He'd been… distracted of late. Numerous reports came in and out, giving snippets of the goings on, what people tried to hide from the Eyes yet Malachai had fallen a little behind since the ball. Unlike him. Out of character for someone usually so sharply focused on ensuring orders and the rule of law were upheld. It had affected his temper, shortening it enough to take a rare walk among Minrathous’s rooftops.
He could observe and watch as life carried on beneath, see for himself what good the work did in creating stability, the good of it despite its pure ruthlessness in protecting it. Finding one of his favourite perches, he’d round the familiar viewing point void of bodies. No-one liked making the twisted journey unless they knew the shortcut. Mal crouched between two posts of the guardrail, the connecting stone long broken and weathered into the perfect nook to sit and watch the world go by. He’d pick up a handful of sand, playing it between his hands like an hourglass in thought. Afterwards, the grains dropped over the ledge in a slow stream, catching the wind at first before gravity pulled them under.
Orlais was crumbling, Antiva had a Boy for a King, Rivain and Nevarra were sheats to the wind, no-one cared about the Dog Lords of Ferelden and Arlathan… well, that was yet to be explored given every attempt had been so far rebutted by the Forest. Mal wasn’t sure the elves would even entertain their request, Tevinter had long used their people to press their efforts forward, sacrificing others instead of their own for often mute ends. He would need an ‘in’ or he’d be working a shortlist of potential spies if he had to.
Sinking to rest against one post, Mal watched quietly while his mind drifted between duty and… well, an image that hadn’t quite left his mind since the ball. Maybe he was due for a dalliance at the whorehouse… perhaps not, unwilling to cheapen his meal by bedding a whore when the time finally came. Not that he visited many whores, the few Mal entertained had strict instructions and understood that it wasn't just their tongues at stake if they breathed a word of him.
The scent, immediately one Mal was intimately familiar with, came waltzing along the breeze. A frown pulled underneath the mask, irritated that he’d been disturbed. If he curtly acknowledged her would that be enough to leave him be? Unlikely, but throwing her from this height wouldn't look accidental. Pity.
He could observe and watch as life carried on beneath, see for himself what good the work did in creating stability, the good of it despite its pure ruthlessness in protecting it. Finding one of his favourite perches, he’d round the familiar viewing point void of bodies. No-one liked making the twisted journey unless they knew the shortcut. Mal crouched between two posts of the guardrail, the connecting stone long broken and weathered into the perfect nook to sit and watch the world go by. He’d pick up a handful of sand, playing it between his hands like an hourglass in thought. Afterwards, the grains dropped over the ledge in a slow stream, catching the wind at first before gravity pulled them under.
Orlais was crumbling, Antiva had a Boy for a King, Rivain and Nevarra were sheats to the wind, no-one cared about the Dog Lords of Ferelden and Arlathan… well, that was yet to be explored given every attempt had been so far rebutted by the Forest. Mal wasn’t sure the elves would even entertain their request, Tevinter had long used their people to press their efforts forward, sacrificing others instead of their own for often mute ends. He would need an ‘in’ or he’d be working a shortlist of potential spies if he had to.
Sinking to rest against one post, Mal watched quietly while his mind drifted between duty and… well, an image that hadn’t quite left his mind since the ball. Maybe he was due for a dalliance at the whorehouse… perhaps not, unwilling to cheapen his meal by bedding a whore when the time finally came. Not that he visited many whores, the few Mal entertained had strict instructions and understood that it wasn't just their tongues at stake if they breathed a word of him.
The scent, immediately one Mal was intimately familiar with, came waltzing along the breeze. A frown pulled underneath the mask, irritated that he’d been disturbed. If he curtly acknowledged her would that be enough to leave him be? Unlikely, but throwing her from this height wouldn't look accidental. Pity.
Did you climb this place knowing you’d find me, or in the hope of finding me, Mazikeen?
07-25-2024, 04:19 PM
