[Alistair catches himself looking at her, his head quickly turning back down to face the water as he remembers his manners.]
Oh, yes. Particularly on the nights where we had brown stew. [There's really no other word for it. Soldiers don't get training on how to cook. Available edible substances all are thrown in a boiling cauldron over a flame and stirred until it all congeals into one greyish-brown substance. That's supposed to be edible, and usually it is if you're in such a rush to eat before going to battle that you don't have time to taste it.]
Excellent. [ He can't see, but she mimes retching at the mental image. ] Let's just say you've won the...disgusting details contest, or whatever it was we decided to do. I'm not sure I can take much more.
[ She chuckles, though, as she washes off, reflecting on their...choices of conversation. ]
Anyway... [ Robyn half-turns, brows lifting in question. ] How are you doing over there, fellow Warden? Need someone to reach any difficult place on your back?
I'm shaking in my... well... complete lack of armor.
[He in turn, twists his head side to side to ensure she's given the full view. He evaluates her much the same way, his fingertips touching gently at the tip of her chin to tilt it up and aid in his inspection.]
As fresh-faced as ever. You're making the rest of us look bad.
Sure it isn't the water? [ There's a chuckle as she looks again at his back, first with the half-baked idea of looking for goosebumps, and then finding herself eying the slopes of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms.
Hmm. She realizes this is the first real time she's been in close proximity to her fellow Warden's bare back.
He turns more fully, though, and she snaps to attention, smiling pleasantly as he looks her over. At the assessment, Robyn's expression shifts to a mock-sour one, and she crosses her arms, lifting them from the water with a small splash. ]
That's insulting. I'm absolutely not the cleanest of our group. [ The Warden narrows her gaze, thinking critically about the rest of their band. ] Wynne certainly keeps herself in good condition. And Leliana. [ There's a pause, and then she adds: ] I wonder about Shale... Can golems get dirty, really? Does it count?
It's...refreshing? Brisk? [ Certainly not bathwater, but neither is it unpleasant.
His reply makes her grin more broadly, and she chuckles in response. ]
I'm only joking. I'm certain we're all at least a baseline level of grimy, at this point. [ The life of a bunch of wander heroes who have been camping for months, right? ] You seem to have gotten most of it off yourself for now, though! At least, from what I can see.
[He seems happy with this assessment, anyway. He chuckles, wading closer to the shore where his armor lays, still dirty. He intends to give it a bit of cleaning also, so that it doesn't begin to smell (or at least smell any worse than it already must).]
Maybe I've gotten used to that, as well. Do you think people can smell us coming?
[ Taking a cue from the other Warden, Robyn moves through the water to the shore to gather up some of her own pieces of armor. Not much of it can be washed here outright, lest it rust over completely, but she takes a delicate hand in scrubbing off some of the stubborn bits, resting against one of the half-submerged boulders as she does so. ]
Oh, absolutely. And it either scares them off outright, or causes such a deep-seated rage than they feel the need to try and kill us to make it end. [ She leans toward him to whisper conspiratorially, brows lifting. ] I think the archdemon actually started all this for normal darkspawn reasons, but then heard tell of our awful smell and vowed that it and its hordes had to defeat us on basis of stench alone.
There is absolutely no world where we smell worse than darkspawn.
[He insists this, of course. But the idea of a blight really being that simple is a fun one, so he won't argue more than that. A bit of lighthearted banter is best when on the road like this, otherwise the Warden would be trapped with much darker thoughts.
Alistair isn't worried too much about rust, it's a warm enough day that anything he scrubs won't take too long to dry, especially if it's toweled of first. The blood itself is likely to pose more of a rust threat than cleaning it would, anyhow. Who knows? He's no scientist... clearly. He starts with his chestplate, where more of the spatter had ended up.]
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Oh, yes. Particularly on the nights where we had brown stew. [There's really no other word for it. Soldiers don't get training on how to cook. Available edible substances all are thrown in a boiling cauldron over a flame and stirred until it all congeals into one greyish-brown substance. That's supposed to be edible, and usually it is if you're in such a rush to eat before going to battle that you don't have time to taste it.]
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[ She chuckles, though, as she washes off, reflecting on their...choices of conversation. ]
Anyway... [ Robyn half-turns, brows lifting in question. ] How are you doing over there, fellow Warden? Need someone to reach any difficult place on your back?
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[He laughs, cupping water in his hands to splash over his face and clean the muck from it.]
I don't even remember how this started... probably for the best we cap it off there.
[Alistair lifts his face to look back at her, eyebrows quirked in a way that's quintessentially him.]
Should I be wary of that offer? I'll take it if you're willing to lend a hand. First, have I missed a spot on my face?
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[ Robyn makes a show of looking his face up and down appraisingly. ]
Hmm... Seems all right. At least, from this distance. [ Then, she'll wade over to peer closer, nodding slowly. ] No spots missed. And how about mine?
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[He in turn, twists his head side to side to ensure she's given the full view. He evaluates her much the same way, his fingertips touching gently at the tip of her chin to tilt it up and aid in his inspection.]
As fresh-faced as ever. You're making the rest of us look bad.
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Hmm. She realizes this is the first real time she's been in close proximity to her fellow Warden's bare back.
He turns more fully, though, and she snaps to attention, smiling pleasantly as he looks her over. At the assessment, Robyn's expression shifts to a mock-sour one, and she crosses her arms, lifting them from the water with a small splash. ]
That's insulting. I'm absolutely not the cleanest of our group. [ The Warden narrows her gaze, thinking critically about the rest of their band. ] Wynne certainly keeps herself in good condition. And Leliana. [ There's a pause, and then she adds: ] I wonder about Shale... Can golems get dirty, really? Does it count?
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That's what you're choosing to get insulted over? Remind me to keep my foot in my mouth so that I can't continue to speak.
[The golem comment has him shrugging.] Maybe you should ask.
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His reply makes her grin more broadly, and she chuckles in response. ]
I'm only joking. I'm certain we're all at least a baseline level of grimy, at this point. [ The life of a bunch of wander heroes who have been camping for months, right? ] You seem to have gotten most of it off yourself for now, though! At least, from what I can see.
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[He seems happy with this assessment, anyway. He chuckles, wading closer to the shore where his armor lays, still dirty. He intends to give it a bit of cleaning also, so that it doesn't begin to smell (or at least smell any worse than it already must).]
Maybe I've gotten used to that, as well. Do you think people can smell us coming?
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Oh, absolutely. And it either scares them off outright, or causes such a deep-seated rage than they feel the need to try and kill us to make it end. [ She leans toward him to whisper conspiratorially, brows lifting. ] I think the archdemon actually started all this for normal darkspawn reasons, but then heard tell of our awful smell and vowed that it and its hordes had to defeat us on basis of stench alone.
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There is absolutely no world where we smell worse than darkspawn.
[He insists this, of course. But the idea of a blight really being that simple is a fun one, so he won't argue more than that. A bit of lighthearted banter is best when on the road like this, otherwise the Warden would be trapped with much darker thoughts.
Alistair isn't worried too much about rust, it's a warm enough day that anything he scrubs won't take too long to dry, especially if it's toweled of first. The blood itself is likely to pose more of a rust threat than cleaning it would, anyhow. Who knows? He's no scientist... clearly. He starts with his chestplate, where more of the spatter had ended up.]