It was easier to believe everything that came out of her mouth was tainted with some falsehood. So much suspicion had flown around during those times. Solas. His little spies and traitors who’d thwarted the Inquisition. No-one was above reproach back then. The work was arduous, but they’d managed… On the return to Skyhold though, shit had hit the fan.
“Past times when my mouth would run, you’d come swinging for my head,” he’d snicker. “Shame. You were spicier before.” And it was there in his mind before he could stop it. His head elsewhere and her hands pulling, tugging, instead of swinging her little fists. Shaking his head, Ruth cleared his throat, cursing his own weakness and trying to keep on task.
“Dragon?” Ruth made a face, eye rolling. “More like Drag On. Old geezer can send a whole auditorium to sleep with his long-winded bullshit.” The old elf was fairly knowledgeable, but gods, it was like getting blood from a stone how round about and long his answers could be. Fortunately, they had been going in the right direction to find him, or at least his office, so the two continued down a long corridor in their mutual discomfort.
The more they talked, the more solitude Ruth sought. The stick of tobacco served as a brief distraction, the end burning into life at the spark of an ember brought to life by a snap of his fingers. After a drag, and her accusatory question, he’d chuckle. “I was actually a gentleman. Helped a lass avoid a nasty fall, was actually doing my job and taking a look at her when her… colleague? … Not sure what they were, are, but anyways, he didn’t take much liking to my assistance of the lady.”
“It’s the last time I help out the Grey Wardens, anyway.” Absently, his hand brushed over the injury, pushing back strands of hair in the process. He’d lost weight in the years since they’d crossed paths. Dark circles seemed engrained on his face, while the craving from something stronger than a cigarette grew increasingly more demanding. A shoulder would roll awkwardly in an attempt to quell the growing anxiety and urge to just… leave. Glancing over, he’d catch her lingering look. “...What?”
“Past times when my mouth would run, you’d come swinging for my head,” he’d snicker. “Shame. You were spicier before.” And it was there in his mind before he could stop it. His head elsewhere and her hands pulling, tugging, instead of swinging her little fists. Shaking his head, Ruth cleared his throat, cursing his own weakness and trying to keep on task.
“Dragon?” Ruth made a face, eye rolling. “More like Drag On. Old geezer can send a whole auditorium to sleep with his long-winded bullshit.” The old elf was fairly knowledgeable, but gods, it was like getting blood from a stone how round about and long his answers could be. Fortunately, they had been going in the right direction to find him, or at least his office, so the two continued down a long corridor in their mutual discomfort.
The more they talked, the more solitude Ruth sought. The stick of tobacco served as a brief distraction, the end burning into life at the spark of an ember brought to life by a snap of his fingers. After a drag, and her accusatory question, he’d chuckle. “I was actually a gentleman. Helped a lass avoid a nasty fall, was actually doing my job and taking a look at her when her… colleague? … Not sure what they were, are, but anyways, he didn’t take much liking to my assistance of the lady.”
“It’s the last time I help out the Grey Wardens, anyway.” Absently, his hand brushed over the injury, pushing back strands of hair in the process. He’d lost weight in the years since they’d crossed paths. Dark circles seemed engrained on his face, while the craving from something stronger than a cigarette grew increasingly more demanding. A shoulder would roll awkwardly in an attempt to quell the growing anxiety and urge to just… leave. Glancing over, he’d catch her lingering look. “...What?”
10-16-2023, 03:34 PM
