[What passes through the other elf's mind? What must he be thinking? Fenris can only guess. He sounds so clumsy as he speaks, tongue tripping over itself as he offers up a breathless laugh and an assurance he feels the same— and is it real? Fenris wouldn't fault him if it wasn't. Perhaps his mind is still whirring: prying at the edges of Fenris' words, testing them for any give, waiting for that inevitable moment when it all turns out to be nothing but a front.
He would not fault him for it. Not here and now; not ever, not really. When all you've known is manipulation and terror, oh, who could blame a slave for being wary?
And yet even as he thinks it, Fenris thinks: no. Perhaps there are some wary thoughts circling around in the pale elf's mind, but right now, Fenris would swear this is genuine. There's nothing elegant in his bearing, nothing honeyed about his tones or his words . . . if it is an act, it's a superb one, but Fenris allows himself the sentiment of hoping it isn't.]
Ask it, and we shall see.
[His head cocks as he says it, his eyes soft enough to betray that he's inclined to indulge most whims right now.]
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He would not fault him for it. Not here and now; not ever, not really. When all you've known is manipulation and terror, oh, who could blame a slave for being wary?
And yet even as he thinks it, Fenris thinks: no. Perhaps there are some wary thoughts circling around in the pale elf's mind, but right now, Fenris would swear this is genuine. There's nothing elegant in his bearing, nothing honeyed about his tones or his words . . . if it is an act, it's a superb one, but Fenris allows himself the sentiment of hoping it isn't.]
Ask it, and we shall see.
[His head cocks as he says it, his eyes soft enough to betray that he's inclined to indulge most whims right now.]