(no subject)

[bringspeopletogether]

What Alistair would very much like to do is get exceedingly drunk tonight. Or get exceedingly drunk for the next week, really. But...there’s a big celebration tomorrow morning, with as many Fereldans as one can cram into a single place, and he can’t show up to his own coronation looking like he spent the night in a ditch.

(His coronation. Maker’s breath, he’d rather fight the archdemon again.)

A pint or two of something shouldn’t be a problem, though. Perhaps at one of the taverns around the corner, just to get out of the castle for a bit? Go find the most common clothes he can dig up -- maybe something with a hood -- strap a couple daggers to his side just in case, and sneak away while Anora’s putting the final touches on everything? Yes. This plan, he decides, is absolutely flawless.

Except for the part where this tavern seems a lot bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Huh. Cautiously, he pushes back his hood a few inches and peers around at the assembled clientele; it doesn’t look like there are any immediate threats, but, well, it’d be even worse if he showed up to his own coronation dead tomorrow morning, wouldn’t it.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

An enormous brown mabari barks cheerfully at him, tail wagging until it . . . slows . . . and . . . stops.

Then the dog whines, head cocking confusedly.

The white-haired elven woman next to him looks up as soon as the dog starts barking, looking for what set him off. She's got a black tattoo over her right eye, which is definitely not vallaslin. She's also got a staff and a sword strapped to her back, which nicely complements the blue-and-silver mage robes embroidered with gryphons that she's wearing.

"Alistair? Is that -- "

She stands, making her slow and careful way over to him, the dog following behind and still whining softly.

" -- you?"

He looks very young, strangely. Maybe it's the openness in his expression? (Is he from when Duncan was still alive?)

[bringspeopletogether]

In rough order, Alistair's thoughts go something like this:

1) PUPPY.

2) ...Mage. Mage in...those are gryphons on her robes. A Warden? But --

3) -- damn it, his cunning disguise didn't work. Well, he supposes this is the future now: getting recognized by strangers everywhere he goes no matter what he wears.

"No," he says, with false brightness. "I'm his twin brother, uh...Balistair. Funny story, really, I've been living in Orzammar this whole time, thought I was just an exceptionally tall dwarf my whole life..."

He falters, then lowers his voice.

"Listen, is there a chance you could keep it quiet that I'm here?"

[freedom_is_grey]

Right.

A faint hint of brightness that had been in the elven woman's expression falls and fades away.

"I'm good at keeping secrets. It drives some people mad, which -- well. They probably deserve it."

Anyway.

"I -- can I ask when you're from? I think -- I think it may be different for me."

Maybe. Or maybe this is like Cullen, just -- not really the same at all.

[bringspeopletogether]

He doesn't quite know what to make of the way her face falls. It's over before Alistair can react, anyway, and then the conversation's moving along to another matter.

A somewhat weird matter, to be honest. He blinks.

"Sorry, did you say when?"

He must have misheard. She probably said where. It's a bit noisy in here.

[freedom_is_grey]

"Oh. Just. Um."

Awkward.

"I'm from 9:33 Dragon."

Oh, and speaking of --

"I'm Ysalwen. Ysalwen Surana, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden and Arl of Amaranthine."

Thanks for that, by the way, Alistair. Other-Alistair?

[howtoactfereldan]

The thing about beginning to taper the lyrium is that the low-grade headache doesn't really shift, and by the end of the day, it's maddening. It is therefore fortunate that he has somewhere he can retreat until he's sure he won't snap at anyone who doesn't deserve it.

That large, dusty, dry, and awful volume on Kordillus Drakon's tactics in the Second Blight sits at his side. Cullen is ignoring it in favor of The Noble Game of Chess, which was apparently written in 1735, which is a date that has no meaning -- but whatever, he was able to obtain it from the bar, and if he can learn tricks from other worlds to unleash on the unsuspecting, Cullen can ignore whatever calendrical shenanigans are on the title page.

(There is a small plate of shortbread next to a cup of strong tea with milk and sugar, which is also helping Cullen's mood. So is the young gray mabari with her head on Cullen's knee.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Well, look at that. Cullen's looking simultaneously much better and...somewhat worse since the last time Alistair saw him. Or maybe not worse, exactly, but -- older?

(Wynne, he thinks, would have his head if she could hear those thoughts right now. Or at least tell him another fun story about all the young men she's bedded. Thanks, Wynne.)

Still, he's a bit surprised Rutherford made the trek, considering, well...everything. Should he go say hello or politely ignore him? They seemed pretty content to ignore each other at the Circle Tower, though, of course, there were more pressing matters at the time. Hard to have a chat when there are abominations about.

Hell with it. He can pretend he's just coming over to say hi to the mabari if need be.

Alistair approaches, keeping himself well within Cullen's sight lines, and lowers his hood completely. "Fancy seeing you here," he says, as cheerfully as he can.

[howtoactfereldan]

Ci looks up, yips a greeting. It's a new person!

Cullen lifts his head -- and furrows his brow.

"Alistair?"

Babyfaced as ever. "How'd you get in here?"

When was the last time he saw --

Ah.

Cullen frowns a little, but doesn't look away. Alistair might be infrequently irritating -- so much talking -- but he's not unkind. He'll grant Alistair that.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Through the front door." No less cheerful. "Same as you, I assume. Both of you -- yes, hello," he adds to the mabari, "it's lovely to meet you, too."

He tips his head toward one of the free chairs at Cullen's table, in a silent inquiry of may I sit?

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods at the chair, and then looks at the dog. "This is Ci. Ci, this is Alistair, and he might want to donate his boots for you to chew on."

It would be polite to nudge the plate of shortbread in Alistair's direction, so that's what Cullen does. "Something like that." He closes his book. "I'd wager the contents of this plate that you didn't enter from Kirkwall."

(That's one way to keep all the cookies for himself.)

[evil_koala_626]

Do small, blue aliens seated on bar stools qualify as threats? The plate of fried paradoxes currently being devoured would probably vote 'yes'. As would anyone within the immediate "splash zone".

An ear swivels in the door's direction. It is followed in short order by the Stitch's full attention. Alistair is considered through enormous sclera-less eyes, nose snuffling industriously in his general direction.

Hello, potential entertainment, how are you today?

[bringspeopletogether]

There's a rather sizable stack of pamphlets by the front door. It's impressive, really; the cost of the inks alone must have been enormous. Granted, this is a tavern near the palace, but even so.

Curious, Alistair picks one up and begins to read. His eyes narrow. Then widen significantly.

"Um," is as far as he gets before catching sight of the tiny blue creature.

[evil_koala_626]

Stitch peers back. Possibly longer than is polite.







Blink.


"heh-ha-Hiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee." croaks the alien at length. It's every bit as awkward as it sounds. But he flashes a winning smile afterwards so that makes it not awkward at all!

[bringspeopletogether]

"Hello," manages Alistair, still staring.

He looks at the pamphlet. Looks back at the creature. Turns to the pamphlet. The creature.

Resigned, "You'll probably bite me if I poke you with something, won't you."

Teeth marks on his hand: also not a particularly stylish accessory for a coronation. Dammit.

[evil_koala_626]

What?!


No!


Yes.


"Stitch not bad. Stitch fluffy!"

Really!

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin's sore from a long sword practice and wants some lunch, Milliways will do in place of the Shadowed Hills' kitchens.

He's in an outfit that's mainly a padded tunic, boots and his copper hair is slicked down with sweat showing his ears as he enters behind Alistair, "First time here?"

[bringspeopletogether]

By this point, thanks to a few conveniently-placed loops in Millitime, Alistair's settled himself at a table, completely engrossed in one of the introductory pamphlets. It takes him a moment to realize he's being addressed; he looks up, blinking.

"Oh, no," he says, brightly. "The pamphlet's just for my collection. If I collect one from every tavern I get a free block of cheese."

(If only.)

[heatherandsteel]

He notices the pamphlet and shrugs, "That's a good deal. Any questions about what's in it? I know the person who wrote it."

[bringspeopletogether]

Another blink. Wow. The last time a joke sailed so far over somebody's head, that somebody was a sentient golem.

"No, I don't think so." Alistair waves the pamphlet back and forth. "But let your friend know that their handwriting is impeccable. Really, I'm quite impressed. Well done."

[heatherandsteel]

It might be real in some world but Quentin notes the look he's getting and feels awkward, "Printing presses are useful."

[yinyangwizard]

The closest person to the door Alistair has just walked through is an oddly dressed man sitting at a table with a book and some papers filled with notes.

He looks up from the deck of cards he's shuffling and blinks. "Ah, hello there! Are you new to this establishment? I don't recall seeing you before."

[bringspeopletogether]

YES. Alistair's cunning disguise: 1; going home beerless: 0.

"Oh, um -- " Alistair lowers his hood the rest of the way, offering a disarming smile. (Sure, the outfit's a bit strange, but you get all types at a coronation, right?) "I am, as a matter of fact. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

[yinyangwizard]

Seimei puts his cards down, stands up from his chair, and bows politely. Not because Alistair is a monarch-to-be, because Seimei doesn't know anything about that. This is simply good manners.

"Allow me to welcome you to Milliways!" Seimei says. "I am Abe no Seimei. I don't know the custom in your country, but 'Abe' is my family name and 'Seimei' my given name."

[bringspeopletogether]

...Huh.

Alistair's eyes narrow, just a bit. He glances over his shoulder, then back to Seimei.

"Milliways, you said?" he tries.

He's pretty sure that wasn't what the sign said above the door. Tavern naming convention in Thedas tends more toward livestock than very large numbers.

[yinyangwizard]

Seimei nods. "It is a Free House, a sort of magical realm unto itself that appears unexpectedly to people from many different times and worlds. And offers food and drinks from all of them! Every new guest gets their first drink on the house," Seimei adds.

It's a good way to ease newcomers into, well, everything.