At the moment one should probably be measuring by the breadth of Rafael's chest, which puffs out slightly to compensate for his partner's deflation, as if there is a limited quantity of arrogance that must be shared between them (this is not actually the case; they are perfectly capable of both being insufferable at the same time).
"Perhaps they just wished to see the famed Grey Wardens in action before employing the rocks," he suggests, in between letting swigs of porridge slop into his mouth. He has made no secret of his distaste, both for the meal and their means of eating it, but he is generally less precious about his food than Scipio can be. Gloppy sludge for breakfast is a somewhat nostalgic experience. He gulps it down as fast as is possible, head tipped back until the mug is nearly vertical, waiting for it to make its slow gelatinous slide into his gullet as Scipio tells the tale. He swallows to join in.
"One sword each and a dagger." Very important distinction. He pats his boot. "But I have one today, so we will survive. I hope our clothes will fare better, that pink dolphin stained my second-best tunic so badly even Mariella on the Via Fresca could not get it clean again. Pink spots, all over." He gestures at his front, loose fingers and a flick of his wrist away at the end in remembered disgust.
He looks into the mug, shaking it to try to draw the last bits of porridge together into a single lump worth eating. "So. How far do we go to meet them and what is our plan? You charge ahead with your shield and we attack from their flanks?"
i'm tagging this and you could've probably stopped me if you wanted but now you're too late
"Perhaps they just wished to see the famed Grey Wardens in action before employing the rocks," he suggests, in between letting swigs of porridge slop into his mouth. He has made no secret of his distaste, both for the meal and their means of eating it, but he is generally less precious about his food than Scipio can be. Gloppy sludge for breakfast is a somewhat nostalgic experience. He gulps it down as fast as is possible, head tipped back until the mug is nearly vertical, waiting for it to make its slow gelatinous slide into his gullet as Scipio tells the tale. He swallows to join in.
"One sword each and a dagger." Very important distinction. He pats his boot. "But I have one today, so we will survive. I hope our clothes will fare better, that pink dolphin stained my second-best tunic so badly even Mariella on the Via Fresca could not get it clean again. Pink spots, all over." He gestures at his front, loose fingers and a flick of his wrist away at the end in remembered disgust.
He looks into the mug, shaking it to try to draw the last bits of porridge together into a single lump worth eating. "So. How far do we go to meet them and what is our plan? You charge ahead with your shield and we attack from their flanks?"