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<blockquote data-quote="Paranoia833" data-source="post: 3517839" data-attributes="member: 49641">A changeling reclines across his pleasantly comfortable chair, legs vaulted over one of the armrests, head rested against the other in a position most undignified and out of place considering the immaculate glammerweave attire he is clothed in. He is in his natural form for once; pallid grey skin, course tangled hair, milky white eyes and all.When the secretary speaks, he turns his head to face her in a slow, lazy motion and flashes her a disturbing grin, twisted by the scar across his top lip into something resembling a sneer.Searching for something to occupy his time, he draws his knife from his sleeve. It appears in his hand so fast an inattentive observer might assume some kind of conjuration at work. The dagger in question is clearly well made though not particularly exceptional, local in make and recently forged. He plays with it absentmindedly swapping it from hand to hand, holding it up to the light for examination, running his finger slowly along the blade's edge and so on. Suddenly he speaks. &quot;You know, I was told House Tarkanan was a small outfit of thieves and assassins. Evidently they've gone up in the world... either that or someone has a most hurtful sense of humour.&quot; The comment was not aimed at anyone in particular, and the changeling doesn't seem particularly bothered if he gets a reply or not. He just continues to sit there playing with his knife.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Paranoia833, post: 3517839, member: 49641"] A changeling reclines across his pleasantly comfortable chair, legs vaulted over one of the armrests, head rested against the other in a position most undignified and out of place considering the immaculate glammerweave attire he is clothed in. He is in his natural form for once; pallid grey skin, course tangled hair, milky white eyes and all. When the secretary speaks, he turns his head to face her in a slow, lazy motion and flashes her a disturbing grin, twisted by the scar across his top lip into something resembling a sneer. Searching for something to occupy his time, he draws his knife from his sleeve. It appears in his hand so fast an inattentive observer might assume some kind of conjuration at work. The dagger in question is clearly well made though not particularly exceptional, local in make and recently forged. He plays with it absentmindedly swapping it from hand to hand, holding it up to the light for examination, running his finger slowly along the blade's edge and so on. Suddenly he speaks. [COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]"You know, I was told House Tarkanan was a small outfit of thieves and assassins. Evidently they've gone up in the world... either that or someone has a most hurtful sense of humour." [/COLOR] The comment was not aimed at anyone in particular, and the changeling doesn't seem particularly bothered if he gets a reply or not. He just continues to sit there playing with his knife. [/QUOTE]

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