“I’m not the confrontational type either.”At least, not in terms of direct confrontations.
But it seemed like the knocking was just for a show in the end; Roland hadn’t locked the door, so it swung upon with ease to reveal the stranger. The ungloved hand caught Amaya’s attention first, a stark paleness against the dark attire that the man was dressed in. Was the left hand bare for the purposes of a Craft that required a more tactile sense? Or was the right hand covered, to seal a particular capability? The white hair indicated age, but there were no particularly deep lines marking the decades that may have passed, while the motions were at once casual and confident.
Amaya didn’t believe in reductive stereotyping, but if she were to guess, this man was of Precedence, exuding authority even without any sign of a House’s paraphernalia.
Still, he knew Leonard Forrst, so either her middle-aged middleman was dead, or he could be trusted. The former would be problematic, so the latter would be what she leaned upon as the coiled strength in her body gradually relaxed. The raven-haired courier brought her mug to her lips once more, blowing gently before taking another tentative sip. Still a touch too hot, especially with the minor burn on her tongue now, but drinkable.
“If Leonard recommended me, I’ll hear you out.” Amaya’s own eyes glinted cat-like, more acknowledgment than threat. She set her tea down, popped open her bag of now-hydrated teriyaki chicken rice. A sweet and savoury aroma filled the cool atmosphere.
“Go on, I’m listening.”The first spoonful was perfect. The second? She should have stirred it better, because the rice was
crunchy.