[Closed] Got A Light?

[sulahnan]

WHO: Athessa, Leander, Colin?, Benedict??
WHAT: Walking the parapet aka trying to get that cigarette case
WHEN: the days before Satinalia
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: following this plan, loosely

Despite all the planning, plotting, scheming that's been happening, when Athessa comes across Leander on the ramparts of the Gallows, it actually is by happenstance alone and not because she was looking for him.

The unfortunate part of this is that it means she's not as prepared as she'd like to be, but maybe that's a blessing in disguise. Maybe that's the elfroot talking. If elfroot could talk, what would it say?

"See any red birds?" She asks, the game they played while traveling a while back well remembered.

Comments

[sarcophage]

Her interest is met with its opposite: a polite shuttering.

"It was all right, as far as Circles go, until they tried to kill us."

[sulahnan]

"That does tend to put a damper on things..."

[sarcophage]

"Indeed."

Andraste save him from this conversation. Leander abruptly smiles, scoops the book back into hand, and gestures with it meaningfully. Soft thump of his fingers on the cover and all.

"Anyway, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it."

[sulahnan]

She gives a dismissive wave: go on, then, but doesn't move from her perch. She takes a long, slow drag and tips her head back to blow the smoke out almost vertically.

[sarcophage]

He will go on, then, and press his smile a little thinner as he tips head and shoulders her way. Such a snide gesture is less nettling when performed by an arm he's already fractured. He wouldn't feel bad, he reckons, even if he were the type. Look at her, she's healed well enough. Bones don't even keep scars—even when misaligned, the result is deformity, not scarring—he's seen cases of beautifully strange, sculptural ossification—caused it, even—

His train of thought continues thusly as he meanders toward the opposite battlement, intent on returning to the same state in which Athessa found him: pacing, hardback open in one hand, cigarillo in the other, trailing smoke. The carved wooden cigarette case shortly makes an appearance, lingers there while he creates a little flame, held prisoner to the moment by his care for the book pressed under his arm.

[sulahnan]

Finally. That's the proof she needs: he keeps the case on him, uses it for its intended purpose, no less.

He's just not its intended person.

She leans forward again, interest clearly piqued. "Wow, that case is beautiful. Looks hand-made, did you make it?"

[sarcophage]

Maker's tits, this girl. He finishes lighting up, draws and sighs a mouthful of smoke—you aren't supposed to inhale these little cigars, they say, though often he does—without too much obvious exasperation, and finally turns to eye her mostly sideways.

"Lovely little thing, isn't it?" Fingers clap the box shut, close around it. "But, no; I bought it."

[sulahnan]

"From where? That doesn't look like anything I've seen in the market stalls."

[sarcophage]

"At an auction."

Calm neutrality settles on him like a layer of ash. This cigarette case is more popular than anything else he owns, lately—while suspicion hasn't properly snagged him, neither does he seem eager to show it off.

"I'm going to read my book now. If you'll excuse me."