bethen avilla ; the circle mage (bethe) wrote in thedas,
Would life really get easier? It was already different, to be sure -- she was being heralded as a hero, not a natural born villain, and people would turn to her now with reverence because they needed a savior -- but was her freedom and elevation of status worth the price she had paid? Her humanity could certainly be called into question again as a result of what the Joining had done to her body. When Dee mentioned borrowed time, the cleric had no idea just how succinct her terminology was. Most of the other freshly branded Wardens were still unaware, as well. While Bethen was not one of the people let in on the secret role of lyrium in the lives of her assigned watch guards, had she known, it would have added an entirely new level of contortion to any potential future she had with Aurin. If they didn't die young in some blaze of glory, it would then be a race to see who would fall apart first -- the Templar by lyrium madness, or the Warden by blood poisoning?
But being so unwitting of their mutually dark fates made it easier for Bethen to go along with the teasing timbre of her companion's voice. She was weary of feeling sorry for herself; in the last few weeks, whether it was over being publicly humiliated, or helplessly watching people die, or any other reason to shed tears, she had been caught weeping far too often for her liking. Even if there was some catharsis in sharing and in expressing emotion, it had always been her preference to keep hers close to heart; given the choice between despair and denial, the latter was the option she picked if it allowed her a single moment of merriment. The ebb and flow of her mood was altogether draining, but she managed to chuckle at little at Dee's remark regarding the templar's armor. "Luckily for him, I'm an expert in neither form of magic. I don't suppose being frozen solid would be particularly pleasant, though." She'd been on the receiving end of such a spell herself, and quite recently; it was no pleasure to be encased in a layer of ice while wearing sheer robes, but she could only imagine how uncomfortable it would be to get a patch of one's bare skin attached to frosted metal.
There wasn't much else to say in response to Deidre's offer of her ear, aside from a quietly murmured 'thanks' and a bow of her dark head. She would keep it in mind, and she had already said that the offer was reciprocated. Now was the turning point for the conversation, to push aside the gloomy clouds of sobriety in favor of frivolity. She arched an ebony brow at her companion, amusement holding in the curve of her lips, "If you want to hear another confession, I've never been drunk before." Beth shrugged her shoulders slightly, "A little tipsy, at holidays, when there's a larger quantity of wine with dinner than usual, but not stumbling over nothing, belting out absurd things, completely embarrassing myself type of drunk. Not that I haven't seen it happen to others -- some of the Enchanters like to imbibe more than they ought to when they can. And they regret it a great deal when they have to teach classes the morning after. Somehow, I don't imagine the activity to be much fun, and yet I've been told before that it was, and I quote, 'completely worth it.'"
Two or three strides later, they standing before the stall that the cleric had pointed out earlier. One of the women manning the shop was already collecting some of the toys from their display to put into storage for the evening, while the other was making even stacks of coins. Noticing their approach, she muttered a frustrated curse to herself, having lost count of their day's profits. The one who was packing crates, just slightly older and quite possibly the accountant's mother, put down the miniature wooden horse in her hand to take over the as cashier. She nudged her partner aside and grinned at their customers, her cheer rising to crinkle at the corners of her eyes, "Afternoon! Can I help you with any last minute purchases?"