faderift | Open w/Closed to Adalia

Entry tags:

Open w/Closed to Adalia

WHO: Sorrel Prompts (with closed to Adalia)
WHAT: Sorrel at work (feat Adalia)
WHEN: Vaguely May
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Sorrel and Adalia have a conversation, and also do tattoos

Closed to Adalia | 1
Sorrel found Adalia in the afternoon. It'd been a long day, though they all seemed long-- longer every time he considered it. When there was so much to do, you moved from one to the next, and the day behind you stretched out like a string of beads, filled with tedious, uncertain things. Nobody knew what would happen next. More accurately, Sorrel didn't.

But she'd asked him, to come see her, when he could. And, like the fool he was, he'd half-forgotten. Now he had gone looking, and poked his head in on her work.

"Adalia? You wanted to ask me something?"

Open | 2
Sorrel considered the rubbing in front of him for the fiftieth time-- for what felt more like the fifty-thousandth time. It was elven, that much was clear, more accurately elvhen, older than the Dales, older than anything, something left over from Arlathan, maybe. Or maybe not.

"Or maybe it's just a bunch of squiggles and no one can tell the difference," He mutters, to the quiet emptiness of his office. It's late, more than late, but these things don't translate themselves, do they? In this case, he has to admit, they don't translate at all, "This is why everyone says we're illiterate bumpkins. Don't even have a whole fucking language, just this..."

Sorrel sighs again, and puts it aside for hopeless.

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"Well, it'd be nice if you actually knew what half the stupid things I say even mean. You might be thinking I'm very suave, when in reality, I am... not."

This said as if to put a bow on the offer, all discussion closed; he'll begin tutoring you immediately. Or at least he's ready to catch fire with his blush. Sorrel picks at his food, as a distraction from his own awkwardness, then shrugs one-shouldered.

"And. I want you to know it. If you want."

"You know, I can't argue that. Then I don't look dumb pretending that it's suave when you're just babbling at me." He grinned in turn, before he tips his head.

"I want to know it. So teach me, Teacher. I am, as ever, an avid pupil of the written word."

Sorrel snorts at that and turns back just in time to catch that slanted look, and can't really hide the smile. So, to protect his dignity, he throws a pinch of bread at Adasse's face. You know, like an adult.

"Ma'nehn," He says, though not quite the endearment he usually makes of the word, almost cutting it in half along the syllables, "Ma is short for emma, which can mean either 'me' or 'mine' depending how you use it. Nehn is joy, as in Sulahn'nehn, which means to rejoice."

"Ma'nehn," Sorrel repeats, and fails very much to keep to the instructive tone, "My joy."

Adasse takes it to the face. You know, also like a mature adult. He makes a 'OOOF' noise and everything. He leans on the table, one hand cupping his pointed chin, as he listens to Sorrel. He's an excellent teacher, and Adasse finds himself mouthing the word along with Sorrel to get the right consonants.

Then he pauses, arching an eyebrow at Sorre, "I'm sorry, who said you weren't smooth?"

"Shut up," He retorts, blushing like flame, and turns to his food with a vengeance. The first bite is over-large, as if to compensate for the wait, and suddenly Sorrel is ravenous, as if his body had suddenly been reminded what hunger was, "Anyways, you're the guy who--"

He swallows, realizing his rudeness.

"--Who just went along with it, and never asked."

In his more sober moments, Sorrel wonders if getting him flustered is some kind of attractant for Adasse, because if not... Well, Sorrel certainly seems to spend enough time doing it. He hopes it's not unattractive, at least.

"Never." Especially if it made Sorrel blush. His lover would be happy to know that him being flustered is in fact a major turn-on for Adasse. He's used to dalliances who were as full of themselves as ... well, he was. To have someone so open and honest and blushing?

Was so very alluring.

"Of course I did. Beautiful man, calls me things with that low tone? I think even stupid donkey would have been an acceptable translation." He grinned, ear to ear, dark eyes flashing.

"Wh-- Oh, I see. Your bringing the food was all a ruse. You just came up here to make fun of me."

Which, though at least half joking, is still, somewhere, down deep in the dark, a very serious statement. A beautiful man. Somehow, despite all the whispered adoration in moments of passion... Well, it takes longer to unlearn things than to learn them, sometimes. And Sorrel's spent a long time learning this one.

"Anyways, I'd never call you that," He thinks about the for a moment, then has to admit the flaw in its logic, "Well, unless you really deserved it."

A moment's pause, and a sudden grin.

"...You stupid donkey."

"Actually I came to get into your trousers at some point, so let me make sure you heard the beautiful man part again."

Which he'll keep saying until Sorrel believes him. He figures he's got a few years before it sinks in just how lovely Sorrel actually is to himself.

"You would. And see, started already!" Adasse shook his head, "Now say it in Elvish."

Sorrel scoffs at that, and thinks. But when he speaks, it's only slowly.

"Banal'dirth..." He stops, seemingly stumped, and the smile fades, "...We don't have a word for Donkey. You could substitute Halla, but then it's barely an insult. Halla are family, y'know?"

Maybe he doesn't. Sorrel finds himself suddenly wondering if... if alienage elves just think the Dalish use Halla because they don't have horses or donkeys. As if Halla were just stupid beasts of burden, things to be used up and discarded, like a dead horse on the royal highway.

"We don't really have as many words as most languages do. We lost a lot when Arlathan fell to Tevinter. And when the Dales fell to Orlais. And... every time a clan dies, we lose more than lives. Maybe one of these days an ancient dictionary will turn up in one of the temples the Inquisition is always breaking into."

He does look baffled - halla is family? But, maybe Halla are like pets? He looks confused for a moment, as he tips his head to the side, "...so they're like Coco?"

A quiet snort, "That would be nice. Hey, look, you're stealing our culture so now we can steal it back and actually know about ourselves."

Sorrel opens his mouth, suddenly and irrationally delighted- and then realizes that Adasse has no idea what the joke would have been. How, how had he gotten this far into their friendship without that nug joke?

"No, no, no," He says eventually, trying to suppress the urge to giggle, "No, it's... alright, so the legend goes, that a long, long time ago, the Creators walked among the People, looking not much different than elves themselves. And of the People, there was a huntress named Ghilan'nain, who could track and catch any creature in the world, but never killed them."

Sorrel's hands moved as he spoke, and he quite forgot to eat as he told the story of Ghilan'nain Halla-mother, how she used her magic to create life, every kind of creature. He told of Andruil and the love that grew between them, and the jealousy of men, which had led to Ghilan'nain's torture, and her forgiveness, and her transformation. Ghilan'nain, the beloved of goddess Andruil, lifted to the status of a goddess herself, first of the Halla.

"...And all the Halla today are descended from her. So really, if you go back far enough, we're all one blood."

Adasse listened closely, because this was a tale that had a lot of meaning for the Dalish, and it seemed for his own lover as well. Didn't make a great deal of sense, turning an elf into a halla -- but blood of my blood stories were as old as time itsef.

"Well, sounds like the creators had it right for awhile there. Save the people who needed to be saved."

"It does seem like that," Sorrel says, in a way that puts the lie to his nonchalance; his is a bone-deep faith, "It is a true story, though. The Halla are too smart to be animals. They're our cousins. So calling you a Halla really wouldn't be the same as a donkey."

After all, nobody cares to ask a donkey's opinion. Contrarily-wise, when a Halla has an opinion, it's everybody's concern. Sorrel shrugs and turns back to his forgotten meal, grateful that it's all food that doesn't mind being too cold or too hot, thoughtful friend that Adasse is.

"Sina's Vallaslin was for Ghilan'nain."

"Huh ... but it would be the same as calling me a Coco. I like it." Adasse is of the personal opinion that Coco is as smart as anyone, so that Halla are the same? Is pretty neat.

He looks pensive at that, before he tips his head to the side, "Does that mean that Sina is a Halla now? You know, like, her spirit became one with the halla?"

Sorrel blinks, refocusing on Adasse so quickly that he nearly give shimself whiplash. He had grown up in the alienage, surrounded by no end of Andrastian superstition, cruelty, and hard ways, had received no real education except what survival made necessary and... and he was so, so very, painfully sharp, Sorrel's beloved. Oh, Adasse played up the grinning fool, and it was a delight to play along, enough that every now and again one found oneself almost forgetting...

But never for long, not with moments like this around; Sorrel found himself thinking, of that gilt-edged moment in the Fade, of Sina's spirit, bright and free, bounding away like the leap of a sprightly young creature...

...Like a Halla.

"Maybe she did," He says, wonderingly. Where else could Falon'Din's path have taken her, to rest easy, but the hearts of her patron's best children? There's something terribly sad about that, somehow, as if the idea makes everything settle in, more permanent, and farther away. Sorrel breathes, and reaches for Adasse's hand, feeling the weight of the hours, "Hey, 'Dasse? Let's go to bed. I'm really tired."

"Sort of like that. All you good Dalish become Halla, and the People live on." He smiled quietly at the thought, before Sorrel's touch drew him back to the here and now. He arched his eyebrows up, concern flashing.

"Yeah, of course love. Are you feeling all right?" He squeezed Sorrel's hand, and started to pack up the food immediately.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just..." He shakes his head and can only repeat himself, speaking past the pressure in his chest, and heavy, leg-dragging feeling, "I'm just tired."

It wasn't even a lie; he was tired too. But there was more than that, a small, childish voice that kept interjecting into his thoughts whenever Sorrel had an unguarded moment: I want to go home. But there wasn't any home to go to. There was this office, and Beleth's, and her bedroom, and Adasse's. And then there was Kirkwall.

And everything else... he had to remember, it was all gone to ash, really. And who's fault? Only his own. Sina would have been so ashamed of him, halla or no. He tries to smile, for Adasse's sake, at least, but is uncertain of the result.

"You're really smart, you know that? Every time we talk, I feel like I'm learning something new."

Adasse got all the food gathered up, and then offered his hand to Sorrel. When he got like this, Adasse knew the only thing he could do was be here for his lover. Sorrel was tearing himself apart inside to make all this work and Adasse knew that there were going to be times like this where all he could do was hold on. As tight as he could.

He quirks a half smile, "Don't tell any humans that. They might start getting ideas about us city elves. Like we should get formal education, or something."

"Ha," Sorrel gives him the satisfaction of a well-received joke, and takes the offered hand, letting Adasse bring him closer, stepping into his grasp with only a little guilt, "You do deserve a formal education. Or at least someone could teach you manners."

An insult delivered with all the fierce, stern rancor of I love you. Sorrel leans his weight into Adasse's shoulder momentarily, to seal in the sentiment; something like a playful shove, but that it goes on for too long, and too fondly.

"You want to learn another word? Last one for tonight."

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Open w/Closed to Adalia

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