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[These Kirkwall people and their Tall Cities, how wild. Fenris' enthusiasm, subtle as it may be, is cute - enough to get a sidelong smile out of Lorenz as he continues to look around.

He'll stay close, of course, but here's the question: is having bright purple hair enough to get him mugged all on its own... he is noticing some keen differences between whatever is wrong with his scalp and everyone else, hmm...]

My "polite face" is quite practiced, as you know. I daresay I will even be able to listen to half a dozen bawdy stories before the day is done.

[Well, maybe. Depends on how hard the ale is.]

[He does not believe him, but that's all right. He'll be vindicated soon enough. In the meantime: they duck through narrow alleys and take seemingly random turns. The streets are surprisingly clean, shining from what must have been a recent rainfall. He's glad for that. He's glad for all of this, a giddy enthusiasm utterly foreign to him. Even the most mundane sights seem something wonderful to share now: see, I used to buy armor from that stall. See, Isabela and I once killed a few Carta thugs when they tried to mug us. See, that's the path I would take when I was going home, that's the best spot to hang around if you want to get work, that's where Merrill's legs once gave out and I had to carry her home, see, see, see?

It's like sharing his memories all over again. See? This is a part of who I am, so much so that for Lorenz to not understand is impossible. Kirkwall, for all he'd left it, for all he'd never meant to consider it home, had felt . . . well. It had felt, as he'd put it to Aveline once. Like it or not, it was the first place he'd chosen for himself, and it has far more of a bearing on his life than he realizes.

So they walk, and sometimes he gives in to the impulse to point out this or that. Not incessantly, and certainly not with anything approaching giddiness, but rather in murmured comments, quiet observations meant only for Lorenz.

The Hanged Man stands out, though, even in Lowtown. Not because it's so nice, but because it's so clearly a hub of activity: even in this memory, fantasy, whatever, it's still busy. People of questionable origin hang around the front, and yes, some give Lorenz an extra glance, but it's fine.

He'd intended only to sit them down at a table, order a few drinks, tease Lorenz when he'd fussed. Instead, they walk in, and it's--

Well, it's an illusion based on a memory, isn't it? And what Fenris remembers, really remembers, isn't the atmosphere or the drinks or the brawling.

It's the company.

It's not all of them. But enough, Varric and Anders and Sebastian, and from the way they glance around, they're not the only ones here. And it's nothing, it's nothing, he knows that, it's not really them, just fragments and illusions and magic, but still--]

Let's sit.

[Not near them. Tucked away elsewhere, where they can observe in peace.]

Edited 2020-08-04 21:46 (UTC)

[Kirkwall is a lot to take in, fantasy or memory or not, whatever this is. Even in its finer places it feels rough around the edges, and that's something— every city he's ever been to feels more like a small town compared to this place; never before has Lorenz been to a place that feels as alive as Kirkwall does, independent of the people who walk its streets.

And it's interesting, too, to see the things Fenris places the most importance in. His certainly-not-giddiness is sweet and contagious, and Lorenz boggles with just as much wonder at the armor stall as he does the-spot-where-Merrill-fell as a result. The sights are ordinary and the weight is not; of course he understands that much.

Winding up at the Hanged Man is, hmm, not even a little surprising, but he doesn't comment on it beyond a knowing look he casts Fenris' way as soon as he spots the outside of the tavern, recognizable from other shared memories. Yes, yes, he will drink the questionable ale, and he will undoubtedly be taunted no matter what he does with it, and so—

And so there are people here, Fenris' friends, and it's lucky that this is a memory or something because Lorenz has not an ounce of subtlety in his whole body and stares at them the whole while as Fenris leads them over to another table. It's them, the fabled rowdy friend gang... behold...

Ahem. Hmm.]

Ah— drinks, perhaps, first? [And then maybe they discuss the three elephants across the room? He scratches with his fingernail at a groove someone else has already stabbed into this particular table, fidgety. Hmm! What else!] I've never been to a city with so many stairs.

[There's no saying how long this will last, and he doesn't know if that's a comforting thought or an apprehensive one. But drinks are always a good idea, and he nods distractedly. Drinks, yes, and for the life of him he can't actually remember what he goes and gets them, only that it's alcoholic. Which rather suits, in this bar.

They do look real, save for the odd detail here and there. Anders had never had an earring (at least, while Fenris knew him); Sebastian's armor was white, not gold. But it's still them, and he watches in fascination as Varric deals out cards and makes jokes, too distant to overhear.

But it's stupid to sit and gape. He turns to Lorenz, grateful for the distraction. They can't ignore that forever, but they sure can for a little while.]

Everything is so flat around here-- or, well. Lunatia. Though at least the levels remind me of here.

[But it's not the same. Kirkwall you felt as though you could almost climb; Lunatia just feels sterile and isolated. He's not biased. And he can still hear them, but of course he can, he's so utterly familiar with the way they speak.]

Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown. The three main sections of the city.

[Ah, city development, the perfect distraction. Lorenz lifts his drink but does not drink it, giving it a considering look that is not making a face, not yet. He resists the urge to stare over at The Friends some more, politely.]

Meaning this in the kindest way possible to whoever coined those names, of course, but they're sorely lacking in creativity. Functional, I suppose. Straightforward.

[But not interesting! Or clever! Almost every city, or territory or town or small village he knows of is named after a family-- admittedly not any better, but at least they aren't calling regions of Gloucester "Northtown" and "Southtown" or something.

Now he takes a sip, though, and oh-- oh, Goddess. He's so determined not to make a face that he makes a completely new one, pinched and brow furrowed. Ooh, it's not great. Is this part of the strange dream experience...]

This is... what you drank all the time? On purpose? [He squints at the tankard,] Is there even a whole single grain in this?

Likely not.

[This, at least, is cute, and he's smiling faintly as he knocks his hand back, drinking from his own. It's absolutely disgusting, but it's also comfortingly familiar.]

The point isn't to enjoy it. The point is to get drunk, preferably as cheap as possible for everyone involved. Rather than water their ale, I suspect they choose some particularly creative substitutes.

Well done not spitting it out.

[What horrible poison has he just been fed... What is a creative substitute!!!]

I'm sure you could achieve the same end by hitting your head on the walls outside, and for free.

[He takes another sip for his own sake, to prove that he can, and it's even more comical than the first for how daintily he sips at Hanged Man Mystery Ale, like a wine tasting where all the wine has gone bad. Truly, the effort he's putting in is herculean.]

Can we even be drunk, in this...? [He waves a hand; the dream space? The illusion world? The bad drink tastes like a real bad drink, but?] Perhaps we ought to visit the fictitious Gloucester territory for a good meal, after all.

[Maybe. If they're up to it. The offer is itself another casual distraction from the card game at the other table that is, it sounds like, turning out to be exceedingly bad luck for the one with the earring. The one that makes Fenris' temper flare like nothing else, Lorenz recalls, and taps at the table again.]

Just a simple proposal to think about. For later.

What you and I constitute as a good meal can differ. [It's not just the fish dinner he's thinking of, although that's up there.] What did you have in mind?

[Anders is losing, and Varric is laughing in that way he does, somehow both at someone and with them. He listens with half an ear, but his attention is focused forward.]

And tell me where we'd have it. Your childhood home? Or elsewhere within your territory?

Are you particularly interested in getting a glimpse of my parents? Were they real people in these visions I might insist, but...

[But! They're not that interesting just to watch, not like everything happening in here. If it were real it would be different— important, even. Alas.]

There is the monastery. The food there is more to your taste, anyway.

[Simpler. There is still fish, but only sometimes.]

I would not mind a look at them.

[Parents are curious things. He isn't fool enough to think Lorenz's home life was cozy and domestic, but at the same time, he rarely speaks of his parents with anything near derision or contempt. He must have some good feelings towards them, and that's more than Fenris has ever known, so. Might as well see it.]

Will I see your lodgings if we head to the monastery?

[Literally the biggest draw, let him see his boyfriend's dorm?]

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