( I’ve never been able to leave well enough alone, she nearly says, but he carries on and — probably that’s obvious from knowing her even ten minutes, anyway. does it need saying? varric hadn’t picked her up just fucking around, after all.

(and what she’d been in the middle of, well, that’s another story. for another bottle, maybe, or never.) )

I think we’re being a bit spoiled, ( she suggests, wryly. ) I know it might not seem that way, but they’re— refreshingly willing to listen.

( accusations of corpsebothering notwithstanding. or, well, including those; he might have the edge on her here, in the necropolis and nevarra proper, but she’s spent more time outside of both than he has, she’s almost certain. and without a title like professor to assert some authority, usually preferring to keep specifically being of the mourn watch under her hat in the circumstances it most often might come up.

she takes a sip, observes: )

I think to some, there’s too much blood in our magic to trust.

( that there is not, in fact, blood in their magic— yes. but what is a corpse if not a great deal of it? it isn’t the shape of everyone’s suspicion or distaste, but it’s often there. )