( He spreads his hands in an easy what can I say. Even as a boy - and he'd been a boy, still, when he last bounced her on his shoulders and called her by pet names - he'd been one to listen, one to think. One to smile, slow, and remember.
He's thirty-five, now; he remembers a great many things. )
Pretty women like a mirror.
( And find one for the best parts of themselves in his smiling face. Men aren't different, particularly, by the way some of the younger men he's worked with puff out their chests when he's nodding along to stories of training and subsequent valor; everyone wants to be the person it looks like Seoraj is seeing.
And he's glad to see it, unless or until he sees something that can't be ignored. )
no subject
He's thirty-five, now; he remembers a great many things. )
Pretty women like a mirror.
( And find one for the best parts of themselves in his smiling face. Men aren't different, particularly, by the way some of the younger men he's worked with puff out their chests when he's nodding along to stories of training and subsequent valor; everyone wants to be the person it looks like Seoraj is seeing.
And he's glad to see it, unless or until he sees something that can't be ignored. )
You've been with the Inquisition long?