Wynne/Dialogue

Wynne and Alistair
--
 * Alistair: Why are you smiling like that? You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon.
 * Wynne: Canary.
 * Alistair: What?
 * Wynne: I look like the cat that swallowed the canary.
 * Alistair: I once had a very large cat, but that's not my point. My point is why are you smirking?
 * Wynne: (Chuckles) You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were...enraptured.
 * Alistair: She's our leader. I look to her for guidance.
 * Wynne: Oh, I see. So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips hmm?
 * Alistair: No no no, I wasn't looking at...you know her...hind-quarters
 * Wynne: Certainly.
 * Alistair: I gazed...glanced, in that direction, maybe, but I wasn't staring...or really seeing anything even.
 * Wynne: Of course.
 * Alistair: I hate you. You're a bad person.

--
 * Wynne: Alistair, may I have a word?
 * Alistair: Of course, anything for my favouritest mage ever.
 * Wynne: It seems you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days. Joined at the hip, almost.
 * Alistair: That's a bit of an overstatement, don't you think?
 * Wynne: Well then, now that you're in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from.
 * Alistair: Pardon?
 * Wynne: I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms...but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other --
 * Alistair: Andraste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!
 * Wynne: Do you? Do you really?
 * Alistair: I certainly hope so.
 * Wynne: Oh, all right then. Aww, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute.
 * Alistair: You did that on purpose!
 * Wynne: Now, now Alistair, why would I do such a thing?
 * Alistair: Because you're wicked. That frail old lady act? I'm so not fooled. I'm on to you now.

--
 * Alistair: You know, of all the mages I've met you have to be the first one I can honestly say I've really liked.
 * Wynne: Why thank you, Alistair. I am quite touched. I like you, too, Alistair. I imagine my son would have grown up to be someone like you.
 * Alistair: Your son? I thought you said you were never married?
 * Wynne: That's true. I never have been.
 * Alistair: I... oh. Then this wasn't... before you joined the circle?
 * Wynne: I joined the Circle at the age of nine. So, no. Do you still like me?
 * Alistair: Err... yes? Why wouldn't I?
 * Wynne: Good. it appears you got away from the Chantry just in time.

--
 * Alistair: So you... mentioned you had a son? What happened to him?
 * Wynne: I honestly don't know, Alistair. He was... taken from me. Such births are seldom, as there are ways to prevent it, but it does happen. And any child born to a Circle mage belongs to the Chantry.
 * Alistair: I... didn't know. I'm sorry.
 * Wynne: It's all right. It was a long time ago. A very long time ago.
 * Alistair: Couldn't you do something about it?
 * Wynne: Do what? I was weak from the birthing process and there were... no, there was nothing I could do.
 * Alistair: Do you think about him?
 * Wynne: All the time.

--
 * Wynne: I think you make her very happy.
 * Alistair: Not this again. I'm ready this time.
 * Wynne: I just wanted to say that this was something good, for both of you. Being a Grey Warden isn't easy. I'm glad you found each other.
 * Alistair: Oh, yes, I bet you are, indeed.
 * Wynne: Cherish this. It may not last.
 * Alistair: And?
 * Wynne: That's all I had to say.
 * Alistair: Really? No pinching my cheeks? No making me blush?
 * Wynne: Of course not. I like you, Alistair. You deserve to be happy.
 * Alistair: Not even pinching my cheeks a little?

--
 * Wynne: Alistair, what's this?
 * Alistair: It's a sock?
 * Wynne: It's a filthy sock. How did it find its way to my bedroll?
 * Alistair: Maybe it likes you? Socks are sneaky like that. Anyway, it's not mine.
 * Wynne: It has your name stitched on it.
 * Alistair: Oh. Ha, ha. Ha. Part of templar training, back at the Chantry. The men were... always getting their socks mixed up. Anyway, uh, sorry about that. i'll take it from you right now. One of my socks is feeling a little damp anyway. A change would be nice.
 * Wynne: You're going to put it on? It's filthy!
 * Alistair: And dry. We're not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury, here.
 * Wynne: What hideous habits you've picked up.

--
 * Wynne: Did you speak often with Cailan?
 * Alistair: You're asking me if I have a relationship with my "brother", aren't you?
 * Wynne: Yes. I wonder what he thought of you.
 * Alistair: I don't think he cared much about my existance. I didn't mean anything to him. Anyway, to answer your original question, no, we never spoke. Well, maybe once. Maric and Cailan had come to Redcliffe to visit the arl. I was very young then. We were introduced. I believe I said, "Greetings, your Highness." He said, "Ooh! Swords!" and ran off to the armory. So, yes, that was the extent of our relationship. We drifted apart after that. Very sad.

--
 * Alistair: Wynne?
 * Wynne: Yes, Alistair?
 * Alistair: My shirt has a hole in it.
 * Wynne: I see. And?
 * Alistair: Can you mend it? When we get back to camp?
 * Wynne: Can't you mend your own clothes? Why do I have to do it?
 * Alistair: Sometimes I pick up too much fabric and it ends up all puckered and the entire garment hangs wrong afterward. And you're... you know, grandmotherly. Grandmothers do that sort of thing, don't they? Darning socks and whatnot. You don't want me to have to fight darkspawn in a shirt with a hole, do you? It might get bigger. I might catch cold.
 * Wynne: Oh, all right. I'll mend your shirt the next time we set up camp.
 * Alistair: Ooh! And whie you're at it, the elbows kind of need patching too...
 * Wynne: Careful, young man, or puckered garments may be the least of your problems.


 * Alistair: Ow.
 * Wynne: What? Stop fussing with it. You'll make it worse.
 * Alistair: It itches.
 * Wynne: Yes, it's healing. Don't touch it.
 * Alistair: But it's distracting. Can I rub it through the bandage? That's not really scratching.
 * Wynne: Alistair, if you open that wound up, I'm not going to heal it again. You can just treat it yourself. And if it festers, weeping bloody pus and burns like the flames of Andraste's pyre, don't come to me. All I'm going to say is: "Alistair, didn't I tell you not to touch it?"
 * Alistair: It won't really fester, will it?
 * Wynne: Why don't you try scratching and see?
 * Alistair: I... uh, I guess it doesn't itch so much now.

Wynne and Oghren

 * Oghren: Aye, sure. Why not?
 * Wynne: Pardon?
 * Oghren: Oh, I'd give you a roll. Why not?
 * Wynne: A "roll?"
 * Oghren: Aye. Any time. Preverably in the dark.
 * Wynne: I suppose I should be flattered.
 * Oghren: I'm not sure I have the equipment for that, but sure, whatever gets you working.

--


 * Oghren: Ah, Wynne... Care to partake of Oghren's fine homebrew? It's the drink of the gods.
 * Wynne: Mm, ale, is it? And I hope it's brewed hygienically?
 * Oghren: Of course! I may not know clean from a beggar's ass when it comes to most things, but I don't mess around with my ale.
 * Wynne: Very well, let's have a taste.
 * Oghren: Well? Well? What do you think?
 * Wynne: Very nice.
 * Oghren: You like it? well, I never...
 * Wynne: Attractive amber color. Nutty flavor, slightly sweet, just a hint of toastiness. There's some spice to it... I'm finding hard to place...
 * Oghren: Yes? Yes?
 * Wynne: Is it... cloves?
 * Oghren: Cloves! By the stone, you're a lady after my own heart. if I weren't buckled into this armor, I'd take you round the corner and... well, you know.
 * Wynne: Give me more ale?

--


 * Oghren: So, Wynne... how do you know so bleeding much about ale? Have some tawdry tale of misspent youth to tell?
 * Wynne: Nothing quite so interesting, my friend. The Tranquil mages of the Circle just happen to be alchemial miracle-workers, and they brew more than just potions. There was always a pitcher or two of fine ale at our supper table.
 * Oghren: Well, bless my britches... Maybe when all this is done I'll chat up one or two of them quiet mages.
 * Wynne: Uh, Tranquil.
 * Oghren: Tranquil, quiet, insipid... same difference.

--


 * Oghren: Ugh. Got something in my...Sod it.
 * Wynne: What are you... Never mind, I don't want to know.
 * Oghren: That's right. Keep your nose up. You know, just because we don't all live in some tower in the clouds doesn't mean we're worthless.
 * Wynne: I didn't...
 * Oghren: And furthermore, I don't think I appreciate the way you looked at me the other night.
 * Wynne: The way I... what?
 * Oghren: Oh, you remember. Those longing eyes, hungry for a bit of a tussle...
 * Wynne: I never looked at you, dwarf. Definately not in that way.
 * Oghren: Oh, you're right. Must have been the dog.

--


 * Wynne: Here, I bought you a towel, a bar of soap and a razor while we were at the market.
 * Oghren: Aye? What is this for?
 * Wynne: You wash with it.
 * Oghren: I know what soap is, woman! What is this flimsy slip of metal?
 * Wynne: It's a razor. you shave with it.
 * Oghren: Shave! Any warrior worth his salt keeps his beard! That's what I keep telling Alistair.
 * Wynne: It's matted! It has stale food stuck in it!
 * Oghren: Oh, so that's where that bit of herring got to. Anyway, it keeps my face warm. It doesn't have to be pretty. 'Sides, the ladies love it. Tickles them in all the right places if I wag my chin like this.
 * Wynne: Augh! Just take it. Take it!

--


 * Oghren: You could show me a little appreciation, you know.
 * Wynne: Appreciation? For what?
 * Oghren: I saved your ass a while back! When that thing was... you don't even remember.
 * Wynne: I'm sorry, I--
 * Oghren: No, that's fine. Next time I'll just let it get you, that's all.

--


 * Oghren: So. I was thinking...
 * Wynne: Listen, dwarf. I am not interested in your innuendos, your propositions, or your bodily emanations.
 * Oghren: But I--
 * Wynne: Quiet!
 * Oghren: I just wanted--
 * Wynne: No! Keep it to yourself! I'm serious!
 * Oghren: Eh, fine.
 * Wynne: Good! Thank you!
 * Oghren: Whatever.

--


 * Wynne: Why do you occasionally refer to Alistair as a "little pike-twirler?"
 * Oghren: Why? Has the little pike-twirler taken offence?
 * Wynne: It's just a curious description.
 * Oghren: Curious? (Snorts) Bah. it's entirely true. What, you haven't seen him twirling his pike? Goes at it when he thinks no one's watching. Knocks about in the trees like there's no tomorrow. Caught him just the other day. Blushed all the way down to his navel, then couldn't find his shirt. I swear he's going to hurt himself one of these days, the way he wors that thing.
 * Wynne: I don't want to hear this anymore, do I?
 * Oghren: I keep telling him, pikes are for sticking things at long range, aye? Horses and such. Not for twirling like a sissy-girl.
 * Wynne: Wait, you're talking about an actual pike? Like a spear?
 * Oghren: Obviously. What else would I be talking about?
 * Wynne: I can't imagine.