He lifts tired eyes up to look at Kostos, but he doesn't really have a retort to whatever that is. It's a problem for all. So few will approach it, though, that it becomes a bigger problem for those who will. Finally he exhales and half-slumps, doodling in the condensation pools on the table.
"It's our future," he mutters. "One way or another. Either we find something, or the Chantry takes all of you back in, in chains, and it's not going to show mercy."
“I wasn’t planning to ask for any,” Kostos says—flippantly, in his own dark style, nearly a joke—but underneath that he’s thinking of Nell and Gareth and their bright red blood, and dead Templars climbing back to their feet, and the smell of burned hair and skin, and the dazed look on someone’s face when they’ve been struck by lightning but haven’t quite realized that their heart’s no longer beating.
He downs most of what’s left in his tankard in one go.
He reaches into his belt pouch and starts fumbling around, looking, before drawing out a deck held together by hair tie.
"I'm bad at card games. Horrible at them. So don't expect anything competitive, or betting." The only thing he'd bet on is him losing, and it's his fingers that finally give away him being a little tipsy as he clumsily gets the hair tie off the cards and offers the deck out.
There is nothing remotely clumsy about the way Kostos takes the cards and shuffles them, finishing with a perfunctory bridge that's barely qualified as a flourish. He's only half Antivan. That's as fancy as he gets.
But he is, like half-an-Antivan, very good at cards.
"No betting," he agrees. "You already bought me a drink."
He watches, half-hypnotized, by how smoothly the cards get shuffled. It's a pretty show of dexterity and if Anders was single he'd be tempted to make an offer to see those hands elsewhere.
"I see you're good with your hands," he offers instead. "I'd bet on you making plenty of people happy instead of betting on cards."
It's not the safest bet when he doesn't know much about Kostos' Circle. Anything sexual might have been shut down there faster than at Kinloch Hold. But the thought amuses him enough that he'll risk it.
“People are happy about anything that makes me stop trying to talk,” Kostos says, attention primarily on dealing out five cards apiece with the same efficient ease, but once he’s accomplished that and set the deck down between them, he raises his head and looks, possibly for the first time all evening, like he genuinely thinks something is funny.
He takes the cards and catches the look. Is that... It might be the closest to happy Anders has ever seen Kostos. Or at least the closest to not annoyed. That feels like a good reason to keep on the topic, especially when Anders sees his hand. He discards one lousy card and draws another, equally lousy card.
"Perhaps they're simply appreciative about how you use your mouth for other matters. It could be a compliment."
Kostos probably shouldn't be surprised that a man who blew up the Chantry at the highest fuck-off point in the center of an enormous city to make a point isn't particularly lighthanded, but it still makes him laugh, sort of, in a short and silent huffy sort of way, while he discards a song and draws a serpent.
"It's possible," he agrees. "Is this idle curiosity or are you aiming to see for yourself?"
Was that a chuckle. Was that actually, seriously, a chuckle? He doesn't stare just in case it was.
"Idle curiosity," he admits as he gets a card that's at least not as bad this draw, but still lousy for what he has in his hand. "I'm happily married. Had you caught me, mm, a year and a half ago, I'd be asking with intention."
A wry smile plays on his lips. "Someone who wasn't a Templar decided they wanted to keep me around, surprising everyone."
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"It's our future," he mutters. "One way or another. Either we find something, or the Chantry takes all of you back in, in chains, and it's not going to show mercy."
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He downs most of what’s left in his tankard in one go.
“Do you have any playing cards?”
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"I'm bad at card games. Horrible at them. So don't expect anything competitive, or betting." The only thing he'd bet on is him losing, and it's his fingers that finally give away him being a little tipsy as he clumsily gets the hair tie off the cards and offers the deck out.
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But he is, like half-an-Antivan, very good at cards.
"No betting," he agrees. "You already bought me a drink."
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"I see you're good with your hands," he offers instead. "I'd bet on you making plenty of people happy instead of betting on cards."
It's not the safest bet when he doesn't know much about Kostos' Circle. Anything sexual might have been shut down there faster than at Kinloch Hold. But the thought amuses him enough that he'll risk it.
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"Perhaps they're simply appreciative about how you use your mouth for other matters. It could be a compliment."
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"It's possible," he agrees. "Is this idle curiosity or are you aiming to see for yourself?"
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"Idle curiosity," he admits as he gets a card that's at least not as bad this draw, but still lousy for what he has in his hand. "I'm happily married. Had you caught me, mm, a year and a half ago, I'd be asking with intention."
A wry smile plays on his lips. "Someone who wasn't a Templar decided they wanted to keep me around, surprising everyone."