In eyes the color of amber darkened by the moon, Alexander saw an ember spark to life, or had it always been there? He recognized it as someone akin to his own mentality and as someone who studied and both condemned a man for first appearances. Yet where Aslan was tailored, Alec was not. He wore his wool and his linen so that the cross could never condemn him. There was not a knife sharpened for the evening, but the silver his savior tucked carefully over his heart. 

Endless eyes were met with a direct flash of a true condemning hunger to see a man hanged. Would it be Aslan whose wrists were nailed to cypress? 

I should mention […] that it is an expensive and lengthy ordeal to have a body exhumed.

“Is this what you do then?” He asked in a tone of pure accusation and judgement cast without an answer, “Have I asked for you to do such a horrid thing?” 

Alex folded his hands behind his back as he squared away his feet with his shoulders—the stance of a soldier, but was that not his title? He was a soldier of God and this man was a simple mortal with misguided moral compass and far too…loose of an attire. 

He did not shake his hand at first, but looked down at the offered thing and worried now for where it had been; however, he eventually relented and shook. Once free he straightened his fingers as though burned and ran his palm along the side of his cloak. He would wash it extensively when he got home. 

“I have come,” he announced once again returning to his rigid and standoffish stance, “To hire you to look in on a man who has forced himself upon my sister.” As there could be no other reason Amelia would fall for such a.… horrid excuse of a provider.