encephalon | flaps arms gracelessly!!! (Reply)

From:

[ Yes, there are two. The house is rendered paradoxically inconspicuous by virtue of its size, smaller than but not dissimilar to many of Kirkwall's finer flophouses disguised as Hightown estates. In an adjoining room Fenris lingers in the bath, having eventually fallen asleep amid the warm scented lapping of the water, and wakes with a shiver and the candlelight burned dim. Earlier in the evening, after eating the fill of food his shrunken stomach will allow, he'd thought about attacking his hair with a blade borrowed from one of the scouts—but ultimately he decides against it for now, filthy and tired and out of patience (and besides which, he hasn't seen his own reflection in three years and there's a strange lack of meaning in it for him the first time his eyes meet his eyes). He towels off, dresses in thin homespun trousers of unknown provenance, ties his hair into a loose knot at the back of his neck (remembers the tight tail of his slave years), and makes for their sleeping quarters. They're the second floor up from the Inquisitor's people in this derelict once-mansion, ostensibly a show of trust. Whose, Fenris isn't sure.

They're further from the coast than before, but it's still windy outside. Cool, even pleasant under blankets. Fenris slides into the unoccupied bed and lies awake for some time, staring dully at what he believes to be the outline of Anders's shoulder.

To say it feels wrong is, well...

But it feels wrong, and nothing about it seems real. ]