[Past] Accident, Murder, or Murdurr?

The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only comment on her promise. Their conversation moving on to their future, Mal inhaled a measured breath. The life of a half-breed was one of ostracization and a hope that they died quietly without incident when their use had ceased to be anything of consequence. I will always have use for you. Even in retirement. Your father won’t live forever, that noose around your neck will be cut one day.

He wore his own variety of masks to hide. At first the adopted fabric was light, granting him access to the circles of Tevinter life barred to him beforehand, then as he rose from the ashes of battle - a place where he was most comfortable - to the glittering halls of the Magisterium, the weight and suffocating hold it had took over.

Mal wished to be done with it. All of it. He had shed blood, lost friends and suffered heavily from fighting Tevinter’s battles, taking that drive to the shadows and now, now the threat could be the Archon himself.

The glare he shot her was two-fold. Firstly, how dare she, and the second, calculating, glancing towards the kitchens and sulking. Perhaps they are dumb and mute too, regardless, you will make them putty in your hands… Can you ditch this party now? I think we’ve lingered long enough. His impatience was obvious, his drink discarded on a nearby table while the straw slipped back into his pocket.

...I fancy finding the chef of those and… employing him elsewhere. His hand gestured, index finger indicating towards taking the long way. Any business you need done, go tend to it. I will be in the kitchens. Asking questions.