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“ -- and your wager is ? ” Languid tease, a throaty chuckle, and he’s been HERS for ages. “ Come on, Hawke, I don’t have all night but I do have a winning hand so... ” A swipe of tongue dart across sinuous lips , “ -- pick carefully. ”
He’s bluffing, but there really are no losers in this.
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“ -- Shit, Hawke . ” it’s a moment of weakness when he takes her hands and yanks, a moment of disabled sensibilities that forgo their hushed promises to keep not too close and far too quiet. dangers are ever present and he’s ever forgetful of the predicament their willy ways put them in, delving into sometimes literal and proverbial darkness. a scuff here, a scrape there, and she’s all too precious in the torch light illuminating thaig halls.
his fingers slip from hers after careful inspection: a near miss with a carta contraption is all they need to render them dead in this tunnel. he hears the whirling mechanisms behind a trap door click back into place, a deafening thud of ground copper and iron ore ( -- really, someone should get them a proper supply of silverite and volcanic aurum ) . oh , the headache is something he can already feel brimming before he speaks, aggression and concern ladening thick on his tongue, “ listen, i know you’re a big girl and all, but could you be a little more careful ? it’s not like the carta is going to roll out the welcome mat for anyone, especially us. and the last thing any of us needs is worrying about people we care about getting hurt. ”
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“Well, don’t stop on my account.” She ought to be more CONCERNED, she knows, about the obvious anger ( or, at least, tension ) the other bears coiled in her shoulders as she trained. But she can only manage to impressed by the obvious strength that the CHAMPION bears. “I’m just enjoying NOT being the angriest looking thing in Skyhold for once.”
❝ So, just between us -- that doesn’t exactly fit . ❞ Cheeky display, a dip in a normally gravely timbre that purrs out husky intent. She’s wearing his shirt -- vermillion glory that accentuates perfectly unkempt flaxen tresses. The tops of strong, creamy thighs skirt the edges of silken cloth, and he knows she’s doing this on purpose. Not that it’s a complaint, mind you. No, no, this was a Maker given blessing ( remind him to donate to tithe the following sermon that he’ll never attend ).
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❛— BOLD. ❜ Without wanting to, she speaks, a slithering notion of cascading whim and designation. It’s polite to talk even if the company is nary so warrant, wanted, desires -- all these words and all this time. It has NONE of it. What happened to the King that wore it’s crown so righteously that it doth casted aside all that would approach, crushed beneath tendrils, and squished into mud between it’s maw. Now IT has a NAME -- it’s always had a name but now it belongs to someone. A girl, a vestige and vestibule for all that is wanting and all that is good. D i s g u s t i n g . It hates the name Winifred Burkle and yet it lives it. Hardly as glorious as ILLYRIA, the merciless, the undoer, and the vanquisher of all torment within it’s primordial realm. Still it -- SHE stares upon the other as she is wont to do these days, perplexed and offended at the other’s tenacity in gaze. Humans: they froth with disrespect. ❛ You REEK of grief, but power. Tell me, how has some creature like you come to pass. ❜
It’s not a question. It’s a demand.
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“ -- Can you explain to me again why I let you talk me into this shit?” It’s loving the way it snarls from his lips, facial expression all but darkened in the wake of whatever hellish grievance place itself before them. Eradicated, removed, and far placed now beneath soiled bodies that strangely resembled the mercenaries that attempted to threaten them. It’d be adorable if he hadn’t gotten blood on his coat -- AGAIN. She won’t pay for it, but she’ll certainly ply it from his shoulders, smooth it down his arms, and purr soft falsehoods of replacing or even cleaning it (-- liars, the two of them). All the same, he huffs, hiding a smirk and gently cradling a beloved named crossbow just as close as he’s held the woman beside him.
“You’d think they’d learn by now. ” Nothing changes, whether his loyalties lie between stalwart bounds of a city casted in chains or drenched in the falsehoods of a holy war beset on both sides . No one ever learns, evidence enough is the pair of them still standing. “-- Then again, I suppose that’d take the fun out of this.”
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" You are looking satisfied this morning. I believe the gods must have blessed you with good sleep then? "
I'm honestly so impressed by writers who take on canon characters with such little development -- and then turn them into full fledged, beautifully characterized characters in their own regard. Which you've done, and I love reading your threads so much because??? it takes a lot of dedication to fill in so many gaps! I can't wait to write with you, and just know you're doing an amazing job <3
How am I doing with my character?
Tell me in the askbox, and I’ll publish it without comment with comment because I do what I want.
|| Oh my god, I’m always a little amazed to know that people read my threads, honestly. Though it’s a thing I do myself most of the time, I skim over other people’s roleplays on my dash lol. (E.g. I did read your stuff with Varric back then...)
I’m glad you think that by the way and I’m really looking forward to our thread. Your Hawke is very interesting and, as a side note, you draw beautifully too.
