[The man's voice, when he speaks, carries a very distinctive accent. British, maybe? In actuality, it's a ~*Ferelden*~ accent, but hey: easy mistake to make. Furthermore, it's quick and obviously rambling, as though the man is a few shades shy of shrieking screaming in a very manly way.]
No no, this can't be. It was just a pinch, it couldn't have
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While you're at it I don't suppose you'd mind asking the Maker where favorite pair of socks went? It's been weeks since I've seen them.
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I didn't know that books liked socks. Though I guess you could have a favorite pair of anything, even if you couldn't wear them.
... Unless you can grow little feet or something. You ... can't do that, can you?
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Of course I can. I can talk can't I? But I can only do it while you're sleeping. I have to do something besides sitting here and waiting for you to talk to me.
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[A pause.]
What if I didn't talk to you for a while? Could you do it then?
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That depends if you were watching or not. I'm self-conscious about my feet.
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Why self-conscious? I bet they match your cover quite well.
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Well let's see how your feet look when you spend all night running around in a keep in nothing but socks and no way to wash them.
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Or a book, for that matter.
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[If Hawke can get a man to talk to the furniture in the keep it will be his greatest accomplishment yet.]
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[The idea is there, Hawke. Just gotta make it groooow.]
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