Blackwall: Could you be a little more gentle the next time we spar, Cassandra? Cassandra: Why? You can take it. Blackwall: Yes, but I'd rather not. Cassandra: (Laughs.) I did not realize you were made of glass. Blackwall: Bruised glass, thank you.
Blackwall: So you were the Right Hand of the Divine, and Leliana the Left? Cassandra: Yes, and if you joke about the Right Hand not knowing what the Left is doing, I will punch you. Blackwall: Me? No, I would never make such a terrible joke.
Blackwall: The other day, did I see you punch a tree? What did it ever do to you? Cassandra: Plenty.
Cole: It's you, Cassandra. Breathing from the belly, cold air warmed, stones beneath me, candle before me, Maker all around. Then nothing, empty, I'm cut, cauterized, then caught, cleansed by a light that carries me home. You're thinking backwards. You don't have faith because of the spirit. The spirit came because of your faith. It's you. Cassandra: Thank you, Cole. I appreciate that.
Cole: The room with the candle. It wasn't a lie. Your faith was real. Cassandra: The same could be said for Lambert or Lucius. A single moment of perfect faith does not make one immune to fault. Cole: Belly knotted, the candle burns like the sun. No voice but my own for months. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter." Cassandra: "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."
Dorian: Tell me, Cassandra: did your family throw suitors at you? Cassandra: My uncle did, waves of them – until I broke one's arm. Then there were fewer.
Iron Bull: That was some solid work back there, Seeker. Cassandra: You, as well. Iron Bull: The way you backhanded that guy with your shield and then damn near chopped him in half? Hey, are you as turned on as I am right now?
Cassandra: I enjoy fighting at your side, Bull. Iron Bull: Same here, Seeker. Cassandra: But I will also enjoy returning to the base and sinking slowly into a steaming hot bath, sprinkled with rose petals. Iron Bull: Oh, now you're just being mean! I mean, roses! Who has sex smelling like roses? Violets, or a nice frangipane, maybe. Cassandra: *laughs*
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Cassandra: Why? You can take it.
Blackwall: Yes, but I'd rather not.
Cassandra: (Laughs.) I did not realize you were made of glass.
Blackwall: Bruised glass, thank you.
Blackwall: So you were the Right Hand of the Divine, and Leliana the Left?
Cassandra: Yes, and if you joke about the Right Hand not knowing what the Left is doing, I will punch you.
Blackwall: Me? No, I would never make such a terrible joke.
Blackwall: The other day, did I see you punch a tree? What did it ever do to you?
Cassandra: Plenty.
Cole: It's you, Cassandra. Breathing from the belly, cold air warmed, stones beneath me, candle before me, Maker all around. Then nothing, empty, I'm cut, cauterized, then caught, cleansed by a light that carries me home. You're thinking backwards. You don't have faith because of the spirit. The spirit came because of your faith. It's you.
Cassandra: Thank you, Cole. I appreciate that.
Cole: The room with the candle. It wasn't a lie. Your faith was real.
Cassandra: The same could be said for Lambert or Lucius. A single moment of perfect faith does not make one immune to fault.
Cole: Belly knotted, the candle burns like the sun. No voice but my own for months. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter."
Cassandra: "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."
Dorian: Tell me, Cassandra: did your family throw suitors at you?
Cassandra: My uncle did, waves of them – until I broke one's arm. Then there were fewer.
Iron Bull: That was some solid work back there, Seeker.
Cassandra: You, as well.
Iron Bull: The way you backhanded that guy with your shield and then damn near chopped him in half? Hey, are you as turned on as I am right now?
Cassandra: I enjoy fighting at your side, Bull.
Iron Bull: Same here, Seeker.
Cassandra: But I will also enjoy returning to the base and sinking slowly into a steaming hot bath, sprinkled with rose petals.
Iron Bull: Oh, now you're just being mean! I mean, roses! Who has sex smelling like roses? Violets, or a nice frangipane, maybe.
Cassandra: *laughs*