After all that, Loxley is easy to locate. On her way up, there's the occasional thump-thump-thump of scampering footsteps as the Gallows is thrown into chaos—or, at least, a little bit of chaos, among its most feral—but otherwise, it's quiet amongst the offices and work rooms.
The door is unlocked, and—
—Loxley is seated at the desk and chairs, back to the door, feet up on the edge. Beneath his chair is a crate of wine, some parcels in twine stacked atop that. No villains, no crossbows, obviously, and he twists enough to look back at the door when it opens, hands up in a surrendering shrug.
"I have a confession to make," he says. "It was us all along."
He is also not dressed in his usual, but new items of clothing; blues and greens, the drape of a black cape, good boots, shine of a pauldron, belts.
Derrica is not shocked. Nor is she heavily armed. She crosses to him with nothing in her hands, all the better to set them on his shoulders as she leans her hip against the arm of the chair.
"You look very handsome."
An easy compliment to give, despite all her misgivings. Loxley looks well in these colors. The cape suits him. And a little armor might be put to good use, sooner or later. She fidgets with the drape of the cape over his shoulder, follows the fabric to where it gathers to trade her examination of cape for the turn of his collar.
Loxley sits back and lifts his chin to assist in the inspection. There's no pin to denote his division, but there Riftwatch cloak pin is on display, shiny where it fastens his cape beneath the collar. "I expect for all of it to wind up in my clothing trunk and locked away for almost always, fine as it is."
His usual colours range warmer, even before he had to compensate for so much grey and silver. "I think serah Bastien might've been onto something. I'm not sure I could say 'no' to you for very much at all," and he is laying it on, mischief indicative in tone, eyes.
"Then I'll have to reconsider my demands," Derrica says, very serious but for the smile working it's way onto her face. She straightens from her lean for just a moment, before insinuating herself into his lap.
Having settled, fingers nudging beneath leather strap and buckle, beneath buttons, to lay over his heart, Derrica tells him, "I promised Bastien three bottles of wine to abandon you to my whims."
Is she released from obligation to deliver, if she doesn't press Loxley into giving her any clues?
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shenanigans.
The door is unlocked, and—
—Loxley is seated at the desk and chairs, back to the door, feet up on the edge. Beneath his chair is a crate of wine, some parcels in twine stacked atop that. No villains, no crossbows, obviously, and he twists enough to look back at the door when it opens, hands up in a surrendering shrug.
"I have a confession to make," he says. "It was us all along."
He is also not dressed in his usual, but new items of clothing; blues and greens, the drape of a black cape, good boots, shine of a pauldron, belts.
no subject
Derrica is not shocked. Nor is she heavily armed. She crosses to him with nothing in her hands, all the better to set them on his shoulders as she leans her hip against the arm of the chair.
"You look very handsome."
An easy compliment to give, despite all her misgivings. Loxley looks well in these colors. The cape suits him. And a little armor might be put to good use, sooner or later. She fidgets with the drape of the cape over his shoulder, follows the fabric to where it gathers to trade her examination of cape for the turn of his collar.
no subject
Loxley sits back and lifts his chin to assist in the inspection. There's no pin to denote his division, but there Riftwatch cloak pin is on display, shiny where it fastens his cape beneath the collar. "I expect for all of it to wind up in my clothing trunk and locked away for almost always, fine as it is."
His usual colours range warmer, even before he had to compensate for so much grey and silver. "I think serah Bastien might've been onto something. I'm not sure I could say 'no' to you for very much at all," and he is laying it on, mischief indicative in tone, eyes.
no subject
Having settled, fingers nudging beneath leather strap and buckle, beneath buttons, to lay over his heart, Derrica tells him, "I promised Bastien three bottles of wine to abandon you to my whims."
Is she released from obligation to deliver, if she doesn't press Loxley into giving her any clues?