[ He does not answer immediately, as he looks them both up and down, every bit. Like he could taste any deceit if he stared them down long enough.
Or the pain was really starting to fog his mind, neither way showed on his face much. His brow creased and he grunted as he stepped away, fine, as she wished. There was no ceremony here, or at least not one cared about at this particular moment.
The edge of the bed would do. Though as they step through, they are not alone. Another Qunari stood by the small desk they had been provided with. Deimos nodded at him, the once was enough for the man to take his leave. In so much as he takes his position by the door.
With that done, Deimos sat on the edge of the bed frame, the beds here were ridiculously small for one his size, but so were doors, chairs, tables. They didn't break yet, so there was that going for them. A hand fisted on his knee as he sat stock stiff with a straight back, the hard line of a soldier first and foremost as if the leftover scars of many cauterised wounds weren't hinting as it was.
Or perhaps it was the sword at his side, clanking against the wood as he slowly moves his hand away to expose the gash. Open, red and raw, a steady trickle of blood. ]
no subject
Or the pain was really starting to fog his mind, neither way showed on his face much. His brow creased and he grunted as he stepped away, fine, as she wished. There was no ceremony here, or at least not one cared about at this particular moment.
The edge of the bed would do. Though as they step through, they are not alone. Another Qunari stood by the small desk they had been provided with. Deimos nodded at him, the once was enough for the man to take his leave. In so much as he takes his position by the door.
With that done, Deimos sat on the edge of the bed frame, the beds here were ridiculously small for one his size, but so were doors, chairs, tables. They didn't break yet, so there was that going for them. A hand fisted on his knee as he sat stock stiff with a straight back, the hard line of a soldier first and foremost as if the leftover scars of many cauterised wounds weren't hinting as it was.
Or perhaps it was the sword at his side, clanking against the wood as he slowly moves his hand away to expose the gash. Open, red and raw, a steady trickle of blood. ]
Proceed.