[ just a bit too keen: the way folks get when you've caught them dozing. it's noon, and the desk's been embossing cedric's cheek nearly an hour. but a southern stranger knows his name, has used his title, and so — ]
Lend you the good one. Can I ask what 's about?
[ a glance down finds the shirt he's picked today. blue, and unpatched; and definitely not chantry-spun. shit. ]
It's a beautiful building, and nice when one needs solitude, [ what y'all need and are clearly not getting is the maker, ] I'll be waiting for you there. Thank you, Ser.
The chapel is, as predicted, empty when Cedric makes his way there, save for one man knelt in prayer at the feet of a statue of penitent Maferath. When he hears Cedric's footsteps, Connor cuts off his prayer to push to his feet, turning to face the templar with a... well, it's a kind of smile. Nervous, maybe, a little dour, but an attempt.
"Ser Carsus, I presume? Thank you for meeting me."
His own smile's easy. Mostly, it reaches his eyes.
"Cedric," Take it in: Young guy, tall guy — and something stretched from place. Mimicking an unfamiliar shape. Last year he must've looked the same (most days, he still feels it). "What's the trouble, Messere?"
Absent habit finds a taper, tipped from one to another to the dark row of candles. Been a long time since he'd teach the kids how to trim wicks, to keep wax from spilling to hand. All seemed so tedious back then, young and itching for the sword. Too small a world to settle for.
Been a long time. He offers the candle over, there's one more to light.
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crystal; around the time connor arrived
no subject
[ just a bit too keen: the way folks get when you've caught them dozing. it's noon, and the desk's been embossing cedric's cheek nearly an hour. but a southern stranger knows his name, has used his title, and so — ]
Lend you the good one. Can I ask what 's about?
[ a glance down finds the shirt he's picked today. blue, and unpatched; and definitely not chantry-spun. shit. ]
no subject
[ what's a mediation officer, he's never heard of that. ]
Where should I meet you, Ser?
no subject
that's unfair. just guilt by another name. besides, wouldn't no one send a brother to bawl him out. he's not that important. so: ]
Seen the chapel yet, Messere? Oughta be empty this time of day.
[ most times of day. cedric pulls his gambeson from the hook, whiffs the morning's sweat and puts it right back. shirtsleeves it is. ]
Be right along.
➛ action; chapel.
The chapel is, as predicted, empty when Cedric makes his way there, save for one man knelt in prayer at the feet of a statue of penitent Maferath. When he hears Cedric's footsteps, Connor cuts off his prayer to push to his feet, turning to face the templar with a... well, it's a kind of smile. Nervous, maybe, a little dour, but an attempt.
"Ser Carsus, I presume? Thank you for meeting me."
no subject
"Cedric," Take it in: Young guy, tall guy — and something stretched from place. Mimicking an unfamiliar shape. Last year he must've looked the same (most days, he still feels it). "What's the trouble, Messere?"
Absent habit finds a taper, tipped from one to another to the dark row of candles. Been a long time since he'd teach the kids how to trim wicks, to keep wax from spilling to hand. All seemed so tedious back then, young and itching for the sword. Too small a world to settle for.
Been a long time. He offers the candle over, there's one more to light.