entrancelogs | You want me to what? BE QUIET?

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You want me to what? BE QUIET? | Open

Who: Alistair (

fatherlesskind) and YOU
Where: All around Wonderland
When: February 12th
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Summary: Without so much as a pillow fight to be seen, Alistair has to amuse himself somehow. In a very regal, solemn manner, naturally.
The Story:

A - The woods

From somewhere within the woods this morning comes the unmistakable rattle and crash of metal and wood meeting with force, punctuated by the occasional wordless shout of exertion.

Should anyone go looking for the source, the sounds will lead them to a decent sized clearing among the trees. There, a towering figure in full medieval plate armour batters away with sword and shield at a training dummy, heedless of how much noise he's making or if there's anyone else around to be bothered by it. Both shield and breastplate bear a heraldic griffon, the symbol of the Grey Wardens for those who might recognise it, and those who don't might well remember the large, cheerful man often seen wandering around Wonderland with a similar sword at his hip.

He's so intent on vanquishing his imaginary foe that should anyone approach him his first response will be to turn on them, weapons raised in anticipation of an attack. He lowers both a moment later with a chagrined look. "Sorry. I was- Sorry."

B - The grounds

There's still snow outside.

There's snow outside and, for the moment, no trouble or monsters or anything. No pressing need to be somewhere else or to avoid notice or to maintain appearances or anything.

So later in the day Alistair can be seen disappearing outside to find himself a secluded corner somewhere.

An hour or so later the assault begins. Anyone walking the grounds outside the mansion may find themselves under attack. A snowball to the face or back accompanied by a gleeful shout from the one responsible. He's far from stealthy, dressed in dark colours that stand out against the backdrop of white and feet crunching through the snow as he attempts to sneak up on his victims with an armful of missiles. But he has a good arm and those snowballs can travel a long way. Stand and fight or make a run for it, either way he's not about to let up.

C - The library

[In an unusual turn-up, Alistair is in the library. Reading a book. (Yes, shut up, he knows how to read. And no, the tiny letters don't strain him, thank you.)

He's curled up in a chair, sword on the ground beside him, utterly engrossed in the book he'd found whilst poking around. The cover depicts a red-haired woman in armour, surrounded by foes and wielding a sword and shield. Rather appropriately as the book itself is titled 'Swords & Shields' by one Varric Tethras.

As he reads a bright red flush crawls up his cheeks and he hunches further and further over the open book as if trying to hide it from view. He's so caught up in it he doesn't even notice if there's anyone else in the library.

Turning a page he pauses, eyes going wide.]

Oh. Wow.

D - Other

[Choose your own prompt. Alistair can be found anywhere around Wonderland poking his nose into things and talking a lot.]

[OOC: Prose or brackets, take your pick and I'll match.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Ow!"

Why do people make pained exclamations when they're not actually hurt? When something splatters against his back and the first thing he does is squeak like it's a fireball raining hot embers on his neck, and not a snowball sprinkling him in wet droplets, Anders wonders at this trick of the brain. A powerful, resourceful mage, and this is what he's been reduced to. Maker help him.

He spins around in search of the culprit. As one such resident out walking the grounds in plain sight, he's a prime target for mischief-makers. "All right, who threw that?"

As Anders looks around a bush starts snickering loudly in his vicinity. And there, poking out from behind the highly-amused shrubbery, can be seen the tip of a boot.

Stealth is really not Alistair's strong suit.

Once he actually manages to get himself under control he pops up from behind his completely undiscoverable and not at all obvious hiding place again. Flinging another snowball at the mage with a yell he ducks back down quickly, counting on the scant protection of the snow-covered plant to shield him from Anders eventual wrath.

He sounds far too pleased with himself as he calls out, "Come on! Grey Wardens shouldn't be caught off-guard so easily!"

"An ambush, is it? Come out and face me!" he taunts good-naturedly. "Who is that? I should know who I'm about to exact my revenge on."

He can rule out spirit-possessed sylvan. That bush has feet and a hint of fair hair peeking between bare winter branches. When his attacker pops up with another snowball in hand, he finally gets a clear view of them.

"Is that--Alistair?" The King of Ferelden? The same King of Ferelden currently throwing snow at him like a boy at play?

But then he's too busy ducking the snowball whizzing at his head to give it much thought. He puts his foot wrong on the snow track and nearly skids, recovering with a stumble. Andraste, grant me grace. Or keep anyone from seeing me fall. "What, are you calling this some kind of training exercise?" he says on a laugh.

"You were expecting someone else?" Maybe, given how long they've known each other. And given Anders is one of the people who expects a king instead of, well, him.

Too bad. He wants to have some fun and his reputation doesn't matter here. He can throw snowballs at people if that's what he wants to do. And he will, taking full advantage of Anders' stumble to leap out from behind his bush and fling a couple more missiles the mage's way.

He is so going to end up regretting this. But until then!

"Yes, training! For surprise darkspawn attacks!" They can go with that. If it helps. It does sound better than 'Alistair are you being an idiot again?' "You've already fallen prey to my ambush, now try and escape my wrath!"

...'Alistair is being an idiot again' is probably the better explanation though.

Anyone else, as a matter of fact.

Okay, maybe not anyone. If Alistair's jest came to pass and Andraste graced Wonderland with her divine presence to throw snowballs at him from behind a bush, he'd be a little weirded out. Anyone aside from Andraste, though.

A lengthy history of dodging projectiles that could kill him, up to and including arrows and fireballs from enemy mages, makes great practice for dodging snowballs. Anders starts to run for the corner mansion where Alistair will lose track of him, scooping up snow as he goes. Revenge is best served wet and cold. (And icy hard with magic if he really dislikes the person, but he doesn't want to throw a chunk of ice and crack Alistair's head open.)

"I don't like surprises! Or wrath! What did I do to deserve this?" he gripes, lobbing a snowball in Alistair's direction. One thing apostates are good at: fleeing the scene. "Catch me if you can!"

The first person to come around the corner after him is getting a face full of snow.

Who's to say Andraste didn't have a sense of humour and like to have fun? Anything's possible. The Maker couldn't have fallen in love with someone boring.... But it would be pretty weird yeah. And totally worth it to be able to tell the Chantry the truth about the Bride.

"Training exercise!" Alistair sing-songs in reply. It's his new answer and he's sticking to it now. The practice could be really useful one day. For something. Ambushes. People throwing things. Darkspawn with rocks.

Not that Anders especially seems to need the practice, what with how easily he evades Alistair's attack and makes a run for it. He definitely was telling the truth about all that practice at escaping, not that that's going to help him now. He has a mighty Grey Warden on his tail and there's no getting out of this battle!

Narrowly avoiding Anders hastily tossed snowball, Alistair lets out a wordless battle-cry and barrels after the mage. Skidding around the corner of the building he's greeted by... a face full of snow. With a yelp he stumbles backwards, clawing at his eyes desperately so he can clear them before Anders presses his advantage.

Training, his ass. More like hazing. Alistair shows no signs of letting up as he charges after him, and Anders finds himself halfway to regretting baiting him until Ferelden's newly appointed king steps right into his counter-attack and staggers, flailing.

Before he knows it, he's laughing. "I'll remember this day as long as I live!" Alistair looks ridiculous.

Calling up his magic, he coats the ground between the in a light glossing of slick ice. One wrong step on Alistair's part and Anders will have officially felled a king. Does that come with some kind of prize, or just a life-sentence for attempted assassination?

Edited 2016-02-19 02:45 (UTC)

"Just you wait, I'll-"

One wrong step turns into a skid turns into Alistair's feet flying out from under him and sending him tumbling to the ground.

He hits hard and rolls, letting himself go limp as he comes to a stop. Sprawled out motionless in the snow he holds his breath hopefully and listens for the mage's reaction. Luckily he twisted as he fell so he's facing away from Anders - playing possum doesn't work if the other person can see you trying not to laugh.

Assuming Anders will fall for it and not just decide to bury him in the snow and leave him to dig himself out.

...He can't be that upset about the snowball, can he?

Something he'd thought he'd never see: Alistair lose his balance thanks to his juvenile ice trick and crash to the ground like a pile of bricks. The spell couldn't have been timed any better, and Anders chortles all the more because of it. He should be allowed a second to gloat after a display like that. Half a second at the very least.

"This is why you should think twice before launching a sneak attack on a mage," he teases.

But Alistair doesn't leap up and retaliate like Anders is expecting. Lying prone where he'd fallen, his would-be attacker doesn't so much as move. Humor melts into quizzicalness.

"I sincerely hope you're faking or the type to spontaneously fall asleep and not dead, he says cautiously, moving away from the wall to stand by Alistair's feet. "This isn't how either one of us wants to find out if it's true we get do-overs like cats with nine lives."

If Anders thought that was funny he really needs to hear some of the better stories from Alistair's childhood and training. Far more entertaining and, sadly, very rarely exaggerated. He'll have to remember to share at some point. Especially some of the better ones about what Templar recruits get up to. He'll just bet the other man would enjoy those. And it's not like Alistair is particularly concerned about his dignity.

He's still fighting back ~~giggles~~ snickers as he hears Anders speak, briefly wondering if he should abandon the ploy entirely. But then the mage is moving closer despite his apparent suspicions and Alistair readies himself to strike.

...Is Anders close enough now that he won't be able to escape? There's only one way to tell.

Kicking out he attempts to sweep the other man's feet out from under him and bring him down to Alistair's level. In more ways than one.

"Hello?" he drawls, drawing out the vowel for an extra long second as he looks down at his fallen king. "Are you alive down there?"

Before he can nudge Alistair's boot and declare he won't be so easily fooled, Alistair moves, fast as a striking snake. Faster than Anders would have thought him capable.

In hindsight, it's probably for the best he doesn't have time to boast about his prowess. It would make him look like an even bigger ass when Alistair kicks out, catching him behind the legs. He tries to hop clear, but it does little good; Alistair's leg-sweep is like being hit with a solid wooden log, and he hits the ground, the impact wrenching a groan from him.

This is not his day.

"Note to self: don't underestimate the heroes of the Blight should it come to a brawl in the future." Stunned, Anders lays there a second, then wriggles, then makes a laughing sound of disbelief that quickly devolves into a whine. "I'm too delicate for this. I think I'm bruised."

"Ha! Alive and victorious!"

Surprisingly enough. He'd only half-expected that to work but there goes Anders, tumbling to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Definitely a satisfying sight.

Rolling to his knees Alistair grins down at his fallen foe, savouring his triumph. OK, he's got snow clinging to him and is going to be wet and cold before too long. And may have a rather unfortunate bruise on his rear tomorrow. But he's counting this as a win.

"You should know better than to challenge a mighty warrior like me!" Never mind he'd started the whole thing, that was so not the point. He shuffles closer to the wriggling mage, reaching out to prod him in the side. "Come on, don't whine." Says the man who whines constantly whenever he's sick or injured and recovering. "You're the healer here. You can magic away a few bruises without even trying."

Griping aside, his pride had taken the brunt of the fall, and he levers himself up into a sitting position with only a minor pang to remind him soft, fleshy bits and the hard ground don't make the best of friends. "Oh, all right, you got me. I hope you're happy." He sighs at the poke. "I really should have seen that coming--I knew you had a knack for beating darkspawn, but I didn't know you were devious, too. Lesson learned."

Then he smiles, and it curves at one side to border on a smirk.

"I suppose I do have magic on my side, don't I. That makes me feel better." Pulling his legs under him, Anders stands, brushing snow from his lower half as he goes. "I can't remember the last time I was in a snowball fight. I'm rustier than I thought."

His days of romping around outside had ended with the Circle, and what free time apprentices were allowed outside the tower hadn't exactly been full of fun and adventure. Strange to think he'd still been a boy the last time he'd been in this position.

He is very happy with himself, yes, as his increasingly smug smile attests. "What, you think I survived the darkspawn hordes and being called a traitor just with my charm, dashing good looks and incredible wit?" Nope, his amazing prowess on the field of battle and humble nature also came into that, as so aptly demonstrated....

Rising with Anders, Alistair arches an eyebrow and shakes his head mournfully. "Now that's just sad. Consider me available for practice any time." It was his duty to look out for his fellow Wardens and that included making sure they got a chance to relax and unwind. Really, the whole thing had been for Anders own benefit.

"Or if you want a rematch." As he contemplates what his chances are of being able to toss Anders into the nearest snowbank without getting an ice spell to the face.

Pretty low. Better wait till another day, try to catch him off-guard again. And make nice now.

"And the best part is we can warm up again however we like." No trying to sneak into the kitchens and getting yelled at for tracking snow through the place. Or curling up with the dogs, warm as they always were.

Oh, Alistair, you almost put him and his own grandstanding to shame.

"Hiding behind bushes, yes, what admirable battle tactics," he intones in jest. "I'll start taking notes. But I can't be blamed for leading a sheltered life--talk to whoever organized the exercise regimen. A mage runs away once when the apprentices are let outside and suddenly it's a security issue."

He lifts his hands exasperatedly as if to say oh, please. That mage had been him, but still. No more outdoor recreational time had been an extreme reaction, he thinks. A snowball fight or two would've made doing their stretches much more exciting in the long run.

At the word "rematch," he stops what he's doing to look at Alistair. "What rematch? That wasn't a defeat. That was more like... an intermission! If anything, we're even."

"That's an overreaction." He really needs to get the stories of each of Anders' escape attempts one day. And possibly ask why the Templars hadn't just killed him after the first couple.

"You should have tried signing up as a Templar. We spent a lot of time outdoors during the training. Rain or snow, we'd still be out there, stomping around in the mud." Those had been among the better parts of his training really. Much better than being cooped up inside learning about the Chant of Light. So he can sort of understand wanting to make a run for it.

At Anders' ridiculous claim, Alistair turns to face him with an incredulous snort. "Even? Ha! I clearly won that round, are you blind?" He'd struck the final blow, that made it a victory on his part. If Anders couldn't admit that, well Alistair might have to convince him with further demonstrations of his battle skills.

Tempar training? Anders throws his head back and barks a laugh at the very thought. "Me as a templar--I can see it now. Swing a sword, extol the virtues of the Chantry, jump at every whisper of blasphemy... be boring and completely devoid of a personality. Sounds easy enough."

Chuckles continue to bubble up like the residual fix from a popped champagne bottle, but once they die away, he nods at the king-shaped indent in the snow Alistair had left behind from laying in it. "That explains why you're so comfortable in the elements."

And it goes to show that Anders isn't the only one whose rump had befriended the ground. They're even. Even.

"I won't hold it against you for missing my artistry with the ice. You were mostly blind at the time. I think my skills speak for themselves," he says with a lofty wave of his hand. "And since I'm nice as well as talented, I forgive you for sneak attacking me, by the way."

Alistair laughs as well and nods happily in agreement. "See? You already know all you need to, you'd be perfect!" And the training would have been so much better with someone else around to annoy the trainers with. And deal with their discipline after.

And yes, he might have taken a tumble too but he'd still won. That was just a fact. A fact best proven by sticking his tongue out at Anders and rolling his eyes. "It was an ambush. Catching a dangerous opponent off-guard. Basic tactics that don't need forgiveness." All is fair in war and snow fights, everyone knows that.

"And you mean your rusty skills that didn't stop you from falling for my clever trap?" Those same skills that hopefully are too rusty for Anders to respond to his next, equally clever and unexpected ploy?

Without a word of warning Alistair lunges at him, attempting to grab the mage around the waist and bowl him - or them both - over into the snowbank he'd been eyeing earlier.

"You're surprisingly unprofessional for a famous Warden and potential heir to the throne. I mean that in a good way." Alistair sticking his tongue like a stubborn boy is another thing Anders will remember for a long time to come, and he smiles in amusement.

"But I'm still not falling for--oof!"

Alistair slamming into him aborts the rest in an expulsion of breath. Damn it, this guy! "What are you--? You--"

No doubt Anders' weight poses a minor inconvenience to someone as strong as Alistair, but thank the Maker for giving him long legs to make up for what he lacks in the bulk department. With a wail like a scalded cat, Anders hurriedly tries to save himself from being bowled over by hooking his foot around Alistair's. If he can twist them around so that Alistair falls first, better the other man be his landing pad than the other way around.

Who's not falling for anything? Because it's clearly not Alistair. In a very literal sense.

With a yelp of his own, he trips and tumbles down into the snow once more, letting out an "Oof" as Anders does a reasonable job of winding him when the other man lands on top of him.

...That didn't quite go as planned.

It takes him a moment to recover and when he does his shoulders immediately begin to shake where he's sprawled. Dropping his head back onto the cold ground Alistair snorts with laughter at how well that cunning plan worked out. Unprofessional doesn't do him justice right then he'd say. But hopefully it's still a good thing?

"Alright. Now we're even." Raising his head to look at Anders he offers, "Truce?"

He's fallen on his ass twice now. Best to quit while he's ahead.

Two wipe-outs in less than an hour--even ones he'd managed to abort somewhat by flopping on his king like a feather pillow--is shameful. Anders mentally composes another message to the powers at be.

Dear Maker, dear Andraste, dear whoever's taking requests at this moment, I really mean it this time. Please don't let someone be watching this. If no one's there to see me being trounced by someone who barely started templar training, it didn't happen.

To show my good faith, I promise to stop saying your names in vain. Really. This time for sure.

In order to keep his word, he bites back the oath he's ready to utter, instead rolling off Alistair with a wordless groan, rising onto his knees. "I can't believe you just tackled me. Actually tackled me." The shame! Oh, the shame! "That was underhanded and unfair and a long list of other words I could use. And did I mention cheating?"

Alistair should feel bad for picking on innocent by-standers. Anders lays it on thick by giving him an aggrieved look.

"You should've warned me snowball fights involved being wrestled to the ground. I would've got out while the getting was good."

Still flopped back in the snow and snorting with laughter, Alistair remains coldly unmoved by Anders griping.

"There's no such thing as cheating when it comes to winning!" Or coming out even. "Not in this kind of fight." If there was one thing he learned growing up in Redcliffe it's that this sort of thing has no rules. All that matters is not losing.

Propping himself up on his hands he smirks at the other man. "And that wasn't a tackle. You'll know if I ever decide to tackle you." Things he tackles generally stay tackled, especially when he out-weighs them as he does Anders.

Unfortunately sitting up has the side-effect of dislodging some of the snow stuck in his hair so it slides down his back, right under his clothes. With a yelp Alistair paws at it, grimacing as cold, melting snow trickles down his back. He turns back to Anders unhappily, all gloating forgotten. "Ugh! On the other hand, you could be right. From now on wrestling and the ground are off-limits."

Not unless he's sure it will only be the other man getting snow down his shirt, not him. That also wouldn't be unfair.

Snow has snuck under his robes' thick outer layer; he can feel the cold seeping through his pants. He regrets not wearing mittens.

"This kind of fight?" Anders repeats, eyebrow raised in question. Playing the victim card and appealing to Alistair's conscience clearly aren't working and the pout fades from his face and his tone. He chuckles lightly, brushing snow from his boot. "That says so much about you. I'm learning more than I ever thought I would."

Alistair's grimace at the cold has Anders smiling archly.

"You could see that as a sign from the Maker--" Movement concealed behind his flank, he scoops snow up with the same hand he'd been using to clean his boot and flings it into Alistair's face. "--letting you know you deserved that!"

Fool Anders once, shame on you. Fool him twice, shame on him. He's up and out of arm's reach before Alistair can think to knock him down a third time.

"You can't keep a good mage down!" he calls triumphantly. "No hard feelings!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" What could it possibly say about him? Besides that he grew up surrounded by other boys? That's just normal experience talking.

He has a moment to shoot Anders a sulky look for his complete lack of sympathy when he's the one with snow down his back... And then he's squawking indignantly at getting another face-full of snow. Now who's using dirty, underhanded tactics? He'd called a truce!

Scrubbing at his face Alistair shoves himself to his feet with a shout. "You call me a cheat!" Just because he'd said there were no rules, Anders wasn't supposed to listen. So yes, there are so many hard feelings right now.

Bending down he scoops up a handful of snow and flings it wildly in the direction of Anders' voice. It won't hit unless the man decides to run into it himself but it might give him a moment to clear his eyes and give chase.

"No magic!" he calls as he crouches to roll a proper snowball this time. "Or I get to smite you!" That's only fair, right?

"What did you say earlier? It's a training exercise?" Let Alistair be put through his paces like any other lowly Warden if he's so eager to be one!

Anders sprints across the field and out of range of Alistair's wild throw, laughter trailing him. That's twice now he's managed to surprise the king. So long as it doesn't involve having his legs knocked out from under him, he could get used to snowball fights even if he's long past the age for them.

It's to Alistair's credit that he doesn't take offense to threats of smiting; he laughs again, finding it hard to picture Alistair using his abilities unprovoked from what he's seen so far. Stopping long enough to bend and take up a handful of snow, he calls, "I don't need magic and you wouldn't do that to a fellow Warden!"

So he hopes.

Edited 2016-03-10 01:19 (UTC)

b!

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