A man of few words, eh? Going to be the strong silent type?
[ Fat chance. Forget Alistair's bad habits; he'll pick up Zevran's. Alistair watches Lucci, lets him catch the pendant but stops him from putting it in his mouth, and casts an occasional glance toward Zevran, who looks—miserable. Alistair has been in better shape himself. He's tired. But it isn't the marrow-deep exhaustion he's been carrying around for a year, anymore, and if he can't save his order from itself or anyone from anything important, he can at least do this: he can sweep Lucci up into one arm, and Doghren in the other, and relocate with them both to the floor, as far from the bed as he can get. ]
We're going to get acquainted, [ he announces on the way. ] You're not allowed to help him impress me. He has to do it himself. So you just—stay there. For at least half an hour.
action.
[ Fat chance. Forget Alistair's bad habits; he'll pick up Zevran's. Alistair watches Lucci, lets him catch the pendant but stops him from putting it in his mouth, and casts an occasional glance toward Zevran, who looks—miserable. Alistair has been in better shape himself. He's tired. But it isn't the marrow-deep exhaustion he's been carrying around for a year, anymore, and if he can't save his order from itself or anyone from anything important, he can at least do this: he can sweep Lucci up into one arm, and Doghren in the other, and relocate with them both to the floor, as far from the bed as he can get. ]
We're going to get acquainted, [ he announces on the way. ] You're not allowed to help him impress me. He has to do it himself. So you just—stay there. For at least half an hour.