A smile and knowing nod came to Perdante's face. "I see. If you've earned your life by your wits, then you certainly have far more wits than the rest of your darkspawn brethren. If I may say so, all they've ever done to my kind is...charge, kill, and feed. This time, I was the one who made the opening move against you, and I paid for it. I beg your...pardon?" She paused for a moment. Was she actually apologizing to a demonic fiend she was ordered upon pain of death by the King's headsman to slaughter? "Yes, I am indeed sorry. My life is all but lost, and to meet someone such as yourself? It...just seems such a waste, not to look past appearances." She shook her head.
When she saw the peeling motions that The Frail was making with his hands, she gave a start. He wants me to...remove my armor? Completely? As utterly shameful and ludicrous as that idea seemed, his mentioning her cracked ribs made her yearn for whatever sort of wrapping and setting he might deign to give. Slowly and humbly, she removed her leather garments. I feel so exposed, so embarrassed...Wait! This is a darkspawn, by the Maker, and not some slathering idiot of our kind, like the soldiers back at camp! There is no way he could feel the lusts they do, unless-- She put the thought out of her mind. As far as she could tell, "The Frail" looked at her and felt nothing.
"You...you may set my ribs now, if you'd like," she said, grimacing in pain again. "After this, I--I fear I must say goodbye and depart this place. His Majesty the King is waiting for my report, or at least for my safe return." After which I might lose my head, if I say anything about meeting you...