[It's blunt, for all that it's tied up with gilt ribbon, and it earns a low chuckle even as his skin tingles in echoing reminder.]
Mm, yes, I imagine you do.
[You and everyone else, little one, and he startles himself with how naturally the endearment comes to mind. Since when is he a person who gives out pet names so freely? Never mind to a complete stranger . . . odd enough he's bothering to chatter at all beyond a few polite words, but there's something about this elf that compels him to speak. And why is that? It isn't attraction— Vakares isn't blind, and of course this elf is a pretty thing, but that has never had much bearing on how he views a person.
(And yet his skin tingles in echoing memory of that glancing touch. And yet his next few breaths are a little shallow, faint and unnoticeable to anyone but him— he is too honest with himself to ignore such a tell).
Strange. And yet not so strange he feels the need to bring things to a pause. Vakares takes a breath, slow and even, and continues:]
Most everyone here does too. I cannot claim to have any particular insight into that arena.
[The Marquis is technically his cousin, but then again, most of the nobles across Thedas are related one way if not another.]
But if I had a guess . . .
[Hm. He nods towards a woman decked out in holy whites and vivid scarlets, her costume clearly based on Andraste.]
I would say you might want to flit around that woman there. The Baroness of Seleny is fond of him, and dotes on him the way an aunt might. But you'll have to go about it carefully: I suspect your usual charms might not work. She is, ah, devoted.
no subject
Mm, yes, I imagine you do.
[You and everyone else, little one, and he startles himself with how naturally the endearment comes to mind. Since when is he a person who gives out pet names so freely? Never mind to a complete stranger . . . odd enough he's bothering to chatter at all beyond a few polite words, but there's something about this elf that compels him to speak. And why is that? It isn't attraction— Vakares isn't blind, and of course this elf is a pretty thing, but that has never had much bearing on how he views a person.
(And yet his skin tingles in echoing memory of that glancing touch. And yet his next few breaths are a little shallow, faint and unnoticeable to anyone but him— he is too honest with himself to ignore such a tell).
Strange. And yet not so strange he feels the need to bring things to a pause. Vakares takes a breath, slow and even, and continues:]
Most everyone here does too. I cannot claim to have any particular insight into that arena.
[The Marquis is technically his cousin, but then again, most of the nobles across Thedas are related one way if not another.]
But if I had a guess . . .
[Hm. He nods towards a woman decked out in holy whites and vivid scarlets, her costume clearly based on Andraste.]
I would say you might want to flit around that woman there. The Baroness of Seleny is fond of him, and dotes on him the way an aunt might. But you'll have to go about it carefully: I suspect your usual charms might not work. She is, ah, devoted.