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[Someone has knocked on Hawke's door, but by the time she opens it, whoever knocked will be gone. In their stead is a nug, complete with bow and a small piece of twine tying her loosely to the door. Attached to the bow is a note, reading: A little piece of home, in lieu of a mabari -Z]

A nug.

Yes, there have been several of them about since you arrived, you have noticed? Perhaps it is in your honor. Perhaps they will serenade you.

If they do I might have to invest in earmuffs. Or a spitting roast. Has this one got a name?

Are you generally in the habit of naming your dinner, my friend? How thoughtful! No wonder they serenade you so.

It gives them a false sense of security, don't you agree?

I would not know. I am one of those lucky sorts who only meets their meals when they are quite past the point of naming. But I would never discourage your Ferelden cultural traditions!

Perhaps I'll keep it and take care of it. It's not the pet I had hoped to get here, but until Bee comes I suppose it'll do. I think I'll name it Fenris.

I wish you much joy with your beloved Fenris! I would caution you to keep her away from Alistair's nug (who I believe has been named Alistair Jr, on account of the uncanny resemblence), unless, I suppose, you want about forty more in the span of two weeks. Good luck!

Edited 2014-02-03 04:38 (UTC)

My my, Zevran, are you suggesting that the King of Ferelden looks like a nug? Isn't that treason of some kind? Tsk.

Besides, my nug is far too grumpy to mate. That's why I called it Fenris.

Perhaps! Now, if only I were Fereldan. Or cared particularly about breaking the law. Or dishonest!

I am sure this correlation makes perfect sense in your mind, so I will not question it! I will instead suggest you feed it on a healthy diet of lettuce, cabbage, carrots, and insect life.

Ah, but if you were Ferelden you would be a dog and I don't think you'd like that. Alas, we are in the same boat, however. Laws are there to be teased into breaking, don't you think?

Can I also feed it the blood of my enemies or is that a little too macabre?

[ IT'S A JOKE. ]

Why on earth would I be a dog? What are you saying about elves? I will have you know, I am horribly offended! As for laws, well, they are certainly amusing!

I do not know about "too macabre", but then, you know, I kill people for a living. I do think it would be a great deal of effort, however! What with the bottles and the stoppers and the correct labeling. Unless you are in the habit of killing people in your apartment? How you endanger your king of Ferelden! Where is your patriotism? Tsk tsk.

Edited 2014-02-03 05:01 (UTC)

That is what the Marchers call us. Ferelden Dogs. I have nothing against Elves at all - two of my dearest friends are elven, actually.

Perhaps I could simply slit their throats over her water bowl? I'm sure Alistair wouldn't mind. He's used to blood and death.

It is good for humans to have have elven friends, I have found; they make for excellent means of winning arguments. You may ask my human friend, I believe he lives next door to you.

Yes, but usually not on his carpet. He has a surprisingly refined taste when it comes to interior design.

One of them is a blood mage and the other can rip your heart out with his hand. It's self-defence rather than argument winning, I've found.

Surprising for the song of royal blood?

A wise choice! It is well known, we elves are savage and feral beasts.

Surprising for the scent of royal blood. Who would have known it was so similar to wet mabari!

Edited 2014-02-05 05:13 (UTC)

Of course. More people need to understand that, don't you think?

There is nothing wrong with the scent of wet mabari.

Yes! And so good you know.

Ah, I forgot the Fereldan cultural tradition of scent-blindness. Do forgive.

It is not scent-blindness. It's called 'adaptation'.

Ah, yes. Hip deep in mud and dogshit: the truest of acquired tastes.

I believe that is a euphemism for Ferelden, yes.

[In honor of the Earth holiday centering on love, Freya sends out a little gift around this time.

A small box containing a piece of chocolate will appear on your pillow during the day. When consumed, the chocolate’s magic will lift your mood for a short period of time. It’s accompanied by a note.]

Where love might bring about sorrow, it also welcomes joy.

I suppose this is past-due. You made it out intact?

Your concern is touching, handsome. I made it out alive and breathing. Do you still have all your limbs - most of them.

Intact, and without tact; I see that all's in order. I considered going symmetrical, but would too much miss the chance to write.

I've a question for you, if you'll humour me. Have you ever heard of 'coffee'?

I thought our bracelets had a voice feature; I don't think you'd miss writing that much. Symmetry might suit you.

What, in the name of the Maker, is coffee? A plant?

Aye, but how would I keep the bracelet on?

Brown, bitter water. What in the name of coffee is the Maker?

You might wear it around your neck akin to a dog, or as a charm.

In my experience brown water means nothing less than it should be avoided. Coffee is something else entirely? As for the Maker: he is the 'God' of our world, I suppose.

I've worn chains oft enough to know myself prettier free of collar. Iron's not much my colour. So drab.

Something else entirely. I was at length persuaded to try it, and it's nothing short of remarkable. Energizes, and lifts the spirits. I propose we attempt mixing it with 'chocolate'.

You've only one god, then?

Drab indeed. Perhaps we should introduce new things to your wardrobe, Ser.

It sounds like some kind of potion, don't you think? Remarkable. I suppose you intend to tell me what 'chocolate' is as well?

Yes, I suppose we do. The Maker and his bride, Andraste.

Aye, I've seen to enough of that. All the better not to blend in with the rest of these pigsticking pricks. Half of them would want another war here, I swear it.

Chocolate is perhaps better enjoyed than described. Are you free on the morrow?

Curious, is this Andraste a god as well? The Maesters call ours seven in one, but each may as well be held separate. Simpler. Lets you ignore the bloody boring ones.

People always seem to want war no matter what is done. It seems it cannot be avoided.

Are you asking to court me, ser? I'm touched, truly. I am free, at your service.

As for Andraste - no, she is his wife and a prophet of the people. She became the spirit of the religion of my world and is worshipped alongside him.

Truthfully spoken -- still, you would think that one alone might content. The trouble of we Westerners, no moderation.

Alas, my lady, I've sworn vows. Yet there is a 'cafe' in Heimdall that tempts.

Not boring at all, then.

You would think, but fools are never satisfied, are they?

A shame, then. A cafe would do us both good, I imagine, let us indulge and forget wars and religions for a time.

[ In honour of the god centering on love being a giant frilly prissypants, Loki sends his own little gift just a few hours after hers.

His box of chocolate will look, smell, and taste exactly like Freya's did, appearing right next to where Freya's was or is if you haven't picked it up yet. The only difference between the two is that Loki's won't lift your mood; it'll give you loud and embarrassing flatulence for the next three hours.

It's also accompanied by a note. ]

Where joy might bring about yearning, it also welcomes wonder.

So... we haven't talked in a while, but I was just wondering if you were up for drinks some time still.

Maker yes. Please.

That bad, eh? Sky's Prize. One Hour. Meet me in the back booths, where it's not so loud. First two rounds are on me. I'll see you there.

You're on. I'll see you there.

[Samantha was easy to find when Hawke arrived. How many half-demonic people did you encounter on a regular basis, after all? She was certainly the only one like that at the Sky's Prize. When she saw Hawke, she nodded and motioned for her to come over to the table.]

[ There's a man out in front of Hel's courtyard, standing before a small firepit dug in the dirt. He leans back against the post, arms crossed, staring into the licking flames with faint, pursed frown.

It smells foul. The thick black smoke that rises about him carries the unmistakable stench of charred, rotting meat; though if he smells it, Jaime's stony expression gives no sign of flinching.

What's up? What's new with you? Oh, just barbecuing a severed hand. ]

[ Hawke is doing her usual rounds, enjoying a time or two and letting herself enjoy a brisk pace before she catches the scent. Bee, at her side, whines, loudly, pawing at the ground and lifting his; he almost asking if they have to investigate. Of course they do - it's what she does.

Turning towards the smell, nose flinching at the thick, black, charring smoke, Marian shakes her head until she catches sight of a familiar face - Jaime. Lips pursing, she heads over, quickly, expression darkening a little. ]

Are those your hopes and dreams you burn?

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backdated to Day 400

419 - Audio

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Action

action, backdated to day after whenever gifts were if you're still down

action. i am always down for you