She tenses slightly when he touches her hair, then melts, a smile touching her lips. Stella. She can be Stella, perhaps, and the fantasy could happen. He paints such a picture of her, the opposite of how she sees herself, and it's beautiful.
She speaks carefully, trying not to sound too judgmental. "Did you say the same thing about my cousin's hair? It's almost the same color."
It's not a gotcha moment. She's testing, finding the holes in his picture so she can judge whether she's allowed to be pleased, or if his words are simply those spoken to everyone he tries to bed. If she's going to be charmed, it ought to at least be done uniquely.
"Your cousin?" A beat, a crackle of soft laughter. "Ah, him. No, I did not. In truth I did very little talking aside to offer my surprise that the traps I was seeking out and so well maid came from someone young and handsome rather than a grizzled veteran. Everything else? Came from him. I will not be so cold as to deny I found myself moved but for him? It was his eyes and his manner that moved me. This...does not trouble you, does it?"
Again he intends no offence or harsh feelings, though he is surprised Cyril would boast quite so quickly. He had been much the same when he was young though he learned to not in visceral manner he hopes never comes to befall the Dalish.
"For you I am moved by your grace, your voice- the way your freckles seem like copper flicked upon alabaster. Careless and artful. And your hair."
She shakes her head to indicate it does not trouble her, and it doesn't. Not anymore. Careless and artful he calls her. She doesn't need it to be true, just to believe for a moment that it can be.
Her hand unwinds from his so their palms can press together, fingers interlacing. She wonders how long she can keep this up, teasing him and drawing him on, and whether it will lessen or intensify his desire.
"Your words are beautiful." The first and middle finger of her free hand delicately take a stray strand of his hair and flick it away from his face. "I imagine you learned them in the same place you learned the rest of your fairy-stories."
Hands entwined he tugs on the line to pull her closer. Carve out a little more privacy, a little more intimacy in the otherwise public view of the Tavern. Without a song that needs singing or a tale that needs spinning he can focus on the whole of her. How she moves and speaks, how she touches him. Tilting his face into her hand as long as it's there is terribly easy, expression exquisitely serene. A moment of her favor in whatever way she desires to offer it- that is all he wishes.
"My education was not so lovely a thing as you, Stella. Though if it grants me your grace and company for but a moment? It has been well worth while."
"Flatterer." She leans down to place a kiss on his cheek, light as a butterfly's touch. "What did I do to deserve such a lovely gentleman to say such things about me every time I see him?"
It is, miraculously, an exchange of his playful flirtatiousness. Some people just inspire her that way.
"In a brothel." Several, actually, but sweet words meant for the ears of those that paid for love and affection stuck with him the most as a child. The higher the price? The sweeter the words. "As I said, not so lovely a thing."
"It is a place where people pay to have sex with whores. Sometimes massages and baths are also on offer but most often it is where one buys company for a few hours. Or a night if you've a particularly full purse."
"Well, growing up there was something of an adventure, so long as I kept quiet and bothered no one." Honestly there was the last place any of the young elves wanted to find attention. It wasn't that they ran the risk of someone being unkind- quite the opposite.
Now she looks even more enlightened. This is less good than she believed.
"They keep chil--"
They must be willing to cater to many different tastes in these places. A luxury indeed. A weight falls on her as she absorbs this, realizing how dreadful a childhood his must have been.
His hands are warm. He is warm. Is she taking advantage of him, expecting him to keep up this fantasy? Is she like those paying customers?
"I'm sorry." It's not sympathy for a rough childhood--everyone has those. It's an actual apology.
"Off to the side so they are not troubled, of course. We were communally raised by those not seeing clients and taught to mind the locked doors and not to bother paying customers. It was not so bad, we were fed and had a roof over our heads and if we were well behaved? There were stories." Ah, the whores had been quite kind- at least those that had been patient.
"For what?" He blinks, puzzled. "For asking? I think perhaps you are imagining something far worse than it was. There were other brothels in Antiva City that catered to such...tastes but my home was not among them."
"Is that normal for the Dalish?" Mages being passed from one clan to another were there too many, that he had heard of. But anything more? He cannot say, that wasn't the subject of any of the discussions they had in the blight.
"Only when there's too many mages in a clan. I don't even remember my old clan. Clan Ghilan. I've only ever met my parents at the Arlathvhen, the meeting of the clans every ten years."
"Usually, four is too many. That's the Keeper, the First, and the Second who are enough, and if another turns up, they're sent to another clan. That's the accepted number, more or less. Fortunately the Dalish clans don't usually burst at the seams with them. Clan Ashara only had our Keeper when I first arrived. Sorrel's powers didn't manifest for years after."
Not mentioning Ellana, although Ellana hasn't exactly been discreet about being a mage. It's a habit. Ellana was their extra, the one they always had to protect.
"Anyway. Anyone who says how terrible it is for a child to go without parents never met us, did they? We turned out all right."
"Mm. The Chantry makes it sound as though Mages simply come into their own in spurts like a plague. Of course they are terribly biased." He shrugs and tugs her in by their joined hands- just enough to offer that much more intimacy to the conversation. "I should like to think I turned out quite well despite being an orphan; and you certainly are the very image of a model citizen."
"Flatterer." Pel gives his hands a squeeze. "Haven't you any work to be done? I thought I'd see you actually entertaining in the tavern once or twice, for an entertainer."
"And I have been- between glasses of brandy. An elf cannot perform endlessly without some respite. Well. I can perform as long as my lady wishes." He lift her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
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She speaks carefully, trying not to sound too judgmental. "Did you say the same thing about my cousin's hair? It's almost the same color."
It's not a gotcha moment. She's testing, finding the holes in his picture so she can judge whether she's allowed to be pleased, or if his words are simply those spoken to everyone he tries to bed. If she's going to be charmed, it ought to at least be done uniquely.
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Again he intends no offence or harsh feelings, though he is surprised Cyril would boast quite so quickly. He had been much the same when he was young though he learned to not in visceral manner he hopes never comes to befall the Dalish.
"For you I am moved by your grace, your voice- the way your freckles seem like copper flicked upon alabaster. Careless and artful. And your hair."
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Her hand unwinds from his so their palms can press together, fingers interlacing. She wonders how long she can keep this up, teasing him and drawing him on, and whether it will lessen or intensify his desire.
"Your words are beautiful." The first and middle finger of her free hand delicately take a stray strand of his hair and flick it away from his face. "I imagine you learned them in the same place you learned the rest of your fairy-stories."
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"My education was not so lovely a thing as you, Stella. Though if it grants me your grace and company for but a moment? It has been well worth while."
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It is, miraculously, an exchange of his playful flirtatiousness. Some people just inspire her that way.
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He reaches out, curling his fingers in hers, the gesture fairly innocent.
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Pel's education has had a certain focus.
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They would be all too kind. For a time.
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"They keep chil--"
They must be willing to cater to many different tastes in these places. A luxury indeed. A weight falls on her as she absorbs this, realizing how dreadful a childhood his must have been.
His hands are warm. He is warm. Is she taking advantage of him, expecting him to keep up this fantasy? Is she like those paying customers?
"I'm sorry." It's not sympathy for a rough childhood--everyone has those. It's an actual apology.
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"For what?" He blinks, puzzled. "For asking? I think perhaps you are imagining something far worse than it was. There were other brothels in Antiva City that catered to such...tastes but my home was not among them."
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"It does sound...charmed." She finally sits beside him, joining their hands. "I was communally raised, mostly. My parents were from a different clan."
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Not mentioning Ellana, although Ellana hasn't exactly been discreet about being a mage. It's a habit. Ellana was their extra, the one they always had to protect.
"Anyway. Anyone who says how terrible it is for a child to go without parents never met us, did they? We turned out all right."
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