@higheverbled was like: “ I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming. ” shaw!!
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Ah. Lorin. He was using metaphor. The issue, it proved, was that he was being nonliteral and dealing with Linshaw Frain. And he mentioned punching. (In a roundabout way.)
Their captor had his back turned to them. Talking, ad nauseam, about how pleased Loghain would be to get the Wardens delivered in nice little packages- in pieces, of course. Their hands were bound behind their backs- standard bindings that the Denerim guards would use. Child’s play to get out of for anyone who grew up in the rougher parts of the capital city. Child’s play, that was, for Linshaw Frain.
He took the cue from Lorin, whose veins were bulging in his throat and forehead as he ground out through his teeth. The situation affected him more than it would even someone normally, something very deep in Lorin screaming at being bound and sent to his death. Shaw did not know, did not ask about how Lorin became a Warden, but he knew he would deliver him from the torment the lowly whelp of a noble was putting them through.
Their captor turned into Shaw’s fist, dropping like a stone. The guards moved with swords drawn before Shaw dodged in such a way that they skewered each other and recoiled appropriately before Shaw dropped them too. He took care of Lorin’s bonds first, whispered in his sometimes lover’s ear from behind, “Your punchline. Funny enough, serrah?”
