[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    watched her expression change, watched her body language shift subtly and he almost sighed even before she spoke, but he refrained. Instead, as she had done for him, he just listened. Just listened as she berated him almost like she had Victor. His expression was an impassive mask, even though he knew that his lack of reaction was likely to frustrate her further.

As she laid into him, Farren realized something about himself then…about how his past must have been: He was used to being disappointed, used to people’s irrational emotions. Simultaneously, he somehow knew that he had [i]not[/i] been used to dealing with his own. When she had finally spent her venom and walked away, her footfalls carrying her towards one the headstones, Farren let out a small, quiet sigh. He knew she would hear it, he wasn’t sure whether or not he cared. His hand came up and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Farren felt…tired then, not suddenly exactly, not like it had snuck up on him, but more as if he no longer had anything else to distract him from the fatigue.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“What a mess,”[/b][/color] he muttered to himself, his words encapsulating their entire argument quite neatly. He glanced to the side as he noticed Torquil exit the cottage. It seemed Gerlinde was watching them as well as their hosts. His expression might be taken as a glare, but even if it were received as such, it wasn’t really.

After a moment he turned away from their two other companions, his gaze briefly glancing off Ophelia. He regarded the Doll and the Moonbound Hunter for a moment, noting the Hunter’s head had cocked faintly to one side. Farren wondered if they had their own implements at either of the Workshops. He ran a hand down his face, then back up…through his hair, appearing exasperated.

This had gotten out of hand, [i]he’d[/i] gotten out of hand and she had followed his example…after a fashion. Yet…was there any helping it? An apology now would feel empty and Farren knew he’d be getting none from her. The way she always spoke was as if she were utterly in the right. Internally he cursed to himself ‘Indignant…bullheaded, self righteous, stubborn,’ only to realize that some of those things might be used to describe [i]him[/i].

Farren laughed, a brief sound in the lower register as he chuckled and then shook his head. The smile that accompanied the sound didn’t last long at all, fading before even his laughter had.

 [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Very well, I’m headed to the Black Church Workshop. If you want to gather supplies or meet Seven, feel free to join me, otherwise I’ll just come back here once I’m done.”[/b][/color]

Farren glanced between his allies—Ophelia included—and then moved to the Headstone that held the marker for the Black Church Workshop. He glanced over at Ophelia, his fingers hovering, but not yet activating the power of the gravestone. He didn’t apologize. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“I’ve never claimed knowledge beyond my purview and I won’t now, nor is my will anymore untouchable than your own. I respect you and I’d rather not see you or the others plagued by Ego’s influence. I’d rather not have you turned against me either. Deprive me of your counsel and your Runes, that is your choice, certainly. As you say, who is more entitled to the tool than you? But it will only bring all of us greater woe.”[/b][/color]

That said, he touched the marker and began to fade, not leaving time for a reply. He wished only for her to consider his words…not to lash out at him again. She deserved more of his patience—he knew—especially after how well she’d handled his…outburst, but at the same time, he’d truly said nothing out of line thereafter, and she’d reacted as if he’d somehow wounded her pride. Still…communication was always flawed, so he gave her that grace, even if she hadn’t given him any by trying to force the Mask Rune upon him.