#tothevoid-andback

Zevran watches the scruffy blonde from across the tavern and decides to give it a shot. He's had surprising luck here in Ferelden. Turns out the locals just aren't quite as vocal about lovemaking in public as Antivans are, but that is where the differences end. Many are more than willing to join Zev for a good time.     He finishes his ale and walks the short distance to lean by the man's table, not quite touching and juuuust outside of elbow room. He has no idea who it actually is. "I couldn't help but notice out of everyone here, you have the most stunning eyes....I...hope my compliment does not bother you? If it does, I have no qualms going back to my table without a fuss.”

The words that spilled from the mage’s lips caused his brow to furrow, his bright blue irises flickered from the blood dripping down his arm to the man who stood behind him, backed into the end of the cavern. “...you, scared? Perish the thought.” He spoke softly before half carrying, half dragging his sword with him towards the blonde healer. “Stay quiet...they’ll more than likely be looking for us.” He groused before motioning for him to get as far back as he could. “I have an idea should they find us, but let’s not hope it gets to that. Hawke will use their mabari to track us down, no doubt...so for now, save your strength. I....will protect you.”

“Sooo... the Champion of Kirkwall, huh?” Atlas looked at Garrett with raised eyebrows as he dealt out some cards. For a few moments, he was completely silent; something he’d probably later attribute to ‘building suspense’ but, truthfully, he was a bit of a loss at what to say. Hawke had become a bit of a legend, as they do, and even with the current position Atlas was in... it was still terribly strange to him. Eventually, though, he broke the silence. “How are you holding up?” A simple (yet possibly loaded) question? Yes, probably, but Atlas asked it in a very genuine way. Of course, that didn’t mean that he was expecting Hawke to open the floodgates; it just felt nice to ask that as opposed to prying into the past and overstepping boundaries. That would be terribly embarrassing!

ACCOMPANIED BY TWO wolves did the male pace idly, his eyes of a honeyed tone scanning the surroundings in which were still basked in the beauteous early morning sunlight. Stunning, in truth - and never did he tire of the views Thedas could offer up to those rising early enough to see. WHAT HE HAD not expected while wandering was to come across a camp - one with some variety of soldiers lingering and working. At a distance did the elf stand, silently continuing to observe the workings of those before him; until a voice came from behind and he froze, turning only his head; “I mean no harm-”  

I would say that Hawke is okay at cooking, maybe not her strongest suit, but she’s not incompetent and since she can be extremely patient she’s never burnt anything. Maybe her flaw in cooking is she’s almost too attentive and focused that cooking becomes a single minded task. Her foods aren’t anything to call home about, but she can cook up some very ugly looking wildlife into something stomachable.

Cullen doesn’t have a lot of guilty pleasures. He’s a pretty straight forward, but I suppose playing Wicked Grace with everyone else is a guilty pleasure. He knows he’s bad at it and the gambling is not great - and he’s too much of a high roller. But despite the risks and the scandals he faces if he loses, he enjoys it very much. Unguilty pleasure would be helping out those around him, he enjoys feeling useful, even more so when he’s coming down off the lyrium. Helping people is distracting and beneficial to most parties.

Ny’Ari turned around to face him; her hood still shadowing most of her face. The darkness masking her surprise at the marking on his skin. Those weren’t from any Gods she knew of. Not Dalish – then what? It wasn’t as if she could ask him – she did not know him – unless this elf was drunk, then she could pry. Coax it out with a pint or two of ale. Alas, she only had some Sun Blonde Vint in her flask for emergencies and she didn’t feel like sharing – not that the man would willingly accept it. 

“ And pray tell, Serah Hawke, whit forgiveness should ah be carryin’?”