The snort is so ugly that Araceli starts laughing at herself, having to lean forward and press her head against Korrin's shoulder so she doesn't fall backwards, dragging the others with her. No doubt one of their number would suddenly appear and possibly ruin the moment as she lay on her back giggling and hiccuping.
“Oh I dare you to casually mention that in front of one of the really uptight Templars, I dare you, I will watch from the rooftops laughing, Zevran you will be there too, we could charge admission and retire to lives of leisure.” Without a comb she uses her fingers to separate out Korrin’s hair for a waterfall braid, working from behind the right horn with ease; her fingers remember how to do it, the comfort of familiar patterns and looking after a loved one, content to enjoy whatever little bubble this is. It will burst, eventually, but they might make it back to Skyhold first or until setting watches becomes a real issue.
Food will help, not quite the same as stealing friends back to the little scrape of a flat she still keeps but close enough, because it’s something made because she wants to make it, to fill them up and keep them warm when this world seems so opposed to letting anyone keep even one person safe and sound for long.
“There’s never a clean slate, not really, but if waves can wear down broken glass into something soft and smooth, and turn boulders to sand? Then I hope that they can find a place and happiness. Some of them mustn’t be much younger than I am, maybe about the same age I was when I left home to make my own way, nothing and no one should steal the carefree years from you.” After all, she hasn’t left those years behind entirely either, and though Korrin isn’t much older than Araceli in the grand scheme of things, it’s hard not to feel for the Crows, to think about herself at that age when life was a game and she raced through it but with so many hands to help her catch herself and dust herself off if she fell.
no subject
“Oh I dare you to casually mention that in front of one of the really uptight Templars, I dare you, I will watch from the rooftops laughing, Zevran you will be there too, we could charge admission and retire to lives of leisure.” Without a comb she uses her fingers to separate out Korrin’s hair for a waterfall braid, working from behind the right horn with ease; her fingers remember how to do it, the comfort of familiar patterns and looking after a loved one, content to enjoy whatever little bubble this is. It will burst, eventually, but they might make it back to Skyhold first or until setting watches becomes a real issue.
Food will help, not quite the same as stealing friends back to the little scrape of a flat she still keeps but close enough, because it’s something made because she wants to make it, to fill them up and keep them warm when this world seems so opposed to letting anyone keep even one person safe and sound for long.
“There’s never a clean slate, not really, but if waves can wear down broken glass into something soft and smooth, and turn boulders to sand? Then I hope that they can find a place and happiness. Some of them mustn’t be much younger than I am, maybe about the same age I was when I left home to make my own way, nothing and no one should steal the carefree years from you.” After all, she hasn’t left those years behind entirely either, and though Korrin isn’t much older than Araceli in the grand scheme of things, it’s hard not to feel for the Crows, to think about herself at that age when life was a game and she raced through it but with so many hands to help her catch herself and dust herself off if she fell.