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The Templar on guard duty outside Anders' cell was new to him, and so young and thin he didn't properly fill out his armor. Novelty was rare enough to Anders these days that he couldn't stop watching the curly-haired young man.
Besides, templar or no, he was rather handsome.
"Stop staring," the templar -- Anders thought he'd heard the name Cullen attached to him --snapped, after an hour or two of not-infrequent glances. "Don't you have books to study, or a rat to turn into a princess, or whatever?"
"I didn't mean to stare," Anders said, not apologetic at all. "I just didn't know the Templars had taken up robbing nurseries to fill their ranks. How old are you, anyhow?"
Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot before deigning to answer. (Maybe he was a little bored too, Anders thought. He couldn't imagine that vigilantly watching a mage play with his cat and read books was exactly enthralling.) "Sixteen," he said.
"Younger than me. I'm seven -- no, wait. What day is it?"
The templar studied him, trying to find a trick. When he didn't find one, he grudgingly supplied, "The sixteenth of Justinian."
So Anders had missed his birthday. It was hard not to feel a bit of a sting at that reminder of the passage of time. He kept talking, hoping it would make the sting go away. "So almost two years younger than me, and you're already a full templar? Impressive."
There was more foot-shifting. "I'm still training, but they're short-staffed today. Senior recruits are filling in. And don't think that means you can get away with anything. I've been training for this since I was 13, and I'm more than skilled enough to take you on."
"Take me on? Sounds fun," Anders observed smugly, and waited for that to sink in.
"You're disgusting," Cullen replied, once it had.
Anders shrugged, not disagreeing, and went back to sit on his cot. He rather hoped Ser Curly-Hair would be his guard more often; he was exactly the kind of self-important mage-hater Anders could never resist teasing. Which probably wasn't wise policy, but at least made the hours go faster.
[OOC: NFB.]
Besides, templar or no, he was rather handsome.
"Stop staring," the templar -- Anders thought he'd heard the name Cullen attached to him --snapped, after an hour or two of not-infrequent glances. "Don't you have books to study, or a rat to turn into a princess, or whatever?"
"I didn't mean to stare," Anders said, not apologetic at all. "I just didn't know the Templars had taken up robbing nurseries to fill their ranks. How old are you, anyhow?"
Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot before deigning to answer. (Maybe he was a little bored too, Anders thought. He couldn't imagine that vigilantly watching a mage play with his cat and read books was exactly enthralling.) "Sixteen," he said.
"Younger than me. I'm seven -- no, wait. What day is it?"
The templar studied him, trying to find a trick. When he didn't find one, he grudgingly supplied, "The sixteenth of Justinian."
So Anders had missed his birthday. It was hard not to feel a bit of a sting at that reminder of the passage of time. He kept talking, hoping it would make the sting go away. "So almost two years younger than me, and you're already a full templar? Impressive."
There was more foot-shifting. "I'm still training, but they're short-staffed today. Senior recruits are filling in. And don't think that means you can get away with anything. I've been training for this since I was 13, and I'm more than skilled enough to take you on."
"Take me on? Sounds fun," Anders observed smugly, and waited for that to sink in.
"You're disgusting," Cullen replied, once it had.
Anders shrugged, not disagreeing, and went back to sit on his cot. He rather hoped Ser Curly-Hair would be his guard more often; he was exactly the kind of self-important mage-hater Anders could never resist teasing. Which probably wasn't wise policy, but at least made the hours go faster.
[OOC: NFB.]
