( Her head cants as she listens, giving him the brunt of her attention, shifting so more of a wall than open space is to her back. Not paranoia so much as prudence, leaving open options to move.
The cookie ends up held between her teeth so she can use her hand to grab her staff, nodding towards open chairs nearby, not quite at the doors leading into the great outside unknowns.
She doesn't speak until they're settled one way or another, leaning her staff back against her shoulder to free her mouth of its burden. Swallowing the soggy cookie piece left in her mouth, she nods. What he's said is much as what she'd gathered. )
I don't know if Aurora is making those decisions, but she's observing, at minimum. It all feels strange, when there's no known set of traits for what makes a world, a whatever, worth saving.
( A spike of mild frustration: Fenhedis, she'd put her own into something of a stitched together form of complete only to have that collapse like a punctured ball, so here she is, meant to struggle to prove her world had a right to remain so they could continue struggling back home to make sure it wouldn't, in fact, be erased from existence far more thoroughly than Solas could begin to imagine?
Balefully, she glances at her cookie. Part of her would love to have a drink right about now. )
Is it ruthlessness? Compassion? The willingness we show to come together and solve problems? A resolve to be ahead of the rest, at all costs? What happens if one arrives here and all they want is the entirety of everything they've ever known to burn?
( Her shoulders lift in a small shrug as she settles back, taking another, larger bite of her cookie. Close to gone, now. Chew, swallow, consider the young-ish (probably?) man. At least here none of them were solving everyone's problems for each other, or labouring under pseudo-religious organizations.
That they knew about so far. )
It all seems a little contrived. Not that it's impossible, everything petty and ridiculous is possible, in my experience. So I suppose we're meant to decide how we want to look at things. ( A full glance, and a raised eyebrow aimed at him. ) What's your first inclination?
no subject
The cookie ends up held between her teeth so she can use her hand to grab her staff, nodding towards open chairs nearby, not quite at the doors leading into the great outside unknowns.
She doesn't speak until they're settled one way or another, leaning her staff back against her shoulder to free her mouth of its burden. Swallowing the soggy cookie piece left in her mouth, she nods. What he's said is much as what she'd gathered. )
I don't know if Aurora is making those decisions, but she's observing, at minimum. It all feels strange, when there's no known set of traits for what makes a world, a whatever, worth saving.
( A spike of mild frustration: Fenhedis, she'd put her own into something of a stitched together form of complete only to have that collapse like a punctured ball, so here she is, meant to struggle to prove her world had a right to remain so they could continue struggling back home to make sure it wouldn't, in fact, be erased from existence far more thoroughly than Solas could begin to imagine?
Balefully, she glances at her cookie. Part of her would love to have a drink right about now. )
Is it ruthlessness? Compassion? The willingness we show to come together and solve problems? A resolve to be ahead of the rest, at all costs? What happens if one arrives here and all they want is the entirety of everything they've ever known to burn?
( Her shoulders lift in a small shrug as she settles back, taking another, larger bite of her cookie. Close to gone, now. Chew, swallow, consider the young-ish (probably?) man. At least here none of them were solving everyone's problems for each other, or labouring under pseudo-religious organizations.
That they knew about so far. )
It all seems a little contrived. Not that it's impossible, everything petty and ridiculous is possible, in my experience. So I suppose we're meant to decide how we want to look at things. ( A full glance, and a raised eyebrow aimed at him. ) What's your first inclination?