[tag Morrigan!]archdemonsoulJune 1 2010, 10:03:47 UTC
Nemhain keeps finding herself here. She hasn't, yet, worked out if there's a way to get here on purpose -- it's not like wandering around the Fade, which she also used to not have any control over, but it's certainly strange enough to hold her interest.
Even stranger: that woman over there who looks very much like her own mother. Not much surprises Nemhain; there's something about her that is rather immune to the unexpected. This, however... this is new.
For a moment, Morrigan is concerned that this place may actually have put her out of her mind and that the child in her stomach is speaking to her (she always suspected that it would be a girl). She frowns and then has the good sense to look up and spot the girl that the words are really coming from.
...interesting.
She'd be lying if she said the girl looked nothing like her.
"I suppose that all depends on who exactly you think that I am."
"I hardly have to think to realize that, do I? It isn't as though I've spent the last fifteen years of my life in the company of very many others that might've made a lasting impression," Nemhain replied mildly.
She didn't mind all the traveling. She understood more than she ought to, though she wasn't always sure why she did. But she didn't resent her mother for their lifestyle; she just couldn't resist getting in a bit of snark.
Her snark is certainly Alistair's influence, genetic or otherwise. She has no real view of the future however much she would like to, sometimes.
"I have been told there are people that look like others here," she replies, brow arched. "But if you are looking for Morrigan then yes, I am she." If this girl was indeed who she suspected, then she supposed she should try to be ... nice. For a relaxed meaning of the term, at least.
He's wobbling as he walks and his fingers keep flickering with white hot flames. He runs a hand through his hair but thankfully one does not spark the other as he manages to practically fall into a booth.
"I don't care what it is," he said quietly to the wait rat, "but make sure it's very watered down."
The young woman with the dark tattoos lining her face glances up from her paperwork, keeping a steady gaze on Seph as he wobbles by. The fact that he's flickering like that makes her think that he's either an out-of-control apostate, or some sort of fire demon.
Either way, it requires her attention. She sighs and pushes herself up to her feet, kicking out her leather boots and then walking over to his table.
He looks down at them himself, not quite willing them to calm. The flames flicker off of his fingers and into the air, shaped almost like butterflies fluttering off into the nothing. He shakes his hands.
"Are you going through lyrium withdrawl or something, kid?" He's probably about the same age as her, but she's taken to calling people who don't kill darkspawn for a living 'kid'.
Not very many people have called her on it yet. She shrugs, dropping down into the seat across from him.
Saying 'I could hook you up' makes her sound like a drug dealer, but she knew that it was addictive stuff. She's glad Alistair never got mixed up in any of that.
Comments 90
Even stranger: that woman over there who looks very much like her own mother. Not much surprises Nemhain; there's something about her that is rather immune to the unexpected. This, however... this is new.
"... Mother?"
Reply
...interesting.
She'd be lying if she said the girl looked nothing like her.
"I suppose that all depends on who exactly you think that I am."
Reply
She didn't mind all the traveling. She understood more than she ought to, though she wasn't always sure why she did. But she didn't resent her mother for their lifestyle; she just couldn't resist getting in a bit of snark.
Reply
"I have been told there are people that look like others here," she replies, brow arched. "But if you are looking for Morrigan then yes, I am she." If this girl was indeed who she suspected, then she supposed she should try to be ... nice. For a relaxed meaning of the term, at least.
Reply
He's wobbling as he walks and his fingers keep flickering with white hot flames. He runs a hand through his hair but thankfully one does not spark the other as he manages to practically fall into a booth.
"I don't care what it is," he said quietly to the wait rat, "but make sure it's very watered down."
He'd rather not set his drink on fire.
Reply
Either way, it requires her attention. She sighs and pushes herself up to her feet, kicking out her leather boots and then walking over to his table.
"That normal?" She nods to his hands.
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Then wobbles one.
Sometimes.
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Not very many people have called her on it yet. She shrugs, dropping down into the seat across from him.
Saying 'I could hook you up' makes her sound like a drug dealer, but she knew that it was addictive stuff. She's glad Alistair never got mixed up in any of that.
Reply
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