Isamaya grins in the self-assured way she always does, crumpling Falon'Din's vallaslin etched onto her face, and tilts her chin up in a much more lively approximation of Solas' own movement. Pale green eyes dance with a mix of amusement and triumph.
He had said it himself: he wasn't often surprised.
And Lavellan had taken it as a challenge, if for no other reason than spite.
"I imagine this is likely the only time I will manage such a feat," she says, and bows at the waist—for dramatic, Isa-esque effect. When she straightens, she looks marginally less smug. "I suppose it must be a bitter pill, learning something from a Dalish woman."
"I do not assume it will be," Brows lift high, the quirk of a restrained smile. The dramatics made her quite hard to miss, and sometimes unfavorable by the more rigid members of the Inquisition.
"Not as horrible as it is thought to be, unless you wished it so?" A shift of his weight, cautious of her still. Believed a flat ear by her people, bare faced and assumed to have no idea of the ways of their people.
"Was it not obvious?" she asks, with the amused, bald-faced honesty known only to Isamaya—but it is, at least in part, playful. Abrasive and mean-spirited as she tends to be, she is marginally less so toward her companions. And she is, at the end of the day, doing everything in her power to hold the world together—so she thinks that must count for something.
"It's always a nice feeling to be more clever than someone else, if only once." Her lips quirk up again, just for a moment, before she presses them back into neutrality.
"...Alright, I'm done gloating now."
