Carys_icon.gif Cenn_icon.gif

Scene Title Tell Me More
Synopsis Drinking and talking and joking and advice.
Location The Hanged Man
Date 24 Solace 9:31 Dragon
Watch For "Garter"
Logger Cenn

It's a quiet evening in the Hanged Man, currently. There aren't any rowdy drunks, and the drunk drunks seem to be at a minimum… or at least quiet. Hell, the numbers are even at a nice level. Maybe people have other things to do. Or maybe people are actually being nice to their fellow Kirkwallers and helping with that giant rock heap that appeared in the slums the other night. Whatever the case may be, Carys has decided that the Hanged Man is acceptable to 1) drink and 2) claim a table to work on some sewing. Because trying to do this in the Clinic with refugees needing their booboos tended to and the zoo that Taril has so helpfully dropped there (Poor Anders) isn't conducive to trying to work on your own wardrobe. She has a box of fabrics next to her, and something else in a closed bag but some of the ruffle-age may still be visible. This is kept close to her and she's got her daggers on the table to hopefully discourage people from trying to bug her about stuff. Thankfully, MOST people that hang out in the Hanged Man really wouldn't be able to tell from a casual glance that said fabrics are kind of misplaced in terms of wealth versus surroundings. And if they do… please see the above point about daggers (Haha, pun). But yes, Drinking and sewing. … Only Carys, people.

The paperwork that comes along with half carrying back another member of the Order is a nightmare. Honestly. Cenn's just glad to be free of it family. Two and a half days later… Or something. And he's of a mind to drink the memory of the other evening away. Well, he's inclined to drink a lot of things away, this is Cenn we're talking about. So the Lieutenant walks in, grabs himself a drink, and starts to look for a place to sit when he spots Carys. The daggers might keep others away. Not him. Nope, he's plopping himself down on a chair at a 90 degree angle to hers, more familiar than across the table. He drinks, glancing around the bar. Not even saying a proper hello. Nope, the Templar's hunting for someone to gossip about. He's about to, as well, when he notices the fabric under her needle. Unlike most of the patronage here, Cenn is Orlesian and noble born and he knows precisely what kind of worth that fabric has. Ducking his head, he looks at the other fabrics she has with her, reaching down to touch at the topmost one, the box between them, fingering the fabric and testing its weight and threadcount. "Where in the name of Andraste's flaming tits did you get this?" He says, punctuating with a deep drink of his ale even as he continues to stare down at the fabric.

She probably didn't even look up when she heard she had company. "Evenin' Cenn! The beer on tap isn't too warm t'day," she offers as she works on a particularly complicated stitch. It's nothing /fancy/, as Carys is definitely a 'function over fashion' person, but the stitches are tight and neat. Again, born of necessity of being usually the only person she trusts with her own stuff. But she is doing her best to make sure that the stitching is worthy of the cloth. She only looks up when she hears rustling and she tilts her head to watch the Templar go through the cloth. "Huh, if fancy threads was what took t'get you t'go through my underthings, I would'a tried that earlier," She teases, knowing full well it'll be lightly accepted then set aside. She's not heartbroken over it anymore. She's got something /way/ better out of it: A good friend. The bag itself actually has a full Antivan-styled /outfit/ if he so chooses to actually continue rummaging.

She sets aside her sewing so she can drink, being mindful not to spill and make a mess. "Remember that dashin' young man that was lost an' said you smelled like candy?" Oh this has a far more teasing edge than her earlier flirtatious remark. "We spent his daddy's money."

"Evening." Cenn says, laughing quietly at her jesting flirtation. "If you make underthings out of this brocade, Carys, not only will they be uncomfortable, but I will weep." All said in a tone that is painfully Orlesian, despite his distinctly Ferelden accent. It's deep down in there, really. He swears. No matter what Garou might jest. He does continue to rummage, though not putting down his drink all the while. The ruffle catches his eye, and he's just beginning to investigate the Antivan garments when she makes a comment about a dashing young man and a father's money and Cenn chokes a little on his drink.

"He bought all of this?" He says, coughing, covering his mouth in the inner part of his elbow. Cenn takes a deep breath, blushing faintly. "Maker's balls do I even want to know why?"

"Why does anyone want to spend their parents' money in ways that would piss them off?" Carys asks Cenn. "We didn't talk much but let's just say what little he did say of his father has my right tempted t'pack my bags an' march my ass t'Tevinter right now an' have 'words' with him." The fact she glances at her weaponry is /not/ coincidental. "Jus' fortunate I had arms full of cute'n fluff." Cute Fluffy has put the reckoning of a raping Tevinter slaver on hold. FOR NOW. "But it started off with him bein' sad about my /clothes/ in the rubble an' wanted t'help me out." She gives a suffering look. "Didn't quite buy th' fact I'm good with what I have… but he was so insistent an' when he mentioned what his father was like, I stopped feelin' bad." She does a few stitches. "An' his name is Davan, if you didn't get it in th' aftermath."

Something about that explanation makes Cenn's posture straighten a good deal. Look, he figures most Magisters probably aren't the best people in Thedas but… Monsterous enough to make Carys want to pick up and march off to stab him? That didn't bode well for the little shadow of doubt that creeps at the back of his mind. He brushes it off quickly and turns his attention back to the ruffles. "I did, actually, but thank you." The Templar says, pulling the ruffled piece of clothing gently just a few inches out of the bag. "So he bought you fabric and then… This? This seems like it has a story. It's so ruffly. I could take you to one of my mother's parties in something like this."

"I think /he/ is a decent person," She says of Davan. "He didn't set my bells off, at any rate." Carys glances up at the thing. "Oh, he says it's Antivan. It's got POCKETS." She puts her sewing down and leans over and begins showing POCKETS. "D'you know what I can hide in here?" She's in awe.

"Oh, sure… Decent people can come from all manner of stock…" Cenn says, a little as though he is trying to convince himself. But that was neither here nor there. What was here AND there, however, was this dress. "Maker, I think it's better for my deniability if I don't know what all you can hide in here, actually."

That has her giggling, and she works to put it back in the bag. "Probably right," she says, "You kind'a have this face that'll give you away in a heartbeat." Is that her saying she might've caught the way her comments caused him to react? Maybe. Of course, it does warm her heart that he knows how she is and is still chilling with her. She settles back in her seat. "He's got a fox named Princess," she continues. "She's /so adorable/! And loves cuddles an' I got t'walk around all of Hightown carryin' her."

Cenn laughs, drinking and shaking his head at himself. "I really do, don't I?" He says, grinning. "It's a terrible curse." Sometimes. Other times it was disarming and charming. Such were the ways of things. "He has a fox na-" Cenn just stops for a minute and then sighs, "Of course he does." Though the tone he uses is entirely too amused and entirely too indulgent for it to be anywhere near disapproval.

Carys smirks. " Which is why, as my friend, I will never talk you int' playin' cards with me. But if you join up of yer own mind, I can't help you." Because she is sure Cenn has the /worst/ poker face ever created by the Maker. She then laughs outright at his tone and acceptance. "She is so fluffy. Just… fluff. Everywhere." And for the next two minutes, Cenn, you'll have to deal with her describing and squeeing about this silly /fox/.

"Oh, is that so?" Cenn says, raising a brow, "I am actually a fair hand at Wicked Grace, I'll have you know." Seems he does have some measure of control over his giveaway face. But then Carys is off to the races about this fox and Cenn can't help but smile. Eventually, though, he reaches to pat her hand. "Carys, Maker," He says through a laugh, "Breathe." He shakes his head. "Oh, and…" He takes his hand back, reaching toward his belt and taking off a small, but heavy, coin pouch, "Drink are on me tonight, it was commission time."

"Huh?" Carys stares at him for a couple of moments as her train of thought peels itself off the wall his words put up in order to halt it. "Oh, oh, uh…yeah." She flushes a little bit and then just gives a little giggle and wrinkles her nose. "OH, really?" She taps her chin here, not throwing too much doubt to the table of his ability to bluff. "Perhaps we'll see sometime, hm?" And then he offers to buy! "Ah! Best day ever!" Everyone's paying for her stuff! "Commission on what?" This is said practically with the same breath as her cheer.

"On being a Templar?" Cenn says with a small laugh. They did pay them. Big shock, he knew. "And yeah, really. I'm Orlesian Carys, Wicked Grace is to us what… I dunno… Mabari breeding is to Fereldens. We may not all do it all the time, but we all at least have a basic idea and can make it work with some respectability." He nods, very sure of that statement. Pausing to drink again, Cenn smirks. "So…" He says then, leaning back in his chair and letting the dress go back to the bag, "Who's the boy you were giggling with in the rubble?"

"I keep forgettin' your Orlesian…" She says this in a 'stop trying to remind me' sort of tone. Like with most though it lacks proper bite because for the most part, Carys can't insult her way out of a paper bag. and when she does, they're not clever and tend to be rather straight forward. Kind of like a brick to the face. Maybe she uses bricks to the face to insult people, who knows! She works on folding her stuff and she nods. "Okay, wow… so what /does/ a Templar make anyway? I thought they weren't worth a bump'n grab." IE: Templars make poor pick pocket targets, didn't you know, Cenn? She sets things aside and he asks THAT question. "Hey, so you're buyin' would you like somethin' other than beer? I wonder if he's got some Antivan Brandy stashed somewhere. What d'ya think?" FOLD FOLD FOLD Oh look, her ears are red… she has folded and unfolded this piece of cloth several times since that question was asked…

"Depends." Cenn answers, "The Knight's commission isn't great. Corporal's enough to support a modest family. Lieutenant…" He smirks a little, pushes the pouch toward her to investigate. If she does… Well… Let's just say it's not silver in there. "I imagine Captain's better." And whatever the fuck they paid a Knight Commander, Cenn honestly can't even hazard a guess. "Brandy sounds great." He says, but that smirk doesn't leave, "You've folded that five times now. Which means I definitely need this guy's name."

Of course Carys is going to look in Cenn's salary pouch. And look at that, no reaction whatever and she sets it back. Her brows arch in a total 'Very impressive' sort of way. She's keeping the expression neutral for she doesn't want /him/ to get bumped into any time soon. "But thanks for lettin' me know what ranks t'look for," she tosses a wink here. And her hopes that THAT would get the topic moved aside is dashed when he catches her stalling tactics. Foiled! She does indeed order the brandy before she gulps down the rest of what's in her mug. While answering his question. Insert 'His name's Carver' while burbling and gulping down liquids and you have pretty much what she /actually/ said.

It's not the whole of his salary, luckily he's not that stupid. It's what he's willing to lose, in a pinch, but it's still decent. "Anytime, cupcake." He says with a laugh. "Though, to be rightly fair, most of us have our commissions sent back to family. Wives, children, siblings." The explanation is offered, "I'm just a freak whose only living family member is a noble who doesn't need the help." So, you know, swiping coin from Templars, probably not the most ethical. Cenn blinks at that attempted answer. "Okay… Well… That sounded a lot like 'Garter' and there's no fucking way that's this guy's name, but unless you want it to effectively be as far as I'm concerned for the rest of time, you should probably answer the question properly."

Okay 'Garter' has her choking on that last gulp of ale which means, thankfully, he doesn't get the rote line of question of 'Templars can have wives?' Apparently, though, Carys wouldn't care because she's got it in her head Cenn needs a date. But anyway, back to the Garter problem…"Carver!" She clarifies when she can breathe properly. "His name's Carver."

Really, he tries to keep the self satisfied smirk down. It doesn't much work. Is he sure he's any good at cards? Taking the time of Carys gasping and choking, he drains his own mug just as the brandy is brought over. And then he winces, even as he reaches to pour. "Carver?" He says, "Sacrebleu, that's not much better. But alright, Carver." The Orlesian expletive is odd on a Ferelden accent, but he makes it work, somehow, "How did you meet Carver?" He might actually like 'Garter' better.

"I…think it's a nickname," Carys syas because she's got the same opinion. "I hope it's a nickname…Have you met a girl named Bethany? He's her sister." She's twirling a curl around her finger and them blinks. "BROTHER! He's her /brother/. Gah," She crosses her arms and looks disgruntled because… Yeah. "Uh, over there." She points to the bar.

"I hope it's not a nickname," Cenn says, sounding horrified, "Can you imagine what someone would have to do to get a nickname like Carver. If that isn't a definite sign of a dangerous psychopath with a history of violence, I wouldn't know what is." None the less, he brushes it off. "Bethany…" He turns the name over in his mind a few times, "I… I don't think so?" He laughs a little at Carys's mix up, but he can't much blame her. Davan had managed to turn him into a blushing mess, he's not going to throw stones. Looking to the bar, the Templar smirks. "This place is just really working out for you."

Carys rolls her eyes. "Is that any better an explanation on someone deliberately namin' their kid 'Carver'? Did his da have aspirations of him workin' in the butcher business?" She wrinkles her nose because that last bit just kind of fits with the exclamation Cenn's making. "Well, he /is/ a soldier," she points out and she shrugs agian. But let's all agree, nickname or not, Carver is a horrible name apparently. She's also scooted down enough to where her, uh, assets, are being used to try to obscure her chin and mouth and if she could figure out how to further work to hide behind her bosom, she would. And the fact she's so pale just makes her blush that much visible. "I guess… he's…" She then bolts up right and slaps her hands lightly on the table top looking horrified at Cenn. It has 'HELP ME' written all over it. "He actually flirted back! An' he walked me home an'…" And yes, Carys actually, literally flails her arms about for a couple of moments before she covers her face.

"Well… I guess it could be a soldier's jest, then…" Cenn says, shrugging. He's just going to opt to not think about it too hard. Books, covers, what have you. As Carys flails, Cenn just laughs, sips at his brandy. "Yeah? Did he? Well, he also laughed like a smitten fool when you fell on him." He says, grinning like an idiot, "And I can promise you that after a fall like that, no one was going to let you stay on top of them that long who wasn't taken with you. I think I earned a bruise just watching that fall of his."

Carys's got her index finger of one hand tracing random spots on the table. "You'd let me lay on you after a fall like that," she points out. "Especially after realizin' I got knocked from a rooftop." Go ahead, say it wouldn't have been so. But it's a weak protest because she really is sitting there blushing like a damn school girl at this. She does try to save, "Well, at least I didn't offer t'put his face in my bosom." Because that worked out well. Okay, it did, but that's beside the point. She then admits, "If it wasn't so late when we went home that night I would'a come banged on your window! I had no clue what t'do." Cenn obviously has all the answers. … and don't ask if she really does know which window is his.

"Oh no I would not." Cenn says with a laugh, "I'd let you fall on me, sure. And then when I was sure you weren't dying I would gently move you off of me… That much lingering is strictly reserved for people who think about…" He looks down at the glass of brandy in his hand, "This brandy is, apparently, the great slayer of good sense with words." He's not going to finish that original sentence. Laughing then, he shakes his head. "Did you want the lad to walk you home?" He asks, "Because that's all my advice would have been. If you like him, go get him. Trust me, wasted time is worse than any embarrassment you could ever face."

"Think about what?" What probably is problematic is she says it with this guileless, almost innocent tone of voice. But then he derails again and say that last bit and she wrinkles her nose. DRINKING OKAY. The brandy is awesome and she coughs a bit because one does not do /shots/ of brandy and she was apparently trying to do a full glass of brandy. Ah well. "Of course I wanted him t'walk me home… I let him didn't i?" She crosses her arms in the oh so mature SO THERE fashion. But she does wrinkle her nose at that very last and turns her attention to her friend and regards him. There's a story there, she senses, but while it's obvious that she wants to question, she doesn't. There's just this niggling feeling that doing so will ruin the happy giggly mood they have. And after the other night—that is so needed right now. Giggles for everyone!

Cenn is not answering that first question. No, he's just going to roll his eyes. "Oh, Carys, not literally. Did you want him to 'walk you home.' You know, come inside af-" He laughs a little, a little like a twelve year old, but he can't himself. He quells it quickly. "Walk in the house with you. Kiss you… All of the delightful things that generally happen when you bring a handsome stranger home from a bar." As for her obvious want of questioning, Cenn's not offering. Nope. He's just drinking more of this brandy.

Hi there, her face is red. "Maybe. It was… implied initially," she scratches behind her head and looks decidedly uncomfortable. Not in a negative way but in a very bashful embarrassed sort of way. So at least she was able to catch innuendo like /that/. "But we were both drunk an' I didn't know … I mean… I was worried that… maybe I wasn't likable sober, so… thought doin' stuff like that shitfaced wasn't a good idea." She then sighs and admits, "'sides, I'd need all my thoughts if I were t'…go that far. It's been a bazillion years." Don't do the math, Cenn… don't do the math on what a nineteen year old would consider a 'bazillion years'. She then burbles in her drink again, saying quietly, "This might shock you but… I don't really have a lotta…experience." ACT SHOCKED OKAY>

In fact, Cenn is not going to do that math. Because he's had to have a conversation about THAT sort of thing one too many times this year and he can't even begin down that road with someone else. So he doesn't. "You know, that's a reasonable decision. But he seems to like you sober, too." Cenn says, a little more gentle this time. At her admission of inexperience, Cenn just shrugs. "Yeah, and? I used to flirt all the time. I've had one proper lover. No stones to throw here."

Hey, that's the problem with homeless orphans, they grow up too quickly. AT his comment about liking her sober, she's again flushing but there might be this weird 'Really?' expression there… the kind only a teenage girl that might be in the throes of burgeoning crushdom could get. She chews the side of her lip for a moment, the hamster wheel in her brain trying to turn despite alcohol. "Huh." She takes another sip before she refills both of their glasses. She hesitates to speak at his admission…a sort of physical one because she's not sure how to ask questions and not accidentally stomp on an angst button. "An' that's why you're the best," she instead says, commenting on the no stones to throw thing, and she even leans over to peck his cheek. She pauses. "He's built like whoa." Random comment alert!

Laughing easily, Cenn shrugs. Seems he's willing to not linger on the sadder points of that topic, as well. Which was… Good, for him. Being able to mention Rylan's existence without it wracking him with guilt was a marked and profound improvement and Cenn did not fail to appreciate that fact. Silently. To himself. And then he's lighting up because well… "That he is." He says, reaching for the bottle and refilling glasses, "Looked like he was Ferelden. Is he?"

Carys nods leaning back. "I got a good pat down," because apparently inexperienced and bashful does not mean she hesitates to take advantage of a situation. "Definitely fits in what I find attractive," if Cenn's own looks wasn't a good indication she likes her men stacked, that comment should confirm it. "He is," she says of his origins. "Though, he's been in Kirkwall a year or so." One and one should equal 'Fled the Blight'.

Any additional notes fall to the bottom.