Dimitri's still unarmed, as much as he can be. (Darcy has his swords, anyway, but Erin doesn't need to know that.) He's not here as a knight, or a soldier, or a weapon; neither an agent or justice or vengeance or both. He can't be. It's not his to exact.
(If it was, would it change how he feels? Maybe. But it isn't. The question's moot.)
He's picked a corner booth, where they can both have their backs to a wall, and Erin doesn't have to face him directly. A steaming mug of chamomile sits onto the table, but he hasn't touched it.
He glances up at Erin's approach, then back down, staring into the spring-green depths of the mug.
Low and controlled, he says, "I've been trying to think of what to say. I find myself with nothing. I asked to meet in person because I would rather hear the truth from you than continue to speculate."
His gaze flicks back up, reptilian pupils needle-slit.
"Who is Liz Malloy, and why did Erin Peters kill her?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-11-18 01:46 am (UTC)(If it was, would it change how he feels? Maybe. But it isn't. The question's moot.)
He's picked a corner booth, where they can both have their backs to a wall, and Erin doesn't have to face him directly. A steaming mug of chamomile sits onto the table, but he hasn't touched it.
He glances up at Erin's approach, then back down, staring into the spring-green depths of the mug.
Low and controlled, he says, "I've been trying to think of what to say. I find myself with nothing. I asked to meet in person because I would rather hear the truth from you than continue to speculate."
His gaze flicks back up, reptilian pupils needle-slit.
"Who is Liz Malloy, and why did Erin Peters kill her?"