She doesn't understand half the words on the spines of the books - but she didn't need to? But interesting... interesting that it is more than just religious texts, map books or accounts ledgers. Whatever else might pass here as such. Perhaps, one day, she might trace her fingers over them as she had Gangadhar magnificent library.
Or more likely, not.
She was here for business.
Once he's settled, she rises. One long step in front of another. That press open of her shoulders, proud down the back line of her that smoothes each step, predator slow, sure, so sure, that she takes up the penknife without looking. Flicks it up, over, to grasp the blade by the handle and lean forward to place her other hand flat in front of him.
( She is considerate, in her way, it isn't on a valuable piece of parchment or book or otherwise easily destroyed ).
Doesn't speak, doesn't do much more than meet his gaze, one brow lifted before she slides her eyes down in a gesture for him to follow, to watch that hand between them that supports her weight. "This stays between us, understand?"
The penknife slams down, straight through the middle of her hand. She hisses - just because worse has happened, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and because of that, before anything else can be done. "Don't." Move, speak, call for hep. "Just watch."
And fishing below her collar, she reaches for the silver chain, the heavy phial that sits still against her beating heart. Uncapping it with the side of her thumb in a flick. Tilting her head, without taking her eyes from his face. The blood wells. Bubbles up over the side of her hand in rivulets, dark as to be black in the little light. "Pull it out, if you would."
no subject
Or more likely, not.
She was here for business.
Once he's settled, she rises. One long step in front of another. That press open of her shoulders, proud down the back line of her that smoothes each step, predator slow, sure, so sure, that she takes up the penknife without looking. Flicks it up, over, to grasp the blade by the handle and lean forward to place her other hand flat in front of him.
( She is considerate, in her way, it isn't on a valuable piece of parchment or book or otherwise easily destroyed ).
Doesn't speak, doesn't do much more than meet his gaze, one brow lifted before she slides her eyes down in a gesture for him to follow, to watch that hand between them that supports her weight. "This stays between us, understand?"
The penknife slams down, straight through the middle of her hand. She hisses - just because worse has happened, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and because of that, before anything else can be done. "Don't." Move, speak, call for hep. "Just watch."
And fishing below her collar, she reaches for the silver chain, the heavy phial that sits still against her beating heart. Uncapping it with the side of her thumb in a flick. Tilting her head, without taking her eyes from his face. The blood wells. Bubbles up over the side of her hand in rivulets, dark as to be black in the little light. "Pull it out, if you would."