WHO: Laurentius & You WHAT: Catch-all for fantasy April (pre-Antiva) WHEN: You guessed it. Fantasy April. WHERE: Kirkwall, the Gallows NOTES: Prompts in comments.
"It's all right." Everything about Adrasteia's body language relaxes at Laurent's apology. It's sincere, in her mind, and that is enough. The man is not in control of what nation he's from, or any of that business, so there is very little reason for her to hold his heritage against him.
He's here now, besides. "You'll find I don't hold many grudges. I hope Kirkwall hasn't been too disagreeable, in general."
Opposite her, there's very little give in the man's own bearing save for some slant of his mouth, the angle of his chin. Some flicker in the dark eye.
"I didn't come to Kirkwall expecting to find many friends," is the diplomatic way of putting how the city has greeted them while his long hands turn to juggle the packet of her gifts, tucking the sum of them nonchalantly under one arm. He cuts a remarkably gloomy figure there in the shaded room's doorway.
(There are Elven mages in the Imperium. Rare, but they do exist. Only they're usually not showing up on one's doorstep with thoughtful little presents—)
"But everyone here in the Gallows has been friendly enough. No one's so much as threatened me with a knife between the ribs."
"Kirkwall is not the most welcoming of cities to outsiders, especially not now."
Adrasteia seems genuinely sorry about that, but she also recognizes that she has little control over how northerners are treated by the denizens of the city itself. "However, should anyone in the Gallows or wearing a Riftwatch uniform gives you grief, please, let me know."
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He's here now, besides. "You'll find I don't hold many grudges. I hope Kirkwall hasn't been too disagreeable, in general."
no subject
"I didn't come to Kirkwall expecting to find many friends," is the diplomatic way of putting how the city has greeted them while his long hands turn to juggle the packet of her gifts, tucking the sum of them nonchalantly under one arm. He cuts a remarkably gloomy figure there in the shaded room's doorway.
(There are Elven mages in the Imperium. Rare, but they do exist. Only they're usually not showing up on one's doorstep with thoughtful little presents—)
"But everyone here in the Gallows has been friendly enough. No one's so much as threatened me with a knife between the ribs."
That's an improvement.
And maybe it's a joke.
no subject
Adrasteia seems genuinely sorry about that, but she also recognizes that she has little control over how northerners are treated by the denizens of the city itself. "However, should anyone in the Gallows or wearing a Riftwatch uniform gives you grief, please, let me know."