"Ohhhhhhh--
What do you do with a drunken Marcher
What do you do with a drunken Marcher
What do you do with a drunken Marcher
Washed up in Antiva?"
"Feed him to Crows and whores and sailors,
feed him to Crows and whores and sailors,
feed him to Crows and whores and sailors,
Washed up in Antiva!"
Lavellan and Solas squeezed past the bouncer into the Sweet Admiralty bar; a drunken chorus already roared from the other side of the room, where a dense knot of twenty-somethings huddled around the karaoke set. She grinned at Solas's stunned expression. "Not your usual scene?"
He wrinkled his nose and sniffed. "Hardly." He stood up on his tiptoes, scanning the knot of people for Dorian. "Shall we meet at the bar? Dorian is an efficient drunk. I should make sure he hasn't fallen into a toilet somewhere." She heard him mutter some elvhen curses under his breath as he beelined toward his classmates.
Lavellan sighed to herself. Hopefully he wasn't a teetotaler too. She slowly meandered up to the bar, which was already filling up. The Sweet Admiralty was popular among the students for drunken pirate karaoke, but she'd heard through the grapevine that they made some mean rum cocktails, if you knew what to ask for. She stopped at the end of the bar closer to the karaoke; the tattooed elven bartender caught her eye and winked.
"What can I get for you, my dear?" he asked, taking off his ridiculous tricorn in a mock bow.
She couldn't help laughing. "I think they got here ahead of me," she said, pointing toward a pair of campus security officers at the other end of the bar.
"Ah, but you are much prettier," said the bartender, straightening once more. "So...a pitcher for the large party serenading us? Or perhaps one of our signature cocktails?" As he spoke, he spun a pair of slender shot glasses over his fingers, the rims glittering blue and gold in the dim light.
"I--uh--" she said, momentarily distracted. "A pitcher of Ferelden ale for the party, and two..." She squinted cautiously at the menu. "What's in a 'Spicy Antivan Sailor'?"
"That, dear lady, is a trade secret. But I encourage you to be adventurous! One for you, and one for your handsome friend?"
He winked over her shoulder, and she turned around to see Solas, who was not smiling back.
"Yeah, sure," she said absently. The bartender bowed again to each of them, and when his back was turned, she gave Solas's hand a squeeze. "Hey, what's wrong?" He'd been perfectly cheerful at the coffee shop just minutes ago.
"Nothing," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He managed a faint smile and tried to imitate the bartender's casual lean. "Do you know any of these songs?"
"You're a terrible liar."
Solas scowled at her, then down at his feet. "Loud, drunken parties are Dorian's domain, not mine."
"Dorian's your friend. Can't you just be happy for him?"
"Being happy for Dorian and wanting some peace are not mutually exclusive," he said sharply.
There was a long, awkward silence--or there would have been, if not for a loud roar about Rivaini ladies by the karaoke, and the bartender returning with their drinks. "Just keep the tab open," said Lavellan to the bartender, who graced her with another roguish wink before attending to his other customers.
She slid one of the shot glasses toward Solas, who was still resolutely looking anywhere but at her, or his fellow students.
"I'm sorry," she said when the awkward moment threatened to return. "I didn't mean to imply--"
Solas sighed and pinched his nose. "Don't worry. It's not your fault." He took a sniff of the fizzing red drink and brightened considerably. "Cinnamon, rum, and...something I can't place. Curious." He lifted the glass.
"To Dorian," he said.
"To Dorian." Solas waved at his housemate, who was standing on top of a chair, belting out the chorus of "Rivaini Ladies." Dorian waved back, gesturing with the microphone at Solas.
Solas shook his head, but now a genuine smile started spreading across his face. Their glasses clinked, and he bolted down the Spicy Antivan Sailor without even flinching. Lavellan was less lucky, choking halfway through the glass as the sweet, fiery concoction burned its way down her throat. Bubbles and spice were not a good combination, her sinuses decided.
Solas chuckled and held out his hand. "Would you like some help?" he said, his smile turning mischievous.
"Not on your life." She took a deep breath and finished the shot, wincing as she swallowed.
"Another?" Solas asked. "Then I should go congratulate Dorian."
Lavellan looked from him to the old iron-wrought clock hanging behind the bar. "You know," she said as he signaled the bartender. "For someone who doesn't like drunken parties, you're trying awfully hard to get me sloshed."
His smile softened, and suddenly the dancing in her stomach had nothing to do with ill-advised rum cocktails.
"Harellan," he murmured. "I just want to hear you sing."
I surely did when I was little, it's not exactly rare but not terribly common and I still wanted to change it for ages. My parents chose it so it would sound good in the 3 languages that are important to the family: English since I was partly raised in the States, Hungarian for the other half of my life and Italian because our family is Italian. Nothing is ever bloody simple in my family.
My children might hate me.)
Retour en haut
)
AT ALL...unless maybe you are talking about the Paradise Lost anti-hero devil 
. I just said Dalish devil because someone else on the thread had recently used the phrase. I know tongue in cheek doesn't come across well in text. Sorry. I'm a lowly humanist, so the whole devil debate doesn't really bother me one way or another. Everything is delightfully grey in my world. Satan might just be a mild mannered, Jesus loving mailman living in Brooklyn named...Satan. Names and labels don't mean much.
Why do I love sinister figures so much...)
