Neijia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nagia) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
peopleofthedas2012-06-11 11:10 pm
nagia) wrote in peopleofthedas2012-06-11 11:10 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - Dinner Theatre
Title: Dinner Theatre
Fandom/Pairings: Dragon Age: Origins; gen
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen
Summary: "That used to work," she said, sounding just a touch disappointed.
Notes: Bit of a throwaway gag. Thought I'd throw it up here.
Being a Grey Warden meant finding some of the grossest, most disturbing, and smelliest things Thedas had to offer, killing them (which made them look uglier and smell worse) — and then going back for more. That probably wasn't the most depressing thing about being a Grey Warden, but at the moment it was pretty high on Alistair's mental list.
The fact that he'd be doing that for the next fifteen years, until his Calling, ranked only slightly higher.
At least he didn't have potentially becoming a Broodmother to look forward to.
Alistair tore a chunk of bread from his loaf — sometime after Lothering, they'd figured out that they each needed their own separate loaf for dinner — and dunked it in Wynne's stew. He was pretty sure it was some sort of melty lamb concoction. There may have been vegetables in there somewhere, but they were tasteless compared to the lamb.
The lamb was about six or seven different kinds of tasty. It had a salt-tang, and a copper-tang, and chewy, and the fat was buttery. Some bites were a little tough, but it was all delicious.
Alistair dunked more bread into the stew, using it to soak up the juices. He was on his second bowl. He eyed it and debated getting up now for the third or licking the bowl before he got up.
Oh, right. The worst part of the entire "gross" line of complaints was: he was still hungry. Being disgusted wouldn't stop it. He always felt famished. Even when he thought he might hurl up lunch if he looked at dinner.
A rustle in the bushes chased those cheery thoughts right away.
Alistair set his bowl down and reached for his sword.
A long, hairy, strangely-jointed leg parted the bushes. A giant spider scuttled out, eight eyes gleaming and trained firmly on him.
Alistair picked his bowl back up. He tore off another hunk of bread and began to chew methodically.
The spider waved its forelegs.
Alistair picked two eyes and stared right back.
The spider clicked its mandibles together and slobbered a little.
Alistair chewed open-mouthed. Morrigan would hate to learn that 'Do you like see food?' had been just one more way to nettle the brothers at the abbey. He'd have to tell her sometime.
The spider waved a leg again — this time dismissively — and suddenly Morrigan was standing in front of him. Alistair closed his mouth and kept chewing.
"That used to work," she said, sounding just a touch disappointed.
"Next time, gain about eight hundred pounds and some tentacles."
Fandom/Pairings: Dragon Age: Origins; gen
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen
Summary: "That used to work," she said, sounding just a touch disappointed.
Notes: Bit of a throwaway gag. Thought I'd throw it up here.
Being a Grey Warden meant finding some of the grossest, most disturbing, and smelliest things Thedas had to offer, killing them (which made them look uglier and smell worse) — and then going back for more. That probably wasn't the most depressing thing about being a Grey Warden, but at the moment it was pretty high on Alistair's mental list.
The fact that he'd be doing that for the next fifteen years, until his Calling, ranked only slightly higher.
At least he didn't have potentially becoming a Broodmother to look forward to.
Alistair tore a chunk of bread from his loaf — sometime after Lothering, they'd figured out that they each needed their own separate loaf for dinner — and dunked it in Wynne's stew. He was pretty sure it was some sort of melty lamb concoction. There may have been vegetables in there somewhere, but they were tasteless compared to the lamb.
The lamb was about six or seven different kinds of tasty. It had a salt-tang, and a copper-tang, and chewy, and the fat was buttery. Some bites were a little tough, but it was all delicious.
Alistair dunked more bread into the stew, using it to soak up the juices. He was on his second bowl. He eyed it and debated getting up now for the third or licking the bowl before he got up.
Oh, right. The worst part of the entire "gross" line of complaints was: he was still hungry. Being disgusted wouldn't stop it. He always felt famished. Even when he thought he might hurl up lunch if he looked at dinner.
A rustle in the bushes chased those cheery thoughts right away.
Alistair set his bowl down and reached for his sword.
A long, hairy, strangely-jointed leg parted the bushes. A giant spider scuttled out, eight eyes gleaming and trained firmly on him.
Alistair picked his bowl back up. He tore off another hunk of bread and began to chew methodically.
The spider waved its forelegs.
Alistair picked two eyes and stared right back.
The spider clicked its mandibles together and slobbered a little.
Alistair chewed open-mouthed. Morrigan would hate to learn that 'Do you like see food?' had been just one more way to nettle the brothers at the abbey. He'd have to tell her sometime.
The spider waved a leg again — this time dismissively — and suddenly Morrigan was standing in front of him. Alistair closed his mouth and kept chewing.
"That used to work," she said, sounding just a touch disappointed.
"Next time, gain about eight hundred pounds and some tentacles."