The brunet’s fingers absently tap out the piano chords as hescans the sheet music, trying to commit the notes to memory despite the blondhovering around him. They’ve only got fifteen minutes before they’re on,joining a local saxophonist and drummer on stage for a little semi-freestylejazz, and he isn’t going to be distracted by Anders. The set tonight requires apianist and Nathaniel hasn’t played a piano in public for a long time. He’s notworried, just not as confident as he would have been with a string instrumenttucked underneath his chin or between his knees. (It’s a pity he couldn’t bringhis double bass, even if it is a pain to lug around.)
Anders, however, is not about to be dissuaded by his lack ofinterest in conversation, and with a huff the blond leans into Nate’s line ofsight. He’s forced to look up when the blond casts shadows on his sheet music,and though his fingers don’t stop moving he does look up to glower at hisfellow musician.
“What?” Nate demands when Anders doesn’t move away, merelyresting his elbows on the table and supporting his chin on his hands. He doesn’tseem at all repentant about leaning on Nathaniel’s sheet music or interrupting hislast minute practice. Cheeky bastard.
“As I was saying, I think we should start with a differentsong.”
Ah, they were doing thisagain, were they? The violinist sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“But—“
“If you had a problem with Art Blakey & the JazzMessengers you should have brought it up earlier, say, not ten minutes before we go on.”
Anders makes a face at him, clearly dissatisfied, and Nathanielreally wishes they didn’t have to do this every single time. It would be onething if they knew the group they were performing with but Anders changing theset list right before a performance just because of random inspiration nevergoes over well. It’s nice that Anders has solid gigs whenever he needs them andcan afford to burn a few bridges with locals who aren’t as flexible as he likes.Nathaniel likes to keep his contactsopen, thank you very much. They’d agreed on the set list last week and as faras the pianist was concerned, that was that. The last thing he needed was forAnders changing things up before they got to the freestyle segments.
Judging by the look on the man’s face he’s still feeling abit too rebellious for Nate’s liking, which means the brunet has to act whetherhe wants to or not.
“Hey,” he starts, reaching out to straighten the blond’scollar in an effort to regain his attention. Anders blinks at him, eyebrowsraising when Nate purposefully let his fingers linger on the skin of histhroat. “You stick to the set and… I’lltake you home. When we’re done.”
Anders’ laugh comes out as mostly warm air on his face, amusementcrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Don’t sound so thrilled, Nathaniel. I’m allaquiver.”
The urge to roll his eyes is strong but the pianist resists,instead catching the blond’s chin between his fingers so he can lean in for akiss. It’s quick, a mere brush of lips, but hopefully it’ll keep Anders’ focuson something other than exercising his creative freedom. “Be good,” he murmursas he pulls away, tugging his sheet music free and moving towards the stage.The applause is starting to die down, which can only mean it’s their turn to perform.
As he lingers at the edge of the curtain he feels Anders’fingers brush up his spine and the blond whispers, “I’m always good.”
He was stressing something fierce. Anyone with half a wit could tell, but not many could do a thing about it. Thankfully Neil wasn't like most folk. Companions were special that way, trained to make people happy in less-than-shinny situations. Hawke figured he knew exactly what would cure the doc's melancholy-like state.
After taking some time to spruce up his room, Neil called Anders over the intercom. He made something up about twisting an ankle and wanted the doc to come check it out. Of course, when Anders arrived, it was to see Neil on his feet. He was dressed in a fancy get-up; a nice, purple waistcoat, white shirt, and black slacks. But nothing too fancy to make the doc feel out of place. The look of confusion on Anders' face was washed away when Neil grabbed him by the waist.
A waltz played on the old gramophone Neil kept in the corner. He fell into the steps and was pleased to see Anders follow. In a matter of moments, the doc was calm.
"I thought you said you wanted me to check on your ankle?"
"Did I say ankle? Think I meant for you to see if I had two left feet."
A chuckle, "No. I'd say you're in perfect health, and a very good dancer."
((Your Josie isn't brainless! This isn't to say that other Josephine blogs depict her as being brainless or dumb, but you always have a very pronounced tone of "she knows what she's talking about". It's a reflection of your intelligence as a mun and it makes dealing with Josephine so much sweeter (and also intimidating--but in a good way!), because it adds another layer of depth and realism to her character!))
//It would be very hard for her to be an ambassador if she didn't have quite a bit of brainpower I'd say :D But thank you a lot <3 It's always a bit of a slippery slope to play intelligent characters, because either you are not clever enough for them or you know too much about the world, so you try to make them look clever by letting them know shit they can't actually possibly know :I
I'm gonna stop myself before I start talking about the disconnect between the popular fandom perception of her and the position she is in, but thank you in any case!!! :D
You try your hardest to leave the past alone.
This crooked posture is all you’ve ever known.
It is the consequence of living in between
The weight of family and the pull of gravity.
You are so much more than your father’s son.
You are so much more than what I’ve become.
"Where do I even begin? There's so much about you that I love. But... I think what I love most of all are your hands. You can be so delicate with them, like when you're treating a patient. But other times they can be rough and hard, like when you fight. I look at them and see a story of hardship and toil, but I also see someone who puts effort into everything they do, whether it's from healing or writing your manefesto."
The door to the storage room creaked open, the sound reverberating down through the stone cavern loudly enough that Zachary winced and dropped the sack he was carrying in order to press his hands to his ears. He cast a glare towards the newcomer, sour look lessening only slightly when he recognized the blonde head of hair lit by the torchlight.
"Balls. Caught again, huh?" he asked, tone pitched low enough that his voice wouldn't carry far. It still vibrated in the cavern somewhat, though, and he flinched again - it would be a while before the hangover subsided, and he was sure the Senior Enchanters knew that. They certainly hadn't waited very long before they'd thrown him into the storage cavern to do inventory work after they'd found him passed out in the wine room, surrounded by empty bottles.
He still wasn't sure if it was worth it. At least the wine had been good, for something mixed by a bunch of emotionless Tranquils.
"Are you here to help me count the beans? Or... whatever they've got stocked in this pit?"
❝ You... have caused great unrest throughout Thedas, amongst
mages and templars alike, no less. It was a battle that has been
a long time coming, and I am glad to know it has finally come, for
the sake of those who seek freedom, yet I cannot help but wonder
-- do you have regrets? ❞
