and i still find pieces of you in the back of my mind

[paperwing]

WHO: Sabriel and semi-open.
WHAT: Sabriel goes about her business. Probably feelings. Probably talking.
WHEN: Latter Wintermarch, after she returns from Warden training with Felix and Kaidan.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Catch-all, starters below for interested parties. If you'd like to do something, PM me or see this plurk right here and we can figure something out!

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[paperwing]

"You do not have to keep it secret..." she begins, because it's true that some would not believe such a pair of boots exists, but there's a brief trace of concern for those that would for the fights this could cause - spirits, has she actually diminished his safety? Is that the price for warm toes? - but his mind is clearly made up and she is too flattered by his continued praise to think of even suggesting otherwise.

Almost. "Really?" Her eyebrows raise, but she's also teasing. A half-serious question seeking a half-serious answer. "And if someone were to challenge you to a duel with your boots as the prize? Just how far would you be willing to go for them?" Antivans, she has learned, are good fighters. Not always just with a weapon, but with wit and words... not that her knowledge of Antivan people is larger than two or three, but she doubts it is wrong.

"They were made for you," she adds about the boots, not meeting his eyes as she regards them again, a frown creasing her forehead in thought. "For you, perhaps there is. Not all magic is intentional. I suppose you will find out, in time."

[bunko]

"I would go as far as I would need to go!" To the death, perhaps? To mere pain? He leaves the statement undefined, but lets the conviction of his words speak for his intent. Antivans love to declare duels nearly as much as they love the duels themselves.

Truthfully, there are few things that Scipio will not abandon. To run is nearly always the more clever choice. Items of great value are gained and lost every day--usually lost to him, and promptly resold. Wealth is fleeting. But a pair of magic boots, made with care, especially for him? He might not risk his life on such a thing. But he would risk much, and, if they were taken from him, would track them down and steal them back before they could long warm the feet of another. (Unless Rafa talked him out of doing so.)

In any case: he smiles, pleased, at Sabriel, shifting his weight from foot to foot in cheerful experimentation. "I suppose I will find out. I look forward, to the finding out. Extra luck or no, I will think of a way to repay you for this princely gift that you have given me, Sabriel. You are genius."