Rating: [T] Mentions of bosoms. And booze. And Antivan "workers"...
Description: Sereda Aeducan, Alistair and Leliana listen to Zevran spin a tale about magnificent bosoms; Alistair doesn't get it, but it's all for the sake of camp morale, you understand...
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She sat in the centre of their hasty campsite taking an experimental sip from the leather pouch of questionable, watery ale she had acquired from a travelling merchant; she wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but at least it wasn’t as bad as lichen wine.
Everyone needed a break, judging by the gaunt and tired looks of those gathered by the fire; Sereda knew morale was particularly bad. The thought of trudging up a mountain for some dead human’s ashes probably had something to do with it, and she had no idea why she was on such a foolish mission to begin with. Did they even have the healing powers needed to cure the Arl? Regardless, her plan was to head north to Orzammar and face her demons there if it all turned into a crock of bronto dung; to hell with Redcliffe, then. She could persuade Alistair to see her point of view.
Wynne retired early and left them to their rather stoic demeanours by the fire. Morrigan sat apart from the group, tracing the design of her Mother’s grimiore quietly, a frown in her face. When she caught Sereda looking at her, she scowled and headed to her tent; Sereda took the rolling anger calmly, and looked up at the stars instead. The endless sky, now clear in the biting cold, twinkled above them. She was still awed by their light, intoxicated by the glare. Was it possible to be of Stone and still have your face looking towards the endless horizon? Was she less of a dwarf to be awed by it?
Sten stood then, after refusing their offer of food and said something short about patrol; she nodded to her mabari to follow; Shale trailed after like a puppy, and she smiled. Her stoic warriors, indeed. All that was left by their cooking fire were Zevran, herself, Leliana and Alistair; Bodran and his son had yet to catch up to their camp.
The fire crackled, and Zevran, the newest member to their entourage, suddenly smiled as he took the skin from her. It appeared his thoughts on the “ale” were the same, and he handed it to Leliana, who sniffed it suspiciously before passing it straight to Alistair, who at least took a slug.
“Well now,” she said then, making sure her voice was smooth and light. “What I wouldn’t give right now for a bowl of roasted nug, and a mug of decent mead,” and she looked at their soon to be meal of a rather skinny rabbit cooking slowly and tried not to sigh.
“What’s nug?” Asked Alistair curiously. He passed back her drink and she took another sip, smaller then the previous.
“An animal. That’s delicious. It tastes… Well, a little like game, and a little like your chicken.” Alistair made a little groan then, and went into his own little dream world of roasted chicken and oh Maker, roast potatoes and gravy and why did that cruel woman mention chicken? He would kill for a chicken right now…
Zevran laughed then. “Everything tastes like chicken if you are desperate enough.”
Sereda raised an eyebrow and smiled at that. “When we get to Orzammar, I will make you try some. And you’ll see. Delicious!” She even managed to say that without stiffening, the memories and recollected tastes of her city not choking her like they did in the first few months since she left there.
“I miss bread,” Leliana said then, out of the blue. “I don’t mean the dried flatbreads we have for rations, but baked bread straight from the oven, with fresh butter melting on the top.” Alistair whimpered some more and shoved his head in his hands. He took the skin back then, and drank a mouthful; it was too weak to get drunk on, but at least it warned his stomach. Zevran took the flask delicately, thoughts similar, and gave him a mock toast as he took another sip.
The Antivan looked up and ran a tongue over his teeth, pondering his choice. “Seafood. Freshly caught fish, in broths and soups, in noodles and sauces…. Fried squid and clams in spices that make your tongue sizzle, but do not overpower. A glass of the finest, coolest, Antivan wine to wash it down, and a pretty prostitute to drown myself in after, of course.” Leliana grabbed the skin then, and took the biggest swig out of them all.
Sereda, feeling braver, took a longer draught of her now wayward drink. “How exactly can a man drown in a prostitute, Zevran?” She knew it was a silly question to ask, but she also knew she was dangling a piece of string for his cat paws to pounce on.
At that, he laughed. “Very easily. Have I told you of the legend of a particularly famous dockside worker by the name of Maratrice?” He looked at the blank looks of his audience then, and smiled wolfishly. “Well now. Maratrice was a woman famed of being of considerable… bosom. One day, a particular client decided he was going to have his fun and not pay her for her time.”
Alistair looked at him then, almost amused. “Oh, we can’t have that,” he said dryly, with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.
“Exactly my dear Alistair; I never get why she did not ask for the money upfront like any decent and self respecting sex worker would, but anyhow. The curvaceous Maratrice, who was built not on bosom alone and was rather well endowed in other areas… Well, she was not happy about her lack of payment for services rendered, and used her size to her advantage to block his exit.”
“Hey hey now, nothing wrong with curves,“ she said in mock indignation, interrupting his tale. Sereda placed her hands on her hips, and arched her spine with a little dance in her seat to show off her …ire at his description. “There’s just more to love, you know.” She knew what most surfacers thought of dwarven women and their shape, and played on it.
Zevran took her little wiggle of theatre with wandering eyes, looking her curves up and down appreciatively. “Oh no my lovely Warden,” he practically purred. “You have no arguments from me.” Sereda took his flirting in with a pretend scowl; she caught Alistair looking at her with raised eyebrows, slightly hurt. Sereda sat a little more demurely with a smile in his direction, gratified to see desire warming in hazel eyes there too. Her heart skipped, and she hoped she wasn't blushing.
“What happened, Zevran? I mean, I think I can work out, but…” Leliana asked, turning over their spitted rabbit; juices dripped into the fire, hissing.
“And I sure you have, you clever bard. As the story goes, Maratrice tripped him up and pushed him back to the bed. She then straddled the unfortunate man and choked him to death…. Not before tying him up, of course.”
Alistair frowned. “I don’t get it… Not much of a story. She doesn‘t get paid, so she kills him. Is that it?” If Sereda was being honest, she didn’t get it either, and was wondering if there was any more to it then that; knowing Zevran, the answer was probably a firm yes.
Leliana and Zevran shared a sly smile. “Ah, but Maratrice used her …talents, shall we say, to kill him,” he said, gesturing on the word talents. Alistair raised a finger and tried to work it out. Leliana started laughing at his confusion.
“You know Alistair,” her accent wickedly coy. “Talents.” Leliana copied Zevran’s rather obvious gesture, and Sereda choked on a giggle when she worked it out.
The silence was palpable as the three of them tried not to fill it with giggles. Alistair frowned and looked at their knowing faces. “Oh, put him out of his misery!” Sereda practically yelled, after trying to hold in her amusement for too long.
Zevran cleared his throat before speaking, and with a remarkably straight face, turned to Alistair. “The guards entered the knocking house, and after following some rather muffled screams, found the scene of Maratrice straddling her bound victim, her bosom shoved in his face. I like to think he died smiling.”
“But- oh. Oh.” Alistair bit his lip then, and they could all see him mentally trying to imagine a woman killing someone with her breasts.
“Happily,” Zevran continued, “she somehow walked free of her crime, and retired rather wealthily thanks to her legendary assets; it appears there are men out there that rather like the idea of a dangerous cleavage, and will pay handsomely for it.”
Alistair looked up then. "You're having me on... Is that even possible? I mean... He, uh... you know... and she...They had to be huge!" He gestured like he had boobs and Leliana sparkled with laughter. Zevran joined in, and Alistair blushed to his hairline.
Sereda started laughing then, more at Alistair’s quietly disturbed reaction then the story. “Death by bosom!” Her laugh was infectious, and even the brightly red and oddly shiny Alistair managed to giggle, and suddenly, suddenly, the thought of their journey up treacherous mountain paths didn’t seem so bad. Especially when Zevran started teasing Wynne about her own “magnificent” bosom in the morning when they pulled up camp….
Modifié par soignee, 21 février 2010 - 11:40 .
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my only thought is that I don't know which would win out.... Alistair's total shyness about things sexual OR his boyish onery sense of humor. so I could also see him, finally, finally getting it and then laughing uproaringly.
