[Visiting the healers was always an awkward affair. There was the fact that dwarves were notoriously difficult to heal, considering their natural resistance to magic. There was oft a large amount of uncomfortable rearranging, frustrated groaning, and pained expressions, and that was all on Varric's part. Then there was the fact that women so often wanted to put their hands all over him. He was certain that his calf injury did nothing to harm his chest, thank you very much.]
[But then there was the emotional side of it. Every time a spirit healer approached him, every time their magic did its work, he couldn't help but reflect at how different it felt. He couldn't tell the differences between each mage, only that it didn't feel quite the same. Neither were an uncomfortable sort of thing, of course, but the layman magic was like stepping into a pool warmed by the son, whereas Anders had been much like easing into a warm bath after a long day.]
[Unfortunately, there was simply no avoiding this trip. He hadn't cut his hand too severely, but with Lavellan chomping at the bit to get back out into the fray, he simply couldn't wait nature to run its course.]
[Stepping into the clinic, the dwarf studied the present healers. Some of them were the more handsy types, and they immediately turned predatory eyes upon him. No thank you. He quickly scurried to the most innocent face he could find -- just so happening to stumble upon a -- ]
They have kids working in here now? [He glanced over at the women, then back to the dark haired young man. Admittedly, he was concerned for his own well-being. Much as he liked his chest hair being thoroughly unruffled, he also liked having full function of his hand. He wasn't certain that the young man could guarantee that much.]
[And yet, there was something oddly familiar about him, something he couldn't quite place a finger on yet didn't care to wrack his brains over too much. Instead, he plopped down before him and held out his hand.]
Don't make me regret this. That's my trigger hand you're playing with.
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[But then there was the emotional side of it. Every time a spirit healer approached him, every time their magic did its work, he couldn't help but reflect at how different it felt. He couldn't tell the differences between each mage, only that it didn't feel quite the same. Neither were an uncomfortable sort of thing, of course, but the layman magic was like stepping into a pool warmed by the son, whereas Anders had been much like easing into a warm bath after a long day.]
[Unfortunately, there was simply no avoiding this trip. He hadn't cut his hand too severely, but with Lavellan chomping at the bit to get back out into the fray, he simply couldn't wait nature to run its course.]
[Stepping into the clinic, the dwarf studied the present healers. Some of them were the more handsy types, and they immediately turned predatory eyes upon him. No thank you. He quickly scurried to the most innocent face he could find -- just so happening to stumble upon a -- ]
They have kids working in here now? [He glanced over at the women, then back to the dark haired young man. Admittedly, he was concerned for his own well-being. Much as he liked his chest hair being thoroughly unruffled, he also liked having full function of his hand. He wasn't certain that the young man could guarantee that much.]
[And yet, there was something oddly familiar about him, something he couldn't quite place a finger on yet didn't care to wrack his brains over too much. Instead, he plopped down before him and held out his hand.]
Don't make me regret this. That's my trigger hand you're playing with.