continued from.

Straight to the point. Another thing he appreciates.

While Gwenaëlle absents herself to retrieve the bow, Strange doesn’t hold himself back from examining the rest of the room. Hands tucked behind his back and spine straight, he wanders the edges peering around and looking at the art, taking in the details, before he drifts back to that recessed seating area. Where he comes across the cat, with a little bemused oh. The man makes himself comfortable and plops himself down on one of the cushions; the shift in the cushioned pile is enough to pique the animal’s curiosity and squint one drowsy eye at him, and he looks back.

He likes animals more than people. They’re easier and simpler and they don’t take offense no matter how snide he gets. For a while, back in the day, he’d considered going the way of veterinary science instead of medicine. By the time Gwenaëlle returns, he’s extended a careful hand to the lykoi and he’s scritching the corner of its neck, the cat clearly content to be doted upon.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, still thinking back on that when our time in Kirkwall is done. “On this boat or in Kirkwall. Whichever.”