see, i’m still walking at witching hour

my name is vae! i’m 30 and use she/they pronouns. this is my private, independent, and selective blog for all original characters intended for dual verses in both dungeon and dragons and as well set in bioware’s dragon age series.  this blog is strictly 18+, and i ask that you please both read my rules before interacting and have some muses in mind to interact with prior to us writing together. you are more than allowed to have (a) preference/s for muses! you like who you like.

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tilting her head, pasha studies him, trying to get a read. laurien is ever charming and calculating, even when he’s having a fit; even now, pasha swears she can see the cogs turning in his head as he shifts his focus. she knows what it looks like when a man wants something, the energy that comes off them when they’re lying in wait. the only question now is what’s laurien looking for?

“you know, i don’t often give second chances.” she takes a slow sip of her whiskey, hints of vanilla dancing on her tongue. “but i suppose i can understand having a long day. and besides, we’re old friends, right?” or something along those lines. their last encounter was more than just a little friendly. no such thing as being an acquaintance when you’re intimately familiar with the way someone moves against you in the dark. but that’s neither here nor there unless that’s what he’s looking for.

she leaves a generous tip on the bar before slipping a hand in his, allowing him to lead her towards the dance floor. “so what brings you here, laurien? last i checked, this isn’t exactly your scene.”

“yes, i am very aware,” laurien assures her.  pasha is a person without equals, a step above the rest.  at the very least, she has laurien under lock and key, where - with any other individual - he believes it would be the other way around.  yet with pasha, though he is loathe to admit it, she could say ‘jump,’ and he wouldn’t even hesitate to ask ‘how high?’

he’s quick to leave a tip, as well, before they go.  if he is nothing else, laurien is a man who respects anyone who puts food or drink in front of him.  however, the moment pasha’s hand is in his, she commands his full attention.

➳ concept: mera and your muse just finished harassing some guards and/or pick-pocketing some nobles, and now it’s time to get the hell outta there.

laurien said, “you’re always so right. it must be such a burden.”

“i mean, i could be wrong all the time, but i think you have that covered.”

a smile belies the deadly cut of her eyes as she lets her sarcasm come forth to battle his. it’s been—what? eight months since they’d spent that weekend together. she’d thought the last time had been fun, but the way laurien is acting, you’d think she’d robbed him at the end of it. whatever the hell his problem is, she knows exactly where he can stow it. hopefully he can fit it around the large stick currently lodged up his ass.

twitching her finger, pasha flags down the bartender for another round of bourbon. around them, socialites and philanthropists mingled, engaging each other in boring chatter about what new properties or investments they’ve sunk their money into. pasha had been looking forward to seeing him again, maybe sharing a couple more nights together before parting ways. then he’d opened his mouth. damn. when would men learn to just say less?

“if you have an issue with me, laurien, just say it and be on your way. otherwise, find someone else to pick a fight with. i’m busy.”

prompt / accepting / @thequeenofnights​ 

lest he forget her alluring wit, pasha is quick to remind him.  laurien can’t help but break character, revealing the hint of a grin as he brings his glass of whiskey to his lips.  if he is honest, pasha isn’t necessarily the source of his ire.  there is a lot on his mind, and though he resides in a perpetual realm of plausible deniability, even he can sense when his cynicism is unwarranted.  

his fingertips skate across the glass on its way down to the bar top.  casting a sideways glance at pasha as she signals the barkeep, he watches the interaction for a beat before deciding to walk back some of his insolence.

“oh, pasha devereaux,” he leans back slightly, exhaling as though her assumption mortally wounds him. “i’ve no issue with you,” laurien insists with a tone that alludes to the very notion being utterly absurd. “let’s blame it on a red eye flight, shall we?  what do you say to a do-over?” the storm behind his eyes abets for the time being and is replaced with sun (albeit, partially cloudy with a chance of rain) once more.