Grant had a lot more fancy-looking clothing at his disposal. He was mostly just looking at Regan like she was going to grow horns or something. She had gotten somehow even less comfortable in dresses since the engagement party--which incidentally was for the person they were about to meet, it turned out. No big deal.

Morrigans.

Either way Grant was dressed up nicely and hated it. Not because he was uncomfortable exactly but more because he thought fancy clothes were stupid and there were far less places to hide weapons. Almost none, really. And now they were doing... whatever this was. He sure hoped Logan and Regan knew what they were doing.

"As ready as I'm gonna get," he told his partner with a smile. His mood had improved a good bit after their little hunt the other day.

Regan smiled back at Rosamere - or at least attempted to. Smiling wasn’t one of her best skills. “Thank you for meeting with us,” Regan dipped her head, trying to act the noblewoman she clearly was not. After one last glance at Grant, she followed Rosa, fiddling with her sleeve and not attempting to make conversation.

When the door was opened, Regan supposed she should have been surprised by the man on the other side. It somehow hadn’t crossed her mind that Conall Morrigan would be the one that Rosa would bring to meet with them. But now, seeing him standing in the study, it seemed obvious. As much as Regan tried to stop herself, her cheeks went pink as Conall kissed her hand, simile replaced by a serious expression that tried to compensate for her break in composure.

“Miss Lassiter is fine,” Regan said abruptly, gruffness of her tone matching the furrow in her eyebrows, “Or Regan. Whichever.” She had no title to claim, and wouldn’t pretend otherwise. The click of the lock on the door sent a shiver down her spine. When Conall turned his back to retrieve the glasses, she looked to Grant, trying to discern how much of a problem it would be that Conall was their host. They couldn’t afford any missteps or hot tempers, and Regan hoped to avoid both.

She took the glass she was offered, expression still infinitely serious. “Thank you for seeing us,” Regan looked to Rosa, considering her an equal part in this though Conall was the elder Morrigan. “I assure you it will be worth your while.” Regan was trying to sound official, trying to put her best foot forward despite the fact she was well out of her comfort zone.

Grant nodded at Rosamere, smiling. "Grant, that's right," he said, before following along with Regan.

Generally, Grant didn't spend too much time dwelling on the vicissitudes of the universe or the nature of the Goddess(es?) or anything like fate. He generally believed that the trajectory of the world trended towards justice and people were good, by default.

This day, however, when he saw Conall, he was pretty sure he'd done something in either a past life or in this life to piss the Goddess off. Or fate. Or karma, a concept he had no word for. Why wouldn't it be her brother, he supposed quietly to himself. He inclined his head to Conall.

"Lord Morrigan," he said, "merely Grant is fine."

Fuck.

He took the drink and had a generous sip. He thought about knocking the whole thing back but he was at least going to pretend they were all friends here. Then again the Magda business clearly had been moved past him and his purview, so theoretically he could be friends. Or. Friendly, at least. He smiled a little. Right, anyway. Maybe this was what Magda meant when she said Conall was also a Bad Dude.

You’ve got this, Lassiter. You’ve got this.

Regan sat on a sofa. From there, she’d be able to look Conall directly in the eye. No, his and Grant’s history didn’t make this the ideal meeting setup, but the matter had hand was far more important than some fucked up love triangle. Regan glanced at Grant, hoping he’d sit next to her so that they could present a united front. Her brow set in her most serious of expressions, Regan looked at Rosamere before turning to Conall.

“Rosamere and I had an interesting conversation about the king and the future of Nevermere. She expressed some...concerns, some valid concerns that I believe are worth further discussion,” Regan swallowed, resolve holding, meeting Conall’s gaze as if she were a lady of power, not a scrappy commoner, “I’ve been tasked with finding people who are serious about charting a new course for Nevermere’s future. And Rosamere’s led me to believe that the Morrigans are serious people.”

Grant sat down next to Regan when she did, sipping at his drink. Then she started talking! Hell, she was good at this. He nodded a little bit with Regan.

"We were in Loren," said Grant, "So we've seen how the King has his attention... Divided."

Very serious.

So it was the Morrigans. All of them. Conall had accepted her premise, which was a fact she tucked away for later. Okay. So far so good. “Why can’t we?” Regan’s voice was firm, brow set with the resolve Logan had always inspired in her. After all, wasn’t that who this was for? “Look-” She leaned forward, speaking as Regan the soldier, with all the tactical reasoning of one readying for battle, “I know you all grew up eating on fine china, but I didn’t. And I can tell you common folk don’t believe for a fucking second that Cassian is working for ‘the profit of everyone in Nevermere’.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was frank. Convincing, given she had the benefit of actually believing the things she was saying.

“You think you need to justify ‘doing something drastic’? Nobles never fucking justify anything. There are people that have power, and people that don’t. Everything else is just fucking window dressing.” Regan was surprised at herself, but she’d gained momentum and would keep going, “Now, you either think Cassian is the right king for Nevermere, or you don’t. And if you don’t, then the question shouldn’t be if you can justify action, it’s how.” She was directing everything to Conall at this point, the rest of the people in the room having fallen away. There was no hesitancy, no nervous decorum. Just a soldier with her orders.

“He’s got dangerous people, but so do we. And I’m guessing you have more than a few of your own. Regan raised an eyebrow, almost challenging. “But then again, maybe you don’t.”

Grant stared for a long moment at Conall.

He couldn't have been implying what Grant thought.

Still, Grant could tell that Conall wasn't fucking with him. He was definitely meaning what it came across as. Grant sipped at his drink while Regan talked, staring at Conall. He ended up draining the whole thing, trying to figure out what the fuck Magda had to do with any of this.

He was utterly nonplussed. What the fuck.