[ Alistair gives him a brief, flat look, disinterested in debating what he's allowed to joke about or any sort of Templar lecture about the horrors of blood magic Cade might have prepared. Nearly every Orlesian Warden he's known over the last twelve years died as a sacrifice, and the rest he last saw bound to demons in the Anderfels. He knows.
But whatever. ]
Yes, well, [ he says, ] you can't be sure that anyone won't hurt you. That isn't how people work. There are men who—hurt little girls, instead of boys, too, but most of them don't, and you can't go around assuming they all do. I don't know what else to tel you.
[Although he's utterly incompetent at dealing with people, Cade can at least read them pretty well, and is aware of Alistair's mood shift almost instantaneously.]
Sorry, [he says hastily, cursing himself-- can he not make it weird just once? Just once. He's trying, for Andraste's sake, but fat lot of good that's ever done him.
He stares at the table while Alistair continues to speak, and is silent for several moments after, clearly having difficulty with the conversation and still unable as ever to articulate it sensibly.]
...do you think less of me? [He asks finally, meeting Alistair's eyes for a split second and then chickening out.]
Not yet, [ Alistair says, which may not be brutal honesty, but is not very gentle honesty, probably, either. ] I—I know you probably can't help who you do or don't feel comfortable with, but you can't go around insulting people who haven't done anything wrong.
[That wasn't entirely what he meant, but Cade is willing to accept the answer nonetheless. He nods, not seeming to mind the tone of the answer; gentleness is a quality he's encountered only recently in his interpersonal dealings. It still throws him off, and isn't as effective.]
I didn't mean to, [he says again, and squints his eyes with a rapid shake of his head. He's not an idiot, he's not into self-pity and knows how pathetic that sounds.] ...I'll... try. Not to. [He doesn't always necessarily know what will and won't insult people, but he's made an effort to learn in some cases.]
...sorry. [He sounds a bit defeated, but decides to busy himself by actually going for the sweet roll and filling his mouth with it before he can say anything else stupid. He chews it for a while, staring at the table, simultaneously hunting for a new and less catastrophic conversation topic, and being mad at himself for being so impossibly awkward. It's not very productive.]
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But whatever. ]
Yes, well, [ he says, ] you can't be sure that anyone won't hurt you. That isn't how people work. There are men who—hurt little girls, instead of boys, too, but most of them don't, and you can't go around assuming they all do. I don't know what else to tel you.
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Sorry, [he says hastily, cursing himself-- can he not make it weird just once? Just once. He's trying, for Andraste's sake, but fat lot of good that's ever done him.
He stares at the table while Alistair continues to speak, and is silent for several moments after, clearly having difficulty with the conversation and still unable as ever to articulate it sensibly.]
...do you think less of me? [He asks finally, meeting Alistair's eyes for a split second and then chickening out.]
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I didn't mean to, [he says again, and squints his eyes with a rapid shake of his head. He's not an idiot, he's not into self-pity and knows how pathetic that sounds.] ...I'll... try. Not to. [He doesn't always necessarily know what will and won't insult people, but he's made an effort to learn in some cases.]
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[He sounds a bit defeated, but decides to busy himself by actually going for the sweet roll and filling his mouth with it before he can say anything else stupid. He chews it for a while, staring at the table, simultaneously hunting for a new and less catastrophic conversation topic, and being mad at himself for being so impossibly awkward. It's not very productive.]