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[justice_is_blond]

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[gentlecountry]

Oh! [He's surprised. And then genuinely pleased, under his comfortable, calm-and-pleasant affect. Oh. Well.

[A throat-clearing sound. Ah, here's a piece of nostalgia.]

All sorts. My ma was farm-caste, and she hadn't any siblings, so by the times I was born, it were just us on our plot. We hads a nice thick mat of lichen and a mushroom fields, and my old man would cultivates these enormous glow-caps, it mades the neighbors so sodding jealous, I thought they'd scream. When my sister was old enough she gots the idea to squeeze 'em into wine. Mushrooms wine! You'd a thoughts it was a crazy idea, but it was crazy enough to work. We never wents thirsty.

'Course, we'd just farms dirt every fourth year, to keeps the stone from souring it, but we always hads nugs. Ma and I would breeds 'em fancy for showings at the fairs, but we mades our livings on meats and dairy. Practical stuff, you knows?

[justice_is_blond]

Meat and dairy was...

[It's a long silence, this one.]

Practical. I was, I started my life on a cow farm. I would have been that. If not for magic. My mother would, would sometimes sing to me and the calves both, as we took care of chores. As she and I did. The cows obviously didn't do anything aside from eat, sleep, fuck, and birth.

[gentlecountry]

You know Anders, I think I feels a bits of a kindred spirit, here.

[His own silence is more of a quiet, the companionable evening with a sunset shared, or the underground equivalent thereof.]

I ought ta get backs into it, sometimes. Just a dabble, mind, I'm nots abouts to buy up livestocks. But I likes a nice, green cheese, don't you?

[justice_is_blond]

[Maker. He wants peace. He wants to believe in having a chance to dabble and just be Anders Howe, husband and farmer and cat owner. It hurts how much he wants it, and how much he knows that it's impossible.]

I'm not sure about green, but I did appreciate our cheeses. I don't miss hauling buckets of milk to the river, though.

[gentlecountry]

I'll do the haulin, if you do the milkin.

[C'mon, Anders, be a good sport. But he's not really serious, all things considered. There's more to cheesemaking than buying a jug of milk and hoping for the best; Barty gives a deep, heavy sigh.]

...Ah, just listen to us. Ain't we dreamin.

[justice_is_blond]

We are.

[It's hushed.]

That's far too simple and peaceful for me to have again. But if I improve the cure, it could always be an option for you.

[gentlecountry]

Ah, Anders, that's mighty kind of you, but I doubts it much worth it. I beens a Warden for near-on thirty years, now; I'm almost more taint than Dwarf.

[There is a long silence, and the clink of something metal as Barty takes a long pull from his flask.]

...Anywho, there's no farm for me downs here. And I wouldn't know whats to do with a surfacer's farm, even if I hads the moneys for it. Got nothin' to live for outsides the Wardens, anyways. Nah, leave it be: I'm old enoughs to knows better.

[justice_is_blond]

There's always something to fight for. Unfortunately. Our world is a world of inequality and oppression.

[He's jealous of so many Rifters' worlds.]

But the Warden fight is your personal fight, and I respect your determination to see that one out.

[Meanwhile he's got his people to free.]

[gentlecountry]

Ha! You don'ts haves to tells me that.

[another swig.]

I'm from Orzimmar.

[justice_is_blond]

[He snorts, though when he speaks his voice is quiet.]

To battles that may never be won, then.

[There's the sound of a liquid being poured before he takes a drink as well.]

[gentlecountry]

As my old man used to say, You might knows you can't win, Bart, but you're dumb enough to try..

[You must imagine the jaunty little tip of the flask at that. And drink.]

Good talk, Anders.