(no subject)

[samahl]

WHO: Cyril and Mac
WHAT: Cyril meets another Qunari
WHEN: Evening
WHERE: Tavern
NOTES: None yet.

Cyril had had a mostly successful day at his stall. He had sold enough traps to have a good amount of gold. He was planning to save some of it, of course, but there was some of it that could be spent in the tavern. He found himself there towards the end of the day.

He scanned over the room and took in any familiar faces. He found one that belonged to another Qunari that he had seen around but hadn't spoken to yet. Which was a real shame, because Mac was beautiful and deserved to be admired.

After a moment, he went over to the stranger and smiled up at him. "You look like you could use a drink. My treat?"

Comments

[spaceswan]

"Traps and trinkets," he mumbled to himself, eyes sliding off to the side briefly before he perked, sitting up a little straighter and pointing happily. "You're like a Hunter! I mean, not like a hunter-hunter. It means a little different where I'm from than it does here. That's really neat, though! Very impressive, mhm," the Guardian chimed without an ounce of mocking in his tone. He genuinely believed what he said.

"Oh, I'm weird. I'm the only one around here that can sing all the popular songs from forty years of my ancient history. I'm also the only one that I know of that can dance the Running Man, or Moonwalk. And I've been to space, and spontaneously fused a helmet to my cranium so now everything thinks I'm a Qunari or reasonable facsimile!" Mac laughed, likely making very little sense, though he was clearly quite secure with himself and his retelling.

"Unless you qualify weird entirely different from everyone I've ever met. Or maybe the word doesn't even mean anything to you. You kinda seem like someone that just breezes over all the odds and ends and kinda...I dunno," he gestured vaguely, wiggling the fingers of one hand in the air. "We call it laissez faire, back home. Letting things occur as they will without direction or interference. Just taking their course. Carefree."

[samahl]

Cyril's eyes widen a bit as Mac talks. "You mean you're a Rifter? You're a Rifter from space?" He nudges a little closer now, even more interested than he was before.

He can't believe he could have been asking all sorts of questions about space and star ships and travel between planets and wasted it all with flirting - not that he ever really considered flirting a total waste.

"Why don't you tell me about it? I might not understand some of what you say, but I'm sure I can ask questions. For example, what do you mean a helmet fused to you?"

[spaceswan]

"I am indeed a Rifter from space!" Mac laughed, cocking his head to the side and smirking in his amusement. It never got old, being a novelty here where his ilk was fairly commonplace back home.

"Ahh, that. Yes, well, it didn't actually fuse to my head," he amends a bit sheepishly, gesturing vaguely to his horns. "I don't actually have horns where I'm from. I'm, uh, more streamlined. Just imagine me as I am sans horns and that's me back home. But I had a helmet on with these very same horns prior to my arrival and it looks like the magic couldn't make heads or tails of me and spit me out in one solid piece or something. Not that I'm complaining, really. They get in the way of everything and make it bloody hard to lay on my side, but past that, they're friggin' awesome," the Guardian grinned, reaching up and smacking the coiled sides of his gold-coated horns.

"I'm pretty eager to headbutt someone, not gonna lie."