heaven, a gateway, a hope

[byblow]

WHO: Grey Wardens & You
WHAT: A daring and not at all ragtag group of Grey Wardens has walked all the way across Orlais to inform the Inquisition--just in case it hadn't already realized on its own--that everything is terrible.
WHEN: Harvestmere 22
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This post has: (1) A single group "we just got here, we're freezing, who is in charge, what do you mean you haven't decided yet" starter that we'd like to keep to one chronological thread. (2) Open starters for individual Wardens set later in the day/week.

OOC Note: Regarding the first starter--threadjack away! Anyone is welcome to wander onto the scene to see what's going on and wander back out at their leisure, to fall silent for a while, etc. No tagging order. But let slower taggers get a word in edgewise!

Comments

[ungovernable]

"Oh," Benevenuta says, spinning - the wine sloshes out of the glass, a little, she's not quite as used to drinking in the middle of the day as those who will remain nameless - to face Alistair as he joins them. Obediently. What a delight.

"In fact, I count myself among one of them," with an admiring glance at his shoulders.

[byblow]

Best behavior earns a slight grimace, because his best behavior is not very good, but then he's distracted by Lady Benevenuta Thevenet's--admiration. That's a good word.

He cants his head to the side and scratches the side of the base of his neck, which does not actually disguise his quick glance toward his own shoulder. He isn't trying to disguise it. Smiling at her, he manages to look knowing--yes, muscles and passably charming face, it's a burden to bear--and turn faintly pink across his nose at the same time.

He adjusts the blanket for better coverage. It's cheeky, not shy. Or at least it's some of both.

"You know we're all barbarians down here," he says. "The most you can ask is middling behavior. Or else we're all doomed." Pause for effect. "Or is that the plan?"

[liberalum]

"You can't expect me to believe a Grey Warden isn't somewhat well traveled. There are, most assuredly, barbarians everywhere."

Dorian considers that, and allows; "Excepting Nevarra."

He makes no grand show of admiring Alistair's shoulders, personally, but his smile grows sharper at the evidence of blushing. How dear! "You've neglected to tell us your name, you know."

[ungovernable]

Benevenuta's slow turn during barbarians everywhere is aborted neatly by excepting Nevarra, at which point she spins merrily back to face Alistair as if nothing ever happened, landing with a little wobble on feet that are not entirely steady enough for that sort of carrying on.

"And we might have need of it," she said, reproachfully. "What if we look for you, later, and are overwhelmed by muscular gentlemen responding to our call?"

That sounds great.

[byblow]

"What if?" Alistair repeats, tone musing.

The musing originates not from visions of the two of them buried in muscular gentlemen, but from the idea that these two Northerners--who have just thrown a blanket on his head and who cannot hear the Old God singing in his head and who are so incongruous to the month he's been having that they don't quite seem real--might look for him later.

"It's Alistair." Ser Alistair of House Mabarus. He's not quite exhausted enough to believe that would be clever, but it's tempting. They're rescued only by the combination of his sense of chivalry and Benevenuta's unsteady footwork. "Perhaps you ought to sit down, Lady Thevenet."

[liberalum]

Alistair, then. All the better to enact concerning blood magic on him, obviously. Dorian's own sense of chivalry is spent in a sort of curious glance at his friend as if to see if she really will tip over, but not enough to compel him off his rampart perch to see to her safety. She's probably fine.

"Are you under the impression we can't hold our wine?" He says wine like there's a very soft 'h' in front of it. It could almost count as an accent, if being inebriated were a nationality. "Because we most assuredly can."

[ungovernable]

If being inebriated is a nationality, then Dorian and Benevenuta are both from the northernmost reaches of Winetopia, and it is with all the appropriate dignity as a representative of that great nation that she says, "I am up quite right," and while it isn't exactly the sentence she had planned on, it does contain all the same words.

She frowns at nothing for a moment, mentally replaying it.

"I am quite upright," she repeats, more satisfied the second time, patting Dorian absently on the knee in approval for his split-second of chivalry.