Breakfast Chatter

- Dalen Capital, Valade Estate, Morning, 3 DSTR –

He followed a series of attacks and defenses. There was practiced forms, practiced katas one may use, but he knew the reality, when you were in a fight anything would be done to survive. It was about living, it was about continuing no matter the cost. If you did not fight for your life, then you might as well give it up. In the mirror realm, he had fought for his life, to keep from letting that thing kill him. That is what he fought for, his life.

At least is what he had fought for.

He turned as the blade cut through the air without a sound. What had Van fought for, he had fought for him, for his Baron. He did not know if he should love him for that or pity him for it. He would never have respected it when he was a mercenary. He thought loyalty without dividend was a fool’s compromise. His loyalty to the Queen came with the price tag of land and title, an insurance he would not have to work and kill for money again.

He started to wonder, was Van a better man then him?

His name brought him around, his blade lowered, and he looked at the fair woman speaking to him. She was dressed in the attire of the slaves her. The feint scars on her wrists were something he made a point to notice, a detail he wondered about the slave Van was with. Did she have such scars?

"I- I am aware that I'm disturbing you but there is a warm meal served in the dining hall. If you go now you'll get the first pick while the others rest." She swallowed a frog in her throat, speaking with confidence yet afraid she'd mess up somehow. She couldn't read his eyes from this distance.
Zaonna's hands gripped onto the skirt of her grey dress to keep from shaking while he approached the archway, she stepped aside to allow him room. Anyone could be dangerous enough to kill at any moment.

"Thank you," he said and she responded with a small nod. She kept her eyes down, she seemed well trained. He did not know if this was something he should admire or loath in others. Like looking at a beaten wolf or cat without claws. It was both admirable and sad.

He went to the dining hall, toweling off as he walked, he did not dress however, choosing to keep his shirt off. The table was set with sausages and potatoes, Kalena had been listening. His mouth was watering as he sat and filled his plate. He sat where he could have his back to the wall and see the entrances and be close to an exit. It was not as if he had thought about it, it just happened, second nature.

Zoanna was playing a harp and sitting in the corner. He could not say he was partial to a hear, perhaps an accordion, but it sounded pretty and suited the morning light streaming in on her.

"My condolences about that man of yours. I truly am sorry." Zaonna pushed herself to show sympathy and hoped he saw through the impenetrable stone mask and accepted whatever he saw.

"Was he a good person?"

He looked at her setting his silver down and leaning back. “Is anyone truly a good person? I am sure he wronged someone, I know a few he did. Killed his share of men, if you think killing makes you bad. Mercenary, if you think that measures him any.” He said and leaned forward looking at her. “He was caring though, and loyal, and loved his mother. So, good by some, the devil by others. That is the way of it though, isn’t it?” He poked a sausage with his fork and it gushed grease.

“I would think the question would be, did he sacrifice himself for something good?” He took a bite and looked at Zoanna. “He knew he was going to die if he stayed by me, he knew the risks.” He spoke as if to convince himself more then her. “What do you think?” He asked her, pausing and waiting for her to answer. Would she speak her mind, or would she quake and cower as he expected.