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[ The fact that Bastien does not look away from his book, eyes continuing to pass over the lines rather than turning up to Byerly's face with a smile, is the only sign that he's the least bit anxious about that question.
But a pretty clear one, to someone familiar enough. ]
I was thinking I should write first this time. Even if they can't read it themselves, someone could read it to them. That's more polite than showing up out of nowhere, isn't it?
But a pretty clear one, to someone familiar enough. ]
I was thinking I should write first this time. Even if they can't read it themselves, someone could read it to them. That's more polite than showing up out of nowhere, isn't it?
[ His twitch of a smile is a silent heh. For a moment image of his mother spitting on the cobblestones between her and a passive aggressive Orlesian neighbor replaces the rollicking naval battle in the book— ]
No.
[ —which he does stop reading now, letting it fall back at a lazy angle in his hand while he looks to his other, sandwiched between Byerly’s. By’s hands are long-fingered and fine. His are blunt and solid. So it’s a pretty good sandwich. A respectable amount of filling between two fine pieces of bread. ]
If you say it would only be stalling, I’ll agree to agree.
No.
[ —which he does stop reading now, letting it fall back at a lazy angle in his hand while he looks to his other, sandwiched between Byerly’s. By’s hands are long-fingered and fine. His are blunt and solid. So it’s a pretty good sandwich. A respectable amount of filling between two fine pieces of bread. ]
If you say it would only be stalling, I’ll agree to agree.
[ Within the hand sandwich, Bastien bends and rubs one knuckle up against By's finger. The one with his ring, to make it wiggle. ]
I'm,
[ ready? No. Not the way he likes to be ready, variables accounted for and head clear. But as ready as he's going to get. And there is still Nadine, far away in Gwaren—no quick jaunt, that—and a time approaching when Byerly will have to decide whether or not to stall, too. ]
Could you get away this week? We would have to come back before Monsieur L'Euilled Ouebbre's scribes arrive—we cannot miss them.
I'm,
[ ready? No. Not the way he likes to be ready, variables accounted for and head clear. But as ready as he's going to get. And there is still Nadine, far away in Gwaren—no quick jaunt, that—and a time approaching when Byerly will have to decide whether or not to stall, too. ]
Could you get away this week? We would have to come back before Monsieur L'Euilled Ouebbre's scribes arrive—we cannot miss them.
Yes.
[ What pleasure it is to have that liberty. He can say that - doesn't have to hem or haw or think about compromises. He does not matter like he used to; he can get away this week. ]
We shall ensure we're not overstaying our welcome; that's all.
[ What pleasure it is to have that liberty. He can say that - doesn't have to hem or haw or think about compromises. He does not matter like he used to; he can get away this week. ]
We shall ensure we're not overstaying our welcome; that's all.
Two days.
[ Is that reasonable for the distance on the map. What is the scale of the map. If it took Hawke two weeks to sail from Gwaren to Kirkwall then the maximum possible distance between those points would be like 1,400 miles at most. That would mean Ferelden is similar in height to the continental United States (on average not the high and low points). And in that case the distance between Kirkwall and where we stuck Kaiten is probably not a two day journey. But that’s also assuming the sailing journey was easy and the ship was that fast. Maybe Ferelden is actually the length of Great Britain. I don’t know. Don’t look at me. ]
You could ride with me. Side saddle. In my arms. Cradled the whole way.
[ Regardless of the distance, this is a joke. He would not make his poor little horse carry two adult men all the way up into the mountains. ]
[ Is that reasonable for the distance on the map. What is the scale of the map. If it took Hawke two weeks to sail from Gwaren to Kirkwall then the maximum possible distance between those points would be like 1,400 miles at most. That would mean Ferelden is similar in height to the continental United States (on average not the high and low points). And in that case the distance between Kirkwall and where we stuck Kaiten is probably not a two day journey. But that’s also assuming the sailing journey was easy and the ship was that fast. Maybe Ferelden is actually the length of Great Britain. I don’t know. Don’t look at me. ]
You could ride with me. Side saddle. In my arms. Cradled the whole way.
[ Regardless of the distance, this is a joke. He would not make his poor little horse carry two adult men all the way up into the mountains. ]
[ After this conversation - ]
I think there's something wrong with the lad. Actually wrong. Perhaps even emergency-level wrong.
I think there's something wrong with the lad. Actually wrong. Perhaps even emergency-level wrong.
Edited 2024-02-14 21:14 (UTC)
Not quite that kind of emergency.
[ He frowns to himself. ]
He's acting strangely to the point that - Well, I asked if he was being influenced by blood magic and he hung up on me. Which, obviously that's likely an overstatement, but - Perhaps he's being blackmailed, or yes, perhaps he's been hitting the blood lotus. Who knows.
[ He frowns to himself. ]
He's acting strangely to the point that - Well, I asked if he was being influenced by blood magic and he hung up on me. Which, obviously that's likely an overstatement, but - Perhaps he's being blackmailed, or yes, perhaps he's been hitting the blood lotus. Who knows.
[ Marcus isn't lost—he is simply, on purpose, standing in the doorway of the Diplomacy workroom. This is a good place to go to arrange tactical friendships, but there's still some expectation in his scanning about the room that he might move on quickly if he sees nothing or no one of interest.
But, the place is near empty, and after he steps aside to allow one other Diplomacy member to squeeze by him through the door, only Bastien remains. Good, then. ]
A word?
But, the place is near empty, and after he steps aside to allow one other Diplomacy member to squeeze by him through the door, only Bastien remains. Good, then. ]
A word?
[ Bastien’s first glance up at the darkened door is a who’s that check that turns friendly on recognition, lingers for a second in search of a sign that this is the Captain of the Watch looking for someone or something that is a problem, and returns to his desk with the assumption it’s not anything that concerns him.
But he’s listening and peripherally aware of the moment he becomes the only person left in here for Marcus to have any business with. He is preemptively setting his pen aside before Marcus asks anything.
In answer: ]
Flabbergasted,
[ He likes that one. But his pleased smile about his terrible joke is kept restrained by the knowledge that Marcus does not deserve nonsense and the possibility this may actually be very serious. Maybe someone is dead. ]
But he’s listening and peripherally aware of the moment he becomes the only person left in here for Marcus to have any business with. He is preemptively setting his pen aside before Marcus asks anything.
In answer: ]
Flabbergasted,
[ He likes that one. But his pleased smile about his terrible joke is kept restrained by the knowledge that Marcus does not deserve nonsense and the possibility this may actually be very serious. Maybe someone is dead. ]
[ Momentary confusion is subtle, more pronounced in the pause that follows, its absence when he gets it. No smile, but the next breath out doesn't sound completely irritated, so that's something. And, it's taken as assent.
He steps inside, closes the door that is probably open more often than not. ]
Have you met one of the new rifters? Tav, he goes by.
[ Roams further into the room, a trajectory towards the desk in front of Bastien, where he can half-lean half-sit. ]
He steps inside, closes the door that is probably open more often than not. ]
Have you met one of the new rifters? Tav, he goes by.
[ Roams further into the room, a trajectory towards the desk in front of Bastien, where he can half-lean half-sit. ]
[ Bastien answers the need to look up at Marcus by shifting even more sideways on his crookedly-angled chair than he already was and hooking his arm over the back of it. His smile hasn't gotten any smaller in the absence of a laugh—the absence of outright exasperation is win enough—and it doesn't get smaller now, either. ]
No, not personally.
[ His habitual tab-keeping nosiness has been dampened somewhat by his move out of the Gallows. Or only redirected. Ask him his neighbors' daily schedules. ]
I did hear something about him fainting when he arrived, [ because dampened is not gone, ] and being alarming with the dramatists.
No, not personally.
[ His habitual tab-keeping nosiness has been dampened somewhat by his move out of the Gallows. Or only redirected. Ask him his neighbors' daily schedules. ]
I did hear something about him fainting when he arrived, [ because dampened is not gone, ] and being alarming with the dramatists.
[ A grunt at this last thing. Confirmed. Even relevant.
Posted where he is now, arms folded comfortably, there's a moment spent considering how to go about the request he's passing along, and ultimately deciding on the way he goes about most things; ]
He's confessed to harbouring murderous urges, uncontrollable ones. [ A tip of his head: hence, alarmed dramatists. ] At least, uncontrollable while he sleeps. He claims to master them while awake. He's been forthcoming, expressing desire to keep those around him safe, although it took hearsay for me to approach him first.
[ A pause, here. There is more to say, not the least of which being why this sounds like a work meeting rather than spontaneously trading gossip, but he allows a beat for Bastien to say something should he wish to. ]
Posted where he is now, arms folded comfortably, there's a moment spent considering how to go about the request he's passing along, and ultimately deciding on the way he goes about most things; ]
He's confessed to harbouring murderous urges, uncontrollable ones. [ A tip of his head: hence, alarmed dramatists. ] At least, uncontrollable while he sleeps. He claims to master them while awake. He's been forthcoming, expressing desire to keep those around him safe, although it took hearsay for me to approach him first.
[ A pause, here. There is more to say, not the least of which being why this sounds like a work meeting rather than spontaneously trading gossip, but he allows a beat for Bastien to say something should he wish to. ]
[ There is a moment (uncontrollable ones) where Bastien's eyebrows go up. Another (forthcoming, especially given the implied context of the alarmed dramatists) when they lower so that his eyes can narrow in distantly befuddled thought. ]
He cannot have had these urges for very long,
[ is what he wishes to say, pressing two knuckles to his bottom lip for want of a cigarette to fidget with, ]
if these are his survival instincts.
Or his world is very, very different from ours.
He cannot have had these urges for very long,
[ is what he wishes to say, pressing two knuckles to his bottom lip for want of a cigarette to fidget with, ]
if these are his survival instincts.
Or his world is very, very different from ours.
Perhaps you'll find out.
[ There, the slightest twinge of dry humour, enough to pull at the mouth before he nods to Bastien and says, ]
The Commander has suggested that one or two capable individuals make friendly overtures with the rifter. Not strictly for information gathering, but monitoring. [ Bastien's gesture is too subtle to register or be interpreted as outright request, and so it's purely a subliminal kind of sympathy that has Marcus tuck a hand into his coat pocket. ] He'll be locked in at nights. Posted sentries. Magebane, just for now.
[ The brass cigarette case in hand is clicked open, a brown cigarette extracted, and the rest tilted in offer. ]
If you were willing, a man in that position could use a friend.
[ There, the slightest twinge of dry humour, enough to pull at the mouth before he nods to Bastien and says, ]
The Commander has suggested that one or two capable individuals make friendly overtures with the rifter. Not strictly for information gathering, but monitoring. [ Bastien's gesture is too subtle to register or be interpreted as outright request, and so it's purely a subliminal kind of sympathy that has Marcus tuck a hand into his coat pocket. ] He'll be locked in at nights. Posted sentries. Magebane, just for now.
[ The brass cigarette case in hand is clicked open, a brown cigarette extracted, and the rest tilted in offer. ]
If you were willing, a man in that position could use a friend.
[ When the cigarette case emerges, Bastien reaches into his own pocket to produce the fire-starting runestone—a little taste of magic he has yet to tire of. If Marcus hadn't been in a sharing mood, he still would have offered only to light his.
Now he offers both, and activates the flame a couple times just for fun besides. ]
Of course. Not a problem.
[ An errand barely out of his way. ]
And if there is something to be worried about, I bring it to you?
Now he offers both, and activates the flame a couple times just for fun besides. ]
Of course. Not a problem.
[ An errand barely out of his way. ]
And if there is something to be worried about, I bring it to you?
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