Who has two thumbs and has gone entirely red in the face?
Alistair frowns, figuring Cousland is toying with him, but all the same being completely flustered by it. He’s to blame for the joke, he thinks, at least in part. All too often Alistair fires off that not-quite silver tongue of his, and all too often he finds himself in trouble for it.
He shakes his head, lacking any sort of clever response. Damn the Warden. And Morrigan. Where his quips might have come quick with anyone else, those two always seemed to stop him in his tracks. A match made by the Maker Himself, no doubt.
“You are a cruel man, Cousland, to injure me in this way. I fear your mage friend may be rubbing off on you. A shame, you had seemed like someone to take home to the parents, as they say.”
A grin takes to his features then, laughter booming through the encampment. Loud enough to annoy the witch, he hopes, but she is some ways off, doing Maker-knows what. “Tell me, is Morrigan the jealous type? Cold as she is, I have a hard time imagining her caring enough to be angry about anything you should do.”
“You would do best to avoid introducing me to your parents, I think. You remember how well my second meeting with Flemeth went, yes?”
There had been dragons and death and robbing a woman he’d just murdered because Morrigan told him to of her most prized possession. He should be ashamed, now he thinks about it, but he’d still probably do it again if he ever got the chance to. Something about being directly under Morrigan's thumb.
"Yes, I think you’ll find she’s very jealous. But don’t worry, if you still want to see her as some heartless shrew, I’m sure that you can manage to convince yourself she’s only jealous because she thinks of me as a possession or something similar. But, be honest now, who could ever resist loving a man like me, eh? I’m not convinced it’s possible.“
