07-08-2018, 05:25 AM
"It wouldn't be a war over you, and certainly not with him. Helping you might right a wrong, though. But I've only spoken with her briefly, I could have misjudged."
Her gaze diffused on the shadows beyond; the faint ripple of a breeze, and the promise of a comparative quiet she'd only captured for a few scant moments. Truthfully she didn't want an excuse to rejoin the crowd; he didn't really need her to secure his ticket. Evelyn had a good heart; Jay only had to play upon it in the right manner to win her support. Caught in the magnanimity of his own damn ball, Brandon would be hard pressed to brush such a desperate plea aside. It would suggest he did not see the Nine as men at all.
"And with enemies on both sides just waiting for you to stumble on that narrow path."
A true warning would likely waste her breath, but her gaze did move back to him, pale and unflinching. At least he recognised the bind of his position, if she wondered at exactly what had transpired for him to accept the uniform in the first place. He hadn't mentioned Danjou at all, nor appeared to consider Jared's help. "You made a deal with the wrong devil if you're afraid he'll deny you compassionate leave."
Given they stood in the heart of the Kremlin, she didn't stumble over naming Brandon so. She might have smirked if weary reserves were not already so focused on simple detachment -- especially if she was going to help in this. Questions and concerns fled behind the veil. She'd displayed no surprise at seeing him here, nor even a remote amount of fear considering she stood within the shadow of a supposed murderer. He'd never mentioned the drunk message, and in some ways she was glad -- it would only reopen the door to the rest of that night, and its ghost haunted her diligently enough already.
Easier to be Natalie Northbrook, granddaughter of a Patron; easier to assume the role he cast for her, and forget everything that came before.
She pivoted, foot stinging, and scanned the guests. Quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher. Her nails pushed crescents into her palms to the final count of four, like donning fresh armour before reentering the field of war. "She's looking for Brandon, I think."
Her gaze diffused on the shadows beyond; the faint ripple of a breeze, and the promise of a comparative quiet she'd only captured for a few scant moments. Truthfully she didn't want an excuse to rejoin the crowd; he didn't really need her to secure his ticket. Evelyn had a good heart; Jay only had to play upon it in the right manner to win her support. Caught in the magnanimity of his own damn ball, Brandon would be hard pressed to brush such a desperate plea aside. It would suggest he did not see the Nine as men at all.
"And with enemies on both sides just waiting for you to stumble on that narrow path."
A true warning would likely waste her breath, but her gaze did move back to him, pale and unflinching. At least he recognised the bind of his position, if she wondered at exactly what had transpired for him to accept the uniform in the first place. He hadn't mentioned Danjou at all, nor appeared to consider Jared's help. "You made a deal with the wrong devil if you're afraid he'll deny you compassionate leave."
Given they stood in the heart of the Kremlin, she didn't stumble over naming Brandon so. She might have smirked if weary reserves were not already so focused on simple detachment -- especially if she was going to help in this. Questions and concerns fled behind the veil. She'd displayed no surprise at seeing him here, nor even a remote amount of fear considering she stood within the shadow of a supposed murderer. He'd never mentioned the drunk message, and in some ways she was glad -- it would only reopen the door to the rest of that night, and its ghost haunted her diligently enough already.
Easier to be Natalie Northbrook, granddaughter of a Patron; easier to assume the role he cast for her, and forget everything that came before.
She pivoted, foot stinging, and scanned the guests. Quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher. Her nails pushed crescents into her palms to the final count of four, like donning fresh armour before reentering the field of war. "She's looking for Brandon, I think."