"Alright alright, sheesh. Calm down," Mac sighed, frowning slightly before raking a hand through his hair and running his hands down his face. Uldren was a superior combatant to have at your back. He was a demanding and fulfilling lover. He was a lot of things, but one thing he definitely was not was sociable and skilled with people. Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes, puffing another sigh as he tried to figure out precisely how to handle everything; he wasn't that great with people either, but for awkwardness instead of meanness.
"He's not laughing at you. He's laughing about something I said. I'm trying to smooth things over and you're complicating it by being so surly. If we're going to survive in this place while trying to find a way home, we're gonna have to be more likable on the whole or someone is gonna toss us into a dungeon or something. And yeah, Ghost will teach you the language, right?"
The construct made a subtle, wordless sound of agreement that Uldren could hear but that the elf wouldn't note. Until Mac told him to come out, it was best that people didn't see him. Meanwhile, Mac had to figure out what to do about the elf situation. Particularly with Uldren being so blatantly possessive, which complicated matter just on the merit of being a turn-on in itself.
"Uh...sorry, he gets...uh. Jealous..." Mac murmured, pursing his lips and glancing between Uldren and Ilormael. The boy just smiled and shrugged.
"Are things like this not okay here?" the Guardian asked, the fingers of one hand absently resting over Uldren's. Ilormael considered for a moment before shrugging and shaking his head.
"It depends where you are. You're not far from Orlais, right now, and in Orlais just about anything is acceptable. They're not even that discreet, I hear, though I've never been there myself. Dalish like myself keep to the forests and rarely venture further than the edge of the wood. The forests are our land, the cities belong to the Shemlen," he muttered with a hint of bitterness. Mac wanted to ask more questions about everything, but figured he should leave it for if Uldren ever actually slept, so it wouldn't bother the Crow and he wouldn't need translation.
"So for he and I to be--"
"Lovers?"
"--ah, yes. For us to be intimate companions, that wouldn't cause problems?"
"Well, I can't speak for everyone, everywhere, but among the Dalish no one would make it their business. I'm sure there will always be someone who disagrees with it, but I suppose on the merit of being foreigners, no one is really entitled to an opinion on a culture they don't know about."
"That's very open-minded for someone who just kicked the crap out of a Prince!" Mac laughed and Ilomael blushed, coughing into a fist and looking away.
"I didn't know he was a Prince and anyways, he attacked me! It was self-defense."
"Of course, of course. No harm done to anything but pride, I imagine. I'll find out later, I'm sure," Mac replied, grinning cockily and making the elf blush even more. No surprise since the implication meant Mac would have to inspect an undressed Prince to see where any injuries might be.
"Mm. Thank you for releasing me and sharing your camp," the elf added, glancing around thoughtfully. "You don't have any meat?" he asked, looking up between the two men. Mac shrugged and shook his head.
"We're from the city, not exactly survivalists, and we lost all of our weapons and gear."
"Ah! Then as thanks, I can do that much. I will return momentarily--"
"But the storm!" Mac protested, the elf shaking his head with a smile.
"Any Dalish worth his weight can track in a storm. I won't be a moment," Ilormael insisted, darting off into the weather. Mac turned back to Uldren, shrugging slightly and shaking his head.
"I don't know where he's going in this weather, but he said he'd be back. And I don't believe with reinforcements. He seemed concerned that we didn't have any meat to eat, so...I guess we'll have more than berries for dinner?" the Guardian smiled hopefully, turning in Uldren's grip to reach around and tug the man's clock off, tossing it over a rock to dry.
"You're soaked to the bone, Uldren. It's not going to kill you to strip down to just your shirt and pants. Let everything else dry by the fire while he's gone. Hell, he might not even come back, but the cold isn't going to help the bruises, y'know."
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"He's not laughing at you. He's laughing about something I said. I'm trying to smooth things over and you're complicating it by being so surly. If we're going to survive in this place while trying to find a way home, we're gonna have to be more likable on the whole or someone is gonna toss us into a dungeon or something. And yeah, Ghost will teach you the language, right?"
The construct made a subtle, wordless sound of agreement that Uldren could hear but that the elf wouldn't note. Until Mac told him to come out, it was best that people didn't see him. Meanwhile, Mac had to figure out what to do about the elf situation. Particularly with Uldren being so blatantly possessive, which complicated matter just on the merit of being a turn-on in itself.
"Uh...sorry, he gets...uh. Jealous..." Mac murmured, pursing his lips and glancing between Uldren and Ilormael. The boy just smiled and shrugged.
"Are things like this not okay here?" the Guardian asked, the fingers of one hand absently resting over Uldren's. Ilormael considered for a moment before shrugging and shaking his head.
"It depends where you are. You're not far from Orlais, right now, and in Orlais just about anything is acceptable. They're not even that discreet, I hear, though I've never been there myself. Dalish like myself keep to the forests and rarely venture further than the edge of the wood. The forests are our land, the cities belong to the Shemlen," he muttered with a hint of bitterness. Mac wanted to ask more questions about everything, but figured he should leave it for if Uldren ever actually slept, so it wouldn't bother the Crow and he wouldn't need translation.
"So for he and I to be--"
"Lovers?"
"--ah, yes. For us to be intimate companions, that wouldn't cause problems?"
"Well, I can't speak for everyone, everywhere, but among the Dalish no one would make it their business. I'm sure there will always be someone who disagrees with it, but I suppose on the merit of being foreigners, no one is really entitled to an opinion on a culture they don't know about."
"That's very open-minded for someone who just kicked the crap out of a Prince!" Mac laughed and Ilomael blushed, coughing into a fist and looking away.
"I didn't know he was a Prince and anyways, he attacked me! It was self-defense."
"Of course, of course. No harm done to anything but pride, I imagine. I'll find out later, I'm sure," Mac replied, grinning cockily and making the elf blush even more. No surprise since the implication meant Mac would have to inspect an undressed Prince to see where any injuries might be.
"Mm. Thank you for releasing me and sharing your camp," the elf added, glancing around thoughtfully. "You don't have any meat?" he asked, looking up between the two men. Mac shrugged and shook his head.
"We're from the city, not exactly survivalists, and we lost all of our weapons and gear."
"Ah! Then as thanks, I can do that much. I will return momentarily--"
"But the storm!" Mac protested, the elf shaking his head with a smile.
"Any Dalish worth his weight can track in a storm. I won't be a moment," Ilormael insisted, darting off into the weather. Mac turned back to Uldren, shrugging slightly and shaking his head.
"I don't know where he's going in this weather, but he said he'd be back. And I don't believe with reinforcements. He seemed concerned that we didn't have any meat to eat, so...I guess we'll have more than berries for dinner?" the Guardian smiled hopefully, turning in Uldren's grip to reach around and tug the man's clock off, tossing it over a rock to dry.
"You're soaked to the bone, Uldren. It's not going to kill you to strip down to just your shirt and pants. Let everything else dry by the fire while he's gone. Hell, he might not even come back, but the cold isn't going to help the bruises, y'know."