WHO: Nicola + You WHAT: Fresh meat. And eventually old gross meat too. WHEN: Bloomingtide, pre-mod plot. WHERE: Kirkwall & the Gallows for now. NOTES: Putting open and closed things for all my dudes in here as I write them, so if you want to plan something with any of them, tap my shoulder about it.
Cassian would not have been his first choice. Nothing wrong with him, of course, so far as Nicola knows, but Riftwatch does have burlier people. One makes do with what one has at their disposal, however, and two sets of mediocre muscles are still better than one.
Nicola taps one of them with the toe of his boot. It's not an earnest attempt at nudging it across the stone street, so he doesn't have to be disappointed when it doesn't budge at all.
"My cousins from a condition that makes her believe she is funny," he says — suffering, perhaps, from the same condition — and then comes out with it: "It's wine. To help me make friends, she says. Do you feel befriended yet?"
Some of that wary distance starts to thaw. It’s like carefully adjusting a dial, Cassian calibrating his demeanour accordingly to match and echo the other man: how much playful warmth to exude, how much to try to make this stranger like him in turn. Likely familiar calculations.
“Well,” he says, musing with a twinkle in his eye, “I haven’t had any yet, so I can’t say. What if it is very terrible wine?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Cassian would not have been his first choice. Nothing wrong with him, of course, so far as Nicola knows, but Riftwatch does have burlier people. One makes do with what one has at their disposal, however, and two sets of mediocre muscles are still better than one.
Nicola taps one of them with the toe of his boot. It's not an earnest attempt at nudging it across the stone street, so he doesn't have to be disappointed when it doesn't budge at all.
"My cousins from a condition that makes her believe she is funny," he says — suffering, perhaps, from the same condition — and then comes out with it: "It's wine. To help me make friends, she says. Do you feel befriended yet?"
no subject
“Well,” he says, musing with a twinkle in his eye, “I haven’t had any yet, so I can’t say. What if it is very terrible wine?”