[ In the few moments he has Alistair's boots Zevran begins tugging them off out of habit- only to lose them (and have boots on the bed, Alistair, for shame) as he moves his feet. Zevran sighs softly- setting aside his sketch to turn about where he sits and remove the boots anyway, Maker only knows what all he has tracked in here and on the sheets his son rolls around on regularly. ]
Elves do tend to be small, Alistair.
[ Indulgent is not a tone he takes often, let alone teasing and indulgent- but between sliding off one boot and the next, Zevran becomes just that. Alistair is home, the world is not so strange, Lucci...fits. In this whatever they have. This strange manner of family. ]
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Elves do tend to be small, Alistair.
[ Indulgent is not a tone he takes often, let alone teasing and indulgent- but between sliding off one boot and the next, Zevran becomes just that. Alistair is home, the world is not so strange, Lucci...fits. In this whatever they have. This strange manner of family. ]