[Darras is (at least today) the slower eater. He glances up at her at this comment, mouth full of pastry. A little smile further distorts his mouth as it crooks at the corner.]
Oh, aye? [he says, once he's finished chewing.] S'ppose they're just getting started at this hour.
Oh, aye? [he says, once he's finished chewing.] S'ppose they're just getting started at this hour.
[ They’re continuing this conversation like a transition in a movie where they walk through a door and it’s suddenly the next season but they’re still having the same conversation.
Except Bastien is now having his half of it in an attempt at a vague Southern Free Marches accent that’s a little off, but not as bad as it used to be. ]
And what were the pieces? A tavern, a storm—that smile.
Except Bastien is now having his half of it in an attempt at a vague Southern Free Marches accent that’s a little off, but not as bad as it used to be. ]
And what were the pieces? A tavern, a storm—that smile.
[ He's listening, but for the first couple of sentences he's doing it with his mouth a bit open and his lips pulled back from his teeth, tongue held in an attempt to recapture the correct i in smile. ]
Were you more serious then than you are now? Or less?
Were you more serious then than you are now? Or less?
No. Not really. Not more than everything is work, when you are in bard in Val Royeaux. Like if you have been sent to observe a foreign city—you make friends, you eat lunch, you wash your face. [ His accent slips. He pauses to put it back. ] It's not all work. But you're always listening. And always lying, at least a little.
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