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

[bouchonne]

On the contrary, madam. This is vitally important.

[ He lifts his glass to her. ]

You come into an organization you scarcely know anything about and within - what, a month? Two? You decide to nominate yourself to lead it. You are an unknown quantity. For your hubris, I think you are obligated to suffer through being made a known quantity.

[saam]

I agree. [There's a hint of a snarl in her voice.] That's why I told you everything you've asked. Even when I didn't fucking want to. Honesty makes good partnerships. I've done my part. If you want any more, you'll have to return the fucking favor.

[bouchonne]

[ He presses a hand to his chest. ]

I am an open book, madam. You can ask anyone you please about me, and you shall find the answers quite uniform.

[saam]

I know you probably think I'm some big stupid Qunari, but even I know better than to ask other people about someone widely disliked. I want to work with you, not rumors.

[bouchonne]

You look human to me, actually. - But they're hardly rumors. I've been here for over a year. Most people have personal experience with me. And they'll tell you precisely what I am.

[saam]

That's not what Qunari m- [She clenches her fist again. Unclenches. It's a tell, quite obviously. Even she's aware of it.]

Listen. I don't. Fucking. Care. What other people say. I want to hear it from you. Or at least fucking give me a good reason why you can't say shit. You know what's fucking strange, right? You won't say a thing about yourself that isn't an insult.

[bouchonne]

Sometimes there's nothing else to say, my dear.

[ A flip of his hand, a cant of his head. But: very well. If giving her a story will settle her down, then so be it. ]

In the far-far east of Ferelden, out by the sea, there's a blighted and blasted Bannorn called Dragonmount. The Rutyer family have been the Banns of Dragonmount ever since our barbarian ancestors took up the familial cudgel and smashed the first skulls. The Rutyers are almost as randy as they are brutal and mad, and so there are many of us, and as such, my father - youngest son of the prior generation - was penniless, and I grew up penniless. I offended with my fey and wanton ways, et cetera et cetera, was cut off from the familial non-fortune, et cetera et cetera, took shelter during the Blight instead of taking up arms, hence coward, fled to Orlais, so on and so forth, had adventures in low places, and now I am here.

[ He spreads his hands. A lot of information that actually says very little. ]

[saam]

[And yet, that's all she wants. It's not like she didn't leave out a few important details herself. She's very lucky no one's asked why a woman would be in the antaam, yet.]

[So she sits on the floor, slumping forward, hands out.]

All I fucking asked. Thank you, you incorrigible shite. [But it's with a smile.]

[bouchonne]

[ A slight cant of his eyebrow. That was all she wanted? A bit of empty chatter? No questions about what brings a coward to a war, or why would a useless and lazy man wish to be head of diplomacy, or anything at all? It's strange. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Nothing makes him more paranoid than a lack of visible paranoia. ]

How easy you are.

[saam]

We just fucking met each other. I'll see who you really are through the work you do. All that matters, anyway. Words are just words. [She gets up, drinking the rest of her whiskey, before leaning back against the desk.]

[bouchonne]

An odd perspective for the head of diplomacy. You know that this job runs on words, don't you?

[saam]

Oh, I'm sorry. Was any of that supposed to be diplomacy? Because if I'm pretending to be a dignitary here, I'd rather jump out a window than sign a treaty with you.

[bouchonne]

[ A dry look, and a sip. That doesn't merit a response in his eyes. ]

[saam]

Neither of us are trying to be diplomatic with each other. [She turns away, going to a row of books, and blowing some of the dust off them.] I know when words are important. I thought they could be between us. Guess not. So I'll focus on other crap, to measure your worth.

[bouchonne]

My worth.

[ He smiles ironically. ]

Well, you'll find there's none of that. But I look forward to your assessment.

[saam]

[That makes her laugh.]

See? You can be fun. [She wants to ask why does a worthless man nominate himself for anything, but, again, she knows words won't get her anywhere. Better instead to focus on the real.] I look forward to yours. And I really wouldn't mind if you came by the next fight.

[bouchonne]

[ Fun is one of his few virtues. Being fun is the only reason he's lived this long. ]

Why, precisely?

[saam]

[She stills for a moment, thinking it over. Because I'm trying to be fucking friendly doesn't seem like a good way to pull anything out of the fire. Instead, she turns to look over Byerly, thinking for a long moment.]

[If he was a soldier under her command, what would she say?]

Because I've decided to like you. So I'd like you to be there.

[bouchonne]

Decided to like me.

[ His voice curls with irony. He leans back in his chair. ]

Do you likewise decide that snakes don't have venom, and decide that water can't drown you? - Is this some Qunari thing?

[saam]

Decided to like you, in spite of yourself.

[And she laughs, because he's right.]

It- it kind of is. It's what 'asit tal-eb' means, Byerly. Things are the way they are. You can fight against it, or accept it and go with the grain. I fight it. That's why I'm not Qunari anymore.

[bouchonne]

And why you'll die of snakebite sooner rather than later.

[saam]

The snake has venom either way. You can decide to accept that and turn away, or fight it despite that. The Qun thinks the fight is futile. I think a challenge makes things more worthwhile.

[A shrug.]

I really do hope you show up.

[bouchonne]

Why, you should have been born a Fereldan. They like that sort of attitude down there.

[saam]

[She huffs, quiet laughter, and pulls out a book to idly page through. Dust creaks from it, and there are signs of mold from disuse.]

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were saying something nice.