Loxley is also a good listener, fond of stories, and for a while, that really is all it is. His near-smirk fades as real interest sets in, focus steady and fascinated at graphic descriptions of as yet unmet monsters, of an entire world of them in dripping, echoing caverns, and then of the ruined temple.
His expression flickers when Richard says his name, amusement and a sort of odd surprise all at once. Yes, of course, this was about him, wasn't it. There's a smile already in place for Richard's look, getting all the fangier for it, and then a slightly abashed, if pleased, glance down at his glass for that impression, and for Madame Fitcher's laughter.
Yeah, that sounds like him.
"I might have," he admits to Fitcher, "if they'd gotten wiser." To Richard, "Habit formed from working with our half-orcian friend. If I didn't speak up quickly, she'd start swinging. How fared negotiations then?"
Richard Dickerson does not often tell stories, but Loxley in particular lends himself to them, and Fitcher makes for an easy audience besides.
“Improbably well. You explained our passage through in pursuit of answers and the restoration of the temple’s domain and the mindflayer intimated in return that he was seeking answers of his own. You volunteered my services to supplement his research,” there’s an unappreciative slant at his brows -- presumptuous of him, “called for us to join you, and here we are today. Alive.
“Unfortunately it’s unlikely he survived the temple filling with sand upon our departure. Perhaps if he was swift to teleport himself to safety.
“A half-orc,” he explains in late aside to Fitcher, “is physically analogous to a qunari, or half-qunari. Are there half-qunari?” His intrigue is in near perfect echo to his prior interest in octopuses. If not, there should be. “Most are powerfully built. They have tusks in place of horns.”
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His expression flickers when Richard says his name, amusement and a sort of odd surprise all at once. Yes, of course, this was about him, wasn't it. There's a smile already in place for Richard's look, getting all the fangier for it, and then a slightly abashed, if pleased, glance down at his glass for that impression, and for Madame Fitcher's laughter.
Yeah, that sounds like him.
"I might have," he admits to Fitcher, "if they'd gotten wiser." To Richard, "Habit formed from working with our half-orcian friend. If I didn't speak up quickly, she'd start swinging. How fared negotiations then?"
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“Improbably well. You explained our passage through in pursuit of answers and the restoration of the temple’s domain and the mindflayer intimated in return that he was seeking answers of his own. You volunteered my services to supplement his research,” there’s an unappreciative slant at his brows -- presumptuous of him, “called for us to join you, and here we are today. Alive.
“Unfortunately it’s unlikely he survived the temple filling with sand upon our departure. Perhaps if he was swift to teleport himself to safety.
“A half-orc,” he explains in late aside to Fitcher, “is physically analogous to a qunari, or half-qunari. Are there half-qunari?” His intrigue is in near perfect echo to his prior interest in octopuses. If not, there should be. “Most are powerfully built. They have tusks in place of horns.”