Solas watches her go with a strange sense of satisfaction. It had been a conversation, her annoyance, spoken underneath code words and shared history, right under another's nose— and yes, she was annoyed with him. And yet
"It would seem we are in trouble," He says, remembering belatedly that Felassan, actually, can see and hear them both. Solas does not sound very concerned about any trouble he might be in— on the contrary, "Come, be welcome in our home."
So saying, he crosses toward the open doorway, in no hurry at all.
The house is a low, blocky ruin from the outside. The stone exterior is at turns rough with age and damage, and shows some signs of slow repair. The roof is newer, made from carefully-shingled terracotta, and the doors are solid oak, gone dark with age. A fortress in miniature, if not for the disrepair and the trees near-enough to make scaling the walls easy.
The interior is wide halls and stone floors, and a brightly-lit courtyard visible beyond. Solas leads him to the right, where the room has been filled with an optimistic number of bookshelves, and a growing collection of literature. Cushions for seating and a view of the outside through two gaps in the wall still not quite finished being converted into windows. One day, it will be lovely, but at current moment it is merely filled with potential.
Felassan will not, he thinks, want to sit and make himself vulnerable, and so Solas makes a show of taking one of the two chairs, and makes himself comfortable.
no subject
"It would seem we are in trouble," He says, remembering belatedly that Felassan, actually, can see and hear them both. Solas does not sound very concerned about any trouble he might be in— on the contrary, "Come, be welcome in our home."
So saying, he crosses toward the open doorway, in no hurry at all.
The house is a low, blocky ruin from the outside. The stone exterior is at turns rough with age and damage, and shows some signs of slow repair. The roof is newer, made from carefully-shingled terracotta, and the doors are solid oak, gone dark with age. A fortress in miniature, if not for the disrepair and the trees near-enough to make scaling the walls easy.
The interior is wide halls and stone floors, and a brightly-lit courtyard visible beyond. Solas leads him to the right, where the room has been filled with an optimistic number of bookshelves, and a growing collection of literature. Cushions for seating and a view of the outside through two gaps in the wall still not quite finished being converted into windows. One day, it will be lovely, but at current moment it is merely filled with potential.
Felassan will not, he thinks, want to sit and make himself vulnerable, and so Solas makes a show of taking one of the two chairs, and makes himself comfortable.
"Where shall we begin?"