It's been a little slow going to get here. Kirkwall is oriented considerably more up and down than Seleny, and somewhere between the fourth and sixth set of stairs required to reach the Hightown Markets, he'd been a little winded and had never truly recovered. Thank Andraste's knickers that his partner has plenty to say; it's allowed Desidério to pant back monosyllabic responses with minimal ego shrinkage. Fuck, he thinks. Moysenta may have been on to something when she'd said he should drink less.

(Or had it been Diomara? Lena? Definitely a blonde. He can picture the hair about the phrase more than he can the mouth it'd come out of.)

"Terrific," he says. Three syllables! Progress.

Breathing hard through his nose, Desidério rummages around in his coat pocket, finds his silver case, and cracks it open. Jams a cigarillo produced from it into the corner of his mouth and feels further forward the Riftwatch issues lighter.