[IC/OOC] Contact

[mactears]

sending crystal | letters and notes | in-person visits
To contact Loghain IC: Leave a response to this entry, specifying the means of contact (e.g., sending crystal, letters, in person visit). To contact me OOC: Discord: middlemarching#9936 Plurk: ragweed NB:  I work 9-5pm EST Mon-Fri, have additional volunteer obligations, and write fiction in my free time.

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[mactears]

Her options are really the bedside table, or the desk with the maps spread out across it. Loghain watches her, the hand not holding his tea slipping into his pocket.

"Was it a long journey, then? Where'd you come from again?"

"Yes," he answers her, sips from the mug, then goes on with, "I've been making my way eastward from the Western Approach since the coup in Weisshaupt, I believe."

Her assessment of his surroundings seems a little unconventional, but he decides not to remark on it. Instead, he asks, "Were you present, for that ugliness? I spoke with one of your number on the road here who witnessed it--Anders." There's no judgment or hostility in his tone, though it is understandable that if anyone were to accept Anders on his own merit, it would be a man equally as hated as he is.

[doneisdone]

"Ah, yes." Teren's lip curls in a sneer at the memory as she heads for the door again. "Try as I might to stay as far from all that rot as possible, they managed to suck me in once or twice. Hopefully it's done with." She folds her arms. "The lot of us here are generally regarded as defectors, though I doubt that'll bother you much. We keep to ourselves and avoid making scenes here or elsewhere." Pausing a moment, something occurs to her.
"Ever been to Ansburg?"

[mactears]

"Ever been to Ansburg?"

"Ah--not recently," Loghain begins, not quite following the leap from subject to subject, but grateful in some ways to leave it behind him. He has no reservations regarding being perceived as a defector; this life has defined him for the last decade. "Is that where you're from?" He can't quite place her accent.

[doneisdone]

Teren smirks, as though amused by his question. "Not at all," she replies, "just wondering. Who'd you travel with after the blight? Anyone familiar here?" Her tone is easy but her eyes are sharp, a little too interested. "Aside from the obvious."

[mactears]

It's clear enough to him that he's being interrogated, though to what end he can only hazard a guess. Maybe it's a good guess--maybe it isn't.

He steps away from the doorframe and paces back towards the desk with his maps littered across it and, after taking one last sip from it, sets the mug down there. He clears his throat. "I imagine you're concerned about my allegiances," he replies to her. He considers his words. "I spent time in Montsimmard, after the Blight; I went where the First Warden directed me." He names a few places; nowhere entirely consequential. "For whatever reason, few Wardens would travel with me." Judging by the look on his face, the reason isn't actually a mystery to him.

[doneisdone]

"I see." She doesn't seem especially sympathetic, but at least hasn't increased in aggression.
"Well. I can't imagine this'll be an easy transition." Teren steps to the threshold, holding the door's latch as she prepares to take her leave. "Should you find yourself in trouble, rest assured I know where to put a blade." She tilts her head with an arch look. Do You Catch My Drift

[mactears]

"Should you find yourself in trouble, rest assured I know where to put a blade."

Consider her drift caught.

He almost smiles; this might be one of the more palatable threats he's received thus far. At least he got biscuits out of the exchange. "Thank you for stopping by," he says, and moves towards the threshold as well.

[doneisdone]

An almost-smile returns. As long as they understand each other, things will be peaceful.
Well, as long as they understand each other and Alistair doesn't do something stupid, which is... a tenuous promise at best, but they'll see.

"My pleasure," she replies, and makes her way out as easily as she came in, with all the certainty of a cat. Why wouldn't she belong here? She belongs everywhere.

[mactears]

Loghain leans against the doorframe and watches her go, reflecting to himself that, as far as threats of imminent violence go, that one was borderline pleasant. He takes another sip from his mug, steps back into his quarters, and shuts the door.