#samson v

They were getting too old for the excitement, weren't they? Gods, someone might joke that they'd need a nap just so they could keep up with everyone else in the festivities. He was thankful that things were always moving or that they were always busy. It kept him from wallowing in self-pity or worrying about the future.

Ameridan sipped his wine, looking at the door over the glass rim. His lips twitched towards a smile. Good. Elpenor and Dorian deserved that; they deserved to be happy.

"They've only been dragging their feet for months..." Not that he could fault them for it. He didn't know their reasons for waiting. Maybe it was caution; maybe it was just them dancing around each other. Whatever the case, they got their acts together and could be happy now.

He snorted, "Pity for them or for her? I feel she's dodging arrows right and left; most of them are rubbish."

Ameridan had seen one or two make attempts to woo her, and their failures were pitiable on the one hand...but excellent entertainment on the other. He felt a little sorry for her that she'd have to deal with it at all, however. Maker, Drakon had had a time of it before he'd settled down. He wouldn't wish that attention on anyone.

"I need a drink, and therefore, I come with enough to share." Ameridan set a large bottle of Antivan wine on the desk, along with two glasses. He had finally washed up and changed after his trip, the random detritus missing from his person.

And drinks? He needed it.

@of-enormous-girth Here

Myrna yelped when he began rushing her down the hall; she stumbled a few steps but quickly righted herself to let him drag her along. The sound of Sera's laughter was, unfortunately, infectious and Myrna found herself quietly joining in, though she tried to cover it with her free hand.

Gods, this is ridiculous...two damn adults running down the halls and through the gardens to get away from trouble like a couple of teenagers. But honestly? She needed the laugh. Excitement that was not found at the other end of a blade was a nice change of pace.

Myrna snorted quietly, lazily leaning back in the chair she'd filched from outside. "Is that a Free Marcher thing? Are you all ready to fight with just a handful of rocks at the drop of a hat?"

Although to be fair, she ran out of energy for magic once and used a noblewoman's gardening hoe so maybe she couldn't throw stones...

"Sounds like something my Keeper might've said. 'With enough spite, you can create a mountain from a pebble.'" She missed him. "But I hear people with belly aches are far worse than someone with a headache. Who needs a rock when they have the anger enough to throw mountains?"

Cole held back a flinch at the screech that came from the dragon overhead. Her thoughts weren't helping either. Her children, where were her children? Gone, taken, stolen, dead. Her mate...body broken on the rocks and cold.

"She's heartbroken and lonely," he murmured. "Poachers took her hatchlings and killed her mate."

His gaze settled on Samson and he finished with, "But she's hurting travelers in her anguish."

They had to stop her—through death, more than likely, as Cole wasn't sure how they could appease the beast to avoid it. It was kill the dragon or let her keep lashing out at everyone within the vicinity. No. No, they had to do something about her.

Inquisitor Myrna: Hey, Commander, did you get my report on the Red Templars just outside Denerim?

Commander Samson: Yeah, I looked it over. Nice work.

Myrna: Good. Thanks, dad.

Everyone in skyhold: -stares at Myrna-

Myrna: Why's everyone staring at me?

Sera: You just called Commander Samson, dad. You said "thanks, dad."

Myrna: What? No, I didn't. I said "thanks, man."

Samson: Do you see me as a father figure, Inquisitor?

Myrna: No, if anything, I see you as a bother figure because you're always bothering me.

Blackwall: Hey, show your father some respect.

Myrna: I didn't call him dad.

Alexius, a prisoner waiting to be judged: You did call him dad, Inquisitor.

Myrna: You shut up. You've done nothing but lie since you got here.

Alexius: Alright, alright. I was lying about the demon army but the dad thing? That happened.

Myrna: Ah-ha! He admitted that his lack of affiliation with the Venatori and their demons was a lie. It was all part of my crazy, devious plan.

Samson: I believe you—

Myrna: Thank you—

Samson: —daughter.

Myrna: -sigh-

Samson: Do you wanna talk about it later over a uh, game of Wicked Grace?

Myrna: I'd like that

----

He could feel the man's confusion without having to dip into his mind to find it. His lips twitched towards a smile and he attempted to clarify. "It's from a song...they would dance and sing in the rain, delighting in the mundane."

Cole tapped his foot again to the unsung song in his mind, enjoying the soft splash from below.

"Why is it called a cold? You get warmer, burning hot like sunburn. It's an infection...perhaps the Greens or the Yellows? Like the color of the...inappropriate. Sorry." It just seemed like such a silly term for it. Surely a technical term for it existed, one that didn't sound ridiculous.

Although, this did make it easier to convey what the problem was. I have a cold. People knew what symptoms you had, that they should probably keep their distance, and that you needed time to heal.

Still. Cold?

He was quiet for too long.

Caught in the Rain Starters

Cole glanced up from where his foot was tapping softly and gently in the shallow puddle of someone's footprint. The soft splash-slap stopped and he offered Samson a lopsided smile.