HAWKE TURNS AS SHE IS ADDRESSED — vaguely, and on the borderline of a stutter, but still a call to the title nonetheless — casting her bright eyes down to the caller in question: a young man, sharp in the jaw and steeled in the eye, donned in what’s got to be the most cartoonishly bulky armor she’s ever seen.
❛ —— MM. among many other things. ❜ she examines the material of her coat, turning an arm over and beginning to casually brush a hand over it for dirt. ❛ an athiest, a heathen, a bloodsucking she - demon, a sex criminal, and a late riser, to name a few. ❜
she pauses. then, as if on a dime, she melts into a very sweet, very honeyed posture, grin splitting up her freckled cheeks.
❛ but, yes. according to witness encounters, documented instances of incidental heroism, and within your own keen observation, i have been known to champ every once in a while. ❜
krem stares for a long moment, taken aback, before he LAUGHS. it’s a low, easy sound. genuine and delighted. she’s definitely not anything like he’d expected. nor like varric’s book painted her. though he supposes he can’t judge her ENTIRE personality off a few brief moments.
❛ it’s– an honor to meet you, ❜ he says when the laughter subsides. ❛ i didn’t figure the champion would show up at something like the inquisition. i’m cremisius aclassi. lieutenant for the bull’s chargers, a mercenary company. ❜ he extends a hand to her, a smile still playing at the corners of his lips.