Entry tags:
[ closed ] go ahead and cry little girl, nobody does it like you do
WHO: Gwenaëlle Vauquelin, Lex Luthor, Alistair, Bellamy Blake, Thranduil, Herian Amsel.
WHAT: Comte Vauquelin has information and records for the Inquisition. A small group including his daughter go to collect it. Everything is fine.
WHEN: End of Kingsway.
WHERE: Orlais, the Vauquelin estate.
NOTES: Violence, character death, assholes.
WHAT: Comte Vauquelin has information and records for the Inquisition. A small group including his daughter go to collect it. Everything is fine.
WHEN: End of Kingsway.
WHERE: Orlais, the Vauquelin estate.
NOTES: Violence, character death, assholes.


no subject
"I'm not afraid," she says, and it's careful. It's polite, the clean and neat tone she takes when she doesn't wish to say anything else. Of course, she is - and she will be again when they leave these walls and her father's guardsmen behind - but for the time being, not any more than she ever is. Fear isn't the problem (or, at least not the largest one, and not the sort that he can fix when it's his reactions she doesn't trust), so -
It's easier to deflect when he gives her something to do it with. She can easily dismiss what it isn't.
"We just haven't got anything to discuss at the moment. I don't need anything from you, I just want to be done with this place and leave."
no subject
"Thank you for coming. I am glad to see you hale and whole." He smiled, or at least attempted to affect it, warmly as he could manage despite the edge of concern from her precise manner and silence. Thranduil was aware it felt flat. "It is considerate of you."
He worried, after all.
no subject
The door is closed, no one has their ear pressed to the wall. It's only him that she's hiding from; him that she doesn't want to see something. Maybe it's the way she flinches when he calls her hale and whole, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she makes herself nod and agree, like she can't still feel Guenievre's blood coating her hands, see her eyes go sightless whenever she closes her own. As if it doesn't feel like she's herself a wound on the landscape -
All that's left of Guenievre is her, and it's wretched.
She says, "Yes," very tersely, and doesn't trust herself to say anything else before she turns on her heel and flees.