She really should be watching for more soldiers but that focuses her attention on him, the insinuation there; that they've similar foundations. That he recognizes something in her familiar. It's a strange experience, after so long being completely anonymous, but hadn't she felt the same thing? Something similar enough to make him stick in her mind. She's staring hard enough at the back of his head that her toe catches on a tile and she trips slightly, bringing her attention back to --oh yes a war they're currently entrenched in-- and she laughs once at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Victims of circumstance but eternal opportunists." Sylvie agrees in slightly dramatic amicability; at a minimum they're both here aren't they? Whatever suspicion she had back in Kirkwall that he was just as out of place here as she was is all but confirmed now, for all his bluster about how she had smelled. What world had he come from she can't help but wonder; and how it had fit amongst the sacred timeline. "I thought I broke free of all that before finding myself here, but at least it's somewhat familiar ground."
The last words are forced a bit as a flash of armor comes around one of the decorative turrets ahead, a Tevinter soldier having a similar idea about the ease of travel above, and Sylvie slips past Astarion to engage him before he gets any ideas. The man is already injured, and barely has time to parry one blow before the tip of her blade finds a soft spot between his ribs, and she presses a hand over his mouth to muffle any shout as the life bleeds out of him. Mercy for the wounded doesn't apply when one is in enemy territory. The body slumps after a moment, and she grunts as she hoists him up enough that the turret will keep him pinned. The last thing they need is bodies falling into the streets along with the bits of architecture.
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She really should be watching for more soldiers but that focuses her attention on him, the insinuation there; that they've similar foundations. That he recognizes something in her familiar. It's a strange experience, after so long being completely anonymous, but hadn't she felt the same thing? Something similar enough to make him stick in her mind. She's staring hard enough at the back of his head that her toe catches on a tile and she trips slightly, bringing her attention back to --oh yes a war they're currently entrenched in-- and she laughs once at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Victims of circumstance but eternal opportunists." Sylvie agrees in slightly dramatic amicability; at a minimum they're both here aren't they? Whatever suspicion she had back in Kirkwall that he was just as out of place here as she was is all but confirmed now, for all his bluster about how she had smelled. What world had he come from she can't help but wonder; and how it had fit amongst the sacred timeline. "I thought I broke free of all that before finding myself here, but at least it's somewhat familiar ground."
The last words are forced a bit as a flash of armor comes around one of the decorative turrets ahead, a Tevinter soldier having a similar idea about the ease of travel above, and Sylvie slips past Astarion to engage him before he gets any ideas. The man is already injured, and barely has time to parry one blow before the tip of her blade finds a soft spot between his ribs, and she presses a hand over his mouth to muffle any shout as the life bleeds out of him. Mercy for the wounded doesn't apply when one is in enemy territory. The body slumps after a moment, and she grunts as she hoists him up enough that the turret will keep him pinned. The last thing they need is bodies falling into the streets along with the bits of architecture.
"This would be so much easier with magic."