He is a man grown, you are a woman grown, what you do is your business and your business alone. But I must ask: Is this mere lust, or is there, perhaps, sentiment?
[ Somewhere, her ears flatten somewhat defensively. ]
Ah?
[ Maybe she can pretend she doesn't speak common, suddenly. No, okay, she doesn't keep that ruse up for more than a breath-- ]
It is-- perhaps, not just one of those. Most human men, I don't see in such a way. I see them in other ways, and it would be like desiring a suit of armor, or befriending a wolf.
[ BUT WAIT. ]
You thought as much?
[ Because there are so many likely candidates, Sabine. ]
Wolves can be quite friendly so long as you keep them well fed and do not displease them. Alistair, by comparison? Is much a loyal Mabari.
[ Contrary, intelligent, affectionate, desiring of attention and affection and purpose. ]
I have my ways. And now- well. You know who I am, what I do, what I am capable of, yes? You know he is family to me and while not as fragile as he makes himself out to be- he will bruise easily if you are not careful in the right way.
If it were lust I would deliver him to you naked and covered in oil. Alas, sentiment offers its own complications all around as you well know.
[ For someone that is so casually threatening Sabine- he does not sound terribly...enthused about said threat. It truly is a token gesture. ]
So long they are bruises he asks for or enjoys? Bruises you might have yourself as you are both terribly ginger and he is not the sweet innocent precious snowflake so many assume him to be? You've nothing to fear. But you may not make him cry.
[ Somewhere beneath the haze of alcohol motivated forthrightness and a dense layer of humour, she is beginning to feel something like annoyance. Or hurt feelings. Or really it's just a generalised negative >8( sentiment simmering up as he continues with more seriousness than expected. She puts her grumpy face back in her cup as she listens and tries to think if anyone would kill Alistair for hurting her.
She remembers Herian and Martel and feels better. By the time she speaks, it's not combative, only frank, when she states; ]
I only say this because I assume, rightly so, that if he does anything so foolish and grievous as to make you cry and you do not kill him for it? You mean for him to grovel for the rest of his days.
[ Alistair does grovel quite well when given cause. Pleasing Sabine? Would be sufficient cause. More than, in fact. ]
For you are not quite so hard and cold and aloof as you would have yourself appear either and Alistair- does not always think. If you break him you must provide a replacement uncle for Lucci. Deal?
In the interest of both seeing you and my brother at least temporarily distracted, as he has come pouting to me over his lack of a lovelife and resigned himself to the company of Shale should he seek romance? A few hints:
He will trust compliments after you have teased him better than compliments given on their own, which I am certain you already know but it holds true no matter how long you know him.
He needs attention terribly and once you give him leave to contact you he will call at odd hours of the night with terribly asinine questions and observations, possibly about nug feet.
As much as he likes cheese it is not the only way to his heart, food of any kind will do- so long as it is not spiced. His palate is thoroughly Fereldan.
Contact settles him more than words. A hand on the shoulder, flicking his ear, if you hold his hand even in jest? He will turn a delightful shade of red and sputter and deflect but be deeply pleased.
He likes things that prove you've thought of him, if you are to give him gifts- but prefers simple items. Wooden carvings, rune stones. Things that he can carry easily as he is a warden and owns little.
[ Somewhere, Sabine covers her eyes and lies horizontally as Zevran's little voice emanates from her sending crystal with its advice. One comfort she has is that she feels like Alistair would probably be terribly embarrassed to know that this is happening. ]
Zut alors, [ is something she never says, that Orlesians never say, and yet comes out of her mouth now. ] Pettings, food, attention.
It is a terrible responsibility, caring for him. But I think you will manage. Don't forget to walk him regularly, he does get so bored if locked up all day.
[ Alistair is going to kill him. Or at least try to kill him. There will be an attempt in the future and Zevran? has no regrets whatsoever. ]
[ She is definitely going to share this, mark her words. ]
Then I shall wear him out.
[ Dohoho! You know, eventually. Unless she sobers up, looks at her life choices, and does anything else. Her riposte is also a little on the undersell, as if she isn't sure she will be the one to do that after all, whether due to her own change of mind or his. ]
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[ Some of the teasing drops from his voice.
Say.
75% of the teasing. ]
He is a man grown, you are a woman grown, what you do is your business and your business alone. But I must ask: Is this mere lust, or is there, perhaps, sentiment?
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Ah?
[ Maybe she can pretend she doesn't speak common, suddenly. No, okay, she doesn't keep that ruse up for more than a breath-- ]
It is-- perhaps, not just one of those. Most human men, I don't see in such a way. I see them in other ways, and it would be like desiring a suit of armor, or befriending a wolf.
[ BUT WAIT. ]
You thought as much?
[ Because there are so many likely candidates, Sabine. ]
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[ Contrary, intelligent, affectionate, desiring of attention and affection and purpose. ]
I have my ways. And now- well. You know who I am, what I do, what I am capable of, yes? You know he is family to me and while not as fragile as he makes himself out to be- he will bruise easily if you are not careful in the right way.
You understand where I am going, yes?
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Would it be best if I had simply said lust? That way we will not catch any feelings, Mabari or no.
[ Some alcohol swigging goes here, wetting her next words-- ]
I cannot say he will escape without bruises. Gingers bruise.
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[ For someone that is so casually threatening Sabine- he does not sound terribly...enthused about said threat. It truly is a token gesture. ]
So long they are bruises he asks for or enjoys? Bruises you might have yourself as you are both terribly ginger and he is not the sweet innocent precious snowflake so many assume him to be? You've nothing to fear. But you may not make him cry.
Only I am allowed to make him cry.
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She remembers Herian and Martel and feels better. By the time she speaks, it's not combative, only frank, when she states; ]
That is--
[ Sweet? Admirable? Commendable? ]
--fucked up, Zevran.
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[ Alistair does grovel quite well when given cause. Pleasing Sabine? Would be sufficient cause. More than, in fact. ]
For you are not quite so hard and cold and aloof as you would have yourself appear either and Alistair- does not always think. If you break him you must provide a replacement uncle for Lucci. Deal?
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[ --is both her her lack of admission as well as confirmation about potentially having feels enough to hurt, despite herself. ]
I am sure a good one will fall from a rift whenever we like, any day. How is le petit chou anyway? Breaking hearts already?
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[ A safer subject, to be sure. ]
You should see Alistair play with him. It is ridiculous. He swoops Lucci about as though he were a dragon.
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I have a gift for him. For when he is a little older, but not by many. It is-- silly, perhaps. I know with you, and here, he wants for nothing, but.
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[ She is drunk, her moods and priorities can shift with the wind. ]
That is all the things I had to tell you about. Ask about.
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He will trust compliments after you have teased him better than compliments given on their own, which I am certain you already know but it holds true no matter how long you know him.
He needs attention terribly and once you give him leave to contact you he will call at odd hours of the night with terribly asinine questions and observations, possibly about nug feet.
As much as he likes cheese it is not the only way to his heart, food of any kind will do- so long as it is not spiced. His palate is thoroughly Fereldan.
Contact settles him more than words. A hand on the shoulder, flicking his ear, if you hold his hand even in jest? He will turn a delightful shade of red and sputter and deflect but be deeply pleased.
He likes things that prove you've thought of him, if you are to give him gifts- but prefers simple items. Wooden carvings, rune stones. Things that he can carry easily as he is a warden and owns little.
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Zut alors, [ is something she never says, that Orlesians never say, and yet comes out of her mouth now. ] Pettings, food, attention.
[ He really is a Mabari. ]
At least I tease well.
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[ Alistair is going to kill him. Or at least try to kill him. There will be an attempt in the future and Zevran? has no regrets whatsoever. ]
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Then I shall wear him out.
[ Dohoho! You know, eventually. Unless she sobers up, looks at her life choices, and does anything else. Her riposte is also a little on the undersell, as if she isn't sure she will be the one to do that after all, whether due to her own change of mind or his. ]
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[ Please get that boy laid and get laid yourself. Please. ]