It wasn’t odd that Glenn listened silently, after all she had always considered him a good conversationalist. But there was an absolute intensity to it, a physical advance, and a purpose driven reply. Together it might have been unsettling if these had been more normal circumstances. It was years ago when they had last spoken so directly, so who was to say what was normal anymore. When had it been? Where? Years upon years ago in the sitting room of his residence or maybe across from one another in the office? If she had been the same woman from those conversations, she might have shrunk or startled at the advance and closeness.
It was doubly odd looking slightly up to him; she was quite tall, even compared to most men, and it was not a common vantage point for a conversation. But she didn’t shrink or balk to retain whatever personal space felt appropriate. Her chin inclined smoothly and her eyes remained locked with his.
Considering all that he revealed she demonstrated remarkable restraint to listen, fully, as he had. In short, the answer to the single question she had asked, had been yes. He was in danger. That answer alone was all she needed to justify the whetstone to prepare her questions.
But then as Glenn often did, he elaborated. There was Benedict, the raven; seemingly safe enough as he had mentioned his ‘friend,’ in their exchanges. Then again, if she were not to read anything he brought how trustworthy could he be. And fairie intrigue? There was a lot that Glenn had said worthy of being surprised and even concerned about. Risk was not entirely the same as danger, but it was possibility. Suddenly, fragments from Gloria’s cautionary letter started making sense.
Genny’s eyes narrowed with concern, curiosity, and perhaps even a bit of suspicion at the mention of blood. There had been nothing about ‘bleeding’ in her letter. While they sometimes spoke in elaborate metaphors she couldn’t help but to let her eyes flick away and look him up and down again to ensure she hadn’t overlooked some glaring stain or a gaping wound. Of course, if the danger were fae there were far worse things that could be done with little more than a timble’s volume of blood. As for Razasan, it didn't even garner a reply. She couldn't care less about exploring the ostentatious city; except, perhaps, a visit to several notable libraries.
“Both,” she offered plainly, factually. There was no denying it and why would she, her letters had been candid. She was Genny and he was Glenn, it was both simple and complicated. And they both knew it and could do little about it. “Although, to say you have told me everything is not quite true, I think,” her lips pursed thoughtfully.
When a person wants something badly enough they might sacrifice quite a bit. A day’s meal, a week’s pay, their worldly possessions, even their ideals. There were burning questions heavy on her mind, topics and details of which he had been withholding in their letters. Some which edged dangerously close to forbidden topics and others far too personal. She might take advantage of the moment; ‘for justice,’ the back of her mind, angry and eager hissed. It was a strange, foreign thing, an urge to drop the axe on Glenn’s exposed neck and let her Inquisitor’s nature take over, unleashing endless questions. Her eyes screwed shut, the hand gripping the papers squeezed and made the blue-thorn wound bulge. And in a moment it was gone, a deep breath and her eyes opened, gentle as ever as she inclined her head again, closer if that was even possible, as if daring him to test her.
“Bleeding?”