Amalia
the shield of safrin
How does he know who she is? Honestly, the recognition doesn't perturb her as much as it probably should- stranger than that is hearing herself referred to as Ms. Chandrakant, as though she were someone entirely different, delicate perhaps, or old. "Amalia is fine," she replies softly, somewhat clipped in her mounting discomfort, her confusion with this man who apparently knows her, even here in Torchline.She's hoped that being near the ocean would make her insignificant, unnoticeable, safe. She supposes she was wrong.
"Ah... thank you?" Utterly perplexed Amalia takes the offered flowers and spirits, not sure what else she's to do in this awkward situation. The invocation of Vi soothes her slightly, though the crease between her eyebrows remains deeply entrenched as her mind whirls to figure out what is going on. The Shield has never been good at these dances, at social graces and insinuations. Even now she feels keenly her disadvantage for not knowing who this man is, or why he is at her door.
So she does the only thing she knows how to: bites her lip and looks up at him, not moving from the doorway, confusion frank in her angular face. "What is it you're looking for, Dori... Mr. Pryor? Was there something I can help you with, or...?" She trails off, jaw set stubbornly, dark eyes keen. She would like to say that strangers don't generally show up on her doorstep with gifts asking for a moment of her time, but that would be a lie. She just isn't used to it, or anything close to at ease.
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
