[ Skyhold's perpetual spring is finally meeting true spring in earnest, which means Dorian is even likelier to be found inside than out as flowering things insist on itchily, eye-wateringly invisible expressions of fornication that make him sneeze unattractively. This nook of the library is already his constant, and at the moment, he isn't even reading.
Seated with feet rested on a precarious stack of books deemed worthy as furniture only, Dorian is feeling his fingers over serpentstone, heavy black wood, and leather ties. Checking his staff for fault. Cole's presence in the form of words winding amongst the shelves therefore only get a raised eyebrow, initially, rather than looking up as he winds leather strips over wood.
Until that final word settles, and Dorian glances up, hands pausing. ]
It's hardly noon, Cole, I need at least a little forewarning before grappling with verse. [ His complaining is light, more amused than snippy, glossing past his own twinge of recognition. ] You could consider such greetings as hello and how are you.
[He's standing in the corner of the nook, tucked in as close to the wall as his hat will allow, his arms crossed. The earlier words had been barely louder than a whisper, spoken more to the air itself, but when Dorian answers, Cole looks up. Blue eyes visible from behind his hair.
A pause, while he takes Dorian's advice and considers. Then:]
...Hello, Dorian. [And he looks away, down again to the floor.]
[ While apology is not something that frequently enters Dorian's voice, and does not now, he doesn't dismiss the boy outright. Dorian takes his feet off his book stack to settle one on the floor, the other kicked over a knee, a natural adjustment of posture that would convey being open for conversation if he was in the presence of people who might, you know.
Notice.
Or care. He finishes tying off a strap of leather. ]
What brings you this way? The charming company? [ A sudden flurry from above, a cloud of ravens squabbling briefly as they come in through the rookery, their cawing echoing clear as a bell. Dorian closes his eyes, briefly, in a genuine show of intolerance. ] The peace and quiet, befitting a library?
[Cole reacts to the crows with only a swaying turn of his head — or maybe it isn't a reaction to the crows at all. There's all sorts of sounds in the tower, all sorts of curiosities and concerns.]
I heard you, while you were coming up the stairs. [He uncrosses his arms, hooks his hands together at the fingers.] You're happier, almost. It's good.
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Seated with feet rested on a precarious stack of books deemed worthy as furniture only, Dorian is feeling his fingers over serpentstone, heavy black wood, and leather ties. Checking his staff for fault. Cole's presence in the form of words winding amongst the shelves therefore only get a raised eyebrow, initially, rather than looking up as he winds leather strips over wood.
Until that final word settles, and Dorian glances up, hands pausing. ]
It's hardly noon, Cole, I need at least a little forewarning before grappling with verse. [ His complaining is light, more amused than snippy, glossing past his own twinge of recognition. ] You could consider such greetings as hello and how are you.
no subject
A pause, while he takes Dorian's advice and considers. Then:]
...Hello, Dorian. [And he looks away, down again to the floor.]
no subject
[ While apology is not something that frequently enters Dorian's voice, and does not now, he doesn't dismiss the boy outright. Dorian takes his feet off his book stack to settle one on the floor, the other kicked over a knee, a natural adjustment of posture that would convey being open for conversation if he was in the presence of people who might, you know.
Notice.
Or care. He finishes tying off a strap of leather. ]
What brings you this way? The charming company? [ A sudden flurry from above, a cloud of ravens squabbling briefly as they come in through the rookery, their cawing echoing clear as a bell. Dorian closes his eyes, briefly, in a genuine show of intolerance. ] The peace and quiet, befitting a library?
[ For fuck's sake, Leliana. ]
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I heard you, while you were coming up the stairs. [He uncrosses his arms, hooks his hands together at the fingers.] You're happier, almost. It's good.