I don’t know. Perhaps some of it is indifference. She has been frustrated with you lately, so I’m sure she isn’t approaching everything with an open and generous heart.
But I think she is also—different, than we are. She shares herself easily. I think she expects other people to do it, too. Like—
[ Damn it. Another. ]
—how some people think an open door is an invitation to walk inside and sit down, and others will stand outside waiting to be invited. We need the invitation, but she might think we are the strange ones for standing outside the door.
All of that is fine, I should say. But - [ Well. ] I suppose my mind just always goes back to that moment when she thought I was asking something truly awful of her. How easily she came to that conclusion. And how inevitable it seems that she will find her way there again.
[ He’s already provided the only explanation for that he can think of—that life is hard for women, etc.—so he doesn’t repeat it. ]
The only thing she has said to me about you recently is that she doesn’t think badly of you, and she finds it frustrating that you think badly of yourself, and she hoped if I told you she doesn’t think you’re wretched you might believe it.
I told you that you could. [ He nudges Byerly’s arm with his foot, where it’s still propped on the arm of his chair. ] And you can.
Anyway, she is not only my friend. I am supposed to be training her. I think she might have even told me about—that incident, when she said that about your wife? The first day we agreed to work together. She told me she had said something to upset you and wanted advice on how to repair it, but she didn’t know why or remember what she had said to cause it.
We are working on it. So it is good for me to know.
Did you know she and Alexandrie are the same age? It took me some time—I knew how old both of them were, but it still somehow did not seem to me that it was the same number.
That it is difficult for you to be comfortable with someone again once they have accused you of something awful, that you were telling the truth about your job, that it was significant for you to tell her about it at all and you felt brushed off by her response.
[ He finishes not-quite-all of the hot chocolate—some can be cold chocolate in a few more minutes, also good—and sets it aside to retrieve some already-rolled cigarettes from his desk. ]
She asked me for advice on getting people to talk about themselves more recently. You could be good practice.
I have told her all of that before. [ Well - ] At least the latter two things.
[ But... ]
But I suppose it might come better from you. Don't go out of your way, though. I've no doubt that you've better things to do with your time than wrestling donkeys.
[ Perhaps there will be hats at his birthday, to make sure his is properly appreciated before it falls out of style. But he doesn't explain, because he'll have to confer with the committee, and now he's busy watching the smoke ring ascend until it falls apart. ]
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I think—
I don’t know. Perhaps some of it is indifference. She has been frustrated with you lately, so I’m sure she isn’t approaching everything with an open and generous heart.
But I think she is also—different, than we are. She shares herself easily. I think she expects other people to do it, too. Like—
[ Damn it. Another. ]
—how some people think an open door is an invitation to walk inside and sit down, and others will stand outside waiting to be invited. We need the invitation, but she might think we are the strange ones for standing outside the door.
I am not sure the Dalish even have doors.
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Metaphors.
[ Then a sigh. ]
All of that is fine, I should say. But - [ Well. ] I suppose my mind just always goes back to that moment when she thought I was asking something truly awful of her. How easily she came to that conclusion. And how inevitable it seems that she will find her way there again.
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[ He’s already provided the only explanation for that he can think of—that life is hard for women, etc.—so he doesn’t repeat it. ]
The only thing she has said to me about you recently is that she doesn’t think badly of you, and she finds it frustrating that you think badly of yourself, and she hoped if I told you she doesn’t think you’re wretched you might believe it.
But I know it is not that easy.
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Maker, I'm sorry. I'm just sitting here and speaking badly a friend of yours. At length. A bit of an asshole move.
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Anyway, she is not only my friend. I am supposed to be training her. I think she might have even told me about—that incident, when she said that about your wife? The first day we agreed to work together. She told me she had said something to upset you and wanted advice on how to repair it, but she didn’t know why or remember what she had said to cause it.
We are working on it. So it is good for me to know.
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What, going to teach her to only be hurtful intentionally? I think that'd be a good lesson.
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[ There’s a bit of regret to it, but it’s hard to look rueful when one’s toes are being wiggled. ]
Or if Alexandrie can—we are splitting the task. I was not confident in my ability to teach feminine wiles.
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Did you know she and Alexandrie are the same age? It took me some time—I knew how old both of them were, but it still somehow did not seem to me that it was the same number.
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That can't be right.
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They will both be thirty next year.
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It's absurd.
Anyway. ]
Do you want me to talk to her? I won't say a word if you don't want me to.
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[ He finishes not-quite-all of the hot chocolate—some can be cold chocolate in a few more minutes, also good—and sets it aside to retrieve some already-rolled cigarettes from his desk. ]
She asked me for advice on getting people to talk about themselves more recently. You could be good practice.
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[ But... ]
But I suppose it might come better from you. Don't go out of your way, though. I've no doubt that you've better things to do with your time than wrestling donkeys.
[ He holds out a hand for a cigarette. ]
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[ He hands one over, followed by holding out the convenient and hitherto unmentioned candle already lit on his desk, and belatedly asks: ]
Wrestling donkeys—a Fereldan pastime?
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This is a brand-new, never-before-heard metaphor. Though maybe I could get it started.
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[ They do not seem helpful.
Bastien tries and fails to blow a smoke ring—for lack of recent practice. He might get the next one. ]
Do you still have the hat?
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I do.
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[ Perhaps there will be hats at his birthday, to make sure his is properly appreciated before it falls out of style. But he doesn't explain, because he'll have to confer with the committee, and now he's busy watching the smoke ring ascend until it falls apart. ]
Show-off.
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