[ Ugh, Crows. Ugh, buying. There's a moment of palpable unhappiness—literally palpable, Zevran can probably feel his chest and his arm going all tense, and the interruption to his otherwise steady breathing—but he doesn't say anything. He exhales the tension out and uses the hand on Zevran's head to rub the back of his neck with all of the sympathy that Alistair isn't going to voice because it's stupid and useless and unwanted. ]
Well, you should pick one. A birthday. Choose one during your favorite season so the weather will be nice.
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Well, you should pick one. A birthday. Choose one during your favorite season so the weather will be nice.