who_is_she (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
who_is_she) wrote2014-12-10 01:09 am
who_is_she) wrote2014-12-10 01:09 am
(no subject)
Dorian was fussing, he knew he was fussing, but he wanted everything to be just right for tonight. He'd switched out his cloak three times already and was considering switching it out again as he stood in his chambers with his arms crossed over his chest.
After he'd made a spectacular fool of himself in the ruined mansion and accidentally called a hoard of demons to descend upon them, he'd been knocked clear into another bookshelf, leaving Kanrik to jump in front of the demons, slicing at them with his daggers. Dorian's head had been spinning from the blow to the head but he could still remember Kanrik's fighting clearly; he was graceful and efficient, despite his size, and not alarmed or confused by the demon's screams and otherworldly appearances. After that Dorian's memories got a little fuzzy, and the next thing he remembered were Kanrik's strong arms and warm hands manhandling him and picking him up to carry him all the way back to the camp. He hadn't even forgotten to pick up the mementos and notes Dorian had gone to pick up in the first place.
Dorian's injury had been fairly minor, and he felt fine after some rest and the liberal application of some healing potions, but Kanrik had still stayed at his side the whole time. Dorian had realized very quickly that Kanrik was attractive, sweet, and not unreceptive to Dorian's advances. Though his advances had only been gentle flattery and thanks, but Kanrik had responded positively. If it hadn't been for how recently he'd made a fool out of himself and the campful of attentive soldiers, Dorian might have propositioned him right there. Thankfully, Dorian was a little more discreet than that and had only insisted that Kanrik meet him at the tavern and let Dorian buy him a drink as thanks.
Tonight, Dorian was going to offer, and he made sure to stack the deck in his favor before he left his chambers. He ensured his hair and mustache were properly groomed and picked out an outfit that would no doubt make Kanrik stare, if he was inclined. He's pulled on his tightest fitting pants, made of well-worn and buttery soft brown leather that made his thighs and ass look delicious, if he did say so himself. His shirt and artfully draped cloak were chosen to accent his lean but firm frame and bring out the color of his eyes.
By the time he was dressed and primped he was late. Well, later, because he'd already planned on being late. There was an art to being late, Doiran had learned, because you couldn't be only barely late enough that the target might not have even noticed you weren't there, but you couldn't be so late that the target started to get frustrated or suspicious. Just long enough to keep their mind on you, keep them guessing, and not any more time. Dorian had found that anything longer than fifteen minutes was too long, and found himself rushing down to the tavern to follow his own rule.
When he entered the tavern any sign of urgency was gone from his expression and posture. He looked utterly relaxed as he glanced around the room, slowly, hoping to be noticed by Kanrik before he could notice the Qunari.
After he'd made a spectacular fool of himself in the ruined mansion and accidentally called a hoard of demons to descend upon them, he'd been knocked clear into another bookshelf, leaving Kanrik to jump in front of the demons, slicing at them with his daggers. Dorian's head had been spinning from the blow to the head but he could still remember Kanrik's fighting clearly; he was graceful and efficient, despite his size, and not alarmed or confused by the demon's screams and otherworldly appearances. After that Dorian's memories got a little fuzzy, and the next thing he remembered were Kanrik's strong arms and warm hands manhandling him and picking him up to carry him all the way back to the camp. He hadn't even forgotten to pick up the mementos and notes Dorian had gone to pick up in the first place.
Dorian's injury had been fairly minor, and he felt fine after some rest and the liberal application of some healing potions, but Kanrik had still stayed at his side the whole time. Dorian had realized very quickly that Kanrik was attractive, sweet, and not unreceptive to Dorian's advances. Though his advances had only been gentle flattery and thanks, but Kanrik had responded positively. If it hadn't been for how recently he'd made a fool out of himself and the campful of attentive soldiers, Dorian might have propositioned him right there. Thankfully, Dorian was a little more discreet than that and had only insisted that Kanrik meet him at the tavern and let Dorian buy him a drink as thanks.
Tonight, Dorian was going to offer, and he made sure to stack the deck in his favor before he left his chambers. He ensured his hair and mustache were properly groomed and picked out an outfit that would no doubt make Kanrik stare, if he was inclined. He's pulled on his tightest fitting pants, made of well-worn and buttery soft brown leather that made his thighs and ass look delicious, if he did say so himself. His shirt and artfully draped cloak were chosen to accent his lean but firm frame and bring out the color of his eyes.
By the time he was dressed and primped he was late. Well, later, because he'd already planned on being late. There was an art to being late, Doiran had learned, because you couldn't be only barely late enough that the target might not have even noticed you weren't there, but you couldn't be so late that the target started to get frustrated or suspicious. Just long enough to keep their mind on you, keep them guessing, and not any more time. Dorian had found that anything longer than fifteen minutes was too long, and found himself rushing down to the tavern to follow his own rule.
When he entered the tavern any sign of urgency was gone from his expression and posture. He looked utterly relaxed as he glanced around the room, slowly, hoping to be noticed by Kanrik before he could notice the Qunari.
no subject
"You made it!" he says, pulling out the seat at the bar next to him, "I was starting to think I'd been stopd up!"
no subject
"I'm so sorry, I got caught up in some... business," Dorian says cryptically, seating himself carefully on the stool and angling his body towards Kanrik, "I wouldn't miss thanking my savior for anything." Dorian lowers his voice a little, into something more alluring, which also gives him the excuse of leaning in close to Kanrik. He leans back and faces the bar, catching the bartender's attention and motioning for two ales before turning back to Kanrik with a smirk.
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"What sort of business?" he asks, curiously, oblivious to Dorian's attempts to be alluring and secretive, "What have you been doing with all that stuff we retrieved?"
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"Just... Research," he says finally, after deciding that was close enough to almost be true, "I've... been working to track down the families of the apprentices and the soldiers. It's not as easy without the resources of my family, so it's slow going." Dorian shrugs, not wanting to let on how much the search had been bothering him. It was not lost on him that maybe if he'd been a little less nosy or stubborn he might have been one of those apprentices, blindly following in a magister's footsteps with only hopes of gaining enough favor to be independent.