diplomacy, gird your loins.

[bouchonne]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Byerly and Eshal.
RECIPIENT: All y'all
NOTES: Blue is Byerly, red is Eshal.

Bonsoir, Riftwatch. I have some dreadful news for you all.

[ Byerly’s voice sounds a bit dry. And characteristically dramatic. ]

My dear comrade and equal, would you like to tell them?

It's not dreadful, get over yourself. Anyway, Diplomacy has two heads, because we're better than the lot of them. Right?

Oh, yes. It’s widely acknowledged as a show of faith to appoint two people to do the job normally done by one. A task given only to truly quality prospects.

Exactly.

[ A sigh. ]

My esteemed self and this esteemed lady have been appointed joint heads of Diplomacy. She, being a decent and righteous soul, has volunteered to hear any and all complaints that might be made about this decision.

Yep. Love to meet the rest of you, honestly. Come by the head office, any time. I'll supply the whiskey.

[ Byerly lifts an eyebrow at her; he’d expected a protest to him volunteering her for that thankless duty. But, well, if she’s willing to be the goat here, let her be the goat. A shrug. That’s it. Meet your new overseers. ]

Comments

[katabasis]

[He laughs. It's a sharp, somewhat cutting and unpleasant sound.]

[saam]

[A loud smooch in answer.]

[katabasis]

[Which is, understandably, an end to the conversation.

For some hours anyway. Later: a knock on the division office's door.]

[saam]

[And there's Eshal, as advertised, with whiskey. She's pawing through a book she can't read, but no one needs to know that.]

It's not locked!

[katabasis]

[The door is summarily opened then closed after him. He's brought his own cup - some stoneware mug with a ragged chip in the rim.]

Have you decided how you're splitting the rooms yet?

[saam]

[She holds up the whiskey when she sees him, her smile brightening.]

Eh. He probably cares about that shit. I don't.

[katabasis]

[I'll bet he does, says the soft noise he makes. He crosses the room slowly, studying its interior before he sets the cup down on the table between them. Much of the furniture Enchanter Amsel had kept seems to have been Riftwatch property. But the bare walls, the traces of dust, and the stale sense of the air all speak to her long absence.]

I don't think I said it earlier. Congratulations.

[saam]

[Eshal cocks her head, smiles, and pours him a drink.] Thank you. Looking forward to working with you.

[She doesn't even say it lasciviously.]

Now. Tell me why everybody hates the fuck out of Byerly Rutyer.

[Manners!]

[katabasis]

Have you spoken to him?

[This, asked over the edge of the cup before. He takes a drink.]

The man has a surgical skill for getting beneath the skin when for half of Riftwatch it might be easily achieved by a child armed with a butter knife.

[saam]

Yeah. I mean, he spent most of the bloody conversation trying to find a way to piss me off, but I figured that was either just me, or... y'know, everybody in this place wasn't so vashedan sensitive.

[An expansive shrug, and then a bit of laughter-]

Guess he doesn't know enough about the Qun for the right words to say. Nice go with the 'oh, she likely hates Vints' bit, and there you are, my fuckin' favorite.

[But he meant Seheron. They both know he meant Seheron.]

[She doesn't want to talk about Seheron.]

[katabasis]

[That's a shame.]

You don't? Hate them. --Present company being excluded, naturally.

[saam]

Not on sight. I learned pretty good that the poor fuckers who end up seeing the fighting aren't the ones to hate, no matter what side you're on.

[katabasis]

[A small, humming sound. He takes another sip of whiskey.]

You fought on Seheron, I take it.

[saam]

Lasted a year before I faked my fucking death.

[A shrug. More whiskey.]

You?

[katabasis]

[It's a long time.]

The Nocen Sea. Since I was a boy.

[saam]

[She clicks her teeth. Nothing you can really say to that. Ship battles are hard-- he knows that. Qunari dreadnoughts are tough-- he knows that.]

Kaaras means navigator. Captain, too. Path-finder, way-steerer. Sounds all poetic, but every word in Qunlat has eight meanings at least.

[She refills his glass.]

[katabasis]

I imagine that makes asking for anything challenging.

[Maybe that's the point.]

How long have you been dead for?

[saam]

Imagine asking questions.

[Wink. Sip. Repeat.]

Almost four years, now.

[katabasis]

[A small, crooked quirk toward a smile. It's both a kinder and crueler type of humor - the sympathetic kind.]

Kept busy?

[saam]

Did merc work long enough to figure out I hated merc work. But, strange as shit, always could fight out just what to say to get people off my back, do what I say...

[She trails off. Flint is smart; he can figure out what she's doing.]

[katabasis]

I'm not asking because I want convincing. [He takes a drink from the chipped cup.] My point is, we've been talking here for less than five minutes and know more about one another than I expect anyone has ever managed to discover about Byerly Rutyer.

[saam]

[A laugh.] You'd be the only one. And I owe you for it.

[She sighs and taps her fingers.] Being an unknown don't mean he can't be worked with. Will make it hard, though. I'll muddle through somehow. Unless he actually tries to block me... [A thought. She rests her chin on her palm, eyes distant.] Probably look bad for the Diplomacy head to black one of his eyes.

[katabasis]

I doubt anyone would fault you for it. [This, muttered into his cup.]

[saam]

I would. Not antaam anymore. [A shrug.] Gotta do better. Leaders're a higher standard.

[katabasis]

[It's the sort of sentiment he approves of, even if the question to logically follow would be what's Riftwatch's idea of a higher standard, really? But before he can suggest punching Rutyer in private where the bruises won't be obvious-- A pivot:]

Speaking of, you'll have half a dozen requests shortly if you haven't received them already and, if Amsel was anything like Coupe, a mountain of paperwork to sift through. But there is a matter you may have some unique insight on, and it seems only right to tell you before you dig it up in an old report.

[He laces his hands round the cup. Done, for the moment, with drinking.]