Hehehe! As much as I'd love to play out envenoming Lazy Daisy's rebuke, chastising the Flame's infamous subtlety and berating Thomas' penchant for letting everyone around him die I think it time to let Mokey Pokey take point. I'll roll out a post after the die is cast.
WittyReference Member
the Living Dead
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She'd start a fight if she sneezed and no one said gesundheit.
I feel like I've gotta interrupt y'all before you burn down the island or something, so I'll be working on a post! xD
EDIT: I'm keeping the flask.
If I don't hear back from Tweak I'll throw out another post as well. Correct me if I'm wrong but so far I've extrapolated Varric probably knows of the Flame's reputation from his dealings with pirates, recognizes Temp's suit as Myrefall fashion being of vain nobility and spent some time around Thomas being on the VIP level of the ship as it were. Since they both fled from Glaifast we can build on that at some point. As long as it makes sense, feel free to make any such interpretations yourself, no character is created in a vacuum and the most interesting ones have ties beyond the Main Story.
Well well, looks who's awake.
Yo yo, happy weekend y'all
Haha! Hey now, Lazy is a smart lass, there's coin to be made as long as she doesn't let the goatman eat her benefactor :p
That confusion might be my fault, Ifor and the others are still very much alive - Varric simply assumed he was the only survivor since, y'know, he's the best.
Edit: I've posted more than enough so far so feel free to take the helm on our interaction, Virgil. I'm also interested to see Liliana's reaction to the Stockholm pitch. Really though I'm mostly stalling until @nyxella finishes her CS
Edit: I've posted more than enough so far so feel free to take the helm on our interaction, Virgil. I'm also interested to see Liliana's reaction to the Stockholm pitch. Really though I'm mostly stalling until @nyxella finishes her CS
Lazy. How...bucolic.
Varric was in hell. He had died upon the ship and this was hell. Gangly beasts underfoot, scraggly and misshapen succubi sent to mock his suffering, this was hell.
A drink. A drink! Swallowed by the ocean, churned up and spat out by the gaping maw of salinity, swirled head over hind in the rip tide and the she-devil offers him a drink. No irony is as sharp or as tasteless as that of Fate herself. Varric was moments from hurling himself once more into the brine when the light of recognition blazed in his eyes. No, no, this girl had been on the ship. She was slovenly and dirty and ne'er worth his glance but he distinctly remembered her there. Something about her seemed...different. Had the refuse of the burning, bleeding Folly actually made her...cleaner?
But if she yet lived...yes, yes, then perhaps the more valuable members of the crew had survived as well. Yes, she would do for now, keep this one on the leash until a sharper pair of teeth came along. As father said, better to stand with a fair-weather friend than wade in the dark alone. Peering around, Varric reasoned he was up to his knees in it.
Lithe fingers stretched cloyingly as he took the flask from the young women. It would do nicely. I believe I do remember you. You must forgive me, amidst the dirt and the smell I mistook you for a rather emaciated sow but I see now I was mistaken. Varric smiled knowingly, a look that could equally have been sincerity or chiding jest. With resolution, he took a sip from the maligned metal in his fingers, much to his chagrin. The woman's small size belied her fortitude as the liquor conjured another coughing fit, threatening to impede on the nobleman's spiel.
Small fortune, should we happen upon a lighthouse we'll have plenty of kerosene on hand! He blinked away welling tears as he continued, offering the flask back to its owner. Unless... he said sharply, turning to pace once more, snatching the flask with him and no doubt catching her eye. That's right, listen close little bird.
Unless you intend to drown any chance we have of leaving this island in that acrid concoction. You see, I am a man of great wealth and power. My name is feared and respected far and wide. I am High Lord Varric III, will of House Draleth...and...presumably the last living heir... Varric's bravado slipped for just a moment as the realization clawed into his mind. Could he really be the last?
Ah, erm, as I was saying, I am very influential and treat my friends very well. It would seem that we are bound together whether we link it or not. So, if you believe you could be of some use to me... Varric loomed as he spoke, his lilt veiled in condescension, no matter how insignificant, -his emphatic posture returned as did his amiable tone- I see no reason we could not enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement. Varric paced nearer to the young woman, each step measured, each breath deliberate.
If you help me leave this thrice-damned isle, when I return to my family's Fortress I shall set you on official retinue and Patron your arts myself. With a flourish he stopped just before Lazy, her flask still clutched in his long pale fingers. Just think my dear, all the vile brew your distended belly can hold and all the silken strings your filthy nails could snap. We're stuck in this together anyway, you might as well get something out of it, correct?
Varric smiled warmly as he offered the flask to the woman in earnest. So then. Have we an accord?
Varric was in hell. He had died upon the ship and this was hell. Gangly beasts underfoot, scraggly and misshapen succubi sent to mock his suffering, this was hell.
A drink. A drink! Swallowed by the ocean, churned up and spat out by the gaping maw of salinity, swirled head over hind in the rip tide and the she-devil offers him a drink. No irony is as sharp or as tasteless as that of Fate herself. Varric was moments from hurling himself once more into the brine when the light of recognition blazed in his eyes. No, no, this girl had been on the ship. She was slovenly and dirty and ne'er worth his glance but he distinctly remembered her there. Something about her seemed...different. Had the refuse of the burning, bleeding Folly actually made her...cleaner?
But if she yet lived...yes, yes, then perhaps the more valuable members of the crew had survived as well. Yes, she would do for now, keep this one on the leash until a sharper pair of teeth came along. As father said, better to stand with a fair-weather friend than wade in the dark alone. Peering around, Varric reasoned he was up to his knees in it.
Lithe fingers stretched cloyingly as he took the flask from the young women. It would do nicely. I believe I do remember you. You must forgive me, amidst the dirt and the smell I mistook you for a rather emaciated sow but I see now I was mistaken. Varric smiled knowingly, a look that could equally have been sincerity or chiding jest. With resolution, he took a sip from the maligned metal in his fingers, much to his chagrin. The woman's small size belied her fortitude as the liquor conjured another coughing fit, threatening to impede on the nobleman's spiel.
Small fortune, should we happen upon a lighthouse we'll have plenty of kerosene on hand! He blinked away welling tears as he continued, offering the flask back to its owner. Unless... he said sharply, turning to pace once more, snatching the flask with him and no doubt catching her eye. That's right, listen close little bird.
Unless you intend to drown any chance we have of leaving this island in that acrid concoction. You see, I am a man of great wealth and power. My name is feared and respected far and wide. I am High Lord Varric III, will of House Draleth...and...presumably the last living heir... Varric's bravado slipped for just a moment as the realization clawed into his mind. Could he really be the last?
Ah, erm, as I was saying, I am very influential and treat my friends very well. It would seem that we are bound together whether we link it or not. So, if you believe you could be of some use to me... Varric loomed as he spoke, his lilt veiled in condescension, no matter how insignificant, -his emphatic posture returned as did his amiable tone- I see no reason we could not enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement. Varric paced nearer to the young woman, each step measured, each breath deliberate.
If you help me leave this thrice-damned isle, when I return to my family's Fortress I shall set you on official retinue and Patron your arts myself. With a flourish he stopped just before Lazy, her flask still clutched in his long pale fingers. Just think my dear, all the vile brew your distended belly can hold and all the silken strings your filthy nails could snap. We're stuck in this together anyway, you might as well get something out of it, correct?
Varric smiled warmly as he offered the flask to the woman in earnest. So then. Have we an accord?
Alright, short post. Shouldn't eat up too much while the others come around but should offer some characterization as well as something for Liliana to chew on. Varric and I, we're people-pleasers.
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