[Past] You, Me and a Pitcher of Cream

She’d caught the half-smiles, the slight grins, but never a full smile before. Well. Only once before, but he’d been a patient and that didn’t really count. Meg found her own matching easily. Letting go of the scarf took some effort, especially with the way it reached his eyes and they’d caught her attention on the first day.

Like the ocean.

This was the most he’d ever talked to her, mostly it was half-mumbled hello’s in passing, or a short, to the point description of the injured person he’d brought her. The opportunity couldn’t be missed.

Ah, okay. Gotcha, she drew her fingers up to her temple, gesturing a salute. Kinda. Not all of them are pretty like you, her voice slowed on the ‘y,’ realising her running mouth, but hastily moving on. But some of you are big old softies. Killers too, but they had shown her kindness and mercy when most would’ve just seized her, imprisoned her or left her for dead. What did it matter that the work wasn’t strictly above board? Why did her cheeks feel so hot? Some of you need a bit of looking after. I’m better at that part than the other bits.

Her eyes glanced in Ruth’s direction, her grin curling. He’d moved tables, finding one much closer to the bar and was pretending to play solitaire with a deck of cards he seemed to always have slipped away in his layers. He’s a slut, chuckling, I’m sure he’s a good healer, but yeah. He’s a slut. She didn’t care, only enough that he was a friend of the Coterie and of Nairn.

I just know that both the Gallows, and wandering around the Chantry is a bit stupid, Meg shrugged. I know a little of Lowtown, but mostly just how to get back and forth from the Market really.