[ Marcus has located a spot with an air of privacy in spite of the open nature of the hall, which is easier done when it's as late as it is. He is waiting without pretense of having occupied himself in the time it took Julius to come downstairs -- no book or paperwork or other amusement, instead content to silently watch the window nearby, in company of his own thoughts, arms folded and posture forward.
He doesn't really look like a mage. Not only because of the scars on his face, but also his dress; frock coat and necktie and the proper way he's bound his hair all imply a specific kind of upper-middleclass Free Marcher social setting, where Circles had stripped all of that away. Expensive and tidy angles, in plain greys and an absence of flourish.
There is food, also, gathered. The bits and pieces of the end of a dinner service. Stew of the day in bowls, bread, a pitcher of dark ale.
Spying Julius, he sits up a little, and gestures for the empty space opposite him across the table. ]
There wasn't a lot of variety to choose from. We're well into our winter stocks, it seems.
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He doesn't really look like a mage. Not only because of the scars on his face, but also his dress; frock coat and necktie and the proper way he's bound his hair all imply a specific kind of upper-middleclass Free Marcher social setting, where Circles had stripped all of that away. Expensive and tidy angles, in plain greys and an absence of flourish.
There is food, also, gathered. The bits and pieces of the end of a dinner service. Stew of the day in bowls, bread, a pitcher of dark ale.
Spying Julius, he sits up a little, and gestures for the empty space opposite him across the table. ]
There wasn't a lot of variety to choose from. We're well into our winter stocks, it seems.