![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
What would you want from us?
[ It's a little nerve-wracking to say, because Yseult is such a powerful woman, and the thought of annoying her is a terrifying one. But nor does Tertia think she'll get too many points for being a shrinking violet. So. ]
We have only one real interest. Freedom for our people. Your goals are a little more complicated, I think.
[ It's a little nerve-wracking to say, because Yseult is such a powerful woman, and the thought of annoying her is a terrifying one. But nor does Tertia think she'll get too many points for being a shrinking violet. So. ]
We have only one real interest. Freedom for our people. Your goals are a little more complicated, I think.
[ She lets him say his piece in attentive silence, and then spends a moment considering it. ]
So your apology is for having said those things aloud?
[ Something in her delivery, or perhaps in the fact that she is asking at all, suggests that 'yes' would be the wrong answer here. ]
So your apology is for having said those things aloud?
[ Something in her delivery, or perhaps in the fact that she is asking at all, suggests that 'yes' would be the wrong answer here. ]
I - No. Not for that alone.
[ He'd just assumed that had been the piece she'd want an apology for. The mess. The lack of decorum. (There will come a day when Byerly realizes that Yseult is not, in fact, his spymaster, and he will stop expecting the accustomed coldness from her; today is not yet that day.) ]
I apologize too because I lied to you. I said an asinine thing in Derrica's presence, and when you all confronted me about it I playacted that it was part of some grand plan. It wasn't. It was just something that came out of my mouth, and I was embarrassed by that. And then I acted like a fool.
[ He searches her face for some sign that that was closer to what she was looking for as he continues on: ]
And I apologize for my...softness. [ For lack of a better word. ] For the fact that I've allowed my frustrations to eat away at my good sense. It should not matter to me that I'm disliked, but - [ A small shrug; he looks away. ] I find it painful, to try to do right and be treated still with contempt. I shouldn't. That's simply the nature of the thing.
[ He'd just assumed that had been the piece she'd want an apology for. The mess. The lack of decorum. (There will come a day when Byerly realizes that Yseult is not, in fact, his spymaster, and he will stop expecting the accustomed coldness from her; today is not yet that day.) ]
I apologize too because I lied to you. I said an asinine thing in Derrica's presence, and when you all confronted me about it I playacted that it was part of some grand plan. It wasn't. It was just something that came out of my mouth, and I was embarrassed by that. And then I acted like a fool.
[ He searches her face for some sign that that was closer to what she was looking for as he continues on: ]
And I apologize for my...softness. [ For lack of a better word. ] For the fact that I've allowed my frustrations to eat away at my good sense. It should not matter to me that I'm disliked, but - [ A small shrug; he looks away. ] I find it painful, to try to do right and be treated still with contempt. I shouldn't. That's simply the nature of the thing.
Edited (you haven't replied yet so I'm abusing my privileges) 2023-04-28 23:15 (UTC)
[ Whatever she might think of these course corrections she isn't prepared to reveal it just yet. Her expression remains blank, observing him with the deliberately placid neutrality he so often finds so irritating. She isn't going to help him find the right thing to say. ]
Why do you want to remain a Division Head?
Why do you want to remain a Division Head?
[ He bites back something tart, something frustrated, in response to that cool not-a-question. It is uncomfortable, to feel like you're under examination. But it's what he came for, no? It's what he's offering himself up for. ]
I believe I have the ability to accomplish things in this position that others cannot. [ And: ] And I trust in my own honesty, and my own good intentions. [ A grimace at how much he hates saying this: ] And I believe that I am - good at this job. Our alliances are strong, maintained in spite of our more scandalous members - our finances are solid - we have never suffered for a lack of basic supplies, even if we've sometimes gone without indulgences. I have done better than - many others could have done.
[ He certainly doesn't meet her eyes through all of that. Confessing pride in something is inviting ridicule, in his experience. Now that he's revealed a tender, delicate sense of accomplishment, he's vulnerable to her contempt, in a way he wouldn't be if he'd stuck to his usual rhetoric of being a useless scoundrel. If you insult yourself first, then anyone else who scorns you just seems derivative and uncreative. ]
I believe I have the ability to accomplish things in this position that others cannot. [ And: ] And I trust in my own honesty, and my own good intentions. [ A grimace at how much he hates saying this: ] And I believe that I am - good at this job. Our alliances are strong, maintained in spite of our more scandalous members - our finances are solid - we have never suffered for a lack of basic supplies, even if we've sometimes gone without indulgences. I have done better than - many others could have done.
[ He certainly doesn't meet her eyes through all of that. Confessing pride in something is inviting ridicule, in his experience. Now that he's revealed a tender, delicate sense of accomplishment, he's vulnerable to her contempt, in a way he wouldn't be if he'd stuck to his usual rhetoric of being a useless scoundrel. If you insult yourself first, then anyone else who scorns you just seems derivative and uncreative. ]
All accomplishments [ and he should not overlook the fact that she doesn't contest them ] that make you a valuable member of the Diplomacy division. Things you could continue to contribute without the title. It must be clear by now that leadership requires more.
Edited 2023-04-29 23:17 (UTC)
[ Again, he swallows back a sharp response. It's so damned hard not to feel furious, though. It's so damned hard not to feel ashamed. It makes him feel so fucking crazy - the way he's blamed for others hating him. It's like every conversation he had with a smug Rutyer cousin after he left his father's house, them leveling a look at him and saying things like it makes sense that he threw you out or will you ever stop carrying on? It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to peel the skin off his own face.
(There is, perhaps, a reason he's so sensitive about all of this.)
Instead, he simply says, flatly: ]
Scoutmaster, I hope you do not think that my conflicts with a small subset of the Riftwatch population is representative of my relationships with the majority of the organization's members. I am cordial with most of them.
[ Calm, he tells himself. More levelly: ] But as for your question - No. My intention henceforth is to swallow my bile when it comes up. Poor for my personal constitution, perhaps, but better for the organization's. Does that constitute a solution to carrying on as I have been?
(There is, perhaps, a reason he's so sensitive about all of this.)
Instead, he simply says, flatly: ]
Scoutmaster, I hope you do not think that my conflicts with a small subset of the Riftwatch population is representative of my relationships with the majority of the organization's members. I am cordial with most of them.
[ Calm, he tells himself. More levelly: ] But as for your question - No. My intention henceforth is to swallow my bile when it comes up. Poor for my personal constitution, perhaps, but better for the organization's. Does that constitute a solution to carrying on as I have been?
Edited 2023-04-30 18:14 (UTC)
[He has a problem. It is not a particularly new problem—no, he is quite familiar with the dimensions of this particular issue, even before the inconvenience of having some magic shard of something-or-other crammed into his hand and being whisked away to the least picturesque coastal city of the Free Marches.
Luckily, he also knows a thing or two about solving this particular issue and so has taken it up on himself to do so directly. Step One, forever and always in this situation, is obvious: start at the top, work your way down.
Thus Desidério has been sitting on the top step of the sixth floor stairwell for some length of time which is only immediately distinguishable to him (based on the number of cigarillos left in his silver pocket case), waiting for the correct person to appear. When she does, he straightens, snaps the case closed, and stubs the half smoked cigarillo out on the stone step.]
The Scoutmaster, I presume.
[(He knows.)]
Luckily, he also knows a thing or two about solving this particular issue and so has taken it up on himself to do so directly. Step One, forever and always in this situation, is obvious: start at the top, work your way down.
Thus Desidério has been sitting on the top step of the sixth floor stairwell for some length of time which is only immediately distinguishable to him (based on the number of cigarillos left in his silver pocket case), waiting for the correct person to appear. When she does, he straightens, snaps the case closed, and stubs the half smoked cigarillo out on the stone step.]
The Scoutmaster, I presume.
[(He knows.)]
[ Yseult has a satchel slung over one shoulder and her crystal--strung on one of several narrow chains around her neck--held up to her ear. When Desidério rises at her turning of the corner, she pauses just shy of the landing, holding up a finger. It's only a moment or so before the unintelligbly-soft drone of the voice on the other end of the crystal ceases and she taps the crystal and tucks it back into the open throat of her blouse with a polite smile for his presumed patience. ]
Yes. Serah Amanza, is it?
Yes. Serah Amanza, is it?
[A tip of the head, a turn of the left hand in its wide cuffed glove before he pops open the silver case, stowing the half smoked cigarillo safely away. That's him.]
I've some word on Fabiano.
[That suspect merchant in Hightown rushing to and from and disappearing for days at a time to Maker knows where—it's entirely possibly Desidério had nipped the work off someone else's hands, having sniffed an opportunity to win himself a little leverage for the next thing he says. Which is:]
And I wanted to discuss the possibility of an advance.
I've some word on Fabiano.
[That suspect merchant in Hightown rushing to and from and disappearing for days at a time to Maker knows where—it's entirely possibly Desidério had nipped the work off someone else's hands, having sniffed an opportunity to win himself a little leverage for the next thing he says. Which is:]
And I wanted to discuss the possibility of an advance.
[ Yseult doesn't raise a brow at this request, but there is a brief moment of subtle scrutiny that does not feel particularly impressed. It's over so quickly he might have imagined it, and she is stepping past, gesturing for him to follow her up the stairs. ]
What word?
What word?
[If he notices this minute evidence of having been assessed and found withering, he makes no indication of it. Indeed perhaps this shamelessness is so entirely habitual that he is entirely immune. Less by practice and more by blood, like in that way some families all have men who drop dead at forty or children who can't run without their lungs paining them—a hereditary disease.
Not that any of this particularly matters, of course; the real point being that he rocks up to his feet and falls in at her heel without any sense of abashed apology.]
Do you like the long version or the short version?
[There is always a preference.]
Not that any of this particularly matters, of course; the real point being that he rocks up to his feet and falls in at her heel without any sense of abashed apology.]
Do you like the long version or the short version?
[There is always a preference.]
[Which is a shame. He would have preferred the other one; it would've allowed him to explain some clever fiddly detail or another to shine the whole affair up a bit.
But such is life.]
So I'll skip the mistress. [Clink, clink, goes the ring of his sword's scabbard against its partner belt hook as he and Yseult climb the stair.] He's passing information on a half dozen Hightown families to a Tevinter scout. Possibly the comings and goings of the harbor traffic. But Parman's sticky fingers couldn't nick his notes, so Fabiano may just like taking his lunch in a place where he can look at the boats.
But such is life.]
So I'll skip the mistress. [Clink, clink, goes the ring of his sword's scabbard against its partner belt hook as he and Yseult climb the stair.] He's passing information on a half dozen Hightown families to a Tevinter scout. Possibly the comings and goings of the harbor traffic. But Parman's sticky fingers couldn't nick his notes, so Fabiano may just like taking his lunch in a place where he can look at the boats.
[ Good news: Yseult listens in silence and then says ]
And now the long version.
[ She's already learned a number of things about Desiderio Amanza in half a flight of stairs; adding his assessment of relevant vs. expendable information to the list will make this a very productive climb. ]
And now the long version.
[ She's already learned a number of things about Desiderio Amanza in half a flight of stairs; adding his assessment of relevant vs. expendable information to the list will make this a very productive climb. ]
Edited (you can't have a colon inside a colon that's [some sort of joke]) 2023-10-25 04:02 (UTC)
[He breathes in through his nose. Maybe it's an effect of the stairs, and not a sigh. Tests.]
That Fabiano is frequently away from his business was known. Apparently, this is because he frequently packs up the best of his selection in a case and makes house calls around the squares on the invitation of various rich women who prefer to spend their money personally at home rather than through the proxy of their maids in the market. He gets access to the houses, he sells his luxury hairpins and fine jewelry, and then he goes back to his room and writes his reports.
So I thought to myself, Desidério what do you suppose he is doing with these papers? And what do these papers say? And I suppose I might have waited and watched and followed him out of Kirkwall and spies on him while he made his rendezvous with his contact, but that seemed like a waste of time. After all, hairpins and jewelry do not spontaneously appear. They are not coming up through the harbor, so he must bring his goods in. Any crate coming through the gate is taxed. This is a legitimate business, so there is a lading bill. Where do the shipments come from? Via a trading post east of Kirkwall.
East, I say to Bernard. That's funny. I would have guessed West. That's because you don't know Visellia Kern, he tells me. So yesterday, I took a horse to visit her and she is handsome on top of being a smuggler. I can see why Fabiano might be happy to wrap himself around her little finger, and bring her any papers she asked him to. She supplies him, he supplies her, she passes the papers on to her friend who sees her rewarded in kind.
[The long version.
Not without a very dry humor, despite what is now most definitely legitimate huffing and puffing from a combination of talking and stairs:]
Would you like me to tell you what I think of it, or would you prefer I trot and canter up and down the corridor first so you can check all my other gaits first?
That Fabiano is frequently away from his business was known. Apparently, this is because he frequently packs up the best of his selection in a case and makes house calls around the squares on the invitation of various rich women who prefer to spend their money personally at home rather than through the proxy of their maids in the market. He gets access to the houses, he sells his luxury hairpins and fine jewelry, and then he goes back to his room and writes his reports.
So I thought to myself, Desidério what do you suppose he is doing with these papers? And what do these papers say? And I suppose I might have waited and watched and followed him out of Kirkwall and spies on him while he made his rendezvous with his contact, but that seemed like a waste of time. After all, hairpins and jewelry do not spontaneously appear. They are not coming up through the harbor, so he must bring his goods in. Any crate coming through the gate is taxed. This is a legitimate business, so there is a lading bill. Where do the shipments come from? Via a trading post east of Kirkwall.
East, I say to Bernard. That's funny. I would have guessed West. That's because you don't know Visellia Kern, he tells me. So yesterday, I took a horse to visit her and she is handsome on top of being a smuggler. I can see why Fabiano might be happy to wrap himself around her little finger, and bring her any papers she asked him to. She supplies him, he supplies her, she passes the papers on to her friend who sees her rewarded in kind.
[The long version.
Not without a very dry humor, despite what is now most definitely legitimate huffing and puffing from a combination of talking and stairs:]
Would you like me to tell you what I think of it, or would you prefer I trot and canter up and down the corridor first so you can check all my other gaits first?
Edited 2023-10-25 04:08 (UTC)
Could you manage a canter?
[ Her breathing remains entirely regular, he will see as she casts an arched-brow look across her shoulder. The slightly raised heel of her boot gives her a bare inch on him but she's good at affecting a down-the-nose air. When she pleases, which is only for the moment that deadpan delivery requires and then it's gone, replaced again by something less arch, more focused. She moderates her pace slightly. She would not have missed the stairs. ]
Tell me what you think of it, and who Visellia Kern's friend is.
[ Her breathing remains entirely regular, he will see as she casts an arched-brow look across her shoulder. The slightly raised heel of her boot gives her a bare inch on him but she's good at affecting a down-the-nose air. When she pleases, which is only for the moment that deadpan delivery requires and then it's gone, replaced again by something less arch, more focused. She moderates her pace slightly. She would not have missed the stairs. ]
Tell me what you think of it, and who Visellia Kern's friend is.
Her friend is a Tevinter man called Evis. Ostensibly a Rivaini smuggler who works along the coast, but at a guess I would say Visellia isn't stupid enough to think that's true. Or she's fantastically creative for the sake of a few coins, given that I heard this all from her personally. Which is not impossible.
[As for what he thinks—]
I think we should verify this information. If it's legitimate then we should give Visellia a few more coins and see if she would like to make more copies of Fabiano's reports for us. Or more likely just say hello to Evis and ask him directly why he wants to know so much about the ladies of Hightown.
[What information? Why presumably the information written on the faintly crumpled sheaf of papers he's extracting from inside his coat and offering ahead to her.
They're at the top of the stairs now. He adds,]
I can manage plenty when motivated.
[Which some might say is the problem.]
[As for what he thinks—]
I think we should verify this information. If it's legitimate then we should give Visellia a few more coins and see if she would like to make more copies of Fabiano's reports for us. Or more likely just say hello to Evis and ask him directly why he wants to know so much about the ladies of Hightown.
[What information? Why presumably the information written on the faintly crumpled sheaf of papers he's extracting from inside his coat and offering ahead to her.
They're at the top of the stairs now. He adds,]
I can manage plenty when motivated.
[Which some might say is the problem.]
For a man who has spent such a formidable time at sea, which presumably requires time spent aloft being whipped by the weather, Flint has never particularly been much for walking the ramparts. Arguably, this is a considerable shortcoming as it lends well to an air of dour mystery. But the late fall air has a cold touch in these latitudes, even on days like this one where the skies are fat with the threat of rain rather than dumping down sheets, and there is something to be said about the inconveniences of loitering in the freshening air when one wears his hair shorn close to the scalp.
He's not much for smoking either, but Yseult has what might be called a penchant for both these things, and so:
Flint is set more or less beside her in the sheltering crook of one of the wall's brutish crenals, coat collar turned up and chin tucked low against the neck of his shirt. The wind hardly reaches him there, and neither does much of the watery sunlight.
"Here's a suggestion," he says. "We bolt the entire Research division in the dungeon until they elect one of their own to pledge fealty to."
Is and isn't a joke, in the same way standing here in the wake of Stark's disappearence is and isn't a shock.
He's not much for smoking either, but Yseult has what might be called a penchant for both these things, and so:
Flint is set more or less beside her in the sheltering crook of one of the wall's brutish crenals, coat collar turned up and chin tucked low against the neck of his shirt. The wind hardly reaches him there, and neither does much of the watery sunlight.
"Here's a suggestion," he says. "We bolt the entire Research division in the dungeon until they elect one of their own to pledge fealty to."
Is and isn't a joke, in the same way standing here in the wake of Stark's disappearence is and isn't a shock.
Edited 2023-11-09 04:45 (UTC)
Yseult's smoking is, for the record, largely situational. She smokes when it benefits her to have an excuse to not respond immediately, because she's being cagey or deliberately irritating or is tired or uncertain or angry. The fact that Riftwatch keeps her near-constantly in one of those situations or another is not her fault. The heights and the fresh air though, she loves.
Her collar is turned up, too, the front unbuttoned but held layered closed beneath the cross of her arms, one shoulder pitched against the stone. The edge of her skirt has drifted out beyond the crenel's protection and, catching the breeze, is whipped back to her shins.
"Too great a chance they choose Poppell just to escape," she replies in the same tone. She ought to have another half-joke to add to the pile, that's the cadence of these conversations, but instead she ashes her cigarette, arm stretched behind her to make sure it's neither on their feet nor in the breeze. "How seriously are you considering heading back to sea?"
Her collar is turned up, too, the front unbuttoned but held layered closed beneath the cross of her arms, one shoulder pitched against the stone. The edge of her skirt has drifted out beyond the crenel's protection and, catching the breeze, is whipped back to her shins.
"Too great a chance they choose Poppell just to escape," she replies in the same tone. She ought to have another half-joke to add to the pile, that's the cadence of these conversations, but instead she ashes her cigarette, arm stretched behind her to make sure it's neither on their feet nor in the breeze. "How seriously are you considering heading back to sea?"
"Angling to secure yourself and Darras passage?"
Would make for a better bite of grim wit if he bothered to punctuate it with a sidelong look in her direction, or to hook fractionally more sarcasm off its edge. He can't be fucked with either; instead, chin still tucked low, he idly sets one hand over the other to fuss with a plain silver ring on his smallest finger. Tips his face farther from that nip of wind chill, and says, "Not seriously."
Would make for a better bite of grim wit if he bothered to punctuate it with a sidelong look in her direction, or to hook fractionally more sarcasm off its edge. He can't be fucked with either; instead, chin still tucked low, he idly sets one hand over the other to fuss with a plain silver ring on his smallest finger. Tips his face farther from that nip of wind chill, and says, "Not seriously."
Page 49 of 55