bakerstreet | fell asleep on

fell asleep on

SWEET DREAMS.

Someone, whether it be a friend or a total stranger, has fallen asleep on you wherever you happen to be; you are a rather comfortable pillow to them. What do you do?

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[ It's been a wild night, really. She might have retired early if Bull and Varric hadn't cajoled her to stay, her whole body sore from the fight. But the adrenaline was still there and they were alive, so many of them still standing victorious, and the revelry was infectious. How could she say no? There was drinking, wild tales, bawdy songs well into the night... She only regrets the headache she has now, having spent the past few hours with her head in her arms at one of the tables. Her whole body feels as if it's been thrown around by a giant and she lifts her head, blinking owlishly at the finally silent tavern, a mess of arms and legs and drinks. Dawn is beginning to spill into the windows of the tavern, though no one seems to have awakened just yet besides her. And it's only then that she realizes there's something in her lap that's preventing her from rising.

...Not something. Someone.

Nasrin stares down at Cullen, sprawled between two chairs, his head on her leg. Her reaction is embarrassingly delayed, only enough energy in her to stare instead of move or attempt to remedy the situation. In fact, for a few seconds, she's half-tempted to just go back to sleep--

But this would be the sort of situation neither of them would live down, least of all him, and with a sigh and a quiet groan, she turns to him and reaches out to touch his shoulder. ]

Cullen. ...Cullen, wake up.

[ He looks peaceful there, more relaxed than she's ever seen him. Between the fighting and his battle with lyrium, he's seemed more drained lately. It's a shame to rouse him. Her hand very briefly touches the side of his head, fingers briefly brushing the hair from his forehead (slightly curled, she'll note later, when she's not so groggy) before nudging his shoulder again. ]

Lethallin, [ The word is cotton on her tongue. She can feel Solas' disapproval all the way across the yard. ] the sun's risen. You need to wake up now.

Mm.

[It's hard to wake up, for so many reasons. For the first time in as long as he might remember, were he awake enough to try, he's been sleeping well. No nightmares--in fact, a rather pleasant dream about sunshine and grass and laughter. There's also the fact that he drank enough last night to fell a small bronto. Add in to that the incredibly comfortable and warm pillow he's somehow acquired, and--

"You need to wake up now."

The words finally pierce the sleepy, still-vaguely-intoxicated fog in his brain. Eyes blink open, sleepily flutter closed again. And then open.

That's... not a pillow. That's a leg.

Suddenly Cullen sits bolt upright, and just as quickly regrets it. His head pounds, his vision swims, and the full impact on his muscles of a night of sleeping in strange positions in full plate armor makes itself known. With an involuntary groan he reaches both hands up to hold his head, as if his skull might fly apart at any moment. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.]

Oh Maker...

[He's been sleeping in the Inquisitor's lap. He's been sleeping in the Inquisitor's lap. The... Her.

When his head stops swimming from that first too-quick movement he turns slightly toward her, his hair matted all along one side (not a very fetching look there, Commander). His voice is a rumble, deeper when he first wakes up and tongue still thick from too much alcohol and not enough water.]

I... please, forgive me Inquisitor.

[ Even shocked to see him upright so quickly, Nasrin lets out a small little chuckle, empathizing immediately with his obvious headache. ]

That's right about where I am too.

[ She says it quietly, because even if most of the others are too intoxicated to let a little talking wake them, she can't be certain, and she'd like to avoid any embarrassing altercations so soon after their hard-won victory in the field. When he turns, she gives him a slightly sunny smile, though it's hampered by the pounding of her head. If anything, it's sheepish and almost apologetic, the same as his. ]

It's all right, no harm done. At least you were comfortable, yes?

[ Oh, Creators, shut up. She clears her throat awkwardly, feeling the sting of too much liquor as she does so. ]

Really, it's all right. I just...didn't want you to get caught that way, with everyone around. Varric would publish it in some tawdry novel and you'd never hear the end of it.

[ But he'd been relaxed and that's surprisingly more important to her than some foolish talk around camp. ]

[Cullen blanches at the thought of winding up in Cassandra and Dorian's reading material (oh yes, he's heard), turning his head just enough to eye the snoring dwarf warily. He'd have gotten around to worrying about that sort of thing eventually, after the initial mortification of waking up so close to... to.... Anyway, it's good of her to think of it for him. When he speaks again he's careful to lower his voice to match hers.]

Thank you. [There's also the fact that he's not the only one who might wind up gracing the pages of some trashy serial, but that's a thought best left untouched for now.] Although now that you mention it, perhaps we'd best be getting out of here.

[Following through on that thought the Commander rises slowly, grimacing at the protestations from stiff, sore muscles.]

Maker's breath, why did I let them talk me into this?

[ She follows him in standing, muscles straining in her legs as she stretches. It's a blessing she doesn't wear armor, or she might be in a similar position as he. Still, she's had no luxury in sitting upright all night, and she rubs briefly at the back of her neck. It's all too easy to remember the fight from the day before and she vows to try to sleep until midday if she can before going to the war room. At least she doesn't need to feign the hangover headache. ]

Good idea. I don't want to be around when some of them wake up.

[ Nasrin is grateful to have never caught her companions or recruits on a particularly bad morning. She's not about to start now. Stepping to the door, she carefully opens it and allows Cullen to leave first before slipping out after him, the first rays of dawn coating Skyhold in a soft blue and white hue.

She shoots him a small smile. ]

You deserve a night to celebrate after all of your hard work, Cullen. It was good to see you unwind a little.

[He steps outside, waiting for her to follow, and pauses briefly to close his eyes and inhale deeply. The mountain air is always crisp--downright chilly this morning--but it's fresh and it feels wonderful. Invigorating. It helps clear a little of the fog in his head, although he gets the feeling that the pounding in the back of his skull probably won't let up for the better part of the day. There's a good reason he almost never celebrates with Bull and the rest of them.

Several, in fact.

When he opens his eyes again he shoots Nasrin a sheepish smile.]

Honestly, I'm sorry you saw me like that. I made a bloody fool of myself... or at least I'm fairly certain I did, given what little of last night I can remember.

[ The cold, likewise, causes her to shiver just once, the tingle of chilly air dancing on her spine. It feels good, less confining than the warmth of the tavern. She exhales a sigh and rolls her shoulders back, turning to look at Cullen. The smile she gives is awkward but bright. ]

You say that as if I'm not used to it. All of the soldiers have their nights in the tavern. And let's be honest: Bull outdoes all of them.

[ From arm wrestling to drinking and everything in between. ]

I think we all made a mess of ourselves.

[ Herself included. ]

But I don't think any less of you for it. I'm glad you were able to relax and unwind with us.

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