Alistair Theirin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wardenings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-03-10 05:57 pm
wardenings) wrote in thecapitol2015-03-10 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
let's share demons. | open!
Who| Alistair Theirin & you !
What| Alistair's musing over waking up in the Capitol ; he's recently learned that a few familiar names are alive. He's on edge, and would appreciate a bit of explanation.
Where| Training Center Roof
When| A few days after the week six death announcements
Warnings/Notes| Talk of death, coarse language, possible DA:O spoilers, possibe purple prose ( i saw someone else tag this? so there u go. )
' Maker, preserve us -- '.
Neck pops and battle-born hands clasp in each other, a stressed sweat pouring down his jawline. All of this was so strange, so distant from the world he called home. He stands, pulling himself from the crouched position on the top of the roof. His back tenses, heart racing; it's then, in that moment that he realizes he hadn't been this nervous since his battles with the Wardens, causing a sense of nostalgia to rush over him. He swallows, shaking his head as he looks out onto this strange city; why had they taken him?
Frustration sets in, and he grips at his hair. Why had they taken him? Confiscated Duncan's blade and shield from him? None of it made sense -- and to know, there are familiar faces dying in that Arena right now? That thought alone drove him up the wall. Wringing hands and watching the mechanical city shift from afternoon to evening, Alistair began to pace. There were more Wardens now, yes, but he was in hiding, a person of interest. Their Warden-Commander was missing as well; trapped in that Arena of theirs... would they be missed? Would an investigation be launched to find them?
Doubtful.
A sound pulls the man's attention over his shoulder, not relaxing. Never relaxing. With his arms visibly tensed, the vein on his neck protruding normal skin, the bastard son's hazel eyes burrowed into those of the person who joined him on the roof.
' Friend, or foe? '
What| Alistair's musing over waking up in the Capitol ; he's recently learned that a few familiar names are alive. He's on edge, and would appreciate a bit of explanation.
Where| Training Center Roof
When| A few days after the week six death announcements
Warnings/Notes| Talk of death, coarse language, possible DA:O spoilers, possibe purple prose ( i saw someone else tag this? so there u go. )
' Maker, preserve us -- '.
Neck pops and battle-born hands clasp in each other, a stressed sweat pouring down his jawline. All of this was so strange, so distant from the world he called home. He stands, pulling himself from the crouched position on the top of the roof. His back tenses, heart racing; it's then, in that moment that he realizes he hadn't been this nervous since his battles with the Wardens, causing a sense of nostalgia to rush over him. He swallows, shaking his head as he looks out onto this strange city; why had they taken him?
Frustration sets in, and he grips at his hair. Why had they taken him? Confiscated Duncan's blade and shield from him? None of it made sense -- and to know, there are familiar faces dying in that Arena right now? That thought alone drove him up the wall. Wringing hands and watching the mechanical city shift from afternoon to evening, Alistair began to pace. There were more Wardens now, yes, but he was in hiding, a person of interest. Their Warden-Commander was missing as well; trapped in that Arena of theirs... would they be missed? Would an investigation be launched to find them?
Doubtful.
A sound pulls the man's attention over his shoulder, not relaxing. Never relaxing. With his arms visibly tensed, the vein on his neck protruding normal skin, the bastard son's hazel eyes burrowed into those of the person who joined him on the roof.
' Friend, or foe? '
no subject
"Pleasure's yours," Tom says, snide and frustrated, before pausing. "I'm sorry, the devil's gotten into me a bit. Losing an Arena puts me in a bit of a tiff. I'm sure you can imagine why."
no subject
He rests his hands on his waist, shifting his weight from left to right. Walking around without his armor on, without that large kite shield and long blade, is very strange. He's too light on his feet; Alistair's out of his element.
no subject
He raises an eyebrow as he looks at Alistair's feet, the lightness to them. A thief, perhaps?
"What, are you preparing to start boxing, lad? Take a seat."