#exile ali

[fulluponcrazy]

I like to think that, if Loghain is spared, Alistair still would have shown up on the battlefield in Denerim, he just wouldn’t have been part of the main group anymore. Sure, he said a lot of loud, immature, tantrum-y shit, but he was angry and panicking and trying to spit out anything to make the Warden take it back, anything to make them say ‘fine, I’ll kill him.’ Give him a bit of distance, and he still would have gone to fight darkspawn, just well away from the Hero of Ferelden and even more well away from Loghain. But then Anora kicked him out of the country (...or executed him, but I can’t really roleplay that outcome for, um...obvious reasons).

[fulluponcrazy]

Icarus by Bastille kind of makes me think of exile Alistair. The way I play him, at any rate.

[fulluponcrazy]

@dirtyfightingantivanelf

Alistair eyed him warily for a moment, though the wariness was unsteady and not especially heated. He glanced around the tavern quickly, just to make sure there weren’t any other...familiar faces, before dragging his gaze back to Zevran.

He hunched over his drink protectively, hands curling around it. Alistair hadn’t been there long (that night, at least), so his voice was still mostly steady when he pointed out, “I don’t have enough coin to pay for both of us.” If Zevran was there for any specific reason, it stood to reason he’d say it regardless, so asking seemed superfluous.

[fulluponcrazy]

Steps and Missteps

@populusvicixta

It was dark when Alistair stepped out of The Hanged Man, save for the lantern hanging near the door. It wasn’t raining, though, so it was already an improvement over the previous few nights; there was nothing quite like climbing the stairs back to High Town while thoroughly pickled and soaking wet.

Someone shouted something after him and he turned to reply, only to crash shoulder first into the corner outside the door. With a snickering laugh, he let the door thunk closed and stepped away from the corner, steps unsteady and weaving towards the left.

So really, it wasn’t much of a surprise when his foot missed a stair a few minutes later, and as one arm flew out to catch himself, he happened to catch himself on someone’s shoulder.

The laughing apology died on his lips as he actually looked up from his feet and realized who it was, and his expression shifted to what could best be called ‘comically befuddled.’

“Maker’s piss,” he eventually managed, words slurring. “Shoulda bought another drink.”

[fulluponcrazy]

His head was pillowed on his arms on the table, forehead leaning against his forearms. Still, he managed to keep one hand curled around his half-empty drink’s handle, as if someone might dare decide to take it from him while he wasn’t looking.

Eventually, slowly, he lifted his head to level a groggy look on the person he was sharing the table with.

“Sorry, jus’--I haven’ heard a word you said for’a past five minutes.”

[fulluponcrazy]

"Aren't you a black hole of need."

“I am a delight,” Alistair informs him primly, his words only slightly slurred (no, really, only slightly). He stares into his drink for a perplexed moment. “Ah…wha—what was I talkin’ about?”