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

[saam]

That's the spirit.

[She snaps her fingers.]

I think it'll work out. You know how to play their game on their terms. I know the other shit. You can tell me how dumb I am for not knowing which fork goes with which plate.

[bouchonne]

Do you believe that not knowing which fork to use is caused by stupidity?

[saam]

I believe it's something people like to whine about. So why not let 'em enjoy themselves.

[bouchonne]

[ A sip. ]

It is not something you shall hear me complaining about. Not with any sincerity, at least. And if I am sincere, cut my throat.

[saam]

[She laughs.] And leave your wife all alone? She's my favorite part of you.

[bouchonne]

The only tolerable part, it is true.

[saam]

[A smile. She holds out her hand.]

So. You do your job. I do mine. We work this thing together. Yeah?

[bouchonne]

[ He doesn't take it quite yet. Instead: ]

Tell me about yourself.

[saam]

[Shrug.] Rivain. Kont-aar. Parents converted when... fuck, before I can remember. Qunari. Antaam. [She flexes one sizable bicep.] Infantry.

[bouchonne]

[ Dryly: ]

I know several of those words.

[saam]

[She rolls her eyes.] I was big enough that the big grey men with horns let me in the army. I was karasten-- infantry commander.

[bouchonne]

And now you're here.

[saam]

And then I went to Seheron. And now I'm here.

[She gestures, very specifically, to their office.]

[bouchonne]

Why?

[saam]

You fight in Seheron, you don't wanna fight anymore, ever again.

[A deep swig of whiskey-]

So, what's your story? Why's everybody hate you so damn much?

[bouchonne]

Jealousy.

Odd for a woman who doesn't want to fight anymore ever again to set up fighting rings while working for a military organization.

[saam]

You do have a nice-- [she fiddles with her hands over her lip. What's the word in Trade...] mustache.

I don't wanna work for a military organization that throws bodies into a pit of fire to see who'll win. I don't wanna be on the front lines. But I know my uses. You can take part, or choose to be useless.

[bouchonne]

[ He smooths down the mustache in a great pantomime of preening. But, more importantly - ]

We're fighting a war. Isn't that, by definition, throwing bodies into a pit of fire to see who will win?

[saam]

[She laughs, and then his words... she refuses to be sobered.]

There's this thing called strategy. We don't got that many st-soldiers anyway. And if diplomacy-- your style, my style-- works, we send less to do more.

Or you could just keep shooting down everything I say. [A shrug. She's not angry.] Your aim's off, but it's pretty fun to watch.

[bouchonne]

And yet you could have chosen to become a farmer.

[saam]

Would you have preferred if I did?

[A cocked brow. May as well get to the heart of things.]

[bouchonne]

Hardly. It just seems like a much easier way to avoid battle.

[saam]

I'm not- vashedan. I see what it is. You think it's cowardice or something.

I have a- a purpose. I can choose to ignore it, or I can get it done. I'm useless on the front lines, but that doesn't mean my work's over.

[And then a laugh, a return to form.] And I know fuckall about farming.

[bouchonne]

Not a bit. I'd never suspect cowardice.

[ A smile, an enigmatic sip. ]

[saam]

Yeah, yeah. [She gives a shrug, not quite a roll of her eyes. She's starting to get the sense that words are useless with him. That's something she can live with, even if it's odd for a Southerner. In the Qun, everything is action, after all.]

I didn't forget you skipped right the fuck over my questions, by the way. But it's your life. Your business. All I expect from you is to do your job.