Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote in
milliways_bar2016-04-23 09:46 pm
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It feels like half of Denerim's been cluttered with merchant's carts since the coronation. Lots of the rich and fancy journeying to meet their new king? It's a prime spot for hawking wares. Never mind the rubble, or the filthy alleyways, or the bloodstains some people haven't quite gotten off the walls yet -- come take a look at this beautifully crafted sword or those lovely silks!
They've even got some limited edition souvenirs. When Alistair took a peek one evening, the merchant practically fell over himself to give him a set for free.
Which means Alistair's over by the fire with a half-finished pint of ale, a nice beef stew...and two hand puppets. One of him and one of Queen Anora.
So what if the souvenirs were supposed to be for children? They're kind of funny.
(You know. In that way where he has to laugh or he might go mad. Nobody needs the king to go mad this soon into his reign.)
They've even got some limited edition souvenirs. When Alistair took a peek one evening, the merchant practically fell over himself to give him a set for free.
Which means Alistair's over by the fire with a half-finished pint of ale, a nice beef stew...and two hand puppets. One of him and one of Queen Anora.
So what if the souvenirs were supposed to be for children? They're kind of funny.
(You know. In that way where he has to laugh or he might go mad. Nobody needs the king to go mad this soon into his reign.)

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Ysalwen eyes the puppets askance.
"Do you want me to pretend to be Anora? Would that -- help?"
Liranan bounds up next to her, tail wagging excitedly. Hi Alistair! Hello!
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(Puppet-Alistair's face is literally just a smiley face stitched onto the cloth.)
As he makes the Alistair puppet wave a greeting, "Hello again. And hello to you, too, yes!" That's to Liranan, in a somewhat sappier voice.
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What?
Liranan puts his paws up on Alistair's legs in an attempt to lick his face.
"But it is certainly uncanny."
Seriously, seriously uncanny. Both of them.
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Once the Ritual of the Mabari Greeting has been accomplished, he lifts an eyebrow at Ysa. "...Don't tell me that's what Morrigan was doing."
Sharp pains out of nowhere, Morrigan snickering -- so much is finally explained.
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"Okay, I won't tell you that."
Or that she gave the doll to Morrigan.
Um.
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He plucks the puppets off his hands in favor of grabbing his ale. "What have you been up to?"
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"I do all I can to preserve it, each and every day."
Yes. That.
"As for me, traveling, mostly. The Crows have come out of their boltholes and are going after Zevran again, so -- we're leading them a bit of a merry chase just now? Or I am, while he goes and takes care of things at their source."
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"You have a hand puppet of yourself," Gabumon says, with something approaching awe. "And a puppet of ... of ..."
He pauses, glances at Alistair, glances back at the puppets, back at Alistair, back at the puppets, Alistair, puppets, Alistair, puppets, Alistair, puppe - ...
"Angry female you."
Their hair colours are sort of similar! And that's what counts.
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...It also leads to a brief spate of highly undignified coughing.
Puppet-Alistair flails about for a couple seconds in lieu of the actual Alistair speaking; when he's finally recovered, he manages a weak, "Yes, that's a very apt description of her, I think. But most people just call her Anora to her face."
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Obviously, he'll recognise her. Because of the hair.
"Do people call you Anoro, then? Anorato? Anoru?"
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Does the lizard-wolf-thing have one? Will Alistair have to make up one on the spot, too? Is making up names part of lizard-wolf-thing cultural tradition? So many questions.
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Or something.
"Er, lovely to meet you, Gabumon," he says. "No, someone actually...made them for me, kind of? A merchant back where I live."
(Puppet-Anora nods agreement.)
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Thus it is that the tall woman with the copper skin and the long black hair approaches Alistair with a soft smile on her lips.
"Those look suspiciously like festival favors." There's an amused lilt to her tone. She may recognize how strange it is to see a toy made of your own likeness.
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"Something like that, I suppose," he says, wiggling the arm of the Alistair puppet like it's waving hello. "It's Dejah, right? How are you?"
The last question carries genuine concern. Actually, he...probably ought to have this conversation sans puppets. Alistair gets to work yanking them off.
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He'll happily maintain the illusion of just being another commoner from Ferelden for a bit longer.
"Are you friends well, too?"
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She settles next to him and gestures to a wait rat to bring her usual. "So -- fighting giant ice spiders is your idea of fun?"
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None of them looked particularly good in that short glimpse Alistair got. Had Dejah and Ysalwen's team reached the men just minutes later, Alistair's pretty certain they would have been dead.
(...Doubly dead? He's still not sure how that works aaaaaand doesn't want to dwell on it anymore because frankly it's kind of creepy.)
"Normally they're not ice spiders, and they're not quite that large, but, well..." His grin's a bit sheepish now. "It's invigorating to whack things with a sword. I used to do it a lot more frequently."
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It's Andrew, with a diet root beer in one hand, a bagel with cream cheese and lox in the other, and a magazine tucked under one arm.
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"Yes, that's me," he says. (Maker, it is so nice to hear someone say his name without sticking something like 'king' in front of it.) "And -- Andrew, was it?"
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A pause.
"Is that a puppet of you?"
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(The puppet doesn't have a nose.)
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Alistair shucks off the puppets and grabs his ale. "How have you been? Is everyone well after the terrifying amounts of snow and ice that blew in on the backs of a few dragon-sized spiders?"
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