"No, no." A wag of the finger, less scolding and more just habitual punctuation. The man talks with his hands. "You fell out of the sky. I came from my mother's—"
Somewhere nearby, a dog barks loudly.
"But I'll give you the kneecaps." Wait, will he? He files back through the rough slew of questions pressed and answered. Squints. Gives her a look to confirm— "Cultist kneecaps?" Right?
She shrugs. "Any kneecaps." That's the secret—but he's a dagger-for-hire-type, right, so it's something he'll understand.
Arguing with him is actually quite fun. Abby's enjoying herself and she's long-since forgotten to start playing good tour guide, pointing things out to him in passing. Hands deep in her pockets she says, "We have mothers in the sky, you know."
'Any kneecaps' prompts a certain off the cuff approving head tilt and flex of eyebrows. Yeah, he gets it. He might get it more if the full reply was 'Any kneecaps I'm getting paid to break,' but what is he, particular? No. No Amanza for four generations has survived well by being choosy.
"Allegedly. You can't show me one."
To say that he's made a career of being fun to argue with wouldn't, strictly, be an understatement. It probably helps that in this instance, he is blatantly less than serious as they wind along various narrow streets and traipse up two to five stairs at a time. Or maybe it's just hard to take a man seriously who springs along like an aggressive little dog, cigarillo bobbing between his lips and the buckle of his sword belt clinking companionably against some rivet at his hip.
"You," rifters, "Could say anything about anything and everyone would just have to take your word for it. That's some opportunity for bullshit, if you ask me."
"I think," Abby replies dryly, nudging into him to make him go left at the top of the flight of stairs that they're currently working on, "You underestimate how much people take my word for it."
It isn't actually fun to bullshit people who don't understand the bullshit you're trying to sell to them either, which can be an issue with people from Thedas. The flow of the joke gets ruined when you have to stop and explain parts of it, et cetera.
She points at him now.
"You just told me that moms from my world aren't real until I can show you one." Case in point??
"That's different," he says as he's nudged left. A deep drag on the bobbing cigarillo circles back with a heavy exhale of woody smelling smoke. "On account of mine being very sharp."
These rifters may have it in them to hoodwink the rest of Thedas, but he's built different.'
(Ha ha ha; this, says some punctuation of his dark eyebrows, is a good joke.)
"Jesus," she mutters, grimacing at the thought of the CBI outbreak spilling out like that into other places, moulding over the entirety of existence bit by bit. Abby doesn't doubt that it would fucking try it out of sheer, weaponised aggression.
New nightmare unlocked? Thank you, Desidério Amanza.
She scoffs. "No. Kinda think I deserve to be retired from fighting darkspawn."
And yet, if they dared to pop up again, she'd go out there with everybody else and do something about it. Abby knows this. She adds, "Couple years back the entire Gallows got attacked by walking skeletons. Ever popped knees like that? S'kinda satisfying."
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Somewhere nearby, a dog barks loudly.
"But I'll give you the kneecaps." Wait, will he? He files back through the rough slew of questions pressed and answered. Squints. Gives her a look to confirm— "Cultist kneecaps?" Right?
no subject
Arguing with him is actually quite fun. Abby's enjoying herself and she's long-since forgotten to start playing good tour guide, pointing things out to him in passing. Hands deep in her pockets she says, "We have mothers in the sky, you know."
no subject
"Allegedly. You can't show me one."
To say that he's made a career of being fun to argue with wouldn't, strictly, be an understatement. It probably helps that in this instance, he is blatantly less than serious as they wind along various narrow streets and traipse up two to five stairs at a time. Or maybe it's just hard to take a man seriously who springs along like an aggressive little dog, cigarillo bobbing between his lips and the buckle of his sword belt clinking companionably against some rivet at his hip.
"You," rifters, "Could say anything about anything and everyone would just have to take your word for it. That's some opportunity for bullshit, if you ask me."
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It isn't actually fun to bullshit people who don't understand the bullshit you're trying to sell to them either, which can be an issue with people from Thedas. The flow of the joke gets ruined when you have to stop and explain parts of it, et cetera.
She points at him now.
"You just told me that moms from my world aren't real until I can show you one." Case in point??
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These rifters may have it in them to hoodwink the rest of Thedas, but he's built different.'
(Ha ha ha; this, says some punctuation of his dark eyebrows, is a good joke.)
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Yet he believed that she fell from the sky in the first place, which Abby would argue is one of the harder parts of the sell. Anyway.
"So what if I told you that I came here from my world's version of a Blight? Bullshit or real?"
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Desidério Amanza, ladies and gentleman. An optomist.
"Also, you're built like you've been fighting darkspawn all day. Has the Warden tried to recruit you yet? I hear Riftwatch has one."
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New nightmare unlocked? Thank you, Desidério Amanza.
She scoffs. "No. Kinda think I deserve to be retired from fighting darkspawn."
And yet, if they dared to pop up again, she'd go out there with everybody else and do something about it. Abby knows this. She adds, "Couple years back the entire Gallows got attacked by walking skeletons. Ever popped knees like that? S'kinda satisfying."