Oh. That's what his face says: oh, eyebrows raising, head tipping forward as if he isn't entirely sure he heard her correctly. And then he looks over his shoulder into the room, because he, too, would like to discover someone responsible and respectable and not weird she can speak to. His luck isn't any better than hers, though. Room's still empty. Damn.
"Well, I guess that counts as a compliment," he says as he looks back to her. "Come on in."
When he steps back into the room he leaves the door open, wide. He knows things, and among those things is that full-grown human men don't bring nervous young elf women into private rooms and shut the door behind them, unless they're the sort of full-grown human men Alistair likes to put the fear of the Maker into when he sees them. There's nothing in the room that Inquisition eyes can't see, anyway. There's a map on a wall, stuck with pins tied with different colored ribbon, books and notes and a few locked storage chests. No vials of Darkspawn blood anywhere.
He leans on the desk instead of sitting down behind it, but there are other chairs if she wants one.
no subject
"Well, I guess that counts as a compliment," he says as he looks back to her. "Come on in."
When he steps back into the room he leaves the door open, wide. He knows things, and among those things is that full-grown human men don't bring nervous young elf women into private rooms and shut the door behind them, unless they're the sort of full-grown human men Alistair likes to put the fear of the Maker into when he sees them. There's nothing in the room that Inquisition eyes can't see, anyway. There's a map on a wall, stuck with pins tied with different colored ribbon, books and notes and a few locked storage chests. No vials of Darkspawn blood anywhere.
He leans on the desk instead of sitting down behind it, but there are other chairs if she wants one.
"How old are you?"