[Oh, he heard that, and the look he gives Astarion is pointed: not offended, but also, don't think you got away with that, sir.]
If that is the definition of toshy, [stop saying it like that] you and I are that. You cannot be more lower class than an ex-slave.
[And yet somehow, it's not an insult the way he says it. But languages are a far more interesting topic, and Fenris waves a hand back at his companion, echoing that gesture.]
I speak three languages— Common is not my first tongue, Tevene is. And I can speak Qunlat . . . not Orlesian, though, which is only half the reason we are not going there. Though I do not speak Antivan either . . . but it is more pleasing to the ear than Orlesian.
I will teach you, if you do not know. I will— ah—
[Quick as anything he grabs Astarion's arm, yanking him to the side in one sharp gesture. A little grimace colors his expression, more terse than fearful. Rip to those stolen glasses, hopefully Astarion had a tight grip on them; either way, Fenris hisses:]
Hush.
We are not alone . . .
[No, they certainly aren't. There are as many gangs in Kirkwall as there are rats, and more and more of them have been preying lately. He can see at least one or two up ahead, lurking in the shadows of doorways and waiting patiently for two idiot elves to drunkenly stumble forward. And it's not that he couldn't take them in a fight, understand, but Maker, Fenris doesn't want to, not tonight. With this much liquor burning in his belly he's just as likely to vomit on them as he is stab them, and who wants to deal with that?]
How well can you climb? We might take the rooftops to Hightown . . .
no subject
If that is the definition of toshy, [stop saying it like that] you and I are that. You cannot be more lower class than an ex-slave.
[And yet somehow, it's not an insult the way he says it. But languages are a far more interesting topic, and Fenris waves a hand back at his companion, echoing that gesture.]
I speak three languages— Common is not my first tongue, Tevene is. And I can speak Qunlat . . . not Orlesian, though, which is only half the reason we are not going there. Though I do not speak Antivan either . . . but it is more pleasing to the ear than Orlesian.
I will teach you, if you do not know. I will— ah—
[Quick as anything he grabs Astarion's arm, yanking him to the side in one sharp gesture. A little grimace colors his expression, more terse than fearful. Rip to those stolen glasses, hopefully Astarion had a tight grip on them; either way, Fenris hisses:]
Hush.
We are not alone . . .
[No, they certainly aren't. There are as many gangs in Kirkwall as there are rats, and more and more of them have been preying lately. He can see at least one or two up ahead, lurking in the shadows of doorways and waiting patiently for two idiot elves to drunkenly stumble forward. And it's not that he couldn't take them in a fight, understand, but Maker, Fenris doesn't want to, not tonight. With this much liquor burning in his belly he's just as likely to vomit on them as he is stab them, and who wants to deal with that?]
How well can you climb? We might take the rooftops to Hightown . . .