Droll in expression, Gwenaëlle turns her bare left hand palm up for him; the dull green of her anchor-shard a wrong note that explains itself. “Absolutely fucking nothing,” she proposes, mock bright. “Unfortunately, my personal concerns haven't had much to do with where I spend the bulk of my time for the better part of the last three years. As a guest of the Inquisition,”
guest, yes, and she says it so dryly but she knows the difference between prisoners and the situation with the anchor-shards well enough by now,
“I've been obliged to find my own occupation.”
Propaganda, for instance, but there have been many months between now and that last dramatic send-off. She doesn't have the look of a young woman at a loose end, precisely, and if it were all as simple as that then she might not be as easy with his unexpected company.
Fastidious correctness obligates her, though: “I didn't agree with everything I felt it was necessary to write.” The Dalish can fuck off, for a start. And then, because it's still not that simple, “At the time,” a concession to some of the opinions espoused that she did, in fact, come around to.
no subject
guest, yes, and she says it so dryly but she knows the difference between prisoners and the situation with the anchor-shards well enough by now,
“I've been obliged to find my own occupation.”
Propaganda, for instance, but there have been many months between now and that last dramatic send-off. She doesn't have the look of a young woman at a loose end, precisely, and if it were all as simple as that then she might not be as easy with his unexpected company.
Fastidious correctness obligates her, though: “I didn't agree with everything I felt it was necessary to write.” The Dalish can fuck off, for a start. And then, because it's still not that simple, “At the time,” a concession to some of the opinions espoused that she did, in fact, come around to.
Like, rifters might be people.