[closed] pay no mind to the battles you've won

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren and Samson
WHAT: let's call it a job interview
WHEN: early Guardian
WHERE: Samson's room
NOTES: I herd u like red lyrium

The only warning Samson receives is that his visitor is the head of the Inquisition's small collection of Wardens (Warden Commander would be both an exceedingly generous and likely inaccurate title, but she's certainly old enough), and that she's coming in.

That's exactly what she does, with zero fanfare, stepping through the door in her silver and blue striped Warden tabard and scratched-up leather, greying hair in its tight bun, her left eye ever-squinting from beneath the scar tissue down the side of her face.
Teren doesn't smile, offer pleasantries, or do anything other than drag a chair over and drop onto it, her thin and pointed knees like knives jutting toward Samson.

"Raleigh Samson," she says, and it's more a statement than a question.

Comments

[redinside]

Raleigh Samson, such as he is, stays just where he is—at his washstand—to watch this woman invite herself in and start moving things. Thing, singular. It's not even his thing, technically, but his backside has touched it more than anyone else's, so it's his by default. And in comes this grim scarecrow of a woman, stomping right into his room and dragging its contents around like none of it belongs to anyone.

He isn't really anyone, anymore. He's less than a person. But he's become more substantial these past months, more hewn than hollowed, with enough mass to give the impression of a human being, at least, even if he's not meant to occupy the position directly. Raleigh Samson, such as he is, is a large man with a solid build, and after a great deal of self-governed effort he's finally begun to look it again.

He flicks his wet hands into the basin. A drop falls from his whiskered chin.

"One more person barges in here without a by-your-leave, and you're gonna wish to the Maker they'd knocked," he says, raised voice and a scowl aimed at the door and the guard beyond it.

He then turns both on Teren. "Yeah, what?"

[doneisdone]

The display elicits a smirk, though it fades quickly, and Teren glances to the door before returning her gaze to Samson. "Are you being tortured?" she asks frankly, sitting back more comfortably in the chair, with nothing in her tone to indicate she's making light of his situation. "Or is it Wardens that upset you so."

[redinside]

"Why should a Warden upset me? I look like a darkspawn to you?"

Had he any idea what it is, what it truly is, that incubates inside him, he might've intended that as a joke. But he doesn't, and so he didn't. Neither does he sit, nor try to make himself comfortable the way she has, nor stop his eyebrows from frowning like they are. He does use a threadbare towel to briefly dry his hands, though, then his face and down the front of his neck to where the water's trying to creep into his shirt.

"I admired you, once. The lot of you." Towel tossed aside. "Stories of griffons and all that."

[doneisdone]

She rolls her eyes. "Right, well. Admiration is harder to come by these days." She crosses a foot over her knee, draping her arm over the back of the chair. "I asked you a question, before that. Now you can be a piss about it, or you can answer it proper."

[redinside]

Samson's facial creases deepen in the beginnings of real agitation, rather than the blustery not-exactly-pleasantries they've shared so far.

"Was that a serious question? Sounded to me like you were just trying to be clever." The corded look of his forearms, as he crosses them, suggests he's been doing plenty in his spare time. (Of which he has plenty.) "I am being tortured, as a matter of fact—by an old woman who won't be straight about what she's doing bursting into my quarters out of nowhere. Hasn't even bothered to introduce herself, either."

[doneisdone]

"Do I look like I'm bloody joking," comes the flat, exasperated reply, and Teren cants her head to level him with a look that's almost matronly in its disapproval. "If it's a stilted introduction that has you this fussy, torturing you's like as easy as sticking a pig."
She follows him with her eyes, taking in all his fidgeting with dull annoyance.

"Warden von Skraedder," she says after a moment, "and I've some questions for you, if you're quite finished."

[redinside]

While not particularly chastened by the Warden's glare, showing no sign of nervousness nor any impatience, but all the same entirely ready to get this over with—whatever it is—Samson stays just where he is, leaves his arms folded just as they are.

"Ask, then."

84 years later here is Two Sentences

[doneisdone]

"You're the local expert on red lyrium, are you not?" Her head cants interestedly, watching him like a hawk.

[redinside]

Given Samson is determined to make himself as uninteresting as possible by being deliberately still, even holding off his blinks as long as he can without discomfort, there's not much to watch. It's not special for the Warden, mind; this is his favoured tactic once he's got a bee in his bonnet about something or other, and as he becomes more comfortable where he is, issues of respect are climbing ever higher on that list.

"You could say that."

If you're an idiot.

Is what he does not say with his mouth.

[doneisdone]

She seems to hear it anyway-- it takes a dour smartass to know one, after all. "I did," Teren clips back, "and if this indeed be the case, I may be able to offer you a way out of your captivity."
Here she pauses, arms folded, waiting. If he doesn't care, there's no leverage, and this is pointless; if he does, perhaps they'll get somewhere.

[redinside]

Two dour smart-asses, both alike in dignity, scowling at each other with their arms folded. They'd better not keep this up for too long or someone will start leaning books between them.

"How? You here to conscript me?"

Unlikely, he reckons—still, wouldn't that be a laugh. If the Wardens are looking to really trash their reputation, that'd certainly do it.

[doneisdone]

"Maybe," she answers without reservation, "if I decide you'd be worth it. Would you resist?" She tips her head, watching him intently.