[ When Dorian appears to pull him away, Cullen’s sure that something’s gone wrong. That there’s some catastrophe occurring just beyond the ballroom and they’re going to need to make a quick, unremarkable exit to go deal with it before too many people die or the country’s plunged into war. The excuse about the cheese platter is too flimsy for anyone with a brain not to see straight through, but of course the Orlesians believe it. How could they not? The world might very well be ending, yet the precise flavor of the night’s appetizers and whether Countess Haughty and Duke Full of Himself are wearing coordinating attire is simply much more important.
Even though they aren’t met by the Inquisitor or any of the rest of the Inquisition upon successfully escaping the ballroom, he’s still not convinced there isn’t some dire emergency awaiting just around the next corner. So it’s with no small amount of confusion that he blinks after he’s tugged into the bedroom, looking around for the rest of the bad news that… isn’t there.
It’s just Dorian. And him. And some ridiculously over-decorated eyesore of a room that makes his own quarters back at Skyhold look even more dilapidated than everyone keeps telling him they are. ]
I don’t care. [ He blurts it out before he really thinks it through and hastens to correct himself. ] About being rude. I’ve been rude all night and it’s not working. They won’t leave me alone.
[ He tried being polite at first. That just encouraged them. But as he’s discovered, getting progressively ruder only encourages them more. There’s just no winning. Sighing, he steps up beside Dorian and lays a hand on his arm, letting the frustration bleed out of his voice. ]
Thank you. For rescuing me and for preventing whatever diplomatic incident I was about to cause.
[Dorian's lips twitch at Cullen's honesty, offering a theatrical arch of his brow.]
How scandalous, Commander.
[In the Orlesian court, rudeness is tantamount to scandal. The upper circles of Tevinter were close enough to the Grand Game that Dorian's largely unfazed by the antics of the nobles, though to someone like Cullen--who's more comfortable in armor than formalwear--he imagines it must be a bit of culture shock.
And the Orlesians, of course, love him. Who wouldn't? The handsome Fereldan commander of the Inquisition, all wrapped up in finery like a present.
Dorian presses a hand warm over Cullen's before gently removing it, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bookcase.]
As tempting as it is to encourage your scandalous behavior, I don't know that you're prepared for the sort of rumors this would start. [Dorian's brows knit slightly, his smile more rueful.] The Inquisition's commander disappearing from the ball with a mage from Tevinter.
[ It's his turn to fold his arms across his chest, lips thinning in a frown that isn't directed Dorian's way, as he considers what, precisely, might be bandied about by the empty-headed nobles packed like rats in the palace's corridors and ante-chambers. No doubt it will be less pleasant than some of things he's caught, and disciplined, his own soldiers for saying. ]
I suspect the rumors won't be any worse than what people will say when I hit the next person who suggests that there's something wrong with our Tevinter mage. [ He smiles, sharp and, for a brief instant, dangerous. ] I'm a Fereldan soldier. Our methods of rumor-control are always so much simpler and direct than everyone else's. [ A twitch of his shoulder stands in for a shrug. ] Or so they say.
[ Barbarians, he's heard Fereldans called, and while he doesn't agree with the term, he's more than willing to play the part just this once. And not merely because he can't stomach the Orlesians either. Dorian has proven himself time and again to be a valuable, trustworthy part of the Inquisition. It grates on Cullen that that isn't widely recognized. ]
I don't care what a pack of fools think. Obviously. I didn't think you did either. [ But he's not an arse and he doesn't want to make Dorian's life harder just because he wants to stir up the hornet's nest. Relaxing his arms back to his sides, Cullen takes a step back and gestures at the door. ] But I don't want you to have to deal with more idiotic nonsense either. You can go back, tell anyone who asks that you lost me to some fancy cheese or something, and I'll turn up in a bit. No one can blame you for that.
Our spymaster may kill you herself if you hit someone useful.
[Though Dorian sounds far more amused than concerned, something softening in the line of his shoulders with Cullen's response. They are an odd group of misfits, the Inquisition, but Dorian wouldn't want to cause them undue grief just because of who--or what--he is.
He straightens, waving a hand at his offer as he strides back toward the door, locking it with an easy flick of his wrist before turning to lean back against it.]
I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give them a little something to talk about, hm? I only wish I'd nicked us some of that lovely sparkling wine.
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no subject
Even though they aren’t met by the Inquisitor or any of the rest of the Inquisition upon successfully escaping the ballroom, he’s still not convinced there isn’t some dire emergency awaiting just around the next corner. So it’s with no small amount of confusion that he blinks after he’s tugged into the bedroom, looking around for the rest of the bad news that… isn’t there.
It’s just Dorian. And him. And some ridiculously over-decorated eyesore of a room that makes his own quarters back at Skyhold look even more dilapidated than everyone keeps telling him they are. ]
I don’t care. [ He blurts it out before he really thinks it through and hastens to correct himself. ] About being rude. I’ve been rude all night and it’s not working. They won’t leave me alone.
[ He tried being polite at first. That just encouraged them. But as he’s discovered, getting progressively ruder only encourages them more. There’s just no winning. Sighing, he steps up beside Dorian and lays a hand on his arm, letting the frustration bleed out of his voice. ]
Thank you. For rescuing me and for preventing whatever diplomatic incident I was about to cause.
no subject
How scandalous, Commander.
[In the Orlesian court, rudeness is tantamount to scandal. The upper circles of Tevinter were close enough to the Grand Game that Dorian's largely unfazed by the antics of the nobles, though to someone like Cullen--who's more comfortable in armor than formalwear--he imagines it must be a bit of culture shock.
And the Orlesians, of course, love him. Who wouldn't? The handsome Fereldan commander of the Inquisition, all wrapped up in finery like a present.
Dorian presses a hand warm over Cullen's before gently removing it, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bookcase.]
As tempting as it is to encourage your scandalous behavior, I don't know that you're prepared for the sort of rumors this would start. [Dorian's brows knit slightly, his smile more rueful.] The Inquisition's commander disappearing from the ball with a mage from Tevinter.
no subject
I suspect the rumors won't be any worse than what people will say when I hit the next person who suggests that there's something wrong with our Tevinter mage. [ He smiles, sharp and, for a brief instant, dangerous. ] I'm a Fereldan soldier. Our methods of rumor-control are always so much simpler and direct than everyone else's. [ A twitch of his shoulder stands in for a shrug. ] Or so they say.
[ Barbarians, he's heard Fereldans called, and while he doesn't agree with the term, he's more than willing to play the part just this once. And not merely because he can't stomach the Orlesians either. Dorian has proven himself time and again to be a valuable, trustworthy part of the Inquisition. It grates on Cullen that that isn't widely recognized. ]
I don't care what a pack of fools think. Obviously. I didn't think you did either. [ But he's not an arse and he doesn't want to make Dorian's life harder just because he wants to stir up the hornet's nest. Relaxing his arms back to his sides, Cullen takes a step back and gestures at the door. ] But I don't want you to have to deal with more idiotic nonsense either. You can go back, tell anyone who asks that you lost me to some fancy cheese or something, and I'll turn up in a bit. No one can blame you for that.
no subject
[Though Dorian sounds far more amused than concerned, something softening in the line of his shoulders with Cullen's response. They are an odd group of misfits, the Inquisition, but Dorian wouldn't want to cause them undue grief just because of who--or what--he is.
He straightens, waving a hand at his offer as he strides back toward the door, locking it with an easy flick of his wrist before turning to lean back against it.]
I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give them a little something to talk about, hm? I only wish I'd nicked us some of that lovely sparkling wine.