Anders (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
birdhousesoul) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-01-26 12:20 am
birdhousesoul) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-01-26 12:20 am
Entry tags:
[closed] blasting yourself into the present
Date & Time: shortly after this
Location: Unit 205
Characters: grumpfacenoble_nate and magebutt birdhousesoul
Summary: This is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful wife!
Warnings: ANDERS
Well. That was a pleasant conversation. Surely things can only get better.
Anders almost wishes he had a set of decent mage robes. He hasn't worn robes in years -- too conspicuous, and in Darktown the hem would have trailed in sewage. Yet he feels he really ought to be wearing robes on this inauspicious occasion, just for old times' sake. For one half-hysterical minute, he seriously contemplates pinning together a bedsheet toga. What decides him against it is the slim but real possibility Nathaniel might mistake him for some deranged Tevinter magister.
(There were Tevinter mages in Denerim, or so Anders heard it rumored, in the last weeks of the Blight. Trolling the elvhen alienage for likely slave flesh. Unlikely as the rumor sounded, anything seemed possible in those surreal days, caught between civil war and darkspawn incursions.)
Pounce demands to be let out, and Anders complies. Now it's just the dog and Anders in the apartment. Nathaniel's dog, Padric, alias Prince Puddingface (a name Nathaniel refuses to utter). Anders realizes Nathaniel won't remember the dog, either. Poor Puddingface. Will Nathaniel be touched at unexpected overtures of canine friendship, or will he sneer at a dog who isn't a mabari? He might well consider himself entitled to a whole kennel of mabari. Fereldans aren't called dog lords for nothing, though the epithet's hardly a compliment in the Marches.
"I suppose we'll find out," Anders muses aloud to Puddingface. The dog lowers his head onto his paws. "Oh, don't look that way. This could be fun."
And if it isn't, at least it'll keep Nathaniel too busy to try killing Cousland just yet.
Location: Unit 205
Characters: grumpface
noble_nate and magebutt birdhousesoulSummary: This is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful wife!
Warnings: ANDERS
Well. That was a pleasant conversation. Surely things can only get better.
Anders almost wishes he had a set of decent mage robes. He hasn't worn robes in years -- too conspicuous, and in Darktown the hem would have trailed in sewage. Yet he feels he really ought to be wearing robes on this inauspicious occasion, just for old times' sake. For one half-hysterical minute, he seriously contemplates pinning together a bedsheet toga. What decides him against it is the slim but real possibility Nathaniel might mistake him for some deranged Tevinter magister.
(There were Tevinter mages in Denerim, or so Anders heard it rumored, in the last weeks of the Blight. Trolling the elvhen alienage for likely slave flesh. Unlikely as the rumor sounded, anything seemed possible in those surreal days, caught between civil war and darkspawn incursions.)
Pounce demands to be let out, and Anders complies. Now it's just the dog and Anders in the apartment. Nathaniel's dog, Padric, alias Prince Puddingface (a name Nathaniel refuses to utter). Anders realizes Nathaniel won't remember the dog, either. Poor Puddingface. Will Nathaniel be touched at unexpected overtures of canine friendship, or will he sneer at a dog who isn't a mabari? He might well consider himself entitled to a whole kennel of mabari. Fereldans aren't called dog lords for nothing, though the epithet's hardly a compliment in the Marches.
"I suppose we'll find out," Anders muses aloud to Puddingface. The dog lowers his head onto his paws. "Oh, don't look that way. This could be fun."
And if it isn't, at least it'll keep Nathaniel too busy to try killing Cousland just yet.