may i rest my head on your bosom

Wynne: You must know that murder is wrong, I assume.

Zevran: I’m sorry… are you speaking to me?

Wynne: That is why you wish to leave your Crows. A crisis of conscience.

Zevran: Yes, that is exactly it.

Wynne: Joke if you wish, but I have the feeling that deep down you regret the life you have lived.

Zevran: It’s true. I regret it all.

Wynne: Must you be such a child? Are you incapable of a single, serious conversation?

Zevran: I know. I am terrible and it makes me sad. May I rest my head in your bosom? I wish to cry.

Wynne: You can cry well away from my bosom, I’m certain.

Zevran: Did I tell you I was an orphan? I never knew my mother.

Wynne: Egad. I give up.

───────

Wynne: Have you changed your mind yet? Are you willing to speak seriously?

Zevran: Of your bosom? As you wish.

Wynne: (exasperated) No, I do not wish to speak of my bosom.

Zevran: But it is a marvelous bosom. I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well. Perhaps it is a magical bosom?

Wynne: Stop… talking about my bosom.

Zevran: But I thought you wished to speak seriously?

Wynne: I do. I thought, however foolishly, that you might be willing to speak of your past.

Zevran: We could do that. There have been many bosoms in my past, though only few as fine as yours.

Wynne: Enough. I am ending this conversation.

───────

Zevran: You have not asked my about my conscience for some time, my darling Wynne.

Wynne: That is correct. And I am not your “darling.”

Zevran: (Sigh) So once again I am rejected, just as I am by the cruel, cruel fates. They are harsh mistresses to the elves.

Wynne: Zevran, I am old enough to be your grandmother.

Zevran: You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Wynne: And what would you do with me if you had me, hmm? This is a game you play, nothing more.

Zevran: Ha, you are a cynical woman, Wynne.

Zevran: Cynical and powerful. It drives me mad with desire.

Wynne: …

Wynne: I am going to walk away now.