faderift | Did you know your door was unlocked?

Entry tags:

Did you know your door was unlocked?

WHO: Salvatore and Alayre Sauveterre
WHAT: Sal just wants to say hi
WHEN: Same night as mage drinking party
WHERE: Sauveterre's Office
NOTES: ~~None~~ Somebody's lost his shirt by the first tag, and it wasn't the drunk one.

Are you busy, Knight-Commander? He hopes not, because Salvatore is an unfortunate lightweight who took advantage of the wine in the healing tents. After the fourth ... fifth? Oh no. Was it more than that?

Shit.

Where is he?

Turn left?

Yes. This is it.

The tents got too hot. Too many people. Too much noise. Stifling. He needed cooler air. An argument starts up in his head, and he starts muttering angrily to himself as he staggers to a doors, bypasses knocking in favor of throwing it open, and jabbing a finger at whoever or whatever may be inside.

"And another thing! You can't put grapes and carrots in the same salad. It's not right."

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"You act as if I invited you." Alayre states while giving the drunken fool an incredulous stare. Just what is the meaning behind this unusual visit? The Knight-Commander is at a loss here.

"Best to explain yourself before I think to toss you out, Salvatore." He comments while looking for something decent to wear. "I doubt this is a social call considering all the dire talks as of late." He's referring to the mage meeting and all that. "I heard very little about the outcome of that discussion but I trust it went well."

The talks! That's right! He did have a reason for coming here. He'd forgotten it somewhere in the courtyard. Grapes and carrots took precedence.

"A large gathering of strong and differing opinions. It was downright peaceful. May I sit?" Say yes or he'll use the desk. "I'm sure you'll be briefed on the outcome soon. Until then, you might consider altering you str- strag- strat? Uh... plans for the thing..." He waves a hand around, words suddenly failing him. "You know. Meeting."

Another sigh leaves Alayre as he regards the stuttering mage. What is he going to do with you Salvatore? Such a lightweight. "You may." The Knight-Commander answers as he gives up in search of his tunic. Despite being quite impeccable normally, his quarters is just a tad messy. Papers and books all over the place. It certainly seems as if Alayre spends a great deal of time writing and reading. The librarians are undoubtedly missing a few tomes thanks to him.

"Tell me, are you lucid enough to speak upon this matter or should I await until tomorrow?" He asks with a hint of humor in his tone. For some reason, Alayre doubts that Salvatore came all this way to talk politics but why else is he here? It's not as if they're friends, are they?

Alayre is confused.

Sal drops into a chair with all the grace of a newborn halla on a bender, thankful. The room was starting to tilt a bit. He leans back, hearing the question, and thinking if he can answer it. He scrubs a hand through his hair and down the back of his head, and leans on it, and look ... If you're going strut around shirtless, he's going to stare a little.

Right. There was a question, was there? "No. Yes. Tomorrow." More likely, the day after.

Friends? Of course not. It's a working relationship, right? Not to say they couldn't be friends as well. The Knight-Commander isn't completely disagreeable.

A disgruntled sound escapes Alayre as he peers down at Salvatore. "Just how drunk are you?" The Knight-Commander questions as he kneels down to get a better look at the mage.

Alayre hadn't expected he would be playing the role of a nursemaid this evening. Then again, he should've expected his peace to be interrupted by someone. Every time he seeks solace, there's always someone looking for him. It's a miracle that Alayre hasn't gone mad yet considering he's slightly reclusive nature.

"Are you feeling well?" Alayre asks worriedly as he reaches his hand to brush back the mage's hair. It's a simple gesture of concern, a rather gentle one. He's concern for Salvatore's well-being and it shows within his gaze. Grey eyes stare at blue as Alayre tries to figure out why Salvatore would seek him rather than someone else.

"I'm not that..." Salvatore scrunches his nose, thinking. "There were a few wines. Just... You know, I lost count."

The whole time he's speaking, he's watching the Knight-Commander move down front of him, until they're eye to eye. There's a touch at his temple, and it moves through his hair, and he freezes, his breath stuttering out.

There was a question. He answers. "No." Because everything is spinning and he can't focus.

He doesn't know why he came here. Maybe he does. But if he'd had the presence of mind to think it through, he wouldn't have. (Not now, not like this.)

A humored chuckle escapes Alayre once the mage admits to his drunkenness. He eyes Salvatore for a moment or two in complete silence. There's something truly enchanting about those bright blue eyes. It's a tad difficult for Alayre to glance away but he does eventually.

"Ahem!" The Templar takes a moment to clear his throat before speaking again. Had Salvatore not been absolutely plastered, he might notice the slight hints of red upon Alayre's cheeks. "Do you require a remedy or two? Mayhaps tea?" This conversation is so awkward for Alayre who looks thoroughly puzzled.

"I'm certain you didn't come all this way to gawk at me."

His faculties may be compromised, but he doesn't miss Sauveterre's lingering stare. His lips curl in a crooked smirk as Sauveterre looks away to clear his throat.

"I thought we settled the gawking issue already." Sal settles more comfortably in the chair, leaning farther on his hand. If he gets any more comfortable, he might just slide right out of it. He smiles, laughs a little. "No one is gawking. And tea would be welcome, thank you."

A breathy sigh escapes Alayre as he takes his leave to fetch the tea. This little game of charade has gone on long enough in the Templar's opinion. He'll fix Salvatore some tea and when the mage is done, toss him out quickly. There's no reason for the other to soak up his valuable free time. He'll send the peculiar mage on his merry little drunken way and finally get some rest.

Yes, that's the plan. This is what Alayre conjured up after catching himself gawking at the little nuisance. Just honestly, Alayre, what are you thinking?! Salvatore is only half his years like a new born chick. This is beyond shameful. He's literally old enough to be the fool's father. These odd thoughts shan't do.

Still trying to dismiss these accursed thoughts, Alayre returns with a warm mug filled half way with a particularly lemony fragrance tea. "Here." He grumbles as he offers his unexpected guess the mug.

Apparently he was wrong. Someone is gawking, but it's not him. Sal is casually appreciating. There is a difference.

While Sauveterre prepares the tea, he lets his attention wander. He takes in the furniture, the fireplace, the books and papers. He leans toward the desk to try and read something left there, but it all blurs together. He turns to watching the Knight-Commander work instead. From his vantage, he can see the line's of the other man's back and the scars marring it. Though it's only for a moment before Sauveterre is returning with the tea.

Sal takes the mug, cradling it with both hands so it won't drop, and brings it close to his nose to breath in the steam, though he could smell it even before it was handed to him. "Smells like the stuff we scrubbed floors with back at the Circle." He takes a tentative sip. "Tastes better, though."

Each scar has a story of their own but the fresher ones were done by the hands of a demon. When the rebellion took place, it was up to him and the last twenty surviving templars of Pharos to defend it. Many of the rebel mages turned to blood magic to combat against them but a few gave in to the whims of the Fade. One such abomination raked it's claws across his back that managed to pierce through his armor. Although the demon is long dead, Alayre still wears the scars of that harrowing day.

A sigh passes through his lips once Salvatore's comment reaches him. "Mayhaps more sweetener is needed." He replies quietly as he sits across from his drunk guest. "Remind me to check in the kitchens later for a better brew." Skyhold lacks some of the minor luxuries he's used to such as decent tea. The Fereldans lack a fondness for good tea unlike the Orlesians. Much like everything gourmet, the Orlesians always do it better.

"Salvatore." Alayre calls to him after a moment of thought. "Tell me more about yourself. I scarcely remember you speaking about the Circle you hail from."

Someday, maybe, he'll ask about those scars. He's curious, and he wants to know. But he knows how he feels about his own, and that makes him hold back. He could never expose himself the way Sauveterre is now.

He shrugs and continues to sip at the tea. "It's fine." Perhaps Nevarra is no more refined than Fereldan, because he can't find any fault in it (aside from initially reminding him of floor cleaner).

The request has Sal lowering his mug. He stares at what is left in it with a contemplative expression. "What do you want to know? I spent most of my life in the Circle. Surely you know what life for a mage is like?"

"Nevarra." Alayre lets out a thoughtful him as he thinks about the small country northeast of Orlais. He virtually knows nothing of this nation besides what he managed to read about it. This is perhaps one of many reasons he's curious about Salvatore.

"So it was same sombering experience as one would have in Orlais? Nothing...different?" A slight frown appears upon his lips. "No matter where, a prison will always be a prison."

Salvatore looks up with a sigh. He's learned a lot since coming here, about the various Circles, and how different one could be from the next. Isn't that part of what makes everything so complicated? You couldn't lump a corrupt Circle with an ideal representation and call them equal.

"Of course it was different. The Circles had more freedom in Nevarra. The mages have more leverage, more political power." He smiles ruefully. "We had an amicable relationship with the Templars, I think."

"An amicable relationship."

A sigh leaves Alayre as he leans back against his chair. It's not unusual to see the Knight-Commander so pensive but he really seems to be mulling over something dire. Every Circle has its problems but some are honestly a tad better than others. There needs to be balance between the Templar and Magi, some sort of balance that makes both parties equals rather than rivals.

"It shall take time before the same could be had here." He mutters quietly. "Too long, I fear. There's much mistrust between us and to be frank, I'm not yet used to the role I play in this." Alayre is having doubt's about his leadership of the Order as of late and it shows.

"Baratheon would've made a better leader."

Sal swishes his tea around, stirring up the fumes so they waft up from the mug. "A better leader would have stuck around to see this thing through."

He leans forward over his knees with a sigh and regards Sauveterre with concern. This is not the time to start doubting. "It will take time. You can't rush anything. But you're reaching out. That's something. And you've made an impression already." Sam's assurances about the Knight-Commander earlier had been been something of a comfort.

"Have I truly?"

The question seems more rhetorical than anything else, almost as if Alayre is doubting his very existence. He must look a tad forlorn now, gloomy even. There's clearly something on the Knight-Commander's mind that triggered these thoughts but Alayre is too guarded to speak of them now.

"In truth, I feel like nothing more than a wanted agitator." He admits as he rubs his hand against his neck. The poor man is feeling a tad stiff.

"Many seem unwilling to believe that change will come. Too many believe I merely wish to cause havoc and nothing else."

"Prove them wrong!" Salvatore throws his hands wide when he says that. Consequently, he also throws the last of his tea out of the mug and across the floor. The mug would have gone with it, if the handle weren't hooked around his finger. He doesn't seem to notice as he simply sets the mug on the desk as if this were perfectly normal.

He feels fine, until he moves. Then everything swims sideways until he can refocus again. He gives the Knight-Commander a bemused look. "It's not going to get better if you keep rubbing at it."

A surprised gasp escapes Alayre once the fool mage tosses the tea across his stone floors. He gives Salvatore an incredulous stare before suddenly letting out a slight chuckle. "Praise the Maker! You are drunk." He manages to get out in between snickers. Eventually his chuckles die down as he rises from his chair.

"I should make you clean that but I'm a kind host." He leans over to Salvatore and pats him on the shoulder with a smile. "But yes, I shall prove them wrong. All of them."

Salvatore does not pout when Sauveterre laughs. Well, not much. Nor does red burst over his cheeks and across his nose. "Not that drunk. Some. A little!"

He sits back when the other stands, and drops his head back so he can look up. "Then I've done my job here." He doesn't even remember what he's said now. But the Knight-Commander is smiling, he's glad to see it, and that seems important somehow.

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Did you know your door was unlocked?

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