( Morrigan’s words are aggravating beyond measure, moreso for being so true. Leliana walks a few moments in silence, hands behind her back. )
Better in my eyes, ideally. ( She has some grasp, at least, of what humanity is, of compassion. It may not have a place as Sister Nightingale, but it is important at least that people should have it for one another, for leaders. (A foolish thought, perhaps.) ) Everyone has an obsession with their security, to the detriment of others.
( And the look she gives Morrigan suggests that she is well aware that it is a hypocritical thing to say, given who she is, and what she has become. ) At least in the matter of the Chantry and the Templars, much could be resolved with the appointing of a new Divine. As to who would fit…
( She exhales, and for a moment she looks very tired. It is tiring, and it only becomes moreso, in the presence of those for whom you must always be Sister Nightingale and not someone more human. Such thoughts are an indulgence, selfish, and after a slow roll of her shoulders she straightens again, and the moment has passed. Her thoughts are often the only company she keeps, and she cannot afford to let them compromise her. She must be the Nightingale, and she must save as many lives as she can, even if it requires the taking of others. A game of checks and balances, of light and dark and give and take, with far more dangerous consequences than Wicked Grace.
Morrigan’s quip surprises her out of her serious thoughts, turning to face the mage a little more and her mouth opening with a surprised laugh. ) I will keep that as a back up plan, for now.
( But she is still amused, exhaling a breath of laughter. ) I can already imagine the uproar. Celene’s apostate from the Wilds, and the extremist Left Hand. ( A moment of quiet entertainment. ) Mages would quite like us. Some of them.
( She probably should not find that as entertaining as she does, and yet. ) I think Alistair and Zevran might be unprepared for such a prospect.
( And it is back to business, although leaving Morrigan surprised does not leave her entirely displeased. It is a rare accomplishment, to get so visual a response. Morrigan always seemed to take such pride in knowing so much. A little nod is all Leliana offers, looking ahead until Morrigan mentions a delivery. She quirks an eyebrow. ) Should I be concerned, Morrigan?
( Serious and perhaps a note of humour, mixed together, though it is gravity that wins out in her gaze. She suspects that given their entire conversation, she should be concerned. Given that she is having a conversation with Morrigan and they aren’t at each others throats? A cause for concern, probably.
Ah, the masks, the hidden faces. Leliana can attest to that, even if she found it fascinating, and it forced her to learn to read the clues of emotion and deception held elsewhere in the body. A tightness between the shoulder blades, a slightly bounce or drag of a person’s step. She reaches up, pulls back her hood, and idly runs her fingers through her hair. She can, sometimes, be cooperative. )
That I did not. A shame, really, I could have directed you to some of the finest fashion houses.
( because Leliana is far better informed on fashion that everyone else in Orlais, obviously. )
no subject
Better in my eyes, ideally. ( She has some grasp, at least, of what humanity is, of compassion. It may not have a place as Sister Nightingale, but it is important at least that people should have it for one another, for leaders. (A foolish thought, perhaps.) ) Everyone has an obsession with their security, to the detriment of others.
( And the look she gives Morrigan suggests that she is well aware that it is a hypocritical thing to say, given who she is, and what she has become. ) At least in the matter of the Chantry and the Templars, much could be resolved with the appointing of a new Divine. As to who would fit…
( She exhales, and for a moment she looks very tired. It is tiring, and it only becomes moreso, in the presence of those for whom you must always be Sister Nightingale and not someone more human.
Such thoughts are an indulgence, selfish, and after a slow roll of her shoulders she straightens again, and the moment has passed. Her thoughts are often the only company she keeps, and she cannot afford to let them compromise her. She must be the Nightingale, and she must save as many lives as she can, even if it requires the taking of others. A game of checks and balances, of light and dark and give and take, with far more dangerous consequences than Wicked Grace.
Morrigan’s quip surprises her out of her serious thoughts, turning to face the mage a little more and her mouth opening with a surprised laugh. ) I will keep that as a back up plan, for now.
( But she is still amused, exhaling a breath of laughter. ) I can already imagine the uproar. Celene’s apostate from the Wilds, and the extremist Left Hand. ( A moment of quiet entertainment. ) Mages would quite like us. Some of them.
( She probably should not find that as entertaining as she does, and yet. ) I think Alistair and Zevran might be unprepared for such a prospect.
( And it is back to business, although leaving Morrigan surprised does not leave her entirely displeased. It is a rare accomplishment, to get so visual a response. Morrigan always seemed to take such pride in knowing so much. A little nod is all Leliana offers, looking ahead until Morrigan mentions a delivery. She quirks an eyebrow. ) Should I be concerned, Morrigan?
( Serious and perhaps a note of humour, mixed together, though it is gravity that wins out in her gaze. She suspects that given their entire conversation, she should be concerned. Given that she is having a conversation with Morrigan and they aren’t at each others throats? A cause for concern, probably.
Ah, the masks, the hidden faces. Leliana can attest to that, even if she found it fascinating, and it forced her to learn to read the clues of emotion and deception held elsewhere in the body. A tightness between the shoulder blades, a slightly bounce or drag of a person’s step. She reaches up, pulls back her hood, and idly runs her fingers through her hair. She can, sometimes, be cooperative. )
That I did not. A shame, really, I could have directed you to some of the finest fashion houses.
( because Leliana is far better informed on fashion that everyone else in Orlais, obviously. )