Like a good neighbour

Branson raised an eyebrow, though the shadows likely swallowed the expression. Her answer was straightforward, but her calmness in the face of his blade was… unusual. Most would have faltered, stammered, or fled. Instead, she stood there, basket in hand, delivering her warnings as though they were idle observations about the weather.

The wrong place, huh? He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied her. Good thing I’m rarely where I’m supposed to be. His voice carried a faint edge of humor, dry as the cracked streets of the alienage he grew up in.

He glanced toward the door she had nodded at, the faint hum of magic in the air confirming her words about the wards. So, what happens if someone like me—unwanted, as you put it—decides to stay? He took a careful step closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. Do these fancy barriers scream bloody murder, or just fry me where I stand?

Branson’s eyes flicked to the shimmering vials in her basket, curiosity momentarily pulling at his focus. And what’s in those? Something your mistress needs, or something you do? There was no accusation in his tone, just an undercurrent of suspicion wrapped in genuine intrigue.

He leaned slightly against the wall, dagger now resting casually at his side, but his posture still screamed readiness. She might not be dangerous, but the fact that she had approached him at all was enough to make him tread carefully. People didn’t survive long in Tevinter by taking everyone at face value.

@Caesennia Othos