closed / tall tales

[hornswoggle]

WHO: Gela, Viktor, Wysteria, Laurentius
WHAT: Propaganda, baby.
WHEN: What is time, really.
WHERE: Hinterlands, western Orlais.
NOTES: OOC Notes

Comments

[glossator]

Perhaps it would be most natural to take a little exception over this purposefully thin answer. After all, he's offered to chase down some assistance for whatever it is; wouldn't knowing the details do some good to that end?

But sitting there at the cramped little table in the roadside carriage inn and nursing the diminishing contents of his cup, Laurentius doesn't seem at all put off. Instead what he says, seemingly quite sincerely, is—

"I'm sorry to hear your mother's passed."

[sprent]

Knowing details would help. But you don't ask for details about somebody's dead mother, and anybody who dares is easily shut down. Nobody watching would think you in the wrong for it, so Gela lies, easy, practiced. She smiles too, a sad little thing.

"Thank you."

Family is a dangerous subject matter.

"I'm sorry," she simpers, brows knitting together, the picture of apology, "I didn't mean to bring the mood down. We should probably discuss how we're goin' to tackle all this once we get there."