Drabble: Gearing Up
Varric wearing armour bothers me in ways I can’t begin to express :/
It’s been a long time since Varric buckled on armour. There’s not much call for it in Kirkwall- or at least, he likes to pretend that there isn’t. It’s easier to convince people you’re no threat when you don’t dress like one, after all. Plus, it’s so hard to make all that metal look stylish. You invariably end up looking like a pile of discarded scrap- paranoid, slow, and sweaty.
For some reason Aveline had never welcomed this opinion.
Varric mutters to himself discontentedly as he wrestles with the straps on his breastplate. Isabela, unable to watch any longer, drops to her knees beside him and places her hands over his: long, slim fingers buckling him in.
“This is a damned nuisance.” Varric complains. ‘There’s a reason I don’t dwell on the technical stuff, you know.”
This close, he can smell the metal and leather of Isabela’s armour: the scent of the wind lingering in her hair. “You could leave it behind.” she suggests, her voice right in his ear.
“And become Thedas’ most literate pincushion?” Varric snorts. “No thanks. Only idiots go up against the Crows with no protection.”
The breastplate finished, Isabela stands up. Varric swings his arms, getting used to the limits on his motion, the extra weight.
“I’ll just have to deal with this with my usual grace and poise.”
“Truly,” smirks Isabela, who hasn’t changed her outfit at all, “You are an example to all of us.”
