nonvenomous | Inbox

[ Fascinating.

The fire, and an individual caught between the norms of two (three?) distinct cultures. Richard takes another (shorter) hit, baking in the bake to last, and offers the joint back, if she still wants it while she’s lying down. ]

I’m sorry to hear that, [ is a thing people say. ]

Thanks, [is a thing people say in response. ]

Do you have family back home?

[ Sure she'll take the last hit, prone, before flicking the roach into the fire. She tries again to blow rings and some of them kind of almost look good! Wow. ]

[ What should be an easy I don’t manifests as a scoff through his teeth, half a grin tell-tale before he can iron it into a grimace behind the scrub of his left hand. ]

Not as such, [ he says, turning to slant a brow at her in her recline. ]

Probably not at all anymore, if I’m honest. [ You know -- in that unlikely circumstance. Was that a ring? ]

What rites weren’t you given?

Rites of passage. When Dalish elves come of age, we get a symbol of the god that represents our values tattooed on our face. Going through it without making a sound is kind of proof that you're ready for adulthood.

[ The more she thinks about it, the more she has to wonder how different she might've been if she'd been able to earn that rite. Would she be happier? ]

Are you sad about not having much-or-as-such a family? [ Just to gauge how sad she should be for him. ]

I had wondered about the tattoos.

[ Specifically the absence of them, in her case. But more broadly beyond that as well -- his contact with anyone even remotely Dalish has been limited. Obviously. ]

A little bit, [ he’s willing to admit, in exchange. ] I’m not sad about much of anything.

[ Gravity has fully taken hold of his shoulders, and the set of his elbows over his knees, slouching them forward. His breathing has slowed; there’s an arch absence to his consideration of the question -- self-aware. Lying down is tempting.

He stays seated. ]

Could you still have it done?

[ Athessa gestures noncommitally at roughly the speed you'd expect from someone neck deep in treacle. ]

Not unless another clan wants to take pity on me, but I'm not even sure I'd want it, anyway.

[ She turns her head to regard him, her expression of awe muted by the elfroot haze and the languid relaxation it brings. The structural integrity of a Beanie Baby™. ]

I wish I could be not sad about stuff. Is that on purpose?

[ Dick hikes his brows, as mild in acceptance of her ambivalence as he is in most things. That’s fair.

Her next question isn’t necessarily more difficult to answer, but it is more complicated, and potentially more unsettling. His guard hasn’t entirely evaporated with his posture. ]

It’s the way that I am.

[ He woke up like this. ]

[ She could explain that it's their pity she wouldn't want, but she's too busy marveling at what, to her, seems like a stroke of good luck. ]

I'm the opposite. I feel too much all the time, whether I want to or not. Hence all the-- [ The paraphernalia is taken in with a sweeping gesture. Look, look at all this weed. ] --kinda makes it less...overwhelming.

[ A log shifts in the fire, stirring sparks through the smoke, and Richard watches embers glowing crisp at a freshly exposed edge. He’s quiet for a long time, peripherally aware of her sweeping gesture and the paraphernalia it encompasses. ]

Is that a Dalish predisposition or something unique to you?

[ He finally looks back over to her when he asks, manners coasting on backup power. ]

Pretty sure it's just me. But I dunno, I haven't asked anyone else if they feel the same.

[ Dick links his fingers between his knees, knuckles hooked together in a loose tangle. ]

There are ways to center the mind away from extremes in situations where getting stoned may not be practical.

[ He pauses to reflect: ]

Not that I’ve seen any evidence of it hindering your performance in the field.

Oh, I'm not usually stoned in the field. I mean, I've gotten stoned in fields but not.

[ Squint. ]

Not when I'm working, I mean. If I'm stoned while working? Something's wrong.

[ She's used smoke to keep injured people comfortable and disinclined to move around and hurt themselves before the healer arrives, so it stands to reason that she'd have to be in a similar strait. ]

...Being emotional, [ Richard clarifies, helpfully, after a beat that might be strange if he wasn’t committed to being strange all of the time. His posture hasn’t changed. ]

I haven’t seen any evidence of your being emotional hindering your ability to complete an objective.

[ The alternate denial is a curious one. He is clearly making a Mental Note -- prying interest briefly transparent in the furrow of his brow. ]

Oh. [ Granted, they haven't worked together all that often, but-- ] Well. That's reassuring I guess.

Maybe it's because I have an objective to focus on.

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