Cenn_icon.gif Davan_icon.gif

Scene Title Entertaining A Templar
Synopsis Cenn has dinner with a Tevinter mage
Location Quaint Manor
Date August 9, 2016
Watch For Cenn really does have game.
Logger Davan

The fact is that Davan has hired someone for just about everything under the sun. There's a person for cooking, cleaning, laundry, even one who fetches things from the market between deliveries. So it should be NO surprise at all that he has someone to answer the door and usher Cenn in. It's probably less surprising that there's a fluffy grey and white fox there to greet him to the tune of tinkling silver bells and the clack of little gold plated claws on the tile.

Despite what his accent might lead one to assume, Cenn d'Argent is Orlesian. While he only spent his first seven years in his homeland, his mother had not raised a savage. Thus, getting an invitation to dinner from someone who could be qualified as properly civilized meant a couple of things in Cenn's life. Firstly, that he was going to need a new set of clothes. Because, well, the things available in the communal closets of the Gallows just… Would not do. So he'd seen a tailor, and arrives in blue, Orlesian silk and a soft, breathable velvet breeches in ivory. It's distinctly Orlesian, the lot, with a coat cut to the knee, though the embellishment is more subdued than would see if they were actually in the land of masks and lionettes. Secondly, he was definitely bringing a gift for his host. Thus it is that a box wrapped in paper sits in the crook of his elbow, tied in a red, satin ribbon that is bold against the blue of his clothes. Thirdly, it means that Cenn does not blink when a servant lets him in, just smiles, bow his head in thanks, and waits where he is told to do so. Princess, though, she earns a smile, and the Lieutenant dropping to one knee to say hello.

People who appreciate Princess are Princess' favorite people, so of course Cenn is going to get that enthusiastic wiggle greeting accompanied by that odd yipping sound. "There you are," Davan greets as he finally makes his entrance. "Well, I suppose you really are Orlesian after all," he comments, and it's definitely a compliment. His own clothing is probably more suited to his homeland, and someone had to have used a spell to get that mix of purples all on one fabric. "I hope we didn't keep you waiting. I've had Carys move in and the delivery from the seamstress for her things came just as Liddy came to tell me you were here. It's been positively busy here. But come in, my cook has been dying to have someone who is actually Orlesian to cook for. Apparently we Northerners don't… how did he put it? Have too spicy a pallet?"

Enthusiastic greetings get met with gentle petting and soft, quiet compliments on her fur, as though Princess is in every way the Lady of the House who need be assauged with mentions of her fashion. Looking up as Davan comes in, Cenn smiles and laughs, rising to his feet. "I do keep trying to tell people it is true. Though, I do hope I don't manage to disappoint your chef. There are certainly some of my countrymen that are fussier than I am." Cenn says, giving light to what it is that confuses people each time. Well, that and the fact that he actually likes dogs. "It was not much of a wait at all. And even if it was, this dear is quite good at entertaining the guests." He assures with a nod to Princess. Shifting the box in his arms from his elbow more properly to his hand, he inclines his head slightly. "Do you prefer gifts left with one of the staff or do you accept them yourself?" Because, well, he's never been hosted by a Tevinter before.

"I fail to see how you could ever disappoint anyone," Davan assures as he reaches out to take hold of Cenn's arm. "Well, in Tevinter we're all posture. So you'd hand it to one slave who would hand it to another, and thence on to the recipient. That way, if something is going to explode…" He makes a motion with his free hand to indicate said explosion. "But I don't keep slaves and I trust you. So you can hand it to me if you want. Now you have to tell me if I open it now or later. I'm horrible at suspense, by the way." Princess, now satisfied that she's gotten her due of attention, leads the way into the main room. "You've shown her attention, she will love you forever."

Cenn laughs again, taking Davan's arm without flinching. Good, he's keeping his shit together so far. That's something, at least. "Whichever you would like. I have no compunctions about seeing your reaction to it." He answers, offering the box. Inside is a silk scarf, silver, with embroidery of twisting, white vines. Ironically, not all that far off of Princess' coloration. "Well, I am generally happy to make friends."

Davan is not one to be shy about opening a gift and the scarf? "It's beautiful," is his reaction and, without pausing to think, he leans to kiss Cenn's cheek. Of course, then it occurs to him that he might have asked. "Well, I've never been known for thinking before I act. I do have something for you, to make up for that drink I didn't get to buy you. I'm afraid it's not to Lowtown standards, but it might do while we wait?" Which means he's going to lead them into the main room, which might be a little warm, since the fire's going. He can't help it, Kirkwall is cold.

Kirkwall is cold, he says. Cenn, by contrast, is dying a little bit in silk and velvet with a fire in the hearth. Not that he says anything. Not by a long shot. The kiss to his cheek just makes him smile, luckily. "It is fine. I am glad you like it." Because, well, he is Orlesian. Cheek kisses were hello in Orlais. "I am sure it will be more than sufficient." He assures with a small laugh. Good, good, smiling, laughing, even being graceful. So far, so good.

"Careful. If you're too forgiving, I'll forget that I was taught any manners at all. …and you're probably wilting in here. I keep forgetting that this is actually warm to most everyone else." Davan picks up a glass and holds it out to Cenn before nodding toward one of the doors. "The dining room will be cooler, but here's the brandy I promised you. You might need it, we're scandalizing the cook by not eating in the formal, but those chairs." Are apparently appalling. "At home it's usually couches. I thought you might find it amusing."

"In Orlais, you'd be insulting someone if you didn't kiss them after they handed you a gift. So I really cannot say I am being forgiving in any capacity." Cenn says with a laugh that is quickly followed by a sigh of relief. "Truthfully? Yes. It is… Quite warm. I suppose I have spent too long in Ferelden." He says, taking the glass with a soft touch and moving slowly toward the aforementioned door. "I won't complain about couches but… What precisely is wrong with these chairs?"

Davan picks up his own glass and laughs. "Those straight backed things? They're pretty enough, but they're not as comfortable. Just trust me," he assures before opening the door that leads into a room that could have come straight from Tevinter. There are couches around an oblong structure that contains wood for a fire that isn't lit. "This is what's wrong with chairs. Of course, the way it's supposed to be done is reclining, but I'd probably have to teach you." He holds up a hand. "Not that I'm insulting you, but … well, it takes practice to be that lazy. Unless you'd like to learn. It's not a skill you'll put much into use beyond this."

Again, Cenn is laughing, smiling, seems for all the world perfectly at ease. Enjoying himself, even, as he shakes his head. "They're the only thing comfortable when you're in the underpinnings that are fashionable in Orlais. They force perfect posture." He says, and when Davan opens the door, he blinks, staring. Honestly, he's never seen anything even remotely like this. Tevinter culture isn't well spread, even as a fashionable oddity, in the South. "Well, I am rarely one to say no to learning a new skill, but I will not insist either." He says with a grin that has a touch of mischief. "This is beautiful, though. I cannot say I've seen much of Tevinter decorating, it is unique, and pleasant." Nevermind that it did not raise the chances, even a little, of him ever actually stepping foot in the country itself.

"To tell you the truth, we only use these for private dining these days. They used to be the only way anyone ate, but times change. …actually, fashion changes. Everyone started wearing pants and it all went downhill from there." Davan informs, entirely amused by it all. "If you're willing to learn…" He gestures toward one of the couches. "There's a lot of beauty in my homeland. Unfortunately, it doesn't reach all the levels of society. Now, the trick is to stretch out with your elbow on the pillowed portion there at the end."

Cenn nods. "There was a time, when I was young, where it was the fashion to eat everything raw. It was…" The Lieutenant cringes a little, washing the thought down with a drink of brandy. "This is… More than sufficient." He says with a laugh, lifting the glass is gentle gesture. Walking over the indicated couch, Cenn looks it over, sets his glass aside safely, and then settles. It is… Graceful enough to be respectable, if not quite exactly what Davan meant. Retriever he may be, but all Orlesians had a lion in their heart and they'll be damned if lions cannot lounge.

"Everything?" Davan's color takes on a somewhat pallid tone for a moment before he shakes the thought off. "You're a natural at that. Are you certain you're entirely Orlesian?" Now THERE's a question, but he isn't really expecting an answer. Instead, he picks up a cushion and walks over to indicate Cenn's arm. "Lift. This will make it easier for you to eat, and if it's not comfortable then you're absolutely allowed to sit. I'm not going to come over here and pin you back down." He pretends to think it over for a second and then gives an absolutely innocent look. "No matter how tempting the thought."

"Everything." Cenn confirms, shuddering a little at the memory. That had been… Well, luckily it was Spring and lighter fare had been acceptable. There had been a lot of meals made purely of fruit for him. And then there is that question. It was his turn to go pale, though it is rather more profound than the slightly-sickened loss of color at the thought of raw food. "Yes." He answers, voice tight. Cenn is a terrible liar when the lies are his own secrets. He can defend others all day, but himself? Hopeless. None the less, he lifts when indicated, and then nods, laughs, forces himself to calm the fuck down. Look, he's even smirking now. "What if I asked very nicely?"

Davan is, fortunately, very good at not pressing when the answers come that tense. "Oh, I suppose if you asked nicely," he answers, making a show of giving in. "I warn you, we Tevine are predatory." He makes a show of that pinning before laughing. "Don't worry, I intend to feed you first." With that, he reaches out to retrieve Cenn's glass to hand it back to him. "You're mostly safe."

Look, real talk, this was not a bluff from the Templar. He is entirely okay with this idea, and the warning only makes him shiver slightly, like a drop of ice water creeped down his spine. He will accept this pinning with nothing short of a pleased smile and a low, quiet sound that doesn't quite make it to full 'purr' range, but is damn close. "Safe, hm?" Cenn responds, taking the glass and sipping, "Why ruin a good thing with a silly thing like that?" Seems he's doubling down. "Not that I'll complain about the food, mind you, just the safety."

"Careful, my dear Templar. We'll scandalize my cook, and you do smell like candy. I may not let you leave. Remember, I said mostly and only because I want to feed you first." Which would be the cue for a young woman to bring in said food. And look, Davan put his foot down on the snails thing because his cook swears it's a thing. His cook is a lying barbarian. "…Ah well, Liddy's a little harder to scandalize. I'd have to have you laying naked over the couch."

"If your cook would be scandalized, he's lying to you about being Orlesian." Cenn sends back, and this time there is a purr. Snails, hm? Well, Cenn wouldn't have even blinked at that. Because, well, the cook was right. "Such a shame there such delicate sensibilities in your staff, then, it seems a nice enough couch for such things." No shame tonight it seems. Though the grin he gives says he's mostly joking. There is food to think about, and he does have some tact.

"Or lying to me about being scandalized," Davan replies. "We may yet find out," is said as he picks up his own glass to drape over his own couch. "The cook tried to convince me you'd eat snails. I'm fairly certain he's lying to me. So I warn you that he may have snuck them in anyway." And, sure enough, there they are and the look on Davan's face. "Well. If he's telling the truth you're going to have to instruct me."

Cenn laughs brightly. "He is, in fact, telling the truth." He says, "And to be perfectly honest with you, they're just a butter delivery device." Not bothered in the slightest, despite the look on Davan's face. "It's actually fairly intuitive." He says, reaching for one of the small escargot napkins, taking up a shell and one of the small forks. "Hold firmly, tiny fork, pull, butter, eat. Less fuss than you would expect." And to make the point, he goes through the motions himself as if the snail was the simplest thing in all the world.

Davan watches with a mixture of fascination and horror and he's TRYING to look at this objectively. After all, snails are used for purple dye where he's from, so anything's possible. Right? "I… He hasn't been lying to me." Well, you learn something new every day and he's not to be intimidated by something that looks like it came from his garden. "If I make a mess I'm blaming it entirely on you," he informs before attempting to copy Cenn's example, all with the look of a man going to his doom. The result is confusion. It's not in the process(Which he'll definitely need practice with), but in the fact that he has to come to terms with 'this is a snail' and 'this is good' with a side helping of 'maker that's a snail'.

"If you do, you can take it out of my hide." Cenn says with a smirk, continuing to eat with surprisingly graceful table manners. Again, his mother did not raise a savage, even if he'd spent most of his life in Ferelden. Equally at home using tiny forks and pulling meat straight from a bone, this one. Though he can't quite quell the laugh at the continued expression on Davan's face. "They're basically just fatty, chewy butter and garlic. It's okay that they're pleasant, even if they're snails." He says, knowing that look well. He was not the first person Cenn had seen introduced to escargot.

"I may yet, mess or not," Davan warns and he really does try to look offended at the laugh but even that dissolves into laughter of his own. "Maker, this should be absolutely horrible. I did have the cook prepare something from home, so I suppose this is his payback. YOu'd think the man had never dressed doormice and pheasant before." And yes, that's what Liddy is bringing next. Except the nice are inside the bird, which might make it a little more strange. "So how much freedom do you have? I know you're allowed to be out, obviously. Are you going to be punished if I keep you until morning?" His tone is teasing, but that's never a good indication that the mage actually IS joking.

"Promises, promises." Cenn teases, and then blinks. Okay, look, Orlesian table manners he has down. Tevinter ones? That is uncharted territory. "To be honest with you, unless you found him in Tevinter, he may not have. Dormouse is not a common staple in Orlais, at least not last I checked. I am not even entirely sure what your table manners dictate." Not that he's flinching from it. It takes a lot to make Cenn flinch from food, unless it's raw, then he's done for. There's another laugh then. "I requested tomorrow free, knowing I would have morning patrol today. So, no, there will be no fuss if you keep me until morning… Or afternoon."

"I don't make them unless I intend to keep them," Davan informs and then reaches out to pick up a knife that looks like it might be rather dull aside from the edge near the end of the blade. "Most of the food that we're served at home when we don't have company is eaten with the hand as long as it can be." He reaches out and uses the knife to take out the small knots that hold the bird together. "Honestly, I think the mice were just to show you could afford to pay someone to not only keep them, but skin them. From there you just pull them out and eat them like you would any other small thing. They mostly taste like herbs and oddly small venison."

Cenn smirks, shifting, and watching Davan. Not his use of the blade, not any gesturing, but his face. The movement of his lips, his eyes, the way his throat works with the little, natural swallows that occur during speaking. "We do something similar with small birds…" He says then, though he does not seem entirely intent upon the thought of food. Go figure.

"Birds with smaller birds? I know someone who had their cook prepare a pig and a peacock together, so that the peacock rode the pig as if into battle." Davan stands and walks to sit on the edge of Cenn's couch. "Like this," he demonstrates, taking the knife and placing it in the Templar's hand in order to try to guide it through cutting the bird. "You see?"

"Quails, usually. Or very small game hens, inside of geese generally." Cenn offers as explanation, though his tone grows more distant as Davan crosses over to him. Perhaps he should be a little more trepidatious about a mage crossing a room, blade in hand, toward him, but he can't be bothered. There's no resistance offered to this instruction. Though well cared for, the Templar's hands are strong and toughed, calloused like the swordsman he is. He takes the instruction easily, nodding as a way of answer. Swallowing hard for Davan's nearness.

Davan chuckles, leaning back to place his hand on the edge of the couch on the other side of Cenn. "Not frogs? Back home it would be frogs if not mice. They'd put them in live and whole, seal the cooked bird, and then cut it open to let the frogs hop about on the table." He chuckles, watching the Templar as he speaks. "Apparently a test for the faint of heart. The croaking around some of the estates in Qarinus can be deafening."

Look, Cenn hasn't been looking at any of this food for a solid minute now. No, he's just been staring at Davan's lips as he speaks. "Not live, no. Though frogs aren't uncommon in their own right…" Cenn answers, though by the time the sentence ends, it sounds as though he's just repeating something from rote. The Templar puts the blade down on the table, turns to face Davan, shifting so he's on a slightly more even level with the other man. Instinctively, he reaches out to cup the other man's jaw. That is where he pauses, however, even with the fact that he is not the world's most patient man. "May I kiss you?"

Davan reaches up to place his hand on Cenn's. "You've had permission for that since you walked in the door," he answers. "I was wondering if I'd have to pin you to this couch to find out if you taste like candy, too." But now that he's given permission, he doesn't really see any reason to wait and leans in for that kiss before the Templar can change his mind.

Oh, well, he's gone and made him blush again. Cenn clears his throat, is about to give some sort of retort to that when Davan leans in and kisses him. It steals his breath forthwith. His heart pounds suddenly, only making that blush worse, and making him shudder just a little. His lips part easily, surprisingly soft of touch for a man who spends so much of his time with a blade in his hand. It has been a long time. A very, very long time and Cenn has wanted this since he met this guy and… It's enough to just make his mind stop for awhile, and to be honest, for that he cannot be more thankful.

"Maker, you do," Davan says once the kiss finally ends, which is enough to prompt him to seek out another. "But if you keep blushing like that," he finally points out. "You'll find I wasn't just teasing about being predatory.

An attempt at a laugh is cut off by the second kiss that Davan demands and turns itself, instead, into a low purr that rumbles the Templar's chest. When Davan finally releases him to speak, Cenn is breathless but smiling. The blush, though, has not ceased, despite the hazy smirk that Davan's words earn. "And you'll find I wasn't bluffing."

"So then the real present I get to unwrap is you?" Davan teases. "Say yes, let me keep you here tonight." He gestures toward the door leading out of the room. "I'll keep you awake most of the night and we can sleep away the morning." And possibly give his new roommate a shock, but she's blown up enough things in the kitchen to have earned it.

"Maker, please." Cenn says without any form of hesitation whatsoever. Nor shame for the fact that the words come out touched with a small whimper that makes him a little breathless. "That sounds… Like the best way I've spent a night in a long time." The Templar sighs, and in the next moment, he's leaning into Davan to steal another kiss from the mage.

Meanwhile Carys, Davan's new housemate…