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

[inkindled]

Can't help it. It's cultural, y'know. A heritage.

[saam]

[She laughs.] Gotta hang on to the little things. Me, I'm not big on bitching when there's work to be done, you know?

[inkindled]

Oh, aye? And that's cultural, is it?

[saam]

Where I'm from, yeah. Anybody can say shit. It's the work you do that matters.

[inkindled]

Think that's everywhere. Or it ought to be, at least. Where is it you're from?

[saam]

Yeah, but people like to pretend otherwise.

You ever heard of Kont-aar?

[inkindled]

No. Should I have?

[saam]

Nah. Just where I'm from. Northern coast of Rivain. Qunari-occupied.

And, no, I'm not Qunari. I left the Qun.

[inkindled]

Oh, yeah?

[His imagination instantly sparked--a very tall lady with horns, this is a very tall lady with horns--Matthias gets a little more interested.]

Is that hard to do? Leave? I'd reckon so, just 'cause of, you know. How it is. Like it's everything, right? Why'd you leave?

[saam]

[If only the magic crystals had a selfie setting...]

It's one of those complicated not fun answers, so I'll shorten it for you: Yeah, and because they're all fucked.

[inkindled]

Yeah. Thought as much. Not that I know anything much about 'em, only it's the feeling you get, hearing all about 'em. No offense, which is stupid to say 'cause you left, but I still have to say it.

Stuff's fucked everywhere but it can be less fucked. Something to look for.

[saam]

No, you got it. Why I left. All the pretty words about us making the world better, and we weren't. Why I'm here.

But I'm curious: what've you heard, exactly?

[inkindled]

Well, like-- everyone's sort of a slave, right? And everyone's got one purpose, and you don't get to choose it. So someone'd be all, right my son, we need a fellow to hoe turnips, and then that's just you, forever. Turnip Hoe. And there's no individuality. You're not you. I mean, you're you, but it doesn't matter. No one gives a shit.

[saam]

I think you're the most right about the Qun of anybody I met here.

Only one thing off. No sons. No families.

[inkindled]

[The little glow of pride Matthias feels at getting the most right would be embarrassing to describe. Especially given the context. But he feels it all the same.]

There's turnips, though?

One of the enchanters I knew, before, she was from the Anderfels. Near where the Qunari live there. She told us a bit. Anyway, but there's parents, right? Everyone's born.

[saam]

Yeah, there're turnips.

More like... well, you're assigned to fuck somebody 'til you have kids, because the match'll be good or the blood'll be strong, whatever, and then the kid gets sent to the Tamassran for rearing. Nobody knows who their sires are.

[inkindled]

But it's got to be written down somewhere, right? Lists in a book somewhere. Just to stay organized and make sure kids aren't born with like, six eyes, 'cause their parents were siblings.

[saam]

Yeah, the tamassran-- the people in charge of that shite-- keep it all written down. They're the ones who decides who tups who.

[inkindled]

Right, so logically, then, you could get your hands on that and find out. If you really wanted to know.

Maker, that's a weird profession. All of the jobs're your names, right? So what's it those ones are called. Tamassran, what's that mean. Sex-Deciders?

[saam]

If I really wanted to get reeducated, yeah.

Tamassran is a, uh, a big word for a lot of things. There are tama-haastoh, tama-ben, tama-kaar... it's like your Chantry sisters. Not all of them do the same thing. But tama-imek decide breeding, yeah.

[inkindled]

Mental. I mean, if you think about it, I s'ppose that's like nobles as well. Caring that much about who's with who. It's so much thought about-- you know. Who fucks.

[saam]

Ha! Love to hear you say that to a proper Qunari. Twist 'em into fucking knots. They hate how things go in the South.

[inkindled]

Find me one and I'll say it. I'm not afraid.

[saam]

But then I'd have to talk to one.

[inkindled]

Oh, what, you can't manage three seconds of conversation? Just point at me and say there and I'll start.