[ Given some thought, Dorian can probably narrow it down from there -- the Rifter population is a limited pool -- and raises an eyebrow in brief reflection as she drinks, before this next part settles. ]
It isn't anyone I like, is it?
[ Also: a limited pool.
At least, strong enough like to be remarked upon, disappointed by. He reaches out for the wine once he's certain she's had her current fill. ]
[ She crackles a wry, bitter laugh, swallowing around the name. Maker, had she been so blind? Signs all around and she'd overlooked all of them. The bottle she passes over even as she curls in on herself, listing faintly in Dorian's direction- but not leaning.
I've traded more words with the former than the latter, although I've seen him about the library. Healer, yes?
[ He takes a swift sip of wine, mainly to fortify. Getting properly drunk isn't on his agenda, although he won't begrudge a lady from attempting it herself. ]
He didn't strike me as a man with a great deal of skeletons in his closet.
[ At talk of being drawn to someone, Dorian's eyebrows hike up juuust a fraction. Intrigue, perhaps a touch of concern. He and Adelaide are friends, but he'd be surprised if she described herself as being in any way drawn to him.
Or perhaps this is just the language of those who have been tricked. ]
Not a small lie, then.
[ But she doesn't seem ready to just out with it, so-- ]
He's in a secret marriage. To a family member. That is to say, one of yours, not his. Or-- oh! He is a family member and is courting one. Am I getting close? He's a cultist, trying to lure you into his schemes -- orgies, and virgin sacrifice when they don't participate in the orgies.
A lie of a name which- normally is a terribly small thing.
[ Lies of omission, lies of intent. Every time she circles back to 'she should have known better'- she drinks.
Not the best way to cut off that line of thought but the burn of the brandy does help somewhat. The sheer absurdity of what Dorian is suggesting wrenches a wry laugh from her, the first thing that doesn't sound terribly broken. ]
[ At first, Dorian honestly doesn't comprehend what she's saying. Yes, there was an Abomination named Anders that triggered a civil war that lasted years, but surely she doesn't actually mean--
--no, she does, and he blinks at a shadowy corner of the tent, slow in his absorption of this information. ]
He told you this, [ he says, a little stiffly, still trying to put the pieces together. ]
He apologized for the deception. Apparently he is turning himself into the Wardens.
[ Time to drain a fair portion of the bottle. It isn't elegant, it isn't ladylike- but she does not wish to recall the conversation and remain sober. ]
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It isn't anyone I like, is it?
[ Also: a limited pool.
At least, strong enough like to be remarked upon, disappointed by. He reaches out for the wine once he's certain she's had her current fill. ]
no subject
[ She crackles a wry, bitter laugh, swallowing around the name. Maker, had she been so blind? Signs all around and she'd overlooked all of them. The bottle she passes over even as she curls in on herself, listing faintly in Dorian's direction- but not leaning.
Not yet. ]
Detlef.
no subject
[ He takes a swift sip of wine, mainly to fortify. Getting properly drunk isn't on his agenda, although he won't begrudge a lady from attempting it herself. ]
He didn't strike me as a man with a great deal of skeletons in his closet.
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[ At first. The rest, the smile, the humor, the camaraderie.
The understanding. ]
You would be surprised.
no subject
Or perhaps this is just the language of those who have been tricked. ]
Not a small lie, then.
[ But she doesn't seem ready to just out with it, so-- ]
He's in a secret marriage. To a family member. That is to say, one of yours, not his. Or-- oh! He is a family member and is courting one. Am I getting close? He's a cultist, trying to lure you into his schemes -- orgies, and virgin sacrifice when they don't participate in the orgies.
no subject
[ Lies of omission, lies of intent. Every time she circles back to 'she should have known better'- she drinks.
Not the best way to cut off that line of thought but the burn of the brandy does help somewhat. The sheer absurdity of what Dorian is suggesting wrenches a wry laugh from her, the first thing that doesn't sound terribly broken. ]
Literal Skeletons, Dorian. A great many. He-
Anders. His name is Anders.
no subject
--no, she does, and he blinks at a shadowy corner of the tent, slow in his absorption of this information. ]
He told you this, [ he says, a little stiffly, still trying to put the pieces together. ]
no subject
[ Time to drain a fair portion of the bottle. It isn't elegant, it isn't ladylike- but she does not wish to recall the conversation and remain sober. ]