Lydia was upstairs, leaving Asta in the living room, alone to her thoughts as she sat in front of the fire. Eyes drifting, they eventually landed on her bookshelf. Wrapped up in her own mind, the Nord wasn't certain exactly the train of thoughts that led her to remembering a certain dossier laid in her possession.
Her infiltration of the Embassy and subsequent interactions with the Thalmor had told Asta all she needed to know. They did love their paperwork, and the Nord lady had a love for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. This civil war was an absolute waste of time. She needed to get the Thalmor out. That much was obvious. Yet while the Empire and the Stormcloaks were wasting time butting heads like rams in rut, they seemed completely oblivious to the sabre cat hiding in the bushes.
Her life never had been able to be cut and dry. Everything was shades of grey when black and white would be so much easier. While Tullius wasn't... hopeless... well, she wasn't impressed. As the leader of the Imperial army (at least in Skyrim), the fact that he seemed completely uninterested in learning about the country's people and customs was disheartening. He didn't care. Getting the rebellion under control was just another set of orders.
But Ulfric was not the clear winner either.
Debating whether she wanted to move from the warmth of the fire to her alchemy room, Asta picked at the chicken breast sitting on a plate in her lap. Seeming more interested in obliterating it than she did actually eating, a few chunks accidentally landed on the floor, only to be gobbled up by the mongrel stray she'd found some time ago.
He probably should have been given a name by now. Perhaps she was simply putting too much thought into it, but nothing really seemed to fit him. He was simply Mongrel to her, though it was an affectionate term.
The Thalmor needed to be kicked out, and Asta needed to decide what she was going to do about it. Skyrim's peace was delicate and fragile; Alduin had been defeated, but Asta had yet to give any inclination she would tolerate a continuation of the fighting. Apparently her message had been well received.
Life was simpler when the choice was obvious. This was not as simple as deciding what was for dinner. No one seemed aware of this, but Asta had her own agenda to take into consideration. Trapped in a game of politics she couldn't quite play, this was likely her only chance to ensure her personal goals were met.
But ejection of an entire faction that consisted solely of one race was no easy task; especially when Asta had no desire for the Altmer minding their own business to be caught in the crossfire.
The Imperials would be a pain in the ass to get into gear. They seemed to think that blindly kneeling to the Thalmor would lessen the pressure, when the elves were just backing them into a corner.
Ulfric would be more than willing to help her; but at what cost? Asta was not so chained by her hatred of the Thalmor that she couldn't see past the obvious- All Thalmor were Altmer, but not all Altmer were Thalmor.
She was half tempted to wage a one woman war and say to hell with all of them.
Well... One woman and many, many dragons.
Not even bothering to preface with 'accidentally' dropping the food on the floor, Asta stripped the meat off the bone and tossed the pieces to Mongrel, who snapped them up happily. They'd just gotten him to stop begging, but the Nord didn't feel like eating and the stray needed all the extra calories he could get into his mouth. No longer the walking, fuzzy skeleton she'd found on the road outside Riverwood, he was still too ribby for her taste.
Standing, she left her plate in the chair; Lydia would come for it later, or in the morning.
Eventually.
It didn't matter to the Nord.
Despite the fact she enjoyed placing her books on display (the top of the bookcase had become an extra shelf, with the help of some Soul Gems-turned-paper-weights.), there were some things that didn't need to be seen.
Of Gods and Monsters [1a/??]
Her infiltration of the Embassy and subsequent interactions with the Thalmor had told Asta all she needed to know. They did love their paperwork, and the Nord lady had a love for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. This civil war was an absolute waste of time. She needed to get the Thalmor out. That much was obvious. Yet while the Empire and the Stormcloaks were wasting time butting heads like rams in rut, they seemed completely oblivious to the sabre cat hiding in the bushes.
Her life never had been able to be cut and dry. Everything was shades of grey when black and white would be so much easier. While Tullius wasn't... hopeless... well, she wasn't impressed. As the leader of the Imperial army (at least in Skyrim), the fact that he seemed completely uninterested in learning about the country's people and customs was disheartening. He didn't care. Getting the rebellion under control was just another set of orders.
But Ulfric was not the clear winner either.
Debating whether she wanted to move from the warmth of the fire to her alchemy room, Asta picked at the chicken breast sitting on a plate in her lap. Seeming more interested in obliterating it than she did actually eating, a few chunks accidentally landed on the floor, only to be gobbled up by the mongrel stray she'd found some time ago.
He probably should have been given a name by now. Perhaps she was simply putting too much thought into it, but nothing really seemed to fit him. He was simply Mongrel to her, though it was an affectionate term.
The Thalmor needed to be kicked out, and Asta needed to decide what she was going to do about it. Skyrim's peace was delicate and fragile; Alduin had been defeated, but Asta had yet to give any inclination she would tolerate a continuation of the fighting. Apparently her message had been well received.
Life was simpler when the choice was obvious. This was not as simple as deciding what was for dinner. No one seemed aware of this, but Asta had her own agenda to take into consideration. Trapped in a game of politics she couldn't quite play, this was likely her only chance to ensure her personal goals were met.
But ejection of an entire faction that consisted solely of one race was no easy task; especially when Asta had no desire for the Altmer minding their own business to be caught in the crossfire.
The Imperials would be a pain in the ass to get into gear. They seemed to think that blindly kneeling to the Thalmor would lessen the pressure, when the elves were just backing them into a corner.
Ulfric would be more than willing to help her; but at what cost? Asta was not so chained by her hatred of the Thalmor that she couldn't see past the obvious- All Thalmor were Altmer, but not all Altmer were Thalmor.
She was half tempted to wage a one woman war and say to hell with all of them.
Well... One woman and many, many dragons.
Not even bothering to preface with 'accidentally' dropping the food on the floor, Asta stripped the meat off the bone and tossed the pieces to Mongrel, who snapped them up happily. They'd just gotten him to stop begging, but the Nord didn't feel like eating and the stray needed all the extra calories he could get into his mouth. No longer the walking, fuzzy skeleton she'd found on the road outside Riverwood, he was still too ribby for her taste.
Standing, she left her plate in the chair; Lydia would come for it later, or in the morning.
Eventually.
It didn't matter to the Nord.
Despite the fact she enjoyed placing her books on display (the top of the bookcase had become an extra shelf, with the help of some Soul Gems-turned-paper-weights.), there were some things that didn't need to be seen.