( That draws out a better smile, something more steady, as faint as it might be. That is, until his brow furrows, perplexed. ) A haunted recipe?
( How literally should he take that? So many things here seem to strange that he knows not what frame of reference to use, how to assess. Perhaps his expression gives away his confusion, the uncertainty, and how foolish he knows he might sound. )
Not truly. [ The look on his face is much kinder, now. She likes that more than the sadness. ] It was a Nevarran specialty but I found it scattered across Thedas, in bakeries that never once would feel the heat of a Nevarran day. It's followed me to Skyhold, a fortress hidden deep inside mountains that are peaked year round with snow. [ Skyhold, an ancient castle filled with refugees. Even there, the blueberry tart is made and taken before she can even request one. She hopes those who get the pastries enjoy them just as she had. ]
( He listens with interest, a little amused as she explains the meaning. ) A more pleasant haunting than might have been imagined. My apologies for my foolishness this-- place seems rich with all manner of folly. 'Tis hard to make clear distinction, at times.
( The song carries on, rich notes of music light on the cool night air, and he chuckles a little, remembering something. ) Mine sister, she-- was gifted in the art of sneaking cooling pies from window sills, and equally so in making peace with the wounded baker. It became something of a game, in time.
Homeland, yes, but it is a foul place regardless. [ Despite the distaste in Cassandra's voice, she is smiling at him, their dance slow and barely in rhythm with the music, but she finds she does not care. She is as warm here as she's been all night and enjoying herself, just enough that she doesn't want to pull away or leave the ball as much as she did, prior. His story only brightens the look in her eyes, amusement coming naturally to her tone. ]
A delightful game, I'm sure. My... [ He speaks of sister, and perhaps its time for her to speak of brother. ] My brother often had to elbow and fight his way through oceans of other Pentaghasts to retrieve a scone, and yet he would always break the pastry in half and allow me the larger portion.
( A flicker of surprise at her disdain. He would say there is much flawed in the ways of the Ride, of Barghest, but he could never bring himself to speak of it with such distaste. It is his home: he is sorry to be parted from it, and so permanently at that. He does not comment on it, he does not know her world nor her place in it. )
An elder brother, I take it? ( He sounded similar to Signy, in that way. )
Yes. Anthony Pentaghast, one of the few who still held the name honourably. [ Dragon slayers, even if the Pentaghast's rarely indulged in such a sport anymore, rather sitting on what fame has rewarded them. Anthony was different. There had been so much promise in Anthony, climbing to incredible heights with his talents. ] The Pentaghast's are renowned dragon hunters, fierce and incredible. My brother was the best.
( he falters finally, at that. The dance stops, though his hands do not drop away. Leif is simply alarmed, surprised. )
My sister was my elder, honoured of our name. She was no dragon hunter, in truth, yet-- ( A slight smile catches the corner of his lips at the memory. ) A wyvern made its nest some leagues north west of our village. She concocted and executed a plan to capture one of its eggs, that she would have a fearsome steed to lead our people in battle.
( Marked of Óðinn, which meant more than leadership: it meant an understanding of the god's contradictions, of his dangers. It means knowing the challenge of leadership and the double edged blade it could be. Signy was terrible and kind, charming and devastating. She collected the dragon as much for her own pride as for it to be a symbol for their people. The parallels between their siblings, differences as there might also be, tug at old memories. )
High Dragons often end as tall as many of the buildings here, I would not recommend trying to find one and have it turned into a steed. [ Though, if Leif were to ask Iron Bull, that answer would be much different. Even with the music ended, he doesn't pull away and neither does she. Instead she continues to regard him, the distance between them and the small smile that catches his lips. ]
[ A handsome man. A polite one, a courteous one. Perhaps the night has gotten to her far too much because she leans in then with a chuckle. ] She sounds like a valiant woman.
The wyverns I speak of reached no such size, although-- ( He huffs a quiet laugh. ) I can only imagine it would have spurred her all the more.
( Signy and Iron Bull: a terrifying thought. )
She was. Our council of elders thought highly of her. ( Someone who was kind to those beneath her, and unafraid to speak bluntly to her elders and equals, rather than turning a honeyed tongue to those who might reward her for it? It had been an eye opener for many, doubtless, though not something easily accepted. ) At first they chided the effort, but-- in time they even saw fit to reward her with a title, when they saw the beast took to her with great affection. In the end, her wyvern joined her on her pyre.
( Quietly, words that should not have been spoken and were better kept as a thought rather than granted speech. ) Forgive me. That was-- ill-thought.
[ Dead siblings. Another thing Signy and Anthony share. Cassandra flicks her eyes away from Leif after a moment and her jaw momentarily tightens, fingers curling at his shoulder briefly. The music begins again but she stays still. ] As any good companion would. They sounded like a formidable pair.
[ It is not uncommon for the same to happen to mabari and their owners. The story still hurts. ]
( His jaw works a moment and, guiltily, Leif takes a step back, leaning forward into a bow. ) I fear I must take my leave. My temper is distorted, 'twould seem. I am like to turn any happy tale black under my tongue.
( He is poor company. He should remember this; parties have never been his strength. )
[ She understands. Cassandra doesn't yet step back as Leif disengages, his jacket still draped across her shoulders. He bows to her and she isn't sure how to feel about that. Instead she leans towards him once he's straightened, and presses her lips to his cheeks, fleetingly. This is supposed to be the nature of this city, isn't it? ] It seems stories like ours don't deserve the endings we wish.
Thank you, Leif. For trusting me. [ Because she knows that these cards are often held tight to ones chest. ]
( Ah. Even in this, the sweet gesture wins a faint smile. The words are more painful, but the actions speak strongly, and he appreciates them greatly. )
Mayhaps. Our stories are, as yet, still unfolding.
( The smile is pained, but a catches her hand. Just briefly, a squeeze, before his hand slips away. ) Trusting you is easily done, Cassandra.
( They have much in common, the two of them, but perhaps so much that it is painful. )
[ Easily done, he says. Cassandra's next breath is soft, a silent exclaim before she looks down and away from his face. He squeezes her hand and the simple contact leaves her skin warm, heated in a way she wishes would never stop. Her own expression is somber for a moment. Their similarities have not gone unnoticed-- they may not carry many of the same scars, but there are wounds that run the same in them both. ] I must wonder where you faith comes from, but I will not disappoint you.
Enjoy the rest your night. [ She backs away, slowly, eyes lingering on him before finally turning to return to the ballroom. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i'm sorry
( That draws out a better smile, something more steady, as faint as it might be. That is, until his brow furrows, perplexed. ) A haunted recipe?
( How literally should he take that? So many things here seem to strange that he knows not what frame of reference to use, how to assess. Perhaps his expression gives away his confusion, the uncertainty, and how foolish he knows he might sound. )
♥♥
no subject
( He listens with interest, a little amused as she explains the meaning. ) A more pleasant haunting than might have been imagined. My apologies for my foolishness this-- place seems rich with all manner of folly. 'Tis hard to make clear distinction, at times.
( The song carries on, rich notes of music light on the cool night air, and he chuckles a little, remembering something. ) Mine sister, she-- was gifted in the art of sneaking cooling pies from window sills, and equally so in making peace with the wounded baker. It became something of a game, in time.
no subject
A delightful game, I'm sure. My... [ He speaks of sister, and perhaps its time for her to speak of brother. ] My brother often had to elbow and fight his way through oceans of other Pentaghasts to retrieve a scone, and yet he would always break the pastry in half and allow me the larger portion.
no subject
An elder brother, I take it? ( He sounded similar to Signy, in that way. )
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no subject
My sister was my elder, honoured of our name. She was no dragon hunter, in truth, yet-- ( A slight smile catches the corner of his lips at the memory. ) A wyvern made its nest some leagues north west of our village. She concocted and executed a plan to capture one of its eggs, that she would have a fearsome steed to lead our people in battle.
( Marked of Óðinn, which meant more than leadership: it meant an understanding of the god's contradictions, of his dangers. It means knowing the challenge of leadership and the double edged blade it could be. Signy was terrible and kind, charming and devastating. She collected the dragon as much for her own pride as for it to be a symbol for their people. The parallels between their siblings, differences as there might also be, tug at old memories. )
no subject
[ A handsome man. A polite one, a courteous one. Perhaps the night has gotten to her far too much because she leans in then with a chuckle. ] She sounds like a valiant woman.
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( Signy and Iron Bull: a terrifying thought. )
She was. Our council of elders thought highly of her. ( Someone who was kind to those beneath her, and unafraid to speak bluntly to her elders and equals, rather than turning a honeyed tongue to those who might reward her for it? It had been an eye opener for many, doubtless, though not something easily accepted. ) At first they chided the effort, but-- in time they even saw fit to reward her with a title, when they saw the beast took to her with great affection. In the end, her wyvern joined her on her pyre.
( Quietly, words that should not have been spoken and were better kept as a thought rather than granted speech. ) Forgive me. That was-- ill-thought.
no subject
[ It is not uncommon for the same to happen to mabari and their owners. The story still hurts. ]
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( His jaw works a moment and, guiltily, Leif takes a step back, leaning forward into a bow. ) I fear I must take my leave. My temper is distorted, 'twould seem. I am like to turn any happy tale black under my tongue.
( He is poor company. He should remember this; parties have never been his strength. )
no subject
Thank you, Leif. For trusting me. [ Because she knows that these cards are often held tight to ones chest. ]
no subject
Mayhaps. Our stories are, as yet, still unfolding.
( The smile is pained, but a catches her hand. Just briefly, a squeeze, before his hand slips away. ) Trusting you is easily done, Cassandra.
( They have much in common, the two of them, but perhaps so much that it is painful. )
no subject
Enjoy the rest your night. [ She backs away, slowly, eyes lingering on him before finally turning to return to the ballroom. ]