[Closed]

[lifeofendurance]

WHO: Aleron, Christine, Luwenna and Malcolm; Aleron, Luwenna, Bethany
WHAT: Intel from future AU comes home.
WHEN: Mid-month, after Nevarra
WHERE: Kirkwall: Christine's office / Darton house
NOTES: Al is a boring stick-in-the-mud? idk, will update as needed

[Part One: Christine's Office]
[Aleron still doesn't like this. He doesn't like working with anything but facts. He doesn't particularly care for Wren, either. Neither does Malcolm particularly wish to open up with this information, and for that he cannot be blamed. Still, there is some potential for a fresh perspective in at least speaking to Christine about Ser Coupe's account.

They arrive collectively and Aleron cannot help but feel like they're about to ambush his friend. Possibly because to date this has been mere speculative of a potential future and not substantiated facts. Even so, Christine receives a warm smile and a peck on either cheek in greeting.]

I do apologize for the inconvenience, my friend.

[No really. He does. It's on Wren to share as far as he is concerned. Hers is the eyewitness account.]


[Part Two: Dinner with Bethany]
[Well. It's done. At least the first telling of information. Now comes the remainder of the balance. Bethany needs to be told. Aleron still doesn't like this. Not enough facts, not enough evidence uncovered through investigation or research. But likewise, if this is to be pushed forward through official channels, it must needs be discussed at home.

And he refuses to upset his wife with a third-hand retelling.

It's a concession, inviting Ser Coupe into their home to dine. However, Aleron intends to conduct himself as a polite host, even if he does not care for the company nor the intended discourse of the evening.]

Comments

[limier]

Warden Hawke’s reputation precedes her. [ she manages, somehow, to make that sound a compliment — ] But I fear we’ve not the pleasure.

[ that’s a word for it. she moves to unshoulder her jacket, straighten her sleeve over a wrist and the reminder of bruise. beating the piss out of amsel is at least a mutual endeavour.

her gaze settles steady upon eye level, but she tracks the pull of arm, of waist. if there’s bliss of ignorance, may it never be called to account. ]

Coupe, [ she offers in turn, though of course the girl will know that as well. still, the dip of a head. ] Shall we within?