[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

[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.