@wcrfareoverseer (x)
“i think you are mistaken, m’lady. i – i don’t know what sorrows you speak of and i’ve little to say.” fragments of truth weaved together to form something of a response, something of a lie. restrict the lying tongue. there is always sorrow. in dunwall, there is always sorrow and thomas is not exempt.
She considers him, this Overseer, with a tilt to her head, the feathers that adorn her hat rustling slightly with the movement. Her eyes skim his uniform, checking for insignia, signs of rank.
“Perhaps I am, I do hope I am,” she returns her answer in a low murmur. “One never knows for certain.”
She weighs briefly the pros and cons of interrogating him further. She chooses not to—it is said, and there is no real reason to press the issue. Still, it is difficult to resist adding, “Though I doubt very much you have nothing to say.”