[ And perhaps that is the creep of crank in his voice that comes from being ill rested but- emotional whiplash, it is a thing. He is allowed to be cranky at these shenanigans.
Even if part of him is still and quiet and relieved to know Alistair yet lives. ]
You cannot tell me to go to bed. You are not my real father. [ Gripe, gripe, yawn, gripe. ]
[ The only thing that keeps him from breaking the crystal when he throws it to the other end of the room (as if that would solve the problem) is the stack of pillows he'd set there for Lucci's crawling. Alistair's voice sails and thuds against softness and Zevran rolls over, in fact, to sleep. ]
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[ And perhaps that is the creep of crank in his voice that comes from being ill rested but- emotional whiplash, it is a thing. He is allowed to be cranky at these shenanigans.
Even if part of him is still and quiet and relieved to know Alistair yet lives. ]
You cannot tell me to go to bed. You are not my real father. [ Gripe, gripe, yawn, gripe. ]
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Do you want to hear some dragon jokes?
[ That's more of a threat than an offer. Go back to bed. ]
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You wouldn't.
[ Would he? It is Alistair, of course he would. ]
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[ Who's a real dad now?? ]
Why do dragons live where there's blood lotus? [ They don't. ] Because that's how they make high dragons.
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