“I've lived and worked around the Kirkwall harbour for far too long to routinely make a habit of swimming in it,” is probably a broadly sensible stance to take for any person — jarring, though, to think about how long she has been there, nowadays, long enough there are well-established members of Riftwatch who've never set foot in Skyhold.
The first swimsuit does rather explain her initial question: it is a sky blue ... three? piece? and she's right, cover-up is a misnomer. The bottom sits high on her waist with two rows of four buttons in the same colour paralleling down over each hip; the top a relatively straightforward bandeau that might or might not have straps. It's difficult to tell, because the third piece is a smart matching cardigan in the same fabric — with the same buttons as the bottoms — with elbow-length sleeves, only slightly longer than the bikini top itself. The entire effect strongly suggests she ought to be wearing a string of pearls and kitten heels with it; it is somewhat strikingly incongruent with the number of scars that it leaves clearly visible on her person.
The cauterised burn scars that scrape down her sternum, that have always been visible in the necklines she favours, clearly connect to much longer scarring that winds between bikini top and bottom and emerges again at the top of her thigh, dragging down around the back of it. Something, at some point, took a bite out of that thigh— the way that's scarred, she didn't get to keep all of that flesh in the healing process. Rising up on her toes to do an unself-conscious turn so he can appreciate the entire costume,
these are not quite so raw as the golden eye, and the way she keeps the attendant out of her blind spot. She's had time to stop thinking of them every time someone else might see them.
“I don't know, it's growing on me. I do see the appeal,” she decides. “But I swam naked when we went to Rivain. I always did at home in the Greatwood.”
no subject
The first swimsuit does rather explain her initial question: it is a sky blue ... three? piece? and she's right, cover-up is a misnomer. The bottom sits high on her waist with two rows of four buttons in the same colour paralleling down over each hip; the top a relatively straightforward bandeau that might or might not have straps. It's difficult to tell, because the third piece is a smart matching cardigan in the same fabric — with the same buttons as the bottoms — with elbow-length sleeves, only slightly longer than the bikini top itself. The entire effect strongly suggests she ought to be wearing a string of pearls and kitten heels with it; it is somewhat strikingly incongruent with the number of scars that it leaves clearly visible on her person.
The cauterised burn scars that scrape down her sternum, that have always been visible in the necklines she favours, clearly connect to much longer scarring that winds between bikini top and bottom and emerges again at the top of her thigh, dragging down around the back of it. Something, at some point, took a bite out of that thigh— the way that's scarred, she didn't get to keep all of that flesh in the healing process. Rising up on her toes to do an unself-conscious turn so he can appreciate the entire costume,
these are not quite so raw as the golden eye, and the way she keeps the attendant out of her blind spot. She's had time to stop thinking of them every time someone else might see them.
“I don't know, it's growing on me. I do see the appeal,” she decides. “But I swam naked when we went to Rivain. I always did at home in the Greatwood.”