I'm not sure I am myself having them, [ Alistair says with flippant and mumbly weirdness, the kind that could easily be a non sequitur and doesn't invite questions. Nothing he would be able to explain fully if pressed, except that they're part of the darkspawn, and they aren't his eyes looking, all the time, or his feelings or his hunger, but the longer it goes on the more normal it feels.
He's fine. He listens—Doghren, good, Mia, good. He's quiet for a moment, giving the last bit the space and weight it deserves, hand going limply heavy on Zevran's head.
Then he says, ] Welllllll, [ ridiculously. Ridiculous on every level. Not a demon, not here to make Zevran do anything, definitely not here to make anyone submit to anything. He doesn't even fully comprehend what the innuendo might exactly be implying. It just seems like the sort of thing that warrants innuendo. And he sobers up quickly enough, adding, ] Do you ever still wish we'd left you?
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He's fine. He listens—Doghren, good, Mia, good. He's quiet for a moment, giving the last bit the space and weight it deserves, hand going limply heavy on Zevran's head.
Then he says, ] Welllllll, [ ridiculously. Ridiculous on every level. Not a demon, not here to make Zevran do anything, definitely not here to make anyone submit to anything. He doesn't even fully comprehend what the innuendo might exactly be implying. It just seems like the sort of thing that warrants innuendo. And he sobers up quickly enough, adding, ] Do you ever still wish we'd left you?