Long Way Down
Good listener, Bad puns, Lots of dogs
You didn’t actually realize that Cooper was a part of your group until you all gathered up to leave Antiva City – you just thought he was the bartender. Which is doubly embarrassing, because at some point you definitely sat down at the bar, ordered a drink, and told him about your problems. He didn’t complain, though – he just got up, got you a drink, and hummed and nodded until you dragged yourself to bed – and it doesn’t seem like he’s holding it against you.
Around camp, it’s pretty easy to spot the Fereldens because almost all of them have Mabari hounds. Cooper has two – Lily and Wynne – and when the others aren’t at their master’s heel, they’re with him. Seeing him with the dogs banishes any thoughts you might have had that he’s rude or unsociable: he’s clearly just much, much more comfortable around the animals than he is around people. The first time you hear him talk, it’s not to a person, it’s to his dogs, and it comes as a surprise for two reasons: first, because his voice is rich, deep, and gravelly, moreso than you’d guess from looking at him; second, because it’s only in that moment that you realize that in all the time you’ve known him, he’d never said a single word to you. You have to wrack your brain for a second, because sitting with him always felt companionable – hell, you’d talked for hours. …You. Just you. You were the only one talking. But he was really, really nice about it.
The scar on his face is bad enough that most people are inclined not to ask about it, but he almost never bothers to cover it up. If you do ask about the scar, or about the eye, or if he catches you staring, he’ll grin and either tell you a very short, dumb, obviously made-up story, or just serve up a really high-quality pun (about eyes, blindness, scratches, scars – oh my god, he’s heard them all, he knows them all, and he is not afraid to use them).