[ There are certain realities one must come to face when waging a war against untold numbers, against faceless enemies who have yet to completely show their hands. One of which being, of course, that things tend to jump out at you at any given moment. First, they were merely battling demons. Alright, all in a day's work. Then, they were beating back cultists which-- while not ideal, certainly didn't come as a surprise. And then there were suddenly gods involved -- or at the very least, darkspawn with delusions of grandeur, corrupted men who thought themselves worthy of divinity.
Dorian would rather do without all of them, if it were all the same.
And isn't it just the way, to be out wandering out by their twosies, only to be taken nearly by surprise by a gang of ne'er-do-wells? It's just as well that they manage to beat the idiots into submission. ]
Join the Inquisition, they said. It'll be fun, they said. They'll respect you, they said.
[ He's still shaking off the bits of human goop that had splattered on him; a cultist had gotten a bit too close for comfort, and Dorian had been forced to show the poor fool why, exactly, that had been a mistake. ]
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood and viscera out of Royale Sea Silk, Inquisitor?
Because I certainly don't. Honestly, I haven't a clue. I so rarely do my own laundry. Is it difficult? I imagine it must be.
[ Moira somehow managed to avoid the worst of it, which was ironic, since she spent more time getting up close and personal with her foes than most of her mage companions (Knight Enchanter and all). ]
I'm going to pretend that's a rhetorical question, because I really don't have an answer for you.
A shame. And here I thought our illustrious Inquisitor had an answer for all of our most dire questions.
Perhaps if I merely wept a bit, batted my eyelashes at you, I could convince you to find an answer for me. Send you on some sprawling quest to find the answer in a tiny, abandoned hovel, written on ages old parchment.
[ He shakes his arms again, managing to rid himself of most of the blood. ]
Tell me, why is it that you never take me anywhere nice?
I suppose anything is possible, considering we live in a world where men can aspire to godhood, and a Vint can work alongside a Qunari without it ending in tantrums or bloodshed.
All the same, I'd prefer not to find out. [ He sweeps out an arm. ] Shall we?
[ she says as she slings her own staff into place across her back. (Moira could be scary in her own way, a fact which was completely contradictory to her otherwise sweet nature.) ]
[ There are things she could say here, about pointy sticks and such (and she realizes that she's been spending way too much time with Bull and Sera if that's the case), but she refrains. ]
I really am grateful, by the way. You certainly didn't have to join me.
[ It was just a simple errand for Dagna (well, as simple as errands for Dagna ever got, anyway) ]
[ As he tends to, Dorian waves a hand, dismissing the thanks. ]
And leave you to your own devices, attracting trouble as you do? Please. Someone needs to ensure you come back in one piece, and what better looking candidate than myself?
I only hope your people don't begin rumors. "Ah, the Tevinter is whispering his dark machinations into our Inquisitor's ear again. Should we, perhaps, assassinate him in the night, stem the flow of his evil before it settles in like a dank pond?"
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pullmeoutalive2014-06-27 11:45 pm
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Dorian would rather do without all of them, if it were all the same.
And isn't it just the way, to be out wandering out by their twosies, only to be taken nearly by surprise by a gang of ne'er-do-wells? It's just as well that they manage to beat the idiots into submission. ]
Join the Inquisition, they said. It'll be fun, they said. They'll respect you, they said.
[ He's still shaking off the bits of human goop that had splattered on him; a cultist had gotten a bit too close for comfort, and Dorian had been forced to show the poor fool why, exactly, that had been a mistake. ]
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood and viscera out of Royale Sea Silk, Inquisitor?
Because I certainly don't. Honestly, I haven't a clue. I so rarely do my own laundry. Is it difficult? I imagine it must be.
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I'm going to pretend that's a rhetorical question, because I really don't have an answer for you.
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Perhaps if I merely wept a bit, batted my eyelashes at you, I could convince you to find an answer for me. Send you on some sprawling quest to find the answer in a tiny, abandoned hovel, written on ages old parchment.
[ He shakes his arms again, managing to rid himself of most of the blood. ]
Tell me, why is it that you never take me anywhere nice?
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[ she quirks a brow ] I never claimed that this would be fun, you know.
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It's a lucky thing for both of us that I do so enjoy following you around.
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Do you suppose these fellows had friends?
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All the same, I'd prefer not to find out. [ He sweeps out an arm. ] Shall we?
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[ she says as she slings her own staff into place across her back. (Moira could be scary in her own way, a fact which was completely contradictory to her otherwise sweet nature.) ]
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What, you didn't already feel safe, having a noble Tevinter at your back? I'm appalled.
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I really am grateful, by the way. You certainly didn't have to join me.
[ It was just a simple errand for Dagna (well, as simple as errands for Dagna ever got, anyway) ]
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And leave you to your own devices, attracting trouble as you do? Please. Someone needs to ensure you come back in one piece, and what better looking candidate than myself?
I only hope your people don't begin rumors. "Ah, the Tevinter is whispering his dark machinations into our Inquisitor's ear again. Should we, perhaps, assassinate him in the night, stem the flow of his evil before it settles in like a dank pond?"
What will Mother Giselle think?