Which is a problem already, because "My division's nearly all rifters. All the ones with enough tenure to consider."
"They're not bad candidates," she concedes with a grudging note, "It may be the most skilled group of agents we've had in my time here. But they've plenty to learn about the world and it's hard to invest too much in training when they might vanish."
It's a fair point, concedes the slant of his brow and the brief give in the fixture of his attention. But also—
"There's little telling when Corypheus' dragon might fall on the ones that come from here. There's risk either way," is a matter of semantics. It's not like she doesn't know it. They're speaking to the subject directly.
"My point is the work is like everything else. It doesn't change unless you make it change."
The breath she exhales through her nose is a huff of annoyance and grudging concession. She makes a face to match and just for a second as her lips thin she feels sixteen, standing in front of Isak and having to admit the point of a lesson. "I suppose not."
Would a safe pair of hands be enough to absolve her of this responsibility? She has doubts, but there's only one way to find out and it's probably nearer than victory or her fiftieth birthday. Still not near enough not to cost, but maybe that's just what she owes.
Her cigarette has burned down to a nub between her knuckles and she pinches it between fingertips and flicks it into the wind.
It catches him off guard. That much is clear in the flicker of his expression, some slackening and then redoubling about the tension he holds high about the eyes. And a momentary lag in following the direction of the question manifests as the absent motion of his hand where it lays tucked in under the coat against the warmth of his side. Which ring? His hand drawn half free from the shelter of the coat. A glance down that isn't actually necessary to recognize the band, but impulsive. Oh, that one.
It's his, he could say. Which is true enough. He has a small collection of like jewelry and it isn't the only ring he wears consistently. But it's the one without any stone, well scuffed from long wearing. It's the least likely to have been perceived as valuable and pilfered off a corpse's finger. Unlikely to have been acquired with the cash of a pirate haul. Bearing little in the way or ornamentation that might suggest some impulsive acquisition. It's just a slim silver band, one side's face hammered flat. He used to wear it on a different finger. Now it only fits the smallest.
"It was a gift," he says, setting his hand in back against his side with little fanfare. "A woman of some value to me thought I should have it to play the part."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"They're not bad candidates," she concedes with a grudging note, "It may be the most skilled group of agents we've had in my time here. But they've plenty to learn about the world and it's hard to invest too much in training when they might vanish."
no subject
"There's little telling when Corypheus' dragon might fall on the ones that come from here. There's risk either way," is a matter of semantics. It's not like she doesn't know it. They're speaking to the subject directly.
"My point is the work is like everything else. It doesn't change unless you make it change."
no subject
Would a safe pair of hands be enough to absolve her of this responsibility? She has doubts, but there's only one way to find out and it's probably nearer than victory or her fiftieth birthday. Still not near enough not to cost, but maybe that's just what she owes.
Her cigarette has burned down to a nub between her knuckles and she pinches it between fingertips and flicks it into the wind.
"Whose ring is that? The little silver one."
no subject
It's his, he could say. Which is true enough. He has a small collection of like jewelry and it isn't the only ring he wears consistently. But it's the one without any stone, well scuffed from long wearing. It's the least likely to have been perceived as valuable and pilfered off a corpse's finger. Unlikely to have been acquired with the cash of a pirate haul. Bearing little in the way or ornamentation that might suggest some impulsive acquisition. It's just a slim silver band, one side's face hammered flat. He used to wear it on a different finger. Now it only fits the smallest.
"It was a gift," he says, setting his hand in back against his side with little fanfare. "A woman of some value to me thought I should have it to play the part."