WHO: Kostos/Alistair/Jehan/Silas & Various Others WHAT: Miscellany WHEN: Kingsway WHERE: Probably Kirkwall NOTES: See comment subject lines! And if you would like to do something feel free to just drop it in here.
“Has anyone told me—oh, sure. All the time,” Alistair says. “That’s how people point me out in a crowd. That one, over there, with the kind eyes.”
It’s not the most outrageous lie he’s ever told. His eyes are as kind as they can be while also being perpetually smirky at the corners. But he isn't drawling the way he usually would, voice pitched lower and quieter than even his fairly quiet usual, because his voice might be more distinctive than his face, and he can't guarantee he's never met this man before. He's met a lot of Wardens.
He has his back to the door for that reason, but he can see vague shapes moving behind him, like spirits, in the cloudy, dented reflection on the side of his mug. Enough that no one is going to walk up behind him—not that anyone would be able to anyway, with Yseult watching the room, but he doesn't trust her with his entire back just yet.
So she can see it, but he can't, when a man in plain clothes who matches the description, down to a distinctive handlebar mustache, comes down the stairs and pauses to have a word with the barkeep on his way toward the door.
"It's because I've never done anything wrong," Alistair is adding in the meantime, "in my entire life."
"That is what all the stories say," Yseult replies, teasing tucked into one corner of her mouth, a crooked little smile.
She's looking past him, though, eyes over his shoulder and then sliding away, focus softened so it's less obvious. "I think this is him leaving," she says as she's raising her own mug, quiet words hidden behind it before she sips, half her face, too, just in case. "Huge dark mustache waxed to a curl, pock-mark scar on his right cheek. He's talking to the barkeep."
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It’s not the most outrageous lie he’s ever told. His eyes are as kind as they can be while also being perpetually smirky at the corners. But he isn't drawling the way he usually would, voice pitched lower and quieter than even his fairly quiet usual, because his voice might be more distinctive than his face, and he can't guarantee he's never met this man before. He's met a lot of Wardens.
He has his back to the door for that reason, but he can see vague shapes moving behind him, like spirits, in the cloudy, dented reflection on the side of his mug. Enough that no one is going to walk up behind him—not that anyone would be able to anyway, with Yseult watching the room, but he doesn't trust her with his entire back just yet.
So she can see it, but he can't, when a man in plain clothes who matches the description, down to a distinctive handlebar mustache, comes down the stairs and pauses to have a word with the barkeep on his way toward the door.
"It's because I've never done anything wrong," Alistair is adding in the meantime, "in my entire life."
no subject
She's looking past him, though, eyes over his shoulder and then sliding away, focus softened so it's less obvious. "I think this is him leaving," she says as she's raising her own mug, quiet words hidden behind it before she sips, half her face, too, just in case. "Huge dark mustache waxed to a curl, pock-mark scar on his right cheek. He's talking to the barkeep."