[Does he assume that he's being lumped in with the whores? He does, and it's not a displeasing prospect, frankly. Not if he and Astarion are in it together.]
I look forward to it.
[Learning all his favorites, he means. Or maybe he means the travel itself, and all the weeks and years that might span out before them; that, too, is a thrilling thought, and one he freely allows himself now that they're drunk. It's been so long since he's looked forward to anything, but gods, he's excited for this journey. For the chance to do something that feels good, rather than a dull, deadened sense of going through the motions.
He glances over at his companion, cocking his head for that question.]
Mm . . . no. Not here here, anyway, in the south. Free Marchers are very . . .
[How to say this? Fenris' expression screws up, his mouth twisting as he tries to find the right words.]
Sterile— no. Stifled. . .?
[Hmm— oh, no, he knows, and the word bursts out of him a little louder than he intends:]
Gruff.
[It's not a complaint, mind you, just an observation. It's one of the reasons he enjoys Kirkwall so much; nobody pretends to actually like one another, which is a nice change after all the falseness of Tevinter.]
They do not like to be affectionate, especially the elite, and look upon any kind of petname with suspicion. Charm them too much and they'll call you a thief faster than they'll melt for you— which you are, but . . .
[Wait, what was the question? Hm. Better have another sip of wine, just in case.]
Simply . . . be careful what names slide off your tongue when talking to people around here. Antivans, from what I know of them, are more eager to melt into affection, whether it is real or false. They enjoy playing games and wagging their tongues. It's the heat, I think . . . it's too cold in the south for most people here to want to spare more words than they must.
[Maybe? Or maybe that has nothing to do with it. Who knows? Fenris offers his companion the bottle, sour and half-gone already.]
What else is there, beyond sweetheart or darling?
[He can think of plenty, but he wants to hear Astarion say it, and never mind why.]
no subject
I look forward to it.
[Learning all his favorites, he means. Or maybe he means the travel itself, and all the weeks and years that might span out before them; that, too, is a thrilling thought, and one he freely allows himself now that they're drunk. It's been so long since he's looked forward to anything, but gods, he's excited for this journey. For the chance to do something that feels good, rather than a dull, deadened sense of going through the motions.
He glances over at his companion, cocking his head for that question.]
Mm . . . no. Not here here, anyway, in the south. Free Marchers are very . . .
[How to say this? Fenris' expression screws up, his mouth twisting as he tries to find the right words.]
Sterile— no. Stifled. . .?
[Hmm— oh, no, he knows, and the word bursts out of him a little louder than he intends:]
Gruff.
[It's not a complaint, mind you, just an observation. It's one of the reasons he enjoys Kirkwall so much; nobody pretends to actually like one another, which is a nice change after all the falseness of Tevinter.]
They do not like to be affectionate, especially the elite, and look upon any kind of petname with suspicion. Charm them too much and they'll call you a thief faster than they'll melt for you— which you are, but . . .
[Wait, what was the question? Hm. Better have another sip of wine, just in case.]
Simply . . . be careful what names slide off your tongue when talking to people around here. Antivans, from what I know of them, are more eager to melt into affection, whether it is real or false. They enjoy playing games and wagging their tongues. It's the heat, I think . . . it's too cold in the south for most people here to want to spare more words than they must.
[Maybe? Or maybe that has nothing to do with it. Who knows? Fenris offers his companion the bottle, sour and half-gone already.]
What else is there, beyond sweetheart or darling?
[He can think of plenty, but he wants to hear Astarion say it, and never mind why.]