ᴀʟᴛᴜs, ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴍᴀɢɪsᴛᴇʀ (tevene) wrote in valloic, @ 2022-02-14 15:35:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: cullen rutherford, ₴ inactive: dorian pavus |
It was a pleasant sort of storm, Dorian supposed - nothing that allowed for too much of an inconvenience, or tree branches that were positively groaning under the weight of snow. Everything looked artistic, blue-gray clouds (which went so well with his eyes, not to mention the turtleneck sweater he’d chosen for this evening’s date) and the ground feather-soft; he wasn’t usually one for the cold, but had to admit that under the right circumstances it could feel refreshing and rejuvenating. Reservations at The Canteen had been made - well in advance, meaning, Dorian had personally gone over to the tavern (or was it a steakhouse? It smelled divine, anyway) and ensured that he could procure a table for Valentine’s Day - it was right after all of the nonsense with the undead what-cha-ma-call-its died down, and cleanup and building anew had begun for many places. Dorian wanted to support a local business, especially one that Cullen was excited about getting to finally try out - while Dorian himself remained wary of food prepared by cats, he was certain the experience would be well worth writing home about, as they said. His coat was brand new - new month, new coat, new date - and he showed up at Skyhold to retrieve Cullen so they could take the waypoints to the Crossed Quills, with The Canteen nearby. Maybe frolicking in the snow would happen first too, Dorian didn’t know - he simply arrived, finding a cat curling around his ankles like a question mark, so he stooped to lift the creature. Who meowed in his face. “Not certain why he thinks you’re so adorable,” Dorian shared. “...but, well, alright. I suppose you are.” “The Divine Ferocia is a good girl, and absolutely adorable,” Cullen informed him, on his way down the ladder from the loft above his office. Cullen could, at first glance, be mistaken for a Dog Person. He loved dogs, virtually every one he’d ever met, and of course he was Fereldan, and that was a whole nation of Dog People. The truth was, Cullen was an Animal Person. Cats, horses, druffalo, the fennecs running through the woods, they were all grand as far as he was concerned. (Except chickens. He’d yet to meet anyone who grew up on a farm who had anything nice to say about chickens.) Thus he was particularly pleased that though the new kittens more or less had free run of Skyhold, The Divine Ferocia had decided that his office was among her favorite places to be. Cullen made his landing on the floor, and it was almost funny how much more Tevinter his look was than Dorian’s. A dark red coat with a high collar (The Divine Ferocia liked sleeping between the collar and his neck), a matching vest with very nice embroidery underneath it, a shirt that was actually made of decent fabric at the bottom…clearly he’d taken to fashion in Minrathous rather well. It would seem strange, if one had missed the fact that the first time Cullen got to choose his own armor, it had a dramatic fur collar and a lion helmet. Well, didn’t he just look fantastic? Dorian knew that, if he ever got married, he would no doubt choose someone with fashion sense that was almost as impeccable as his own (and that was an almost because there was simply no topping perfection - unless Cullen wanted to top perfection, anyway, let’s not get on that tangent). This gloomy Necromancer smiled - something soft, since he wasn’t the sort to show all of his teeth when he exercised those muscles - and stepped in to run his fingers along the collar of Cullen’s coat, after setting Divine Ferocia back down so that she may run off to wreck something. “You look like a snack,” he stated, eyes ticking down to take in the embroidery on Cullen’s vest - yes, yes, very nice. Five out of five stars. “That’s a modern phrase for the year 2022, isn’t it delightful?” “I…” Cullen could tell that being a snack was apparently…good? Probably in some way sexual, which made sense if one followed the metaphor to its logical conclusion of wanting to eat a snack. Right, okay, that would do. Cullen’s confusion passed, replaced by a grin. “I’ll accept it. You look very nice yourself.” He leaned in to give Dorian a quick kiss on the cheek; that seemed acceptable for where they were, he thought. “Ready to make another try at dinner?” Cheek kiss accepted, and Dorian reached to take Cullen’s hand and give it a warm squeeze. “Yes, let’s give it our best shot,” he agreed. “I will literally light anything in our way on fire.” Maker’s breath, he really needed this - because the week of the teeth-only undead had plagued them, yes, but also it was due to the fact that after Marina’s breakup with Eleanor, he realized that time was annoyingly short in Vallo sometimes; he wished for Marina to realize this too, and he’d done his best to be there for her in the wake of her romantic woes - Dorian loved her, truly, even if sometimes she was as impossible as a storm. “The snow is pleasant too, isn’t it?” he added, adjusting his coat buttons, making sure he looked impeccable. Just in case they decided to stop along the relatively short journey (thanks to waypoints) and take an impromptu photo or something - the communication devices were handy in that way. “I’m enjoying it,” Cullen agreed. He kept Dorian’s hand in his as they descended the battlements into Skyhold’s courtyard. “Much nicer than the last time I experienced snow at Skyhold, with all the conveniences around us here. Clearing the stairs and the walkways isn’t nearly as bad when you come back inside and it’s instantly and evenly warm throughout the room. Besides, after two years in Minrathous, a proper winter is sort of fun and novel.” Dorian certainly agreed with that. Tevinter experienced all four seasons, yes, but he’d done plenty of reason and comparisons when it came to his homeland - apparently the climate most resembled something Mediterranean, with wet winters and extremely dry summers. Snow was possible further south and at higher altitudes but for the most part, they weren’t partaking in a winter wonderland quite like this one - not in Minrathous, anyway. “I appreciate the warmth of a heated home - being cold is terrible for the skin,” he sighed. “The dryness.” Woe! He really had to up the ante on moisturizer during those frigid months - slather it on his hands especially, which felt ancient and far too cracked for his liking. “But I do feel as if I cleaned up nicely, especially for tonight - I have to look pretty for you,” Dorian preened like the peacock he was, as they approached the courtyard waypoint. “You are always the handsomest man in any room you enter, and you know it,” Cullen said with a fond smile. He appreciated the effort Dorian went to, of course, but he also liked reminding Dorian that no effort was really necessary. And yes, Dorian couldn’t be more obviously fishing for compliments if he had thrown out a line and hook, but it wasn’t as if Cullen didn’t enjoy indulging him. Dorian never tired of having his vanity flattered, and Cullen never tired of making Dorian happy—or of looking at him in all his very fancy peacock glory. It seemed a basic fact that Dorian deserved every compliment he desired, even if Cullen would always gently tease him over pointedly looking for them. “I do know it,” Dorian laughed, a good-natured sound and something genuine; rare from the likes of him, yes, but Cullen seemed to draw those laughs from him often. And draw out the genuineness too - so much of his life had been about putting on a show, about conducting himself with propriety and then simply acting out for the sake of it - there was so much hurt and pain, yes, pain is all you are as Cole once told him. But there was a softness, a well of compassion that ran deeply - the things he couldn’t show to the masses, out of fear of a vial of poison slipped into his drink, he was glad to had someone to actually be real with. Cullen wasn’t everyone - he was only him, and that was enough. He paused by the courtyard waypoint and before he touched the crystal to let it take them away to the small village where their reservations were located, he tugged Cullen closer by the front of his coat. “Thought we might do this when it’s romantic and snowing,” he suggested, going for a kiss that seemed to be a long time coming - swollen storm clouds on the verge of erupting really, thunderous and something that zinged with ozone. Dorian keenly felt that zing too. It was exactly right. This was the sort of moment Cullen had been waiting for. He was enough of a romantic to think that a first kiss ought to be something at least a little bit special. Surrounded by pure white snow, about to be whisked off to a magical evening…that was the perfect setting. It was every bit as good as the first first kiss that Cullen remembered between them. It was good as the first one at the Exalted Council after they’d decided to stop being idiots pretending they could live without each other, too. Was he possibly taking a bit of advantage of the fact that he knew exactly how Dorian liked being kissed even though Dorian didn’t know that yet? Yes, absolutely, and he would never apologize for it. Sneaky, this one - this Commander who knew Dorian so intimately, every in and out and every triumph and every flaw, every preference and every dislike. While it may be terrifying to some, for Dorian it was actually such a relief. A weightlessness, a cool hand against a feverish forehead or like when a ton of debris was lifted from your heart and your heart and just - finally. Finally. It wasn’t terrifying at all. He needed it all, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. Letting out a happy sigh into Cullen’s mouth, Dorian stroked over the front of his coat and pressed closer. No space allowed in between them. “Well, now I’m all nice and toasty and don’t want to move,” he pointed out - even if they were being lightly snowed on. “Come on.” Cullen smiled and playfully nudged Dorian’s nose with his. “Dinner first. Then we can come back here, I’ll take you up to the loft, and I promise to keep you nice and toasty for the rest of the night. I’ll even banish the Divine Ferocia downstairs for part of the evening.” Nice and toasty held plenty of promise, so Dorian would take it. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied loftily, but couldn’t resist adding a little wink. “And hold you to me, of course.” Oh, ho - so cheeky. But they were here by the waypoint and Dorian was hungry (if he stopped to think about it he could hear his stomach rumbling and that wouldn’t do) so he held onto Cullen with one hand and reached out to touch the crystal with the other - a moment later, they were standing in the snowy village where the Crossed Quills sat, and just beyond that building was The Canteen. The promise of meat awaited. “Here we are, darling - I do hope you’re excited.” How did cats prepare meals, exactly? Did they even have proper thumbs? A mystery for the ages, he supposed. Cullen was indeed excited, though trying not to look it. After all, these were not actually house cats serving meals. These were people who happened to be sort of cat-shaped and cat-sounding, and– “Look at their little hats,” he whispered as they entered. It was the cutest thing he’d ever witnessed in his entire life, despite the fact that just yesterday he had seen Captain Hopper the Second cover his tiny eyes with his tiny paws. “You are the biggest softie,” Dorian snorted, but he was fondly amused from the second they walked inside and were shown to a table - on the second level, with Dorian’s eyes adjusting to the low lighting (warm and buttery, something brought upon by hurricane lamps or wall sconces, no doubt); everything smelled heated and spiced and the color palette was a natural and earthy aesthetic. It sort of reminded Dorian of the taverns he used to frequent but not as unwashed, shall we say - nothing quite compared to the slums of Minrathous and all the decadence and shame that particular spot had to offer. He settled across from Cullen and slipped out of his coat (giving it to a....cat. To hang up. Alright then), gladly opening the menu to peruse the selections. “We’ll have to toast to something fun, of course,” he suggested, glancing up with gray eyes dancing. “Maybe getting you a matching cat hat.” By the way, when he’d mentioned cat sweaters before he wasn’t specifically talking about them for the felines - but for his furball-crazed other-timeline spouse instead. “Oh, shut up,” Cullen replied, but the tone was so fond that it really couldn’t be taken as a genuine insult. He was as soft for Dorian as he was for fluffy animals. He could still yell at troops in the yard or get into a snarling argument with a magister, but with Dorian and puppies, he was a pushover. “If I’m toasting to anything, it’s going to be to getting to kiss you again,” he went on with a grin. “You can certainly do that even without the toast,” he laughed a little, and were Dorian’s cheeks a little bit warmed? Perhaps, but he’d never tell. Probably didn’t need to - the giddiness and the way he was slightly twitterpated all spoke for themselves and Maker, he didn’t usually get so sappy either. It seemed they were both exceptions for each other, in a few ways. This was a Japanese steakhouse, sort of, which meant that sake was available - that was what Dorian went with, rather than your standard bottle of wine. It reminded him a bit of wine anyway - dry and smooth, clean and refreshing, a bit fruity. The cups were small but the drink packed a punch. When the cat-humanoid graciously dropped off their ordered pot of the stuff, Dorian poured some for both he and Cullen. “To shoving our faces together, then,” he offered. “And to Valentine’s Day - thank you for a wonderful one, by the way.” He hadn’t meant for that to rhyme. What a poet he was sometimes. “Thank you, as well,” Cullen said, and lifted his sake cup to clink it against the side of Dorian’s. “I know you’re indulging me with the cat restaurant, and I do appreciate it. While I enjoy your company even while fighting eyeless undead, I much prefer this.” Was he indulging? Perhaps, but then again, Dorian also lived with Marina - who had two of the ugliest cats in existence, and he tended to spoil them both. Also Blackwall, the Mastiff who deserved the best regardless. Eventually he was going to bring up living arrangements with Cullen - as in, it may be time for Dorian to move back into Skyhold, if that was something Cullen wanted as well (and to share a space), but. He’d get there. Right now he wanted to get tipsy and consume an unholy amount of meat. Also reach across the table and cover one of Cullen’s hands with his own, that too. “Believe it or not, I prefer this too,” he admitted. “The bouts of danger mixed in with the quiet. It’s a decent balance. I’d hate for the danger to overshadow everything else.” They had enough of that in Tevinter, clearly. “I do appreciate being able to go to dinner with you and not have to check anything for poison or worry about finding the exit in closest proximity,” Cullen admitted. He still looked for the exits and preferred not to sit with his back to them anyway, but it wasn’t so urgent here. There was a lot to be said for that. “I’d never change making the choice to go back to Minrathous with you, but I’ll likewise never stop hating how much stress you’re under all the time there. I do my best to mitigate it, but Maker, it’s much easier here.” In this particular establishment, no, there really wasn’t a need to be concerned with potentially being assassinated. Not in Vallo at all, really, and Dorian was grateful for that - there were other Outlanders here who bore the burdens of family obligations and had come from difficult situations of their own. Thus, there was a lot of understanding shared among them and also freedom - he’d been here awhile and could safely say he’d learned quite a bit about not only this world, but the worlds of those who now called this place home. “I’m sure there are two of us back in Minrathous as we speak,” he chuckled wryly. “Doing our best, like we are here. I suppose that’s all we can do anyway - and the time to enjoy what we have.” And in a cat restaurant, none the less - it also promised to be quite the show and he couldn’t wait to see paws twirl knives and sashimi some meat. Please, bring it on - by all means. Dorian was right about that, Cullen thought. There was no sense in doing anything but enjoying what they had while they had it. Life was too short for anything else, even when it didn’t end on an assassin’s blade. And one thing he would enjoy, Cullen decided, was being able to turn and kiss Dorian’s cheek in a public place without anybody thinking anything of it. It was funny; back in Ferelden and Orlais, where no one much cared who did what with whom, Cullen had always been reserved. He seldom made any obvious gestures of affection where anyone else would see. But then he lived in Tevinter, where two men couldn’t be obviously in love without the law getting involved, and now he felt like being free with his feelings. (By his standards, anyway. It was still just a kiss on the cheek.) “We’ve said for ages that we ought to take a holiday,” Cullen said. “I’d been thinking Rivain, but Vallo is a nice choice, too. We can probably enjoy it longer this way.” “We can, yes,” Dorian nodded, fingers lacing with Cullen’s - his hand was squeezed warmly, and Dorian was happy to lay as much affection on him as he wanted or needed. He had been so tired of hiding, screaming inside - and he imagined that the ‘him’ in Cullen’s timeline felt the same. In the past, sometimes Dorian had wished to be back in his world - in Thedas, in all of its war-torn glory. But he was glad that whatever powers-that-be hadn’t shifted him there - because then he may never have known what he built with Cullen, and wouldn’t get the chance to feel it in the here-and-now, and settle into it all over again. “Just don’t get too upset if I steal bits of meat off of your plate, darling.” It was what you did when you were married, right? Ah, perhaps. And he didn’t plan to change that anytime soon. |