The subject of elves being mercifully set aside - what is she going to say about them? look at all the good they're doing, all these elves that weren't burned in the fires of Halamshiral like so much carrion waste, gosh isn't it good that Celene bothered to let some of them live, what a fucking pinnacle of noblesse oblige, no, that would be clumsy and telling and she doesn't care, anyway - GwenaΓ«lle sits.
This is all fine.
"I've approached Knight-Commander Norrington to use his diagrams in an edition," she says, spreading some of her notes on the table for Leliana to look at as they speak, taking the thin gold spectacles from their chain at her hip (where they hang always, necessity given the appearance of ornamental affectation) and settling them on her nose so she can follow from them if she needs the reminder. "He has pictures of demons, and their..." Her nose wrinkles, "Parts. I think it would be interesting and...confronting? A reminder."
Of what they're fighting. Of what the cost is. The scars that snake up from within her gown, marring her decolletage, say GwenaΓ«lle has learned that lesson the hard way.
"And it isn't bad for people to learn things. About the things that threaten them." Maybe it would help someone, somewhere. "He says he will give me notes, as well. Well, I asked him to," with the sort of casual bluntness that tends to lead people to think she is even less deft in the Game than is the truth.
(She isn't very good at the pretense; she is much sharper an observer, and the neatly, concisely written notes on Leliana's desk tell that story clearly.)
"I would like to build a proper narrative around it. The work being done, the threats that your people go out and face-- I thought you might know best where I should look, and what perhaps does not need to be too closely examined."
After all - anyone could pick up a copy of her work. Maybe Corypheus will start reading it over his morning whatever horrible ancient Tevinter monsters have to break their fast. Does he eat? He must, right? It's probably disgusting.
no subject
This is all fine.
"I've approached Knight-Commander Norrington to use his diagrams in an edition," she says, spreading some of her notes on the table for Leliana to look at as they speak, taking the thin gold spectacles from their chain at her hip (where they hang always, necessity given the appearance of ornamental affectation) and settling them on her nose so she can follow from them if she needs the reminder. "He has pictures of demons, and their..." Her nose wrinkles, "Parts. I think it would be interesting and...confronting? A reminder."
Of what they're fighting. Of what the cost is. The scars that snake up from within her gown, marring her decolletage, say GwenaΓ«lle has learned that lesson the hard way.
"And it isn't bad for people to learn things. About the things that threaten them." Maybe it would help someone, somewhere. "He says he will give me notes, as well. Well, I asked him to," with the sort of casual bluntness that tends to lead people to think she is even less deft in the Game than is the truth.
(She isn't very good at the pretense; she is much sharper an observer, and the neatly, concisely written notes on Leliana's desk tell that story clearly.)
"I would like to build a proper narrative around it. The work being done, the threats that your people go out and face-- I thought you might know best where I should look, and what perhaps does not need to be too closely examined."
After all - anyone could pick up a copy of her work. Maybe Corypheus will start reading it over his morning whatever horrible ancient Tevinter monsters have to break their fast. Does he eat? He must, right? It's probably disgusting.