I'm not confined to bed, nor contagious, or anything like that... but I've not played since Nevarra. You might have to teach me the rules again—actually, while we're at it, would you mind helping me brush up on my Nevarran? It's been too long.
Edited (hours later, i had an IDEA) 2019-07-01 01:13 (UTC)
[ Maybe an immediate switch to Nevarran, without any speed or pronunciation adjustments, isn't what Lea meant, but it's what he's getting, because Kostos prefers it anyway, a stubborn attachment that may be unique to the sorts of exiles and expatriates who continue celebrating national holidays alone in their rooms. ]
Do you want me to come down there?
[ Directly beneath him. If the floors weren't thick stone, he'd stomp on them more. ]
[ Not exactly a correction—it’s inflected as a second-person command—but it contains the correct colloquialism, at least, with a touch of impatience. Difficult is his middle name. ]
[ He might have come down the way he was—shirtless—if not for the commentary drawing attention to it. But he's contrary, and he's interested neither in being told what to do nor in encouraging Leander, so he puts on a shirt first, and feeds the bird, and finds his set of cards, and then eventually wanders down to knock on the door. ]
[It's been nearly a month since anyone's seen Leander in public, and when he comes to open the door, Kostos will see the reason why: sickly pallor, bruised eyelids, all his angles a touch pronounced. The sleeves of his loose-fitting shirt are long, not rolled to his elbows, and the collar less relaxed than usual. Bloodless, barefoot, bone-tired.
Pleasant, all the same. Not that a smile has ever promised good health. (He laughed in surprise after Kostos broke his nose, too, when he saw there was blood.)]
I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind. [No he wasn't. Back to Nevarran, as he makes room in the doorway,] Come in, make yourself comfortable. Anywhere you like. But do not touch the painting supplies, please and thank you.
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Fine.
[ It's not really a big ask. He doesn't hide them. Some of them are on his shelves. ]
What's wrong with you?
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Just a flare-up of an old complaint. It's more bothersome than anything.
[Technically not a lie.]
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I'm not confined to bed, nor contagious, or anything like that... but I've not played since Nevarra. You might have to teach me the rules again—actually, while we're at it, would you mind helping me brush up on my Nevarran? It's been too long.
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Do you want me to come down there?
[ Directly beneath him. If the floors weren't thick stone, he'd stomp on them more. ]
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Yes. If you want to. When?
[His Fereldan accent isn't bad. Unless you're a snob, or being difficult, which—for once, for the sake of his own learning—he hopes Kostos will be.]
If now, I need time to wear— [Nope, that's wrong.] I must dress myself.
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[ Not exactly a correction—it’s inflected as a second-person command—but it contains the correct colloquialism, at least, with a touch of impatience. Difficult is his middle name. ]
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I mean, [Nevarran again, after a little cough away from the stone, cheerfully strained—] Give me just a minute. I will be quick.
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[ He might have come down the way he was—shirtless—if not for the commentary drawing attention to it. But he's contrary, and he's interested neither in being told what to do nor in encouraging Leander, so he puts on a shirt first, and feeds the bird, and finds his set of cards, and then eventually wanders down to knock on the door. ]
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Pleasant, all the same. Not that a smile has ever promised good health. (He laughed in surprise after Kostos broke his nose, too, when he saw there was blood.)]
I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind. [No he wasn't. Back to Nevarran, as he makes room in the doorway,] Come in, make yourself comfortable. Anywhere you like. But do not touch the painting supplies, please and thank you.