Most of them seem to be no more than idle scribblings, vague figures of people, or horses, or the blocky shape of Kirkwall's unrelenting statuary. A few seem more extensive, renderings in common charcoal and the rare bit of ink. Beleth's face is easily recognizable, lined with loving familiarity, next to the graceful bend of a Halla's ear, or a somewhat incorrect image of a ship in the harbor-- something wrong in the rigging, or the way the sails bend. It's rough there, as if Sorrel gave it several tries and settled on its current form with only grudging satisfaction.
There is a sound, from the back room as if someone had thrown something softish and hit the wall.
They're quite good, some of them, but seem to have all been given little consideration, the black made cloudy-grey in many places where simple, careless friction has rendered what was good into a blur almost beyond comprehension. One or two are torn some ways down, as if a strip had been taken out of the paper for some unknowable reason.
"Found it!" Sorrel makes his return, carrying a soft brown something in one hand, about the size of a very flat kitten, "Now, I know these were gifts. But where I'm from we like to give in turn, where we can. I don't know if it works the same in kirkwall..."
Adasse tipped his chin to the side, taking in the measure of the art before him -- because it truly was art. It was hard, not reaching down to flip through the various pieces, to find something he would call his favorite.
He shifted back as soon as Sorrel's step could be heard on the stone, leaning against the wall as if he hadn't moved a muscle. He unfolded his arms, looking curiously at it. "... Well I always like gifts. Uh, what ... is it?"
"Look and see," He says instead of explaining, and tosses the bundle at Adasse. It's a pair of gloves, soft doeskin, without fingers, embroidered around the cuffs with green thread like little vines, or leafless branches, "Now I might not be much for cities, but I was born in the Free Marches and it gets cold enough that even a master thief might like something to keep his hands warm. I meant them for Beleth."
He admits it a little sheepishly-- although even a cursory examination could tell that the gloves are nothing like her size. Errors were made, so it would seem, but much to Adasse's benefit.
Now it is Adasse's turn to be stunned momentarily to silence, as he stares at the gloves in his hand. He rubs his fingers along the fine stitching -- knowing by the size alone these were never meant for Beleth. The leather is soft, supple, as easy to slip on as diving into water. He pulls them on and twists his hands this way and that, before he looks up at Sorrel with shining dark eyes.
"...These are ... these are the most beautiful gloves I've ever owned. Ever. I - thank you. Thank you so much, Sorrel."
Almost immediately, Sorrel has to look away, the tips of his ears already starting a blush. Oh honestly, Adasse, you can't have a face like that; there ought to be a law.
"S'just a pair of archer's gloves," He mumbles, combing one hand back through his hair, as embarrassed as he is pleased, "Nothing to worry about."
And they do suit Adasse, after all. The fit is well enough and... and well, look at him!
"Just consider it a... thank you, for helping acquire such fine gifts for Sina."
Well, now you're just going to going to get the biggest grin ever, as Adasse looks at his gloves once more. "Hey, a thief knows his crafting, serah. These are handstitched, Dalish-made leather gloves. The workmanship alone would make these top notch -- but the designed stitching? Seriously, Sorrel ... I ... never owned anything like this."
He paused, for a moment, then stated simply, "Can I hug you? Is that okay?"
"Of course they're Dali-- Adasse," Finally, he senses the joke, and turns back to offer Adasse an exasperated look; he of course does this just in time to catch the sincerity flat-footed, "Uh... Well, of course it is."
And then he stands there, like a fool, as if he weren't entirely sure what to do with his hands.
Adasse's eyes flashed laughter, before he moves forward and wraps his arms around Sorrel, hugging him tightly and with as much gratitude as he can carry in his thin frame.
"Yes ... yes we very much are."
And that was a dangerous thing right there, but Adasse rolled the dice on this one. For a man who gave him such a fine present with nothing more than baubles in return? It was completely worth it to risk friendship over caution.
Sorrel doesn't like to think of himself as someone who is, by nature, a hugger. If asked, he would prefer to imagine a somewhat rakish, lone-wolf sort, walking the forests with the same fearless confidence that he faces fade demons. The reality is a little more touch-starved, and when Adasse presses in around him, Sorrel can't help but return the gesture, just as tightly.
Alright, so perhaps he's a hugger. But only a little.
Shut up.
"I'm glad to hear it," He replies, meaning it to come out with the aforementioned confidence, and is chagrined when the sound that emerges from his mouth is caught awkwardly between a mumble and a whisper. Dammit, "I should go... see if Sina's woken up. She'll be glad too-- for the gifts, I mean. And maybe that I've made a friend."
And so too, indeed, must all good things come to an end. Sorrel lets go.
Adasse would also like to think of himself as a lone wolf -- but sometimes ... even a wolf could use a little affection. Or, a great deal, if the tightness of their hug was anything.
He leans back as Sorrel does, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, of course. Give her my best. Tell her if she wants anything else ... I'm on it."
He smiles, saluting with one hand, before he headed towards the door. He pauses there for a moment, looking over his shoulder. "Remember, I'm right up the stairs, if you need anything, all right?"
"I'll remember," He nods, smiling Adasse out the door with a wave, "Who could forget you?"
And then, only after Adasse is gone, can he breathe a sigh, glance around the suite and marvel at how suddenly it seems so empty. But there's always more to do, and even if it takes Sorrel a moment or three, he remembers, and the smile fades a little as life returns to its old familiar grooves.
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no subject
Most of them seem to be no more than idle scribblings, vague figures of people, or horses, or the blocky shape of Kirkwall's unrelenting statuary. A few seem more extensive, renderings in common charcoal and the rare bit of ink. Beleth's face is easily recognizable, lined with loving familiarity, next to the graceful bend of a Halla's ear, or a somewhat incorrect image of a ship in the harbor-- something wrong in the rigging, or the way the sails bend. It's rough there, as if Sorrel gave it several tries and settled on its current form with only grudging satisfaction.
There is a sound, from the back room as if someone had thrown something softish and hit the wall.
They're quite good, some of them, but seem to have all been given little consideration, the black made cloudy-grey in many places where simple, careless friction has rendered what was good into a blur almost beyond comprehension. One or two are torn some ways down, as if a strip had been taken out of the paper for some unknowable reason.
"Found it!" Sorrel makes his return, carrying a soft brown something in one hand, about the size of a very flat kitten, "Now, I know these were gifts. But where I'm from we like to give in turn, where we can. I don't know if it works the same in kirkwall..."
no subject
Adasse tipped his chin to the side, taking in the measure of the art before him -- because it truly was art. It was hard, not reaching down to flip through the various pieces, to find something he would call his favorite.
He shifted back as soon as Sorrel's step could be heard on the stone, leaning against the wall as if he hadn't moved a muscle. He unfolded his arms, looking curiously at it. "... Well I always like gifts. Uh, what ... is it?"
no subject
He admits it a little sheepishly-- although even a cursory examination could tell that the gloves are nothing like her size. Errors were made, so it would seem, but much to Adasse's benefit.
"But I think they might suit you better."
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"...These are ... these are the most beautiful gloves I've ever owned. Ever. I - thank you. Thank you so much, Sorrel."
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"S'just a pair of archer's gloves," He mumbles, combing one hand back through his hair, as embarrassed as he is pleased, "Nothing to worry about."
And they do suit Adasse, after all. The fit is well enough and... and well, look at him!
"Just consider it a... thank you, for helping acquire such fine gifts for Sina."
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He paused, for a moment, then stated simply, "Can I hug you? Is that okay?"
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And then he stands there, like a fool, as if he weren't entirely sure what to do with his hands.
"We are friends, aren't we?"
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"Yes ... yes we very much are."
And that was a dangerous thing right there, but Adasse rolled the dice on this one. For a man who gave him such a fine present with nothing more than baubles in return? It was completely worth it to risk friendship over caution.
no subject
Alright, so perhaps he's a hugger. But only a little.
Shut up.
"I'm glad to hear it," He replies, meaning it to come out with the aforementioned confidence, and is chagrined when the sound that emerges from his mouth is caught awkwardly between a mumble and a whisper. Dammit, "I should go... see if Sina's woken up. She'll be glad too-- for the gifts, I mean. And maybe that I've made a friend."
And so too, indeed, must all good things come to an end. Sorrel lets go.
no subject
He leans back as Sorrel does, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, of course. Give her my best. Tell her if she wants anything else ... I'm on it."
He smiles, saluting with one hand, before he headed towards the door. He pauses there for a moment, looking over his shoulder. "Remember, I'm right up the stairs, if you need anything, all right?"
no subject
And then, only after Adasse is gone, can he breathe a sigh, glance around the suite and marvel at how suddenly it seems so empty. But there's always more to do, and even if it takes Sorrel a moment or three, he remembers, and the smile fades a little as life returns to its old familiar grooves.