Apr 6, 2015
Squint.
“ Soooo, what’re you? “
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Israel
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from Pakistan
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Australia
seen from Jamaica
seen from Pakistan
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Australia
Squint.
“ Soooo, what’re you? “
An echo, a sound, the revving of a motor.
A scream, a cry, inhuman at most.
He takes what he can get, and gets what he can take.
Jasper's always preferred a little more challenge.
The last person he met in the darkness was the average twitcher, a hammer clasped in one shaky, broken hand. Bloody eyes, matted hair. A rotten smell, a gurgling growl. It charged him, though, however harmless it must've seemed at first, and so, he had no choice but to completely s l i c e it into pieces.
It was his choice to play in the blood, though, and that only added another coat to his shirt, his pants. But no, he doesn't stink like the others. Jasper likes to think he smells pretty good. He's always smelled good. The living girls could prove it, but... there are none.
Not now. Not anymore.
He first hears the voice spoken low, as if whispers to self are being given, notes to document an experience-- And right hand begins to fiddle with the pullstring of his saw.
The runner waits until the voice creeps closer, closer, and pulls his mask down, waits patiently behind the corner...
And when he feels the need to cause a ruckus, his palm wraps around the cord... and he pulls.
The motor roars to life.
He's followed the Inquisition this far, been at the side of the Inquisitor for whatever needs may have arisen. Sebastian hasn't been to a ball in years, and the last time he did attend one, he wasn't at his... best.
The Prince exits the foyer, descends the staircase, and decides to make it easier for everyone by going around the floor of dancers, their dresses and uniforms rather dashing and distracting as he does. Sebastian stops at the far corner, turns to watch for a moment.
He, himself, is dressed in the finest Starkhaven attire crafted, mended especially for him to attend this event, but still, he is no match, though close, for these Orlesian nobles.
There's a smile on his lips, hands clasped gently behind his back, and as the Prince turns to exit and avert his gaze, his eyes fall right onto--
Who is..... this.....?
" Oh-- .... Hello. "
tamlen's not one for the life of a shem, especially those who call mihtriel, sabrae's mihtriel, his mihtriel, their herald of andraste.
the party inside has been going for hours, and once he's decided to finally wander from the questions of curious shemlen and make his way outside, he sees her standing at the side of the staircase, arms crossed and rested upon the balcony rail. she looks lost in thought, but my, she looks rather beautiful under the stars.
and her eyes, oh, her eyes.
tamlen sighs, pulls the door to a close silently behind him. the elf steps, strides awkwardly with hands behind his back until he reaches her. he clears his throat, glances up at the stars, and averts his gaze back to his friend.
" my, don't you look beautiful tonight, lethallan. "
squints at.
" Pardon me, lady Inquisitor-- "
" -- but someone may have lost one of your horses-- "
" So, you must be Solas-- I overheard one of Varric's tall tales. Sorry to say you were involved... Though it was rather interesting. "