Anders_icon.gif Carys_icon.gif Taril_icon.gif Fenris_icon.gif

Scene Title Exotic Creampuff
Synopsis Carys brings pastry souffle, Taril brings smoked nug and Fenris brings wine. This… is exactly the kind of shindig the clinic in Darktown unwittingly hosts.
Location Darktown Clinic
Date Justinian 22, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Scooby Doo!Carys and terrible nicknames
Logger Anders

Work helps. Being busy helps. Time with Fenris helps. But the problem with all of those things is that they are temporary fixes. Anders still has to learn to live with himself in the quiet in-between moments and… well, he wasn't too great at that to begin with. So even though it's late enough in the evening for him to close up shop, the lantern is still lit and he is scrubbing down the rudimentary examination tables yet another time. Because why not?

This was one of those ideas that would probably border on 'weird'. But Carys is going with it anyway. Guy looked like he could use something to cheer him up, and after thinking about things the previous night, she decided to.. well… try it. Because, shock of shocks—Carys kind of has a bleeding heart and if she didn't pay attention, it'd bleed all over the place.

Save… she didn't quite anticipate things going like /this/.

The fact the clinic kind of lacks doors that close gives a great opportunity to see… this. Beginning with Someone running past uttering a string of swear words. Actually, it's just 'shit' said several times in succession. Followed by a handful of people. A heartbeat or three, and then from the other direction it happens again, with the person at the front claiming she 'Didn't do it'. An echo after the pursuing group would have that 'mean to' is added to the words. She apparently 'didn't mean to do it'. Third time is a charm as they say, and the front runner, on her way across, manages to slide into the clinic and slamming into a corner of the building like so much Home Base, wincing at a twisted ankle and then being VERY Quiet. Her pursuers run past. SUCCESS!

And then she looks down at the fact she's clutching whats he was carrying - a box of some sort. "AW, dammit!" Screw twisted ankles - she smooshed boxes! Carys hasn't seen that she isn't the only one in the place yet.

Taril is here and, as per usual, he's just going to walk in as if he were expected and put a bag down on one of the board shelves and begin putting things in their place. He started this with Maura, but apparently he's willing to keep it up while the woman is in training. The last package is pulled from the bag and he places on the shelf nearest the room at the back. See? He knows to leave other people's private places alone.

The first time the Scooby Gang runs by, Anders misses it entirely. The second and third time, however, find him standing there staring like… well, to be fair, this is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all day. Putting his brush back down into the bucket of lemon juice and vinegar, he straightens and dries his hands as Taril saunters in. The ginger elf gets a small, crooked smile and a warm hand on his upper arm in passing greeting. But it's the girl crashing into his clinic that requires immediate attention. "I swear I thought I closed that door." But no matter. He can do it now. "They weren't a fan of candy, I take it?"

One hand immediately lets go of her box and she waves it in front of her mouth in a distinct 'Shh!' gesture. She holds it there, and she glances away as if listening. Then, she nods. "Good, I don't think they realized I slipped in here." She glances at the wall and whatever was next to her. "In a matter of speakin'." She stands up and uses that hand to dust herself off. "More like 'not a fan of forgettin' who's section of Darktown I traipsed through'." That done, she takes a deep breath and lets it out, deliberately puffing her cheeks as she notes Taril - Damn, that's some red hair—before glancing back to Anders. "I actually don't have any candy," she admits peeking into her box and making a face.

"Sorry I'm bringing these so late. Nug smokes fast but not fast enough for me to get here when the doors were intentionally open." Yes, folks. Taril brought a nug. Fortunately for Anders, it's already been processed and not the huge carcass he left on the doorstep of a certain merc company. The mention of ownership of Darktown territory makes him wrinkle his nose. "Who… who would want to own any of that? What do you even say? 'This section of stench filled tunnel is MINE!'?" Seriously.

When Taril explains the reason for this visit in particular, Anders turns toward him with literal stars in his eyes. "Taril, I could kiss you right now. That is literally the only good thing about trips into the Roads." And if he can have some without having to go down into his own personal version of the Void? So. Much. Better. Ahem. Sorry, Carys! "I… see. Well. You're, ah, certainly welcome to stay here until they stop looking. There's plenty of space to sit."

Carys, being right there and all, can't help but listen to what Anders and Taril are talking about—and it causes her to wrinkle her nose. Either at mention of the Deep Roads or the act of eating nugs. Or just the mention of nugs in particular. Cause, y'know, those things are creepy looking. "Well, it's very easy," She decides to school Taril on the concept of ownership. "You walk by…someone takes offense t'you walkin' by an' then the next thing you know you're bein' chased by that guy and his half-dozen best friends. Good thing I run fast." Surprisingly with that build. But back to Anders. "WEll, actually, I er… Uh. Came here. Deliberately. That is, t'say, I was… um. On my way here, anyway just… it's convenient to hide here now apparently."

There's a toe scuff, and she continues, "Look, I just…thought you could use some cheerin' up. So I brought you somethin'." She peeks into her box. "Might be a /slight/ problem though." She sighs, turns it around. "Food always cheers me up," she preludes the opening of the box… To show what should have been a few pastries. That are now pastry smush because of how she crushed the box against her when she slid into the clinic. "Bon appetit?" is then uttered in a really mousey voice and a twist of her brows.

Taril chuckles. "Wrong elf," he teases as he returns to organizing the rest of the items that he usually brings, giving a wave in Carys direction. "I'm surprised I managed to find one. They must have been chased up by something bigger. Maybe spiders." He chuckles at the smushed pastry. "Well, looks like you're set. I have another bag of lemons but I have to go pick them up. I'll bring them by if you're going to be awake." Except, in true Taril fashion, he's just going to sweep out and assume that's just the way things will go.

Taril is shot a dry look for his joke, though one with a slight upward quirk to one corner of his mouth. Ha, ha, very funny. But he's on his way out - never stays still for very long, that one - and Anders holds up a hand in farewell. "Unless I get dragged out to the Land of Horrid Quilts, I'll be here." Because quilts were natural Qunari repellent, you know. As for pastry smush, there is actually a perfectly reasonable solution to all of it. "Spoons." Yep, he's officially lost it. "I've some clean spoons in the back. I'll grab a couple and we can make it into pastry souffle."

Taril is given a horrified look. "Fire. Lots and lots of Fire." With a Capital F. And that is said immediately after 'spiders'. It's cliche and common, but yes, Carys can't stand spiders. And she even glances outside … or would if the door wasn't closed - when did that happen? But the action is still there, and she's watching the door as if expecting a legion of arachnids to burst in at any given moment. It probably makes sense when one realizes she's a melee-combatant - obvious because she's not in Darktown NOT armed. And Melee + Spiders = SOMEONE ELSE BURN IT.

And from Spiders to Quilts—that gets her looking at Anders like he's weird. "Right…" But the suggestion of spoons? "OH hey, I didn't think of that…Clever!"

Well, to be fair, Anders is weird. Very weird. Just look at his life. Or ask literally anyone who knows him. He's given up trying to pretend otherwise at this point, really, so when he returns with spoons, he makes no attempt to hide that the handle of one of them has been carved to look like a cat's tail. He holds them out so that Carys can take her pick first, but then hops up to sit cross-legged on the end of a nearby table and gestures to the other empty end as the obvious Other Seat. "I knew a little girl in the kitchens at Kinloch Hold. She was always squishing the treats she tried to sneak us. We learned to be creative."

Perhaps she didn't quite get his meaning, but when she gets the pick of the spoons, she seems genuinely surprised. "Y'sure?" Because, well, it's /for/ him. But she really only considers the proposal for a moment, before she does indeed snag one fo the spoons - the most interesting one, which is likely the cat's tail - before she takes the gestured seat. The pastries for all their smooshy nature /are/ good—if a bit rich. Likely from a kitchen that does /not/ belong in Lowtown, that's for sure. "It's why I started carryin' stuff that's wrapped. Less likely of gettin' cream in odd places." She pauses and then she nods. "That lake's pretty," she says of Kinloch, not even skipping a beat at what he is. "Wonder if it still looks the same?" She's already scooped up a bit of the pastry cream, and has popped the spoon in her mouth. While she 'wonders' it just sort of sits there, while she thinks.

Anders accepts the simpler spoon, leaning forward to scoop a bite up out of its box. For all that he usually refuses the offers of food, Anders is constantly hungry. It's one of those irritating Warden things that's supposed to stop after a while but just… never did. "Some people pay good coin for cream in odd places," he quips back, pure mischief as he licks a bit of squished pastry from one corner of his mouth. Mention of Lake Calenhad, though, just makes him shrug. "It's a lake. It's a massive lake. I can't imagine anything short of a rampaging dragon could change it all that much."

"Yeah, but coin or no, I usually ask for dinner first," is Carys' return barb. "Or at least names. Names go a long way… it's just embarrassin' t'call out 'Person I don't know what to call' during, y'know, moments." Mainly because Anders /looks/ like he refuses food, and like she said, the food she brought was for him, she's only picking her share… in a rather dainty sort of way. As for the Lake? She shrugs. "Last time I was in Ferelden, Maric was still king. A dragon might've rampaged since then an' I just hadn't heard about it yet." Do blights and Archdemons count? Then just randomly, "Ooh! A cherry! I forgot there was one of those in there." And she fishes that out as if her finding it was the equivalent of 'calling dibs'.

"But isn't it more fun to just make up a name you fancy?" Anders' retort comes quick, the result of a natural wit sharpened by much practice. "And then see what kind of face they make when you scream it out at the end?" He lifts and drops his brows with an almost conspiratorial air, reaching in for another spoonful of sugary deliciousness. He doesn't fight her over the cherry - even if she'd never thought to try his name game before (and even if she'd never try it for real) it will occur to her at some point in the future now that he's planted the seed. So she can have the candied fruit, he knows who's really losing, here. "A dragon might've been kinder." But that's all he's going to say about that. See? Mouth now full of pastry. Can't talk.

To that, she waves a spoon. "ONLY… if you're int' that," she points out. "But, t'be honest, I don't know many who'd get off on seein' their lovers baffled expression at climax." Let's just be completely frank here. She does shrug when he mentions the dragon and how it likely /would/ have been the lesser of two evils for the country they both have history with. "So," she lets that hang for a moment before saying, "Do I just get t'make up a name for you, or do you have somethin' I can call you already in mind?" And she makes sure the tone's neutral so he doesn't mistake that she's deliberately flirting. Which she isn't. Because there's confection-y goodness here and that's a huge distraction.

Anders shrugs, hiding the wicked edge to his mouth by chewing extra slowly. "Not so much get off on it, no. But it's certainly a handy way to get them to leave in a hurry." Because sometimes you needed a quick exit and sometimes, well… sometimes people were just that bad at it. Her flirting (and yes, he catches it despite the tone, he's not new at this game either) makes him grin despite his mouthful of frosting and he tilts his head to one side, regarding her with overly-dramatized thoughtfulness. "What would you make up, then? Now you've made me curious."

Carys pauses for a moment and then she waves the spoon at him. "Point, but there are better ways to entertain yourself in the 'need them to freakin' leave' area." She nods here while shrugging her eyebrows upwards. "But that's a good idea. Gotta save that for if I ever find myself in that situation." She then sits her spoon in whatever's left over, making sure it stands indicating she herself has taken her share. She then leans back in her seat, hmming at the question. "What would I make up? I'unno… might have to take me a few… an' not go for the blatantly obvious. Or insulting."

With Carys' indication that she's finished and Anders' insatiable appetite and secret sweet tooth, he is all about picking up that box to dig in. But he's going to take the fun spoon now, thankyouverymuch. "Hey, if it works…" But the thought trails off with a shrug and he can't help but laugh - though he has the good manners to hide his full mouth behind one hand before it opens at all. "Oh, you take your time. Can't have anything but your best, after all."

There is a considerable amount of pastry moosh. She snatched a /lot/ of pastries from the kitchens he works at…And she just starts laughing. "Right now what's comin' t'mind is 'Creampuff'!" She's going to make sure she times /that/ for when he's just put in a spoonful of food into his mouth. No waiting for manners, she's gonna time that right.

It is an excellent timing, for certain, but rather than spray pastry in all directions - as was probably desired - Anders, the little shit, simply beams around a mouthful of frothy white frosting so as to give truth to her claims. "Not the most flattering title," he says, once his mouthful has been swallowed. "But not technically inaccurate. Still. Most people call me Anders."

He must spend time around little shits who like to sit there and set people up for moments like that. But Carys doesn't seem too disappointed. In fact, she ends up giggling more so. "Well, that's the thing with nicknames… they're often less flatterin' than not. Your turn." Then, he does give a name and she tilts her head. "Huh, like.. the Anderfels?" That's the only other time she hears that term. She eyes him for a moment then she shakes her head. "Good thing you already said you spent time at Kinloch because… uh. You don't look like someone from the Anderfels." Scary place means Scary People right?

Anders is good at making people laugh. He's always been good at making people laugh. Still being able to accomplish that, in spite of everything, well… it feels good. He concedes her point about nicknames, but when she parses out his name, it… The little bit of flinty wicked light that had cropped up in sunshine eyes flickers out and Anders ducks his head to stare at the pastry souffle. "Yeah, yeah exactly like that." He stirs the cat-tail spoon around the mess for a minute, though he doesn't take another bite. "I… am from there, actually. Only one of us born there before my parents made the journey to Ferelden." He looks up again, now, only this time there's strain added to that smile. "You didn't think my exotic good looks came from that swampy mess, did you?"

The thing about thieves is they know how to read people… and Carys isn't just a 'rogue', she's a freaking thief. And a mental note is made: Stay away from topics regarding the Anderfels. Well specifically a certain someone's origin in the Anderfels. But she's also got, what she hopes is a fucking /stellar/ poker face. So her smile remains, not faltering. "Really? That sounds kind'a awesome, t'be honest. Always wondered what it's like… outside of, well, what other people say." She then tilts her head, regarding him carefully. "Exotic? Nah." And then with all seriousness. "But good lookin' you definitely got. But yer food's gonna get soggier if you don't finish eatin' it, Creampuff."

"Ah, you wound me." Anders is quick to melt back into bright grins and melodrama. It works for him and keeps most people from asking questions he doesn't really want to think about too hard. "I am clearly an exotic gold and porcelain beauty from high atop the snowy mountains. How can you doubt, fair maiden, what sits before your very eyes?" See? He even claps a flat palm against his chest and pretends to reel back with shock.

And Carys is content to let him go back. She doesn't know him that well to pester, and chances are, what's obvious about her personality, she probably wouldn't. She doesn't /like/ deliberately hurting people and is uncomfortable when it's an accident. She's one of /those/ thieves. "Exotic beauties don't run around with constant stubble," she points out. "And… porcelain isn't /exactly/ what I'd call your skin tone. Then again that's just your face… Maybe you're as white as /fuck/ underneath all them feathers."

"Like a marble statue," he retorts, straightening his spine and ruffling his feathered coat like some great bird. But something catches his attention a heartbeat later and Anders' hands fly to the sides of his face. "Constant - Maker, no." He shudders visibly and pats at his face - which does have a little bit of scratchiness to it. "I would never." He's certainly vain enough for an exotic beauty, that's for sure.

His reaction to the stubble thing just has her collapsing on the table top, arms cushioning her head and she just guffaws with gales of laughter. For some reason, it just struck her as freaking hilarious and she doesn't even know if Anders is deliberately hamming it up or not! So, pardon her, she's just going to laugh—-and then she's slipping off the chair and flopping on her back onto the ground. AT least it's a clinic and as such, the man should believe in hygiene.

Anders does believe in hygiene! And a good thing too, since this particular evening finds him sitting cross-legged on an examination table eating pastry souffle with a cat-tail spoon… and apparently finds Carys on the floor in absolute gales of laughter. Anders, having successfully deflected the topic at hand, just sits there and looks pleased with himself. It's a remarkably feline expression, but he does enjoy another mouthful of frosting while his guest has her laugh.

Carys is developing a habit of finding herself on the ground in stitches. She's hugging herself in an effort to keep her sides from hurting, and she can't seem to figure out the leverage to stop laughing. "That was insane, puff," She manages to wheeze out in between giggles and hiccups… giggling hiccups? Hiccuping giggles? "I can't feel my face."

Fenris has had a weird evening, even for him. Not bad, mind, but weird. He'd just been people watching, minding his own business, drinking, when that Tevinter woman roped him in to some grand drama involving a tiny window, a large cat, and a talkative Ostwickian ambassador. Really, he couldn't make heads or tails of the whole debacle. What he could make heads or tails of, however, were the angry, red scratches upon what small amount of flesh upon his arms that his armor allowed to show. Also, the fact that he was still mightily drunk on the wine that was still in his hand, though by this point he's taken up at least three fresh bottles. So down toward the Clinic he wanders. Not that the scratches are really that concerning, despite the fact that they're still weeping blood, but the wine is telling him this is a good idea and he hasn't seen Anders in a little while and… The lantern is lit. Fenris takes a deep breath and enters quietly, trying not to disturb anyone Anders may have in. Thus, it surprises him, halting him as he enters, when he finds a woman upon the ground, laughing hysterically. Blinking, he cants his head, staring at Anders.

"I don't think that's quite how laughter is supposed to work." Now, Anders is very good at what he does. More than willing to be distracted, he's played the gracious host and entertainer for the kind girl who brought him a 'cheer you up' pastry. He's been witty, glib, playful - even charming - but the way his face lights up when he looks up and sees Fenris compared to his earlier joviality is like comparing the sun to a few candles. And he'd say he's done a fairly good job, too - one minor bout of family-related sadness notwithstanding. "Come try this," he beckons, holding the box and its spare spoon out toward the elf. "It's actually quite good."

The change that overcomes Anders is noted, and there's an 'oh ho ho' somewhere tucked into her giggling when she realizes he's greeting someone. She rolls and looks at Fenris /upside down/ because she just tilts her head back. "OH hey! It's the guy with the poultices." Because… there's context for that. Which she doesn't give. But at least she's already seen the elf so his presence isn't a surprise. Well, at least his /appearance/. But there's a back and forth of those violet eyes as she eyes mage and elf, before she tacks on a comment about the food. "Yes! From the finest kitchens of Kirkwall's elite by way of getting hugged t'death."

More blinking, and Fen glances to the pastry. "No, thank you," He says, "I am quite in the middle of dinner." And with that, he lifts his wine bottle, as though that is every explanation the world needs on that topic. None the less, he crosses the room, and pulls himself up onto the table beside Anders. Looking down and Carys, he gives her a nod. "Well, I see you've found the place. The question then remains, did you find their place."

Anders shrugs, not at all offended by the refusal, and proceeds to swallow his current mouthful and lick a streak of frosting off his own cheek. Because he's mature and classy that way. As soon as Fenris is beside him, Anders lists ever-so-slightly in his direction. It's just enough to lean into the warm (if not super comfortable with the armor) presence without being obvious that's what he's doing. Except now he's decided he's done with the pastry and he's reaching for that wine bottle to join Fenris in his dinner. "Poultices? The ones you took out for me?" As though there would be another delivery of poultices. "Whose place? What?"

Spinning to sit cross legged, Carys works to loosen one of her boots and poke at her ankle for a moment. "Honey," she tells Fenris, "I can find /anything/." Her tone may be light, but there's an edge there that holds about ten buckets of confidence in her own abilities. She rotates her foot, trying to make sure it's at least serviceable because she apparently forgot she actually hurt herself when she made her crashing entrance. "The question usually is—can' I get away with it. But t'the point… I found 'em." She then looks to Anders. "Oh, just a couple that needed somethin' t'deal with an infection. Cuttin' yourself down here's kind'a dangerous." As if he didn't know.

As Anders leans into him, there is a small wince. Those scratches are still bleeding, even if he isn't fussing over them. Fenris nods, and even hands over the bottle. They must get along, he's not exactly the type to share his liquor that freely. "Yes, the same." He says, and then smirking down at Carys. "You sound very sure of that." Stating the obvious tonight, Fenris? Apparently. Likely the wine's fault. Not, mind you, that is he is one to talk at all about confidence in one's abilities.

Anders catches that wince - he's too close not to feel it - and while one hand accepts the wine bottle, he's twisting his torso while leaning back to get a better look at the possible damage. And it… looks awfully familiar. Still, he lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks, a solid gulp or two before handing it back to the elf in question. "I can take care of those for you, if you'd like?" It's not the usual way he asks about magic around Fenris, but hey, they have an audience. "After all, the lady has a point. Cutting yourself down here is dangerous."

All Carys can do is shrug at Fenris. "Hey, I gotta have some faith in /something/ I can do. If it's not that, then I got nothin', right?" Might be a little self-deprecating, but whatever. She then moves to stand up. And THEN she tries to put on her boot. So it's this weird hop-hop thing going on as she tries to stuff her foot into a knee-high leather boot that didn't exactly have all of its laces undone. And then she gets distracted by the drinking… which means she pauses there, standing on one foot, the other half-stuffed in a boot while she's got her attention on the table. "Yup, that's me, a total lady." HAH.

Well… Fenris couldn't argue with that. "Fair enough." He concedes to her, and then turns to look at Anders. Glancing down at his arm, he shrugs. "They're not really that much of a bother." He says, "The new Ostwick Ambassador just owns a… Very large cat who took exception to my trying to keep him from running out onto the street."

There's a moment where Anders just… blinks at him. "The new Ostwick…" He plays the sentence over again in his head and finally seems to process at least most of it. And when he looks offended it's for the only valid reason for anyone to ever take offense at anything. "Why is it the jobs I get to go on involve fighting for our very lives and the ones I don't go on involve playtime with kittens?" But Carys'… bizarre position has finally been noticed and Anders tilts his head to one side. "I don't think the boot will go on with that swelling. That I know I can fix."

"Huh?" Carys blinks owlishly at Anders when he talks about her ankle… apparently the fact she twisted it has again skipped her mind in her attempt to get her boot on—only to be distracted by booze. And she is /still/ standing there on one leg. "Ostwick Ambassador? I broke into his house once." She pauses. "If it's the same numbnuts I'm thinkin' it is. He had a very disturbin' underwear drawer… but I don't remember a large cat. Just disturbin' knickers. But he had good taste in jewelry… like…expensive." She sighs and gives up on the boot. And then she recalls what Anders is referring to. "Nah, it's because I didn't unlace it. I can walk fine." And she proves it! … by walking awkwardly cause she's got one twisted ankle and a boot on the other one. With a slight heel. And this person just admitted to being able to break into someplace? Haha, yeah right. Right.

"So, you done with this, Creampuff?" she asks the mage. "I can dispose of it on my way out an' what in the world are you drinkin'? Smells kind'a awesome." This is tossed to Fenris because, yup, train of thought just leapt tracks. Again.

'This' being the box of smooshed-pastries, of course.

Fenris shakes his head. "I think that is the last one. He died, apparently, some accident on the stairs… Or something…" Fenris says, shrugging. Ostwick Ambassador, yes. Was he slurring already? He hadn't even gotten through this bottle yet. He smirks at Anders. "Oh, he was no kitten." He says, "Mixed with some wild cat, I think. Beast would have been a nightmare if he actually wanted to-" Fenris is cut short by Carys calling Anders 'Creampuff' and pauses. His mind stops working for a solid moment, making him delay noticeably in answering her question. "Oh… Uh… Wine." Nevermind where he got it from.

"All cats are kittens. Forever. That's just how it works," Anders sniffs, delicate as a feline himself. He's not so much concerned with old dead guys - or their questionable choice in smallclothes - but Carys' use of Creampuff right in front of the one person in Kirkwall he actually wants to impress makes him rather want to melt into the floor and disappear. "I'll… yeah, you can take that. I'll grab a poultice and be… right back." Smooth, Anders. Real smooth.

Is that a bit of a satisfied smirk? Probably. Mainly because he never did get her name. OF course, if he's the revenge sort—she probably just set herself up for a whopper of a nomenclature to greet her upon the next meeting. "Don't forget your spoons," she holds the box out. "Oh. Red, white? Dry? Dry wines are the best… Nothin' like a bitter kick to the taste buds t'get that proper tingle down your spine, right?"

"Leave it to you to think that." Fenris says to Anders, though there is no heat behind it at all, in fact, there's even a small smile to go along. Cute, Anders, very cute. "Red…" Fenris answers, "And honestly, I can't taste it anymore. This is the fourth bottle." At least he was honest. He reaches to grab the spoons for Anders, so he can slip away to acquire the mentioned poultice.

"Of course," Anders calls over his shoulder, rooting around in the storage cupboard before acquiring his goal and turning back their way. "I don't think it, I know it. That's just how these things work, Fen." Says the Cat. The poultice is handed off to Carys, then. "Hold that against your ankle for a little while. You'll be right as rain."

There's a tilt of her head as Anders gives a clue to what Fluffy the Drunk here is called. File that information away for later. "Well, if you get tired of it, I"ll take the rest." And then she gets a poultice. "Uh." She's standing there with a box of now-Leftover Smooshed Pastry in one hand, and a poultice in another. She just lifts up her leg with the twisted ankle and does as the doctor ordered. "This is very awkward and I don't think I"m gettin' a prize for this."

"No, but you're certainly earning my amusement, if it makes it worth it for you at all." Fenris says to Carys, still smirking. Ah, wine, his old friend. Shaking his head, he smiles again at Anders. "Is it?" He says, "I suppose you would know. You may as well be one of them."

That smile never fails to do funny things to Anders' insides. "That's 'exotic gold and porcelain cat from the high mountains' to you, sir." But even his play sounds utterly indulgent. Fond. He looks about to add more ridiculousness, but Carys' awkward predicament is distracting enough to catch his attention. "Of course," he replies, trying to cover laughter with a cleared throat. "Some bandage should hold that in place well enough." And as he turns, he stops and gives into impulse, running the back of one knuckle along Fenris' jaw as he presses a brief and simple kiss to one corner of his mouth. The bandages aren't hard to find, but just as he returns with them, there is the clamor of actual patients at the door. So it's with shooting them both an apologetic glance that he crosses over to the other side of the clinic to see what further service he can offer.

To Fenris, she can't help but quip. "That isn't like a boobie prize is it? 'Cause I got enough of those." Maybe she means booby traps. And then she's loaded with bandages. And she really doesn't blink twice at the display of affection between the two. Maybe there was one blink… but then she's focused more on her foot and not standing around like a dumbass. "'Scuse me," she says to Fenris as she throws her twisted ankle on the table next to him to deal with bandaging a poultice to her foot. And she seems to at least know some basic first aid because she doesn't really need any help with this…despite standing around on one foot looking like an idiot. "Next time he brings that up, insist he's an exotic gold and porcelain cat from the high mountains with /permanent stubble/." This is said with a raised voice so he can hear her from wherever he ambled off to. And then to the drunk here. "I promise I won't nick anything if you wanna go follow, but I gotta get to this or I'm smartin' tomorrow." She means her foot.

Fenris looks completely and utterly confused for a moment. "A - What?" He says, blinking. "First of all, don't call me sir…" He says, and though the tone is serious he's not really heated, "Secondly, what?" He's not following this joke at all, but his concern about that fact disappears as quickly as the kiss arrives. A blush comes to the edges of his ears, but he leans into the mage to nuzzle into his cheek quickly before he departs. Off Anders goes, as is his way, and Fenris watches Carys. He shakes his head. "I really don't want to know what that joke is about, do I?" He says, entirely rhetorical, "And no, I make wounds, not heal them. I would only get in his way."

"Ummm…" Carys grumbles trying to tie her foot up while standing, so she swaps places and suddenly, Fenris has her popping on the table next to him while she deals with making sure she's got the poultice settled on her foot right. "I could explain it but it might be a 'you had t'be there' sort of thing. Let's just say it started out with names and his 'exotic good looks' not comin' from Ferelden." She frowns as if she might have confused herself. "It was very confusing. But very amusing. Lots of good laughs so there was that." She gets the poultice on her ankle properly and she shifts so she can keep her ankle elevated while she works her boot so it's loose enough to accommodate ankle and bandage. Because, yeah, so not walking in Darktown without three inches of leather between her foot and the ground. "Ah hah…" She nods as if she could've figured he was the wounding type.

It's the giant sword on his back, isn't it? That's definitely what gives it away. Nothing else. Not his gruffness, not the armor, no, no. "Not being from…" Fenris pauses, then, realizing he'd never really asked Anders where he was from originally. That… Somehow had always escaped him, but now it made certain things make a little bit more sense. "Fair enough." The bottle, mercifully left behind, is taken up again, and Fenris drinks deeply.

Nope. Nothing else. Plenty of people who are the wounding sort do it while giggling…attitude is not necessarily an indicator! And now… she's going to be rude. He takes another drink and she just holds her hand out. "It was… a weird conversation. Especially the…" Hm. She should probably steer away from that as she doesn't want Anders to get into trouble. Her pause is covered up by again focusing on that currently-being-drunk-wine.

"Especially the?" Fenris asks, raising a brow. Oh, he caught that hand being held out. He knows the request. Looking down at his bottle, he smirks again. This time, though, there is no drinking. Just waiting for an answer, an answer that might just be rewarded with some his carefully guarded wine.

Her features wrinkle up in an attempt to try to look…menacing? It's some weird combination of cute and pathetic. "Oh, you don't play fair. Gotta get you in a game of cards." She then sighs. "Especially the part talkin' about comin' up with names t'call people in the middle of sex…" Beat. "Especially if you want 'em to leave."

"You'll lose." Fenris says, but he sounds as amused as the gravel in his voice will allow. But, she played along, and he's feeling honest today, so the bottle is handed over. "Oh? Well, this have to hear." He says, though he does glance over to where Anders is off helping patients. Very well times patients, these.

The bottle is lifted in a gesture of thanks which she accompanies with the actual word. And then she takes a drink herself—apparently not afraid if Fenris has some weird cootie bug or something. Or if he's drinking Deathroot extract for kicks. Apparently not one to look before jumping, this one. "WE didn't really come up with anything but it did lead t'him asking me what I'd come up for him. So I gave him somethin'." She hands the bottle back beaming as if she's proud of the accomplishment.

"Hence 'Creampuff,' I imagine?" Fenris says with a small laugh. Caught up. Excellent. Taking the bottle back, Fenris drinks, and them promptly lays back upon the table, staring up at the ceiling and letting the world spin a bit. This is, after all, the fourth bottle. When he started drinking that evening was anyone's guess, but that's still a significant amount of wine.

"Hence, Creampuff," she says in an agreeing tone, and a bit of a bow. "It had to deal with what we were eatin' at the time…because he was… really polishin' off that box of stuff." She smiles here, and it's a soft sort of thing. "He seemed t'be put int' good spirits, so I guess that's a mission accomplished on my end." By this time, Fenris has likely already laid back so she hops off the table—though the yelp means she forgot she had a twisted ankle.

Fenris smirks, but doesn't comment upon Anders and the pastry. Not that he'd be forgetting about it anytime soon. "Darktown is much better off when he is in good spirits." He says, and looks up as she yelps, shaking his head. "Try not to break it."

Carys just sighs and she shakes her head. "I don't think I can break it by hoppin' on it, but I'll keep that in mind." She shrugs. "Maybe I'll drop by with more nicked pastries then. Anyway… you look like you're about ready t'pass out an' if he comes back, I"m sure 'third wheel' mode will get put into play." She turns and bows. "An' he hasn't even gotten my name yet, so that might even be /more/ awkward," She's hopping back on one foot now, tugging her boot on so she can safely walk her way home. "Do take care, Ser Fen."

There's a small laugh as Carys makes her justifications for leaving. He's drunk enough that he's not going to stop her, he doesn't much mind who comes or goes, this is precisely where he wants to be. However, that parting shot… The growl that elicits is very, very real. No playfulness, barely even the softened edge of drunkenness. "Fenris." He says, "Just Fenris. You get one, and only one."

"Duly noted," And there's no glib tone there. "Carys. Do let him know." And then, just as abruptly as she showed up initially, she's gone—but far quieter than the entrance.

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