Owen tilted his head in a graceful bow of acceptance to her invitation for tea. He wasn’t terribly enthused about tea per se. He wasn’t a tea drinking kind of guy. He was more of a fine ground black coffee kind of guy. The kind of coffee that left stains on white mugs. But the tea was more a pretense for conversation anyway. “After you.” He gestured for her to lead the way and passed by the saucy guard without so much as a glance. Door stops didn’t warrant attention, anyway.
He smiled to himself when he heard Sairus apprehend the other guard. He certainly appreciated the opportunity to speak alone with Darcias. There were things he wanted to ask her about that weren’t for Sairus’ ears.
Owen quickened his pace to catch up to the robed woman. He took her hand curling her arm through his and pressed her hand to his forearm that he might play the role of gentlemanly escort for any curious onlookers. Nothing out of the ordinary, here, save for perhaps the difference in attire. Her’s so official versus his casual street wear. But you wouldn’t know it from the way he carried himself. He may as well have been in his boxers, it wouldn’t have changed his poised carriage.
“I'll have to take your word on this weather being unseasonable.” He admitted without openly stating he still had no clue what day it was. He still felt like a disoriented time traveler from the past. “It does seem like the kind of weather that makes ghosts want to reveal themselves, don’t you think? My mother would incense the house always saying ‘can’t be too careful with ghosts, those who defy death are rarely up to any good.’”
Owen's rambling had little point other than to issue, perhaps, a veiled threat cloaked in reminiscing about his childhood. He pulled his elbow in so that her arm was brought close against his side, bringing her in for the sharing of something more confidential.
“Between you and me, I never really believed in ghosts, though, death was the ultimate finale. But look at me, now, here for the macabre encore.”
He laughed lightly with an easy smile brushing away even the slightest mention of anything uncanny about his present circumstances. He was acutely aware of how they must look to others, like the perfect image of cordiality, polite conversation, and friendly joking. Which was his intention. He wouldn’t bring up anything serious until in the safety of privacy.
“Oh, don’t listen to me. I’ve become so wistful lately. Must be the weather.” Thinking himself mighty clever he brought his rambling full circle back to the weather again. He winked at her then, mischievously, head cocked, like a ghost up to no good.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.