the door opens & vic quirks a brow at esyllt, head cocked to the side, a hint of whimsy glinting against his eyes. ❛ i could have done that, ❜ he whispers matter-of-factly, practically mouthing the words in their stealth———he wonders if it would have been quicker, ( he HAS been picking locks since he was a boy, after all, ) or if he’s just inclined to show off. perhaps a bit of both.
nevertheless, he strides inside with an eerie, practiced silence, steps like walking on nothing at all, every movement fluid, blending in with the shadows as if they were HOME to him. a wisp of a thief, a shadow himself merging within them. they’d been his home for a great many years, now. he goes for the fireplace, first; unsure what doesn’t count as out of place in the room of an orlesian lord, but assuming any sort of missive would be disposed of, burned——-if he was any smart. but perhaps a sigil could be left behind, a scrap of half-burned paper that never made it to the flame. fingers flow before him to move the dimming fire itself, the bare bones of a flame; he fiddles with it first, then puts it out entirely to sift through the ash.
❛ have we got any idea what we’re lookin’ for ? at all ? ❜ from the ashes come nothing; just sooty hands & a frown as he rises back to his feet. ❛ i highly doubt a spy would just leave shit layin’ around, if he’s any good at his job … ❜
“i know,” she replies, voice a low whisper as she creeps forward. it is a task she can do - one she can still do with ONE HAND, and perhaps that makes it something she enjoys more, “you can lock it on the way back.” best to relock a door picked open when your SUBTERFUGE is to be kept hidden. she may not be as well versed as victor at sneaking about, by now more suited to speaking to an audience and feeling the keen stare of every eye in the room, but she too can melt into shadows when the necessity arises.
while vic moves to the fire, esyllt heads for the desk - it would be FOOLISH to leave something in plain sight, but there are drawers and papers, and one frightened their charade might be discovered may grow sloppy. maker, even one over - confident is more prone to slipping. fingers rifle through parchments and seals and bright eyes scan the hand of each. it is doubtful solas would write anything himself yet she still seeks his familiar script. it is nowhere to be found, and no other mention or symbol or odd wording catches her attention, so esyllt moves onto the drawers. pulling one open, she glances over her shoulder to see if her companion has secreted out any hiding place.
“anything regarding EMPRISE DU LION. the marquis has a hold there, and the elven ruins are supposedly of interest to fen’harel and his people. leliana has word that there is some link between the two.” gaze lands back on the contents of the first drawer, which she begins sifting through.
