Did you know your door was unlocked?

[salvatore_underfoot]

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."

Comments

[equanimiti]

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."

[salvatore_underfoot]

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?"

[equanimiti]

"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_underfoot]

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."

[equanimiti]

"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."

[salvatore_underfoot]

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.

[equanimiti]

"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."

[salvatore_underfoot]

"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."

[equanimiti]

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_underfoot]

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.