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Test Drive Meme!

'Tis The Season...

...To Still Be In The Hinterlands

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, early fall finds you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

NOW WITH ADDED SNOW.

1. I CAN'T BEAR THE COLD

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's snowy.

2. GIVE ALL THE TOYS TO THE LITTLE RICH BOYS

Winter came. The villagers are freezing. Recruit Whittle totally saw this coming. Now he might have sent you haring (get it) across the countryside in search of supplies that apostates or bandits may have hidden in caves and crannies. He might have handed you some sticks and told you to build a fire. He might have eyed your nice coat with a contemptful gleam that suggested you'd better find some blankets if you didn't want to have your own clothing requisitioned. Nobody's freezing to death on his watch--except maybe you, if you're really bad at finding hidden caches. In the snow.

3. DON'T SHOOT ME SANTA

The sky is beginning to darken and white snow continues to fall, but you and the supply wagon you're protecting should make it to the little Hinterlands village before sunset. The wagon is laden with food, blankets, and other sundry supplies, and so it's important to stay sharp and alert as you make the trecherous journey. And for good reason: an arrow is fired from the tree line and topples an Inquisition soldier from his horse. Beset by bandits, will you manage to fight them back? Or do they overwhelm your troupe and you are forced to flee? Or, perhaps, you could attempt a negotiation, knowing they could be as hungry as the people you protect.

4. DOES THEDAS HAVE FIGGY PUDDING?

It is not only snowing, it's blizzarding, and the tavern in Redcliffe is the closest and warmest place to duck into to wait it out. Unfortunately, half of the Hinterlands had the same idea. The Gull & Lantern is so packed with thawing visitors that it's hard to walk from one side to the other, the owner has given up on telling these Fereldens they can't bring their dogs inside, and that lady in the corner is almost definitely someone you've tried to kill before, or vice versa. But there's a fire going, and the bartender seems to think that giving everyone half-price drinks might prevent a brawl instead of causing one, and there aren't any demons indoors, so it could be a lot worse.

5. WILDCARD

Hunt game in the snow, kill demons in the snow, dig under the snow for herbs, track bandits through the snow, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there in the snow, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow, run from a dragon in the snow, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot in the snow was, set up camp and chat around the fire because it's snowy and cold, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your ~~Frostback Mountain~~ oyster, topped with snow.

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1.

Just once Mal would appreciate it if things went smooth. If one foutu job went the way it was planned. Everything had been in order, the papers, the goods, the route. He and his horse and his Mabari carting a packet of letters and goods all throughout the wilderness down the unbeaten paths to avoid bandits and other folk like him trying to make a dishonest living in the cold. Point in their favor: no bandits. No thieves. Point against: Bears.

He'd lost track of Jayne for all of ten seconds when he heard the first bellow behind him, followed shortly after by a familiar yip. Brave creatures, Mabari. Smart too. Jayne is neither of these things on occasion, when greed gets the better of him and now the great brown beast is whinging and hauling ass up the snowdrifts with a giant pissed off bear on his tail. Mal's got all of three seconds before it's on him and his ride and he isn't exactly someone of a mind to take out a big, toothy thing when he can run away.

Jayne passes in a flash and Mal turns to snap the reigns, contemplating the sizable hank of meat and bone clenched tight in the dog's mouth. Figures Jayne's belly would get them into this. "You stupid fils de pute-"

3.

Take a job from the Inquisition, Wash said. It'll be easy money, he said. Give him and his wife a little time alone while Mal keeps working as he so obviously loved to do. So here's him, sitting on a too hard bench in the too cold weather while they sail up to where it's warm and try their hand and making a kid in the sand of some stupidly pretty beach or some such nonsense. Jayne, at least, is equally miserable, keeping pace with the wagon since the last attempt he made at gnawing a side of beef got him kicked off. It's his ears flicking up that has Mal going tense, hand on his Halberd tightening before the first arrow is loosed. For once the hound actually looks up to Mal before he gives the order. "Tear 'em up."

Anyone that shoots to kill don't mean to talk. Mal's off the cart and in the snow in a heartbeat, cutting down the first idiot that decides rushing a man with a pole arm was a bright idea.

4.

"Jayne, sit. Jayne. Stay." Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but with all the food and all the bodies, and all the drink around? Gett'n the hound to listen was going to be an exercise in futility. Mal did his damndest, Jayne had a habit of finding trouble even when he meant well.

Well.

When he meant to eat well.

Not much to be done about that but try to find his way up to the bar or flag someone down to get the dog fed. And them him. Honestly as long as Jayne was eating there wouldn't be trouble, Mal was happy enough to be somewhere dry and warm. He wasn't above using the butt of his Halberd to prod people out of the way when they wouldn't stand aside after a very civil 'Excuse me'. Got him up to the bar for a pint and a meal, though.

ONE

Neil- known as Baker to most of his connections in the Inquisition- was starting to get pissed off with all this snow. He was a mile from Redcliffe at most, but it was hard to tell the proper direction, between the snow falling thickly enough to obscure his lines of sight and the fact that it was mostly dark.

Then, to top it off, he nearly walked into the maw of an unseasonally awake bear.

There was just one thing to do: punch it in the nose as hard as he bloody well could and take off, hoping to put some distance between them while his new friend was stunned.

Four

Ignoring the grumbles of the people he'd showered with snow while taking off his frozen cloak and scarf, Neil shoved through the crowd to the bar, hoping for mulled wine or something hot. Of course, there was even less room at the bar than anywhere else, but Neil didn't hesitate to use his elbows to open a space for him. "Come on, budge up. Some of us need a drink too, you know."

3.

One flit of an arrow, and she's already twitching.

It'd only be a matter of time that a group felt like they had the guts enough to try to go in on them. She didn't think it was safe, but they couldn't not have a run for their supplies either. Furiosa gets that, and it's not her first time transferring delicate goods, as it were.

It'll never be her last.

Without waiting, she's throwing herself onto her horse -- appropriately named War -- and she's attaching her shield to her prosthetic. It's good timing, because these bandits or desperate people, what-have-you, have decided to poor out from the snowy bushes.

Fine then. They can die for their choice.

"Keep pushing forward! A group of us can hold them off." That, and the camp can't be too far from them now.

4.

War's been tied up outside, given some meager space apart from the other mounts. She's not thrilled to leave her outside, but there's no better place for right now while she gets something hot in her belly.

The door opens and Furiosa steps into the crowded tavern. It wouldn't be anything different, of course.

"Heated cider. When you can," she instructs the barmaid, knowing well that she's got enough to worry about. For now, Furiosa will just worry about finding a place to sit for the moment.

1: When he had gone into hiding, it hadn't been easy finding places far out of the view of the Antaam, until he'd gone so far south that things were starting to look significantly more mountainous. So now, in the middle of the wintry, cold stone of the land east of the Frostbacks, one cloaked qunari man wandered.

At least, he had done, until it had started blizzarding all over his damned head and he'd had to hole himself up in a cave, keeping his limbs tucked in close. Damned cold, damned snow, damn damn damn everything to do with this place. A violent sneeze later, and Karmin came kicking back out, in search of wood to build himself a fire. He had everything he needed tucked into the bag under his cloak and packs strapped to his sides, but he didn't carry any damned firewood. He was leaving a wide trail in the snow, but really, who would be out here that would come across a single wanderer in the middle of the whiteout?

3: When the first man fell, the initial instinct was to hide, to duck into the caravan and protect the young, the feeble and infirm. But then there would be nobody to fight back against these scavengers, these opportunists that would rather see a family freeze to death than find an honest source of goods or trade.

"Mage!" one of them yells when the cloaked man leaps from the top of the wagon he'd perched on, a staff in hand, though curiously, not glowing. The end is tipped in a curved sickle, and as the bandits besieged them, the weapon flashed through the air. Eventually it came into two parts, and a second crescent blade was snapped into the lower half of the sectioned handle. A dual-wielding scout, then?

Blood paints the snow when one of the bandits come close enough, but clearly, the single man is outnumbered, seemingly outmatched. His hood falls back at a swipe, revealing coppery grey skin, bright red eyes and teeth filed into points.

4: The tavern is packed, yes, but that gives ample opportunity to warm his bones. Near the fire a small, but wide and sturdy man sits, cross-legged and surrounded by a small crowd of onlookers. He speaks, and while some scoff and roll their eyes, others lean closer, and they hang on every word:

"And in the days of the new, it will not matter the nation of origin, the taper of ear or the creed that guides a wandering heart. We will find peace in one-another. It is seen by eyes turned inward, unfocused on the wars and prejudices of man. I dream this peace, of places where men meet Vashoth and hold no fear of conversion or threats of death, for there is no reason or right. But it cannot be done through hope alone."

5: Got another idea for where or how to meet him? Lay it on me, pally.

For qunari peeps: The exposed flesh of his wrists is decorated in a unique vitaar, recognizable to some as a symbol of one of the only successful resistance factions in Seheron. It bears a resemblance to scorched flesh from afar, as if made by red-hot manacles, but up close it is an intricate mandala, deep red and will be shown only to those that aren't outright hostile.

i
It's been a long time since she last visited Ferelden.

Back then it was a different world, ravaged as it was by the Blight and the civil war that threatened to engulf them. More to the point she was different but no one forgets an upbringing at the hands of Flemeth and the most anything seems content to leave her and her small companion be, a smiling boy who laughs as he plunges through the snow, sending great clouds of it up into the air.

"Mother! Look!"

With all the excitement a young boy can muster, voice echoing as the snow muffles all else, it becomes clear that he's pointing at something. At a rather disgruntled bear headed their way. Anyone coming across them will soon find her with her son tucked safely out of danger as she unleashes great volleys of lightning at the bear that soon finds itself roaring in agony and wishing it had just blundered right on by.

iv
It's not the Orlesian court but the taverns have improved marginally here or perhaps it's just that the company is better when she doesn't have to suffer Alistair's presence. The table by the fire is warm and in this corner no one can sneak up on her, as well as affording an unimpeded view of the door.

Times like these, there are so few you can trust.

Kieran is asleep, curled beneath both their cloaks and mostly hidden from view as she keeps an eye out. She might not exactly welcome company but she'll welcome news, if you dare to meet her eye from across the room.

v
[Wildcard! You roll spotting the witch and she'll come pester you!]

Ice crystals crunch noisy under Dorian's boots as he, in turn, throws himself off his horse. The sound of swords sliding against leather and orders barked -- among them, Furiosa's -- fill what was once tranquil quiet, and more arrows dart out from the trees.

Furiosa will see him just out the corner of her eye -- one of the more unlikely of Inquisition recruits, the Tevinter mage -- as he brings his staff up. It wheels above head, brings the blunt end down to sink into ice and dirt, and for a moment, lightning flashes amongst the trees, showing up black trunks and low hanging branches in flashes of white light as forks of electricity dart in chain reaction amongst hidden bandits.

For his efforts, an arrow flies, clipping close enough that he jerks away bodily.

"Vishante--"

"And some of us have been wait'n a mite longer than you." Mal drawls, eyes flicking over to the frigid man what just elbowed him in the side. Could be worse. Coulda been a knife instead of an elbow and he's mighty tired, but not so much that he won't try to make a little room for the guy. "Service is slow. No need to monter sur ses grands chevaux. We'll get seen...about when all the snow thaws."

"Now this is a face I did not expect to see again." Zevran doesn't bother attempting to sneak up on Morrigan. It wouldn't end well for one and there was no appropriate angle with which to do so for another. Still he has woven about with a bottle of warmed and mulled wine in hand- one does not visit such a lady without gifts after all. He knows better.

And part of him has missed her pragmatism, her sharp wit, her ruthless need to see the Blight finished. For her own reasons, of course, but she had been a fine traveling companion, and a reminder of the times they shared is enough for him to offer the bottle (sealed, he knows better) and glass with a smile. "You are as lovely as ever, Morrigan."

3.

Honestly, he should have known better. A wagon full of supplies. Guards riding at the four corners, plus one seated next to the driver. The sun going down. Snow. It just equaled disaster.

He knew, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity for a free ride to the next town, tired of walking through the ankle high - and getting higher - amount of snow covering the ground in every direction. Figuring that enough shit had happened to him that the Maker could lay off for one evening in ruining his life.

Fat nug of a chance.

"F-" There's a loud thunk as an arrow narrowly misses him, whizzing right by his leg. Dropping down to a knee, supplies rattling around in the wagon next to him, Garris lets fly at arrow in response, smirking when he hears a scream. No thud though - the snow softened the noise.

"Keep this baby movin'! We stop, that's it - we're surrounded."

4.
He's pretty sure he's seen her before. Damn sure. Maybe it was the long, wavy black hair. The outfit - it does look familiar. Could be the fact that she's staring right back at him, pointedly making eye contact. Maybe.

Either way she's not making a move and neither is he. Not with this weather, and certainly not with this crowd. No way - Maker be damned - that he's losing his seat because someone was making eyes - killer eyes - at him. Nope, he's just going to lean back and enjoy the ale he had managed to get, or rather fight half the bar for.

5.
Got a better idea? What's your favorite spot in the Hinterlands?

Edited 2015-12-02 08:35 (UTC)

Bears. It was always bears. With little warning the hulking creature had charged right at them, the snow seeming not to falter it at all. Apparently it had not taken kindly to them wandering in its territory. And it had come straight at him. He had barely gotten hurt thanks to a well timed barrier, but the beast had still knocked him from the cliff. Sam was feeling the bruises from where he tumbled and slid down the rocky side, but at least the snow had cushioned the fall. Course it was far and steep enough that he couldn't even consider climbing it.

There wasn't any time to rest though, hearing the fight going on above; he needed to get back. If he followed the cliff side he would eventually find a way up. Right?

That had been an hour ago.

And now there was a blizzard. Great.

If it wasn't for the cliff, he would be walking blind seeing there was nothing but white and specks of grey as far as he could see. And his side was starting to bother him.

At least there was one thing going in his favor. He had found a cave, which was free of spiders. Because today couldn't get any worse.

Neil does have a lot of knives concealed about his person, it's true, but the situation isn't quite dire enough to warrant bringing one out. He slides into the space Mal creates for him, using the broadness of his shoulders to get a little more room on the other side too. "Not much room for a high horse in here, mate, no worries."

“And you hardly seem changed at all.”

She hadn’t thought to see him here, after all there was precious little reason to linger when all was said and done, she was gone before the celebrations had even begun. There were few in the Warden’s merry band that didn’t drive her to distraction and yet she’d take all of them, even Wynne’s bleating about the Circle and Oghren’s...well Oghren’s everything, over half the Orlesian court. A shame she couldn’t trust a room to stash the lad in but she’d rather keep him close now that she’s back. Redcliffe is hardly Lothering but it all feels too close to comfort for her.

Flemeth has always managed to cast a long shadow.

But Zevran always had a way of knowing things so she moves a few of her things out of the way, still with her staff and her between Kieran and the rest of the room. “Tell me, news has a funny way of growing extra eyes, legs and feathers once it travels, how dire are things here? Most places are concerned with the death of the Divine, as if the sky possibly ripping itself in two completely warrants less concern than what bag of bones warms her throne in Val Royeaux.”

He's not the only one who's noticed the exchange in eye contact - Jane's been watching for some time from her place against the wall, wondering if now would be the moment a move would be made, but nope. Nope, this guy definitely needed some good old fashioned coaxing, and because it's cold, it's snowing, and she's not going anywhere anytime soon and it could prove as a good way pass the time, she moves in his direction.

And that's how she ends up sliding up against the bar like a regular (which she is, kind of), drink in hand, quirk of a smile on her lips.

"She's been watching you for a while, you know."

Not that she know this man at all, but hey. She'd never get to know people if she never struck up a conversation in the most bizarre of places.

1.

Fetch some straw, he'd said. Simple enough. Or it had been simple until the weather settled in, and, being used to carriages and carts and never having to suffer the ill-effects of a blizzard, Belle was quite certain she was lost. She'd taken refuge in a small house that had seen better days, but at least it kept (most of) the snow out, but burnable wood was a luxury and she'd had to retake to the road, or what she thought was the road. Even logically, there was no real way of knowing that this was, in fact, the road, and she wasn't just heading deeper into the woods.

Or, as it transpired, into a snow drift that merrily rolled down the hill once she took a couple of steps into it.

And at the bottom was a bear that didn't like being drenched in snow.

3.

Belle was not protecting the supply wagon, but instead, hitching a ride. The bear catastrophe had taught her one thing about roads, and that was that she should find the nearest passing wagon and stick to it like glue. Which she had, and after some negotiation and persuasion, had joined the convoy as another pair of hands to help unload. That or they were desperate and the hand knife at her waist had convinced them she knew how to fight, which she didn't. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Right now, though, she had her nose stuck in a book that had been wedged between two barrels and looked a little worse for wear, either due to its pages freezing together or that it had been well loved in its time. The author was familiar enough to her - she'd read all of his books in her time.

And as cosy as she found herself, that was the moment when a scream sounded from outside, and bandits attacked the caravan.

4.

The good thing about so many people was that surely, surely, there would be no bear or bandit attacks indoors. Of course, she could be proved wrong, but Belle was happy enough to sit and wait out the returning blizzard after the last time, considering she got helpfully lost and unknowingly wandered into Ferelden, of all places.

Cloak pulled up over her head and bundle of straw under one arm, she weaves her way through the crowd to the nearest merchant and asks to see a map. This goes about as well as you would expect for a young woman without a penny to her name. Maybe you should intervene.

WILDCARD?

A bundled up elf at the top of a snowy hill looks down at the commotion and fires a lightning bolt at the bear to paralyze it for a moment. The spell won't hold a creature of this size for long enough to get away, but it'll disoriented it for a bit, and that's all the time she needs.

"Better to have the high ground in a fight!" she calls down to him, her breath fogging in the air. "Come on!"

Upon returning to the cave, shoulders and hood of his cloak covered in snow, his arms were laden with branches both dead and dry, and in need of thawing if they were to be used later. He hadn't expected to find someone else in his improvised shelter, but he thinks little of it. Another soul taking shelter from the misery outside was nothing to be chagrined over, after all.

"Good day, stranger," he said quietly as he started to shake the snow from his cloak. His accent was vaguely reminiscent of Seheron, but it was unlikely that Sam would know that. As soon as he knelt in the back of the cave to start putting his fire together though, the coloring of his hands and the marks around his wrists would have immediately denoted him as qunari. He was quick about digging out a shallow pit with a trowel and lining it with small stones from elsewhere on the floor of the cave, then arranging the dry firewood to be lit. All in all, he seemed to be ignoring Sam's presence, or else simply not acknowledging it beyond his initial greeting.

Hearing before seeing someone enter the cave was a bit of a shock, though also a bit uplifting. At least for a moment. He might have been a bit hopeful that the cloaked figure was someone from his party, but that thought quickly drifted off like the snow in the wind once he got a good look at the person. A stranger, obviously someone who knew about this cave judging by the wood and movements.

"Ah... good day," he replies back, not expecting the ease the person is expressing with meeting someone out of the blue, or rather white in this case, in a cave in the middle of a blizzard. It feels even more strange when the man doesn't seem to really notice him there even after talking to him. The fact that the man is a qunari doesn't phase him much, but it's still odd for him to see any outside of the Inquisition.

Sam shifts a bit uncomfortably at the silence, clicking his tongue lightly when he sees the wood being set up. "Do you need any help?"

Naturally, of course, she'd heard of the Tevinter mage. One of the rare oddities part of the Inquisition, but it's not her place to question, even if the idea makes her scowl in immense disapproval. Nothing to be said or done about it; he's here to help, and Furiosa does not turn her back on that.

She could easily leave him behind.

She does not.

Less than thrilled to leave behind her warhorse, Furiosa leaps down to Dorian's side and holds up her shield.

"You keep that up, and I'll cover you," she instructs. She would much rather be more decisive with her blade, but results are difficult to argue against.

The first thing he does when he notices the woman sliding up next to him is to pull his drink a bit closer to himself. She's a pretty red head - cute smile, not that he's looking - but he knows better than to trust anything he deems pretty. Too many hidden knives and close calls for his liking.

He's not expecting that opening line though. Normally they try buttering you up first rather than bring up conversation about someone else. "Has she?" he asks, turning just a bit to look at the woman talking to him a bit more. "And just how long have you been watching?" he quips, a slow lopsided smirk pulling at his lips.

The man looks back around at the question, giving Sam an easy smile and settling onto his knees.

"If you'd be so kind. I would rather preserve the flint I have left." He gives a good-natured chuckle, standing back to let Sam at the fire. His head tilts as he finally registers the other's appearance. Mage. Human. Inquisition? He hadn't come across them before now that he could recall, but there's enough propaganda spread from Antiva to the Approach that it's not hard to recognize armor and symbols when they come up.

"If my assumption is correct, you've strayed quite a ways from where your men were last sighted," he comments, releasing the buckle of one of his bags and fishing into it for a scrap of bread, as well as a small flask of wine.

After a long day of dealing with everything the Hinterlands has to throw at her, Korrin's glad to be off her feet. She's slouched comfortably at a table next to the bar, propping her feet up on an empty chair as she sips some spiced wine. It isn't crowded enough that she has to give it up...yet. And honestly, few people seem inclined to confront the Vashoth mage, anyway. It's one of the benefits of being exotic and intimidating.

The dog of course gets her attention and she smiles upon spotting Jayne, whistling over to him and stretching forth her hand to provide some petting just where he likes it most. And as soon as her own food comes over, he'll be getting some table scraps. "Hello again, Jayne. Such a handsome boy, yes you are. Are you behaving yourself? That last one was to you, by the way."

Korrin glances over to Mal with a grin, glad to see her fellow mercenary again. It's been a while, since before the Conclave, but a familiar face in these parts is always welcome.

Korrin's not looking to attend a lecture, or really anything beyond escaping the snow for a bit and warming up as best as possible. Ordering some spiced wine, the Vashoth mage -and it's easy to tell she's the latter, with that staff on her back- glances around idly. Her attention is soon drawn to the small crowd at the one at the center of their attention. Listening while awaiting her drink, she raises an eyebrow at what's said. Given her own status, such words can't fail to draw her attention even as she's more inclined to wait until he's finished rather than interrupt. Interruption is only for those who are saying something she doesn't approve of, anyway.

"Normally flash'n a little coin gets you seen sooner but I think the poor barman's got himself up to his ears in thirsty customers and not enough hands to serve 'em." That's just how it is most days. "Wonder if he knew it was gonna get this busy when he walked in tonight."

Don't need to tell them twice. He tacks his way up the hill, Jayne barreling up with the meat dragging along behind till he's somewhere he can hide behind the nice zappy lady with her zapping fingers.

That dog is gonna be the death of him.

"Better not to fight at all-" He's coming up fast and doesn't mean to stop- snaps a hand down for her to grab.

"Jayne I said stay-" Oh why does he even bother. Foutu dog and his foutu stomach are gonna get 'em bit sooner or later- but when Mal sees who's got his attention a little of that ire settles. Jayne always did like the Vashoth- might've been the smell, the size, or the food she kept slipping him every time they ran into each other. Mal wanders his way over and bumps at her feet on the empty chair, brows lifted.

"You know me. Cleaner than a chantry boy and twice as pious. You gonna invite me to sit or leave all your warm and fuzzy affections for the slobbering beast? Cuz if you do I might be a little hurt."

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Test Drive Meme!

Malcolm Reynolds | Firefly | DA AU (Wandering Merc & His Mabari)

Neil Mackay | X Company | DA AU (One of Leliana's People)

Furiosa | Mad Max: Fury Road | DA AU

Karmin Vaantas | Homestuck (I'm sorry) | DA AU

Morrigan | Dragon Age

3.

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Garris Vakrie | Mass Effect | DA AU (Vigilante)

1.

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4. hello handsome.

Belle | Once Upon A Time | DA AU (Orlesian noblewoman turned servant)

1

Congratulations, Sam. You have found Jesus.

What? Shit, I was told to find Andraste.

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Shepard! Ah- oh... can it wait? I'm in the middle-

Shoulda taken a right at the Anderfels.

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4.

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