HERE IT IS! Apologies for the bad editing, wasn't a good transition over to post form! Hope it's not too big or long, but I would rather not post it anywhere else. Left the Inquis fairly vague on purpose!
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"You're dripping."
From the cool shade of a book, came the swift reply. "Sorry?"
Josephine Montilyet had no idea how he did it. As the Inquisitor sat in the old, rustic chair by the fresh magony desk, a menagerie of furniture that physically demonstrated these ramshackle first days of this new inquiition, the Antivaan could not help but marvel how the man's voice was able to carry both raised brow and smirk via tone alone. A large tome, split open violently, covered the Inquisitor's face, propped up in balance as he leaned in the chair with his thick boots kicked up onto the table.
Thick boots, covered in mud.
"You're dripping." Josephine repeated as she graced a single fingertip to the steel toe, the single area the earth had not covered. Though her touch was gentle, her sing-song cadence was stern.
The Inquisitor sat upright, letting the book fall casually to his hands. There it is Josephine thought. The smirk, and the brow.
"Apologies, Miss Montilyet," the man bowed verbally, pulling his feet from the table and making it a show as he planted them to the haphazard floor. "I was simply digesting the contents of this manual."
"You seemed to be sleeping."
"No, no, simply envisioning my new lessons."
"You were snoring."
"Simply practicing my war cry. The Bull put me to shame, last outting."
"And you think to learn vocal intimidation via an old text?" Josephine asked, her dusk-kissed hand reaching out for the book.
The Inquisitor shot up at her movement, placing the book behind his chest with a gleam in his eye that Josephine could not help but compare to that of the shoe peddler near her home; a happy predation brought to both song and drink, battle, shopping, and now, converation.
"The only other option for furthering my skills would have been to train with Cassandra." the roguish man protested, rubbing the edge of his eternally kept stubble.
"And?" she asked, Josephine moving aroound the table to draw nearer, hand once more reaching for the book.
"And she's scary."
"She's a Seeker."
"She's a woman with a long reach and the mind to hit."
"And I am sure, honored Inuisitor, you give her every reason to." Josephine could not help the small lilt that snuck into her voice, the playful chase amusing her, if one could call a few forced steps such. "I have reason now, that you have muddied my favorite workstation."
With mock apologetic shock, the man stopped, though the book remained behind his back. "You have me at a disadvantage, my dear diplomat. I have failed you, and a leader is only as good as the reparations for his errors." Though he kept the book behind his back with one hand, he hastily reacched out with the other, worked hand lifting a parchment and dabbing showingly at the mud.
She felt her eyes widen. "That is my treatise I was here to finish!" she bewailed, the shock of her voice hiding thee frustration she knew he wished.
The Inquisitor looked to the parchment, his cool and calm eye then turning towards her. "Come now... fourteen percent, truly?"
He had read it.
Josephine placed the backs of her wrists to her hips, the gold of her blouse ruffling against the hem of her belt. She felt her cheeks tint with warmth, and a mirth entered her eyes, realizing the game he played. "Fourteen is enough to maintain both the profit needed to interest the merchant line, as well as ensure our steady supply."
"Not if we use the-"
"-which we cannot, as the expediant path to Ferelden is not secure." Josephine returned, feeling her battlefield supply her with what she could only hope was her own gleam.
"We will secure it," the Inquisitor said, off-handedly as he turned his gaze to the side, still maintaining careful positon to blook her from the book behind his back. As he reached for a scroll on an adjacent table, Josephine felt her hair bat her cheeks as she shook her head.
"Despite the.. competency, of our troops, the merchant collective has shown little interest in placing their lives on the words of-"
"Then I will secure it myself." Finding the scroll, the Inquisitor was every bit still theatric as he handed it to her. "I already issued a letter of intent, explaining my expedition to remove the spiders in the woods, as well as the bandit camp that has plagued the area. Should take no more than two days, and there is time while Vivienne and Solas do their... Vivienne and Solas thing." The grin did not leave the confident face, the man's bright eyes silently promising Josephine the sincerity of his solution.
It was then she realized, just as his grin did not depart, neither had her own smile. With an overdramatic flare of her own, Josephine reached up, turning up her palm as she playfully forced the Inquisitor to place it fully to her hand. "How noble of you." she played.
"I am not noble. I am always late on returning books to the library, cheating on my tithe."
"You're lying."
"I'm flirting."
A long pause lingred in the room, Josephine feeling a soft pull of her lips as she smirked. "I will re-examine the charter, then." she felt herself near whisper, before her tone audibly hopped to a forced, if playful, mire. "But that does not forgive you for muddying my table."
"You're right, my manners. Allow me to make it up to you? Dinner?"
Once more, the voiced carried a smirk, even as the Inquisitor watched her with a forced blank expression. Still, it was nice to know his game. "So, you think you can repair the insult per a single act of a romantic dinner?"
An actual smirk. "Who said it was to be romantic?"
"Are you saying it is not?"
The Inquisitor hummed, pretending to mull it over, the situation, and her words. "You're right. Very well, two. One is not enough." His play complete, the Inquisitor reached out, finally giving the bronze woman the tome he had brazenly used as a tent. Spinning on his heel, he walked out, whistling something cheerful, if ambiguous.
Josephine did not bother to hide the smile that danced upon her lips, watching the man as he left. When he disappeared from her sight, Josephine looked to the book she clung in her hands. The smile spread, her lips parting and her jaw moving down a slim gape as she read the title. Shaking her head, she brought the book to her chest, clinging it tightly to wrap her arms around it.
Looking out towards where he had left, Josephine said the title aloud. "Courtship Per Antiva: Confidence Through Lace."
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