Open post

[undwarfy]

Come here for musebox stuff, PSLs, or post-captcha meme continuation. Put the verse or PSL or whatever in the subject line plz.

Hit this up if you know me and have an idea. Hit me up if you don't know me, we've never interacted IC or OOC, and you have an idea. Hit this up for any and all reasons. I welcome everything.

Comments

[undwarfy]

Varric chuckled and tapped two fingers against his tankard idly. "Ah! Well, it's always nice to meet a fan."

Because, between him and the literal Herald of the prophet Andraste, who fell out of a hole in the sky that killed the Divine and ended the mage war, Varric is definitely the celebrity.

[closerift]

"Right." Don't be a fanatic, Cecily, fanatical people are never endearing. She steels herself with an inhale, trying to device which question is best suited to be the first one, and finally settles on: "... What would you say is your favorite thing about Kirkwall?"

She'd run away there, once. It'd been the site of her first 'dalliance,' as her mother has called it (them). Of course, she had been preoccupied with making trouble and hadn't exactly taken in the city, and that had been before it became famous in Varric's tale, sometime just before the Fereldan refugees overran the place.

[undwarfy]

"Well, it gave the world me," he smiles immediately, taking a cheerful swig of ale before setting his tankard back down. "Honestly? I don't know. I was born there. I think my favorite thing about it is- the different people you meet. It's a port city, gate to the Marches, and you can just about tap into veins from the entire world in those walls."

Truth be told, Varric gave a different answer every time someone asked that question. He truly, honestly didn't know. There were a lot of things to love about Kirkwall, and a lot of things to hate.

"But what about you, your Worship?" he smirks.

[closerift]

"What about me?" she asks in return, half-groaning at the use of the title. Whether in earnestness or sarcasm, anything fancier than her first name is - uncomfortable, for Cecily. She'd grown up among nobles, but had almost never been singled out. Until all this.

"Would you like my opinion on Kirkwall specifically? I'm afraid I can't say that I know it very well at all. Most of my opinions were formed on the things I read about it."

From Varric, primarily, but she's trying not to be too weird about it.

"I think it's a bit - well, what you said. There are so many different people there that you would never have exposure to, otherwise." She pauses, glancing around them, and then chuckles weakly. "It's a bit like Haven, at the moment, isn't it?"

[undwarfy]

He made an incredulous snorting sound and looked around. "Alright, you got me there- in one, singular, crucial aspect."

A lean forward signaled the upcoming dramatic punchline. "Creepy-ass history." Varric tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Between the two of them, Haven might actually give Kirkwall a run for its money."

[closerift]

She cracks a grin in return, following his gaze around to the people who passed.

"I've heard a bit of it from Leliana and from books, but - yes, I think creepy-ass history describes Haven well." Will she see ghosts as she sleeps? Probably. Seems like that kind of place. "At least things seem decidedly less cult-y now."

There's a dry laugh as she looks at the anchor, expression flattening.

"Or not so much."

[undwarfy]

Varric still has a chuckle for her, even with the darkening in her eyes.

"Nah, at least this cult has more to go on than 'oooh, it's a giant fuck-off dragon, let's worship it!' You?" he continues, with a languid sip of his drink. "Stumbling out of the Fade on the heels of Blessed Andraste? Now that's some primo cult fodder right there. Only the best for us."

He says it with the easy smarm of a used car salesman plying his wares, as if this was a product to be hawked on the streets rather than a topic of religious devotion.

[closerift]

"That's what they say..." Not that she remembers a bit of it. Cecily exhales shortly, closing her fingers around the anchor, straining to conjure any and all memories of that time in the Fade, or... before it.

The Herald looks briefly annoyed at her inability to do this and abandons the effort. For now.

"Happy to contribute to the primo cult fodder, in any case."