I suspect your passion for the past has rather more depth than mine.
( Undercutting herself, that. She who loves songs and history and stories, who always reached to them for insight and guidance, who adored the characters as dearly as though she knew them herself - but that side of Leliana is better extinguished. There is not time for such indulgence, here. Morrigan’s investment in the past could give them so much, but what are stories, if not her own childishness being allowed too much freedom?
And she exhales a little, stopping by some lavender and plucking a stem from in, idly rolling the stalk between her fingers. ) Exclusive sounds better.
( Though it isn’t said as jokingly as it should be. And as for the questions about the bug? Leliana shakes her head. ) There is no time for stories. If she is so intrigued, I am afraid she will have to learn to read.
( The comments on Flemeth are less easy to consider a response to, and she frowns, ceasing rolling the lavender. The crushed stalk has left aromatic oil on the fingers of her glove, their scent rising in the air. )
I doubt her mother was so toxic, ( Is what she finally allows. On that front, she is sure Morrigan deserves some seriousness.
And perhaps she thinks too long on Morrigan’s question. Morrigan’s love for the boy is commendable, and the familiarity in it is painful. The familiarity, and the absence it acknowledges, and it would shame her for her callous comments about Morrigan in years past if she did not already carry so much shame over her past, her naiveté, her determination to prove she could and would show everyone how to be happy and free. Her were the hands of destruction, now, and Morrigan was the one who nurtured, who cared. In the eyes of the Maker it was probably fitting, to be so punished for her pride. )
That you remember and ask yourself that question is, I think, a very good start. Not enough people interrogate their own actions. They simply do, with no consideration of the repercussions and the human cost.
( She exhales, lets the sprig of lavender fall to the grown, and retrains her focus entirely on Morrigan. )
Sounds like a diplomatic problem, ( Dry. False dryness. ) I do not have time to attend such things, but I am sure Josie can handle whoever gets in the wine, more than ably.
( This would be an excellent window to make a quip on how low cuts are actually very important, but she has not the taste for it in the present moment. And for one who finds the Game engaging, interesting, she has moved beyond it. For a time it was her entire life, but then, so had Marjolaine been. )
no subject
( Undercutting herself, that. She who loves songs and history and stories, who always reached to them for insight and guidance, who adored the characters as dearly as though she knew them herself - but that side of Leliana is better extinguished. There is not time for such indulgence, here. Morrigan’s investment in the past could give them so much, but what are stories, if not her own childishness being allowed too much freedom?
And she exhales a little, stopping by some lavender and plucking a stem from in, idly rolling the stalk between her fingers. ) Exclusive sounds better.
( Though it isn’t said as jokingly as it should be. And as for the questions about the bug? Leliana shakes her head. ) There is no time for stories. If she is so intrigued, I am afraid she will have to learn to read.
( The comments on Flemeth are less easy to consider a response to, and she frowns, ceasing rolling the lavender. The crushed stalk has left aromatic oil on the fingers of her glove, their scent rising in the air. )
I doubt her mother was so toxic, ( Is what she finally allows. On that front, she is sure Morrigan deserves some seriousness.
And perhaps she thinks too long on Morrigan’s question. Morrigan’s love for the boy is commendable, and the familiarity in it is painful. The familiarity, and the absence it acknowledges, and it would shame her for her callous comments about Morrigan in years past if she did not already carry so much shame over her past, her naiveté, her determination to prove she could and would show everyone how to be happy and free. Her were the hands of destruction, now, and Morrigan was the one who nurtured, who cared. In the eyes of the Maker it was probably fitting, to be so punished for her pride. )
That you remember and ask yourself that question is, I think, a very good start. Not enough people interrogate their own actions. They simply do, with no consideration of the repercussions and the human cost.
( She exhales, lets the sprig of lavender fall to the grown, and retrains her focus entirely on Morrigan. )
Sounds like a diplomatic problem, ( Dry. False dryness. ) I do not have time to attend such things, but I am sure Josie can handle whoever gets in the wine, more than ably.
( This would be an excellent window to make a quip on how low cuts are actually very important, but she has not the taste for it in the present moment. And for one who finds the Game engaging, interesting, she has moved beyond it. For a time it was her entire life, but then, so had Marjolaine been. )
It was intended as such. Try not to faint.