON, TRÈS BIEN. B]

"Malcolm -- ?"

y'know we should be friends. oh wait

"I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Malcolm." Mihtriel says up to him. She wasn’t one for parties - let alone Orlesian Balls. The Inquisition had been invited, luckily this time with a lot less assassins and something more of a festivity. She’d taken some time out and away from the crowds — dull music playing in the background when he had approached her in one of the side gardens.     Mihtriel blushes slightly, messing with the gloves that went with her uniform."….. I am not taking blame for the toes I’m going to step on either." The Dalish adds. Gently, she takes one hand and places the other on his hip like Josephine had shown her.    ”I’m horrible at this.” She chuckles sheepishly.

"I ah -- yes. Of course." The Dalish returns. Slipping her sleeves back down to cover a few bruises and marks of her own, the elf checks to make sure her Mark is properly covered. She nods and waits patiently for Malcolm.