thunderproof | 𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒙.

Well he knows the sound of that snort by now, and he's got a good idea of what it might mean in this context, with cold air lapping out from under the door fit to chill his toes. It makes him smile despite himself; no forgetting she's got a fine ally in her wyrmling son. "It's me, Charis," he calls, softly. "It's Myr. I brought something for Adalia."

And he'd like to speak to her, of course--but it seems a little too intrusive to say so, right now. Better to see if that's what she needs, first.

— oh. Well! That changes everything, doesn't it? Charis coos loudly and rises up on his hind legs to grapple with the doorknob. It takes him a second or two, but his paws are dexterous enough he can open the door, shuffling awkwardly backward to swing it in and let Myr through.

When he steps through, Myr will see Adalia sat on one of the two beds in the room, an array of books around her and a quill and inkpot on the nightstand next to it. She frowns at Charis, but in that way that is just two seconds from smiling.

"Some guard dragon you are," she says, her voice soft and scratchy. "Disguise Self's a thing, you know. That could be anybody."

"And if it were anybody else, what a tragedy that'd be, because a shapeshifter's eaten my soul." There's a hint of a laugh about the words to show he's not serious, even if he's not much in the mood for humor--and suspects Adalia's not, either.

He steps inside, reaching out his free hand in Charis' direction--an offer of a greeting scratch for the little dragon's head, should he thrust it beneath Myr's fingers as he so often does--before moving just far enough out of the way the door can fall closed. The room's not one he's memorized, which warrants caution. And with one hand cumbered with a small, wrapped package it's just a little bit harder to feel his way around.

"At least, that's the explanation I had on how it works from the Lady Morrigan, but I may have misunderstood," he continues, on the subject of shapeshifters. "But I imagine it's different where you're from. I've brought sweetrolls," food, after all, is love, "and wanted to know how you're doing, though if you'd rather they stay and I go, I can do that as well."

— is that how shapeshifting works in Thedas??? For a moment Adalia looks genuinely shocked and somewhat distraught, but — that's probably not true, right? Morrigan, whoever she is, was lying to Myr, or pulling his leg.

...she'll have to ask Ellana.

Charis raises up a little on his hind legs to bump his head against the palm of Myr's hand, then turns around and curls his tail around Myr's ankle, guiding him toward the bed, where Adalia shifts back to give him plenty of room to sit. She hadn't wanted to deal with people after... well, it wasn't a super great conversation, was it. But Myr isn't really people — he's a friend.

"Charis and I can't eat the sweetrolls by ourselves, can we? Come on, sit down."

Perhaps ignoring the question of how she is outright is a bit conspicuous, but hey, maybe she just got distracted. By sweetrolls. Food is very important!

Myr might--might--be interpreting what Morrigan told him a little liberally for the sake of drama. (All right--he's definitely doing that.) If ever there were a time for a little dramatic exaggeration...

He follows Charis to the bed with complete trust, settling into the empty spot after a moment's feeling about and promptly offering the rolls in Adalia's direction. (He doesn't miss the omission-- But he's learned much about not chasing those, over the years. Not right away, not on an empty stomach.) "I may," he concedes, "have asked them to include one or two extra, and we wouldn't want Charis getting an upset tummy, it's true."

He'll wait until she takes the rolls from him--to whatever purpose--before continuing, soft, "There's been plenty of upset as it is, anyhow."

While Adalia takes the basket, setting it on the bed between them and taking out a roll for each of them, Charis curls on the floor next to the bed, his tail still curled loosely around Myr's ankle. A roll is passed down to him, and Charis inspects it carefully before he blows a cold breath on it — not enough to freeze it outright, but enough to chill the roll considerably.

Adalia, meanwhile, has placed a roll in Myr's hand, and is busy tearing a piece off hers when Myr continues, and she lets out a long breath, her fingers paused on the roll. There's a protracted moment of quiet, oppressive, depressing quiet, before Adalia shifts her shoulders and summons a smile.

"We'll figure it out. This illness won't last forever, and then it'll all just be an unhappy memory."

There's a secret to why Myr always brings food with him for these sorts of things--a secret beyond food is love to an alienage elf, so often deprived of that necessity--and it's that it makes for convenient pauses to think when things get fraught. (When they already started fraught.) He doesn't miss the emotional tenor of that silence, but makes of it an opportunity to take a bite of his own roll, chew and swallow.

If the motion's a little mechanical, a little joyless--he's reason not to be hungry, but he needs to eat--so be it. He can still manage his own smile for the sake of her words, for the hope she puts in them. "Your lips to the Maker's ear," he says, "though I know we will. We've some of the finest minds on--and off--of Thedas on the problem.

"And I heartily wish others saw it that way. You aren't a burden, you know; it's not that anything given to rifters must be snatched away from someone else. Whatever certain folk with more money than manners might say."

𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒙.

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@iii a snail emoticon. it's me. i'm a snail.

what a cute snail!!!

snails are my favorites, tbh

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@ii @ii @ii