[ Anders can't help but roll his eyes as he's treated to yet another short sermon on why he's so wrong about his own life and lived experiences. If it weren't so stiflingly familiar, he'd almost be offended. As it is, it's just exasperating. And insulting. ]
Oh, please. You wouldn't know respect if it were a furry little creature that jumped up and bit you on the ass. You know, I listened to you when you said you weren't a demon-demon. You could at least do me the same courtesy.
[ His humor is less strained as he settles into what feels like the most nostalgic dynamic in the world, now. Being talked down to is such a second nature to him, after all his wasted years in the Circle. These days, he's more used to it coming from the nobles who pass through Vigil's Keep, all wanting something or conspiring some way. And always the errant Templar on the road, of course.
His surprise has faded, now, and he regards the other man with the cheerfully bland contempt he's more or less perfected, as it always pertains to someone who wants to speak to him as if he's the one not listening. ]
I know who I am and I know what I am. A mage - as I've been trying to tell you? Not a witch, not a creature, not a monster.
I'm as human as an elf is still an elf, or a qunari is still a qunari, when they just happen to be born with magic. No one owes us respect for that any more than they would someone born with green eyes or freckles or a perfect nose and chiseled jaw. Most of us just want to be treated like we're anything better than the Chantry's property.
no subject
Oh, please. You wouldn't know respect if it were a furry little creature that jumped up and bit you on the ass. You know, I listened to you when you said you weren't a demon-demon. You could at least do me the same courtesy.
[ His humor is less strained as he settles into what feels like the most nostalgic dynamic in the world, now. Being talked down to is such a second nature to him, after all his wasted years in the Circle. These days, he's more used to it coming from the nobles who pass through Vigil's Keep, all wanting something or conspiring some way. And always the errant Templar on the road, of course.
His surprise has faded, now, and he regards the other man with the cheerfully bland contempt he's more or less perfected, as it always pertains to someone who wants to speak to him as if he's the one not listening. ]
I know who I am and I know what I am. A mage - as I've been trying to tell you? Not a witch, not a creature, not a monster.
I'm as human as an elf is still an elf, or a qunari is still a qunari, when they just happen to be born with magic. No one owes us respect for that any more than they would someone born with green eyes or freckles or a perfect nose and chiseled jaw. Most of us just want to be treated like we're anything better than the Chantry's property.