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Even as the three defacto leaders (or in Dorian's case really a high-ranking occasional advisor) of their organization, it was difficult to all get together at the same time. Most of their inter-communication was done through letters, or notes on reports, or if they were terribly lucky from one to the next of them in pairs that managed to be at the Shop at the same time. Ashur and Tarquin were (Ashur could hear the teasing 'obviously' in Dorian's tone even in his own head) the most frequently at the Shop at the same time so often the communication was happening between them however the others - more frequently Maevaris due to Dorian's active seat in the Magisterium - had the excuses to see Ashur at his… other job… which helped sometimes just the same.
Even more rare than the fate of getting all four of them at the Shop at the same time, was getting the four of them out of the Shop at the same time - together. It's what made this outing (to the Cobbled Swan of all places) particularly special. That and the more than a few bottles of wine they'd gone through thus far. Dorian had paid for them, though not without much complaining, and his most recent attempt to poke fun had amounted to a joke about why the Divine doesn't just pay their tab. Which was, Ashur would not let the man forget later, how he got into this situation.
Ashur opened another bottle of wine and took a long swig of it, as Tarquin's voice echoed at his side. "Sorry, let's just backtrack a damn minute," there was a slight drawl to his voice, indicative of the amount of alcohol he like the rest of them had consumed during their meal, but Ashur knew from experience that he still had his full wits about him. The Templar was leaned forward on the table, resting his weight on his elbows as his fingers tore up a piece of bread between them that he may or may not ever eat. Tarquin's pointed gaze was trained on Ashur though, not Dorian, because of what Ashur had said after the Magister's comment. 'Maybe he would'. It took Ashur a tight grip on the entirety of his societal training to keep him from squirming under Tarquin's gaze. "First off, no he wouldn't. Come off it. Second off, why would we even want his money?" A small chunk of the bread was tossed onto the table in Ashur's direction, and he got the distinct impression that Tarquin had at the last second aborted throwing it at his face, instead.
"I didn't think you'd be the type to turn down an extra coin?" Dorian drawled from across the table, and Ashur would thank him for the rescue if not for the trouble-making glint in the man's eyes.
"We hardly need to debat—" Ashur tried, tried, to shut down the conversation before it started but unfortunately Dorian knew Tarquin just as well as he did (alright, more realistically half as well but Dorian knew him well enough to know how to rile him up just enough to set him off).
"Sure, coin is great - but from THE DIVINE? Coin like that doesn't come without strings." Tarquin had turned his grumbling across the table, an incredulous look on his face and his left hand waving with fingers pinching another chunk of bread. "Altis don't help for nothing - hush you know you're different." Tarquin pointed an accusing finger at Dorian to silence whatever comeback the man had clearly been about to retort from the twitching of his moustache. "You're on our side. You've proven that. I know the damned Divine went public with support for the Lucerni or whatever but that's hardly making much of a stand. He's not really on our side, is he? I mean — The Argent Spire's got to be full of slaves, at the very least."
Ashur had decades of political training, of being very firmly taught what not to say in public, and how to deal with situations similar to this, and how to lie effortlessly. He was, in both his roles as The Divine and The Viper, poised and steady - reliable. Never one to raise his voice, never one to panic under pressure. Unfortunately, several glasses of wine deep and there was little of The Divine, or The Viper, left in his head. Just Ashur. And Ashur—-
"No it's not!"
— Ashur went and said things like that without even the slightest consideration beforehand. All eyes at the table snap to him. Mae's featuring the slightest bit of concern, Dorian's full of amusement and Tarquin's still heated. Ashur floundered under their collective gaze, and he'd never admit to being more affected by one of them than the others.
"I — er," Ashur stuttered, swallowing around a suddenly very dry throat. "I've looked.. into him. I've looked into him! He's good. He — his — His staff, they're all free. All on payroll. It's official." It was a logical enough lie, all things considered, if only Tarquin was willing to pass off the stuttering as Ashur being drunk.
"Of course you did, Ash." Tarquin let out a long breath, his gaze settled. He shoved a chunk of bread into his mouth, mulling over his words as he chewed on it. "I know you're a chantry kid, alright. I get it. You believe, you recite the chant, all that crap." He doesn't say it cruelly, and Ashur knows not to take it that way. Knows Tarquin respects his religion, even if he doesn't respect the institution of it. Even if he doesn't himself believe. "But The Divine isn't one of us. He'd never be caught dead, with us. Trust me."
"Maybe not with one of us," Dorian teased, gesturing between Maevaris and himself. Ashur flickered his gaze past Dorian's smirk, to Mae hiding what was clearly a snicker behind her wine glass, and came to the conclusion that there would be no help coming from the other side of the table. At all.
As his gaze returned to Tarquin's, there was a hint of confusion there - and Ashur spoke once again before he could caution himself out of it. Unwilling to allow Tarquin to believe that he was not worth knowing, worth loving, even if it meant Ashur might accidentally reveal too much. "I can't see why he wouldn't want to know you, Quin." Ashur reassured, shifting towards the edge of his chair so that his knee brushed Tarquin's thigh, his hand falling to the man's wrist. They sat closer together as a result, and Ashur pointedly ignored Dorian's snort of laughter. "You are kind, and just. Loyal, brave, funny. The best damn templar this city has by any reasonable standard, even if they don't let you show it. Anyone would be lucky to walk by your side, even The Divine himself."
Tarquin just stared with an open emotion that Ashur was too scared to identify, clearly written across his face. He didn't respond, and as the seconds ticked on in silence Ashur started panicking internally. Scrambling through his mind for a way to backtrack from what had clearly been far too serious a declaration, he was interrupted by Dorian giving a long, dramatic, groan of disgust. Both of their gazes snapped over to the man in an instant and Dorian didn't even bother to look sheepish about it. "Could you two please just get a room already." Dorian was gesturing with his hand.
Surprising Ashur, it wasn't Dorian that continued but Mae - who after lowering her glass again offered, "Maybe you could find one at Argent Spire?"
"Tarquin! You could even get a good look at the portraits of His Holiness, mhm?" Dorian tagged on the end. Ashur looked helplessly between the two of them.
"Ganged up on! Do I have a single ally left!?" Ashur let out a long breath of exacerbation and shook his head. He'd hoped he'd have help from Mae at least, was hoping for it even now. It was for naught.
Mae snickered. "Says the guy wearing a mask."
"It would be a shame," Ashur shot back. "If the Chantry came and shut this place down before we could finish our wine."
"That's what I'm saying!" The new voice was Tarquin, and Ashur's gaze twisted back to his side. No help from across the table, and no help from this side either - even if Tarquin didn't know what he was actually arguing. "We should just raid this guy first, before he causes problems for us!"
Ashur ran the heel of his palm across his forehead, nudging his hat while he did so. He was weighing the odds of what to do next. How to end this conversation before they gave something away, sure, but also how to try and sell his alternate identity to Tarquin. All at once, he paused - A distant roaring pulled his attention, and that of everyone in the vicinity. Turning his body towards the sound Ashur could, out the large windows of the tavern, see just barely across the docks. Could, through the masses of people tearing off in all directions, see the swooping figure of. Maker's breath was that a DRAGON? He turned his gaze halfway back to his associates, somehow despite very different emotions in each of their gazes he read each as the same message - stay where you are don't you dare. He might've been inclined to listen, might've, but honestly?
A dragon was far preferred, to continuing this conversation.
So he ducked his head, pulling his hat lower - and took off out the door at a full sprint. What's the worst that could happen?
— — — — — —
[sometime later, after Rook saves Treviso]
They'd been secured at the 7th Shadow Dragon's safehouse for all of an hour. Together, Tarquin and Ashur had seen 5 more Shadows off to other safehouses, or out of the city entirely, just that evening and now they were set to remain inside, at least until tomorrow. They'd secured the exterior, ensured all of the windows covered when Tarquin suggested they get started on dinner.
"You can peel the potatoes, it'll go faster if you help." Tarquin instructed, from his stance on the edge of what would technically be called the separation from the kitchen to the living area of the tiny one-room flat.
Ashur grunted, then as he raised his gaze a small smirk was glinting across the corner of his lips. Tarquin wasn't eager to know what the result of what he used to be able to read as a glint in Ashur's eyes, before the blight had taken the expressiveness from them. Ashur dropped onto floor next to him the mask he'd just removed, it made an audible splat from the amount of blight that it had absorbed from their work. Then, he chimed, "Quin. I can't. I'm bliterally dying right now."
The words were met with a painfully long bout of utter silence, as Ashur playfully looked across the distance to Tarquin standing with his arms crossed staring unblinkingly back. Then, he inclined his head towards the kitchen. "Potatoes." He snipped, leaving little room to argue. Then, as Ashur rose his smile falling, Tarquin added, "If you say that one more time. I will kill you myself."
Ashur smiled.