Snippet #2650267

Elisabeth stood with crossed arms. Anyone important enough to the king to be in the room knew her or her reputation, and while many had reason to be glad to see her in good health and thankful for her participation, few dared make eye contact. She had a grimace and clear discomfort with the confines of the room.
Simon, on the other hand, was a chattable gossip and accomplished multitasker. He had a book, selected at random from one of the shelves, and made idle conversation while he read. Elisabeth, as always, stood over his shoulder, expecting enemies where there were none. Her stare, and the exasperated and worried state of the many occupants, made anything more than vapid worry difficult to Simon to find, so after a few minutes he gave up and focused on reading.

"Why are you reading?"
"To learn."
"We should be fighting."
"Relax, Elisabeth. We'll do that plenty, no doubt, in the future. Right now I'd like to enjoy what quiet moments I can."
"What are you reading?"
"...I'm not sure. I don't speak this language."
"So you aren't reading. You're just looking at a book."
"I'm learning."

Martellus arrived with no shortage of theatrics. Simon wondered why he wasn't preceded by horns or a juggler. He paid little mind until the king arrived, at which point he stood and set his book aside. Elisabeth wasn't interested in either; as far as she was concerned both were squandering her talents. Talents of killing people, which was a talent Centralia desperately needed manning its walls and in its formations, not sitting around a claustrophobic room.

Simon had at inkling of the nature of the Archmage's endeavors, and was slightly offended he'd never been invited to participate. He was sure more than one errand he and Elisabeth had done on Kyle's behalf had been to further such important research, though. Either that, or all the secrecy and cloak-and-dagger nonsense was punishment for Simon's proclivity for spilling state secrets.

"...are we going to keep going into smaller and smaller rooms until we squeeze ourselves to death, Simon? Is this the new Grundun torture method?"
"Maybe." The arcanist shrugged, and followed the crowd with suppressed curiosity. "There's worse ways to go, though."
"Nothing is worse than a self-afflicted death."
"What about being burned alive, and then your eternal soul being chained to the Great Forge to toil forever so the denizens of all the Hells are armed for their aeon struggle against the forces of Good?"
"Shut up."