faderift | Definitely not a Dalish...

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Definitely not a Dalish...

WHO: Fenris and whomever
WHAT: An elf that is so far from Dalish as it's possible to be arrives in Skyhold
WHEN: Late Harvestmere
WHERE: Around Skyhold, heading to the Herald's Rest
NOTES: Open to all - he's just arrived, feel free to grab him - he'll be heading for the booze as fast as possible

He'd taken a circuitous route to get here, chasing down a particularly nasty slaver troupe that he'd run across previously, but had been too heavily guarded before. This time, only two armed guards had made it easy.

A lot of people were heading back to their homes once more. He didn't care about that, not really. All he cared was that Tevinter wasn't getting it's latest shipment of slaves. But it was something one of the slavers said as he tried to beg for his life that had caught Fenris' attention - that Tevinter Magisters were seen at the Inquistion. It was what had sent him scurrying there as fast as he could. Magisters trying to infiltrate something that had set itself up for good could only go one way, and frankly, it would be easy pickings.

Of course, he knew he would be recognizable to them. Danarius had paraded him about too often for him not to be known, Still, it was a calculated risk. Besides, he'd heard Isabela and Varric were there. People he could trust.

It was vast, he realized as he joined the crowds of refugees pouring into Skyhold. A vast fortress up in the mountains. What better place to launch an invasion of either Orlais or Ferelden from. At least he could see why the Magisters were drawn here.

[ooc I'm heading to bed with a migraine, but I'll get these in the morning.]

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If Fenris wasn't quick then all of the booze would be gone, at least anything that was worth drinking, not that Dante wasn't particularly picky. The Ferelden beer was good and the wine was fine, most of this stuff he'd never heard of, but it was a way to pass the time, not that he'd been here long...but he was already growing restless. Apparently he was but a lowly refugee, albeit one with a strange mark on his hand which made him a point of interest among others...he wasn't unique in this. It wasn't enough to make him priority and for this Dante had to applause himself for not grabbing the nearest official looking authority figure, hanging him upside down, and shaking the answers loose from them.

He didn't, but at least he could be passive aggressive about it and drinking all of the good stuff...among all of the other mischief he could get into if left to his own devices for too long, seemed like the best way to kill time. Still, he wasn't above sharing the bounty with anyone who thought they could keep up with him, including rough, dour looking elves that had all the bearing of one who might kill you as soon as lay eyes on you. Apparently this prison in the mountains took all kinds and, "you look like you need this more than I do."

Doesn't stop him from drinking though, it's just an observation.

Fenris knew how to find alcohol, never fear. At least he knew people here who were sources of booze. Isabela in particular would never be far from it, and he had a certain agreement with the pirate. She wouldn't let him down.

He'd seen certain people wandering around with marks on their hands, but given that he himself stood out with his branding he paid little attention to it. Though the comment about him needing a drink more than others drew a rare chuckle from him, with a grateful nod as he took the bottle. "My thanks to you."

Dante had his moments, besides drinking all alone, but himself, well now that's something that only sad, lame people did and he liked to think of himself as neither one of those things. Besides Fenris was an elf and aside from having an avid interest in the beings of this world that didn't exist in this world, he was cute. Well not in that way, but in a way that elves were cute, and cute had a different standard.

Granted he looked a bit different from the other elves he'd come across, the marks on his flesh didn't resemble the tattoos he'd seen on some of the others. It looked more like a brand, too fleshy colored, like some of the color had been burned from his skin. Before it started to look as though he were staring just a bit too hard he cleared his throat, "wouldn't thank me just yet, tastes like shit, but if you drink enough of it...you develop an immunity. I can barely feel my tongue anymore."

If he had even dare suggest that Fenris was 'cute', he would have found his heart separated from the rest of him. Especially if he thought elves were cute. The interest in his marking didn't phase him anymore. They were something he dealt with every day. Either people had heard of him and knew what they were, or they looked different, especially paired with that shock of white hair he had.

He gave a bark of laughter. "Sounds just like in Kirkwall then. The Hanged Man was a... unique tavern." It would have been even before Varric and Isabela took up residence.

As far as Dante knew cute was a compliment, probably not as good a compliment as sexy or gorgeous, but he wasn't quite there yet. Every elf he'd come across so far just seemed to have that aura about them, it was his sense of aesthetics, though he'd certainly mind his heart in any case....especially now that he was certain he had one.

"Not sure where that is, but if the booze is just as bad then I'll remember to steer clear. They're probably hoarding the good stuff somewhere else," Dante would put money on it if he had any...well anything that wasn't stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he was certain quarters and dimes counted for shit around here, "this is just to keep us nice and compliant...and they think we won't complain."

Cute. Sexy. Gorgeous. Didn't apply to him, so they never were a compliment in his eyes. If he knew what Dante was thinking about elves, there would be a disgusted noise being aimed in his direction.

"Probably wise. Tasted like stale piss most of the time. The good stuff, well, there were ways to get it. Just not at the Hanged Man. This is better." It was an admission of something, at least. "A little, at least."

Fortunately it was unknown to Dante that Fenris didn't find himself sexy, gorgeous, cute, or any other accompanying adjectives thereof...otherwise he'd poke and take the risks. A little ego was a good thing. As for Dante thinking about elves, well he saw nothing wrong with that in general, if someone was attractive that was the bottom line he didn't really think about it in terms of race, hell some of the Qunari running around had interesting features. He was an opportunistic hedonist, he simply followed his his instincts as inspirations.

"They should have dropped my ass here with a bottle of tequila, nothing fucks you up faster...tastes better too," at least as far as Dante was concerned, but then vodka and wine were juices to him, "so aside from getting ass over teacups drunk on mediocre ale, what else do you do around here? Or are you just getting in, I can't tell anymore who's comin' and who's goin."

Taking risks with Fenris was like grabbing the tiger by the tail - someone was going to get hurt. In many ways, though, Fenris thought much the same as Dante - he just chose not to get involved with anyone (bar the occasional meeting with Isabela over the years). It was a little more difficult when touching the lyrium brands ended up in pain for him.

"Tequila?" Now he was curious. An alcohol he hadn't heard of. "And if this ale makes me drunk, then there is something wrong with it. I have recently arrived."

Fortunately Dante liked grabbing tigers by the tail, for fun, and it was probably a good thing he was a quick and agile bastard. Though he might get some sympathy from Dante if those brands caused him pain when touched, masochism was nice now and again, but not when it really hurt. He would have to be put out of his misery if sex was a source of pain, so yes, sympathy.

"Yeah, it's a drink from a place in my world called Mexico. A favorite method of drinking it is lick-sip-suck...I prefer clean, but it's fun that way too," and without really thinking about it he took another sip of the alcohol they were offering here, "I'm hoping it'll get me drunk, at least that'll explain everything when I wake up tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath. Where're you from?"

He'd learned to deal with it, mostly with partners who were sympathetic to it - Isabela, mostly. For all her faults, she had been good for Fenris.

He still didn't understand this whole other world scenario. The rifts had completely gone mad was about what he got. Still. This other person was drinking - he at least had good tastes. "Tevinter, originally." An elf from Tevinter could only be one thing, and he was curious about the response.

When Fenris mentioned Tevinter, Dante was, more or less, confused. There didn't seem to be a spark of recognition there, not for the things that typically happen in the country his drinking companion mentioned or for the country itself if he was being honest. He shook his head a bit and flapped a hand, "wait, wait, wait...okay so I've met one elf who said he was from Antiva, and several others that said they were Dalish...I think I got that right...and you're from this Tevinter place. So what exactly is the difference?"

What? He can't help being ignorant.

Well, the Antivan elf was obviously Zevran. The Dalish... he'd try his best to avoid. He wasn't exactly keen on the Dalish as a group. "Have you never heard of different nations?" he asked, a little bit contemptuously. "Does your world not have them? Though the Dalish are nomads, not from any one nation."

"Hey, smart ass," the little bit of contempt was punctuated with a little bit of an elbow nudge against Fenris's arm, "I took geography. You weren't allowed out of Elementary School prison until you got the basics...though I guess that depends on how you mean it...but that would be going into grammar and I'm even worse at grammar. I come from the United States of America...I guess you could call it a nation...at least it is often referred to as," and here is where it gets a little theatrical, with an almost riotous lilt to his voice as if in mocking, hand over his heart, "one nation under God...blah, blah, blah...with liberty and justice for all. Give me your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. So, I've never heard of Antiva or Tev-whatever."

"I have never heard of your united states of America," he pointed out. "And there are a lot more people here from Antiva, Tevinter, Ferelden, Orlais than there are from your united... whatever."

Really? This person wanted to talk about grammar, and whatever elementary school was? He was an odd one. If there hadn't been alcohol, Fenris just would have left, but he really wanted that drink.

"Well that makes us even, doesn't it?" As he'd never heard of Tevinter or any of these other places for that matter, "heh...count yourself lucky 400 million people didn't come falling out of that green hole in the sky. You'd have more than just a population problem...especially you."

Hey, elementary school was traumatic for him, there were demons and he was on the assassination list. Some issues just had to be discussed, not left to sit and fester, come on Fenris, do a man a solid!

"Well, given you are in my world, no, I think we can never be even." In Fenris' favor, of course. "Me? As long as they live and let live, I would have no trouble." It's the ones who wanted to take advantage of others that Fenris had the problems with.

"Now I can't tell if you're being contrary for the sake of being contrary, or if that in some way makes you better than me," not that Dante seemed bothered either way, but still, "I doubt it, there are too many fangirls to count, you'd have a huge following of worshippers in spite of yourself."

"Good." He liked not being able to be read. It was far much more fun this way.

"Why would I want worshippers? Only bad things can come of that." He was half convinced that the Magisters wanted people to worship them, which was why they acted like they did. No good things could come of worshipping anyone.

"You're a funny man," and for that Fenris has earned himself an additional drink, because above all things Dante enjoyed funny.

"Oh no, no. Not that kind of worshiper...no...the kind I mean are the ones that steal your clothing when you're not looking , follow you around covertly, and erect these creepy little shrines dedicated to you made up of things of yours that they've accumulated, pictures, and voodoo...just a little creepy. We call these worshipers...fangirls...and fanboys," and Dante considers himself lucky in that he is now in a world without this particular type of worship.

Well. That's the first time he's been called 'funny'. He must be talking about someone else. Though the drink, he'll take.

"And the difference is?" Because let us face it, sometimes those worshippers are not far removed from those who worship, well, anything. Be it the Maker, or a Magister. "Though... voodoo?"

There's a first time for everything and Dante has an unusual sense of humor.

"It's hard to attach a word to it, but you'd recognize it as being different from other kinds of worship immediately," it's recognizable, but indescribable, that was perhaps the main way in which the two were different. Normal worshiping was easy to recognize and label, even the slavish kind of worship. This was a beast on its own island, "a kind of magic, culture, religion...thing...I think their love spells involve sacrificial chickens, but I'm not sure."

That got an incredulous look from Fenris. "Why would anyone want to sacrifice chickens?" Eating them was one thing, but... sacrificial chickens?

He was naturally inclined against it as soon as magic was mentioned though.

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Definitely not a Dalish...

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