(There are always the throwing knives in the dummy, and the one knife with the cheese.)
Vambraces, pauldrons, coat, breastplate. He rubs his face, trying to forecast whether he'll need to shave in the morning, and gives it up as a lost cause, prognostication-wise.
Leather armor off. He pours out some icy water from the pitcher into the basin, washes. Pulls on a pair of soft, loose trousers. Runs his hands through his hair and sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Alistair's... gone? Down in the office.
...all right. Cullen shrugs, a little, and eases down on his knees to pray.
no subject
Vambraces, pauldrons, coat, breastplate. He rubs his face, trying to forecast whether he'll need to shave in the morning, and gives it up as a lost cause, prognostication-wise.
Leather armor off. He pours out some icy water from the pitcher into the basin, washes. Pulls on a pair of soft, loose trousers. Runs his hands through his hair and sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Alistair's... gone? Down in the office.
...all right. Cullen shrugs, a little, and eases down on his knees to pray.