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[archademode]

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[archademode]

Too many.

[It hardly fits him, not after an eternity of solitude— not even before that, in his shortened life as a Judge Magister of Archades: he'd benefited from the distance of leadership, the necessity of adopted guises and crueler cast shadows.

Here, now, he simply acts as ally and aide, and it taxes him all the more for it.]

[littlemissfutility]

You don't like talking to people, huh.

[ Still friendly, just a little teasing. ]

[archademode]

[He matches that tone with the barest catch of his own breath; he's well aware of his own shortcomings, if nothing else.]

It has never suited me.

[littlemissfutility]

I dunno. You're doing okay right now.

[archademode]

Distance, I find, makes the matter more palatable.

[A pause, his voice lighter than usual regardless:]

Though if you believe my efforts sufficient, I shudder to think of what contact with mankind you've held previously.

[littlemissfutility]

[ Beth laughs, just a little breath of a sound. ]

Some people like talking even less than you. Especially when you can't get any distance.

[ My friend, Daryl-- is how she wants to go on, but the thought of talking about people she'll never see again makes her chest feel like it's folding in on itself. And talking about Daryl in particular, trying to get across all of him without betraying his trust--it just doesn't seem possible. ]

Maybe you just need practice.

[archademode]

[There is something to be said of old dogs and new tricks. When the will of experience leaves you, little else rises in its place— he cannot claim to have either want or need of practice, he cannot claim to have much at all here, beyond a desire to prove usefulness one last time.

But of course, bright as the spark of her hope seems to be, she need not know this.]

...Perhaps.

Unfortunately I have little time to spare between assigned work and necessary reports. [This? This is how he gracefully declines opportunity for change.]

[littlemissfutility]

...Yeah.

[ A little disappointed--maybe. Just kind of quiet again, that yeah. And then a little silence, and then: ]

What're you working on now?

[archademode]

Reading.

Commander Flint claims he holds little use for a man without hobbies. I disagree, but I've no right to refute his claims, and as such...

[Well, here we are, in essence.]

He has granted me a book, supposedly in the hopes that it might enlighten me.

[littlemissfutility]

Is it good?

[ She's guessing not, considering he's talking to her instead of reading it, but still. ]

[archademode]

I cannot say what constitutes decency or enjoyment here.

[No, he doesn’t like it.]

The matter of willful rebellion is one I am already familiar with— but there is a difference between man against man, and man against the cruelties of gods.

If this is Commander Flint’s viewpoint, I do not share it.

[littlemissfutility]

...Sounds kinda intense.

[ Commander Flint, she knows, is the head of Forces, but beyond that, he's a mystery to her. An intense mystery, now. ]

Maybe you could have a different hobby. What'd you do at home?

[archademode]

Fought.

[littlemissfutility]

That's it?

[archademode]

[What lingers there in the quiet of dead air is a memory he can't bring himself to dislodge. To give voice to.

There was a space for it, once. More. Erased so long ago that it might as well be little more than dust, alongside the life of its people.

He inhales slowly, lets the sound serve as signal.]

That is it.

[littlemissfutility]

[ It sounds lonely. She doesn't say so. ]

You could get a different hobby, if you wanted to. [ That still seems like the safer approach. ] They have a lot to do around here. Once I'm allowed to leave the Gallows, I'm going to the opera.

[archademode]

That sounds—

[Unbearable is the word that comes to mind, but he catches it against the back of his teeth with a low click of his tongue.]

As though it might prove to be a pleasant opportunity for you.

[littlemissfutility]

[ A laugh bursts out of her. ]

You can say it sounds boring.

[archademode]

[He lets out a faint puff of breath, the only thing recognizable across the line.]

Was I so obvious?

[littlemissfutility]

Yeah, a little.

[archademode]

[And here he thought he was being perfectly discreet. Alas.]

If you are set on finding ways to enjoy yourself [he says it like it’s a poor habit, something to do with tone and unmasked discomfort.] I ought bring you to meet with Jone of Denerim and Benedict Artemaeus.

They have been fond of games, as of late.

[littlemissfutility]

[ There's a reason he's not in Diplomacy, let's say. ]

What kind of games?

[archademode]

A children’s game of some sort.

[He hadn't cared enough to ask, and so can only offer up a meager description by way of what he remembers in passing:]

A ball, a divider, two sculls.

[littlemissfutility]

Huh.

[ She's not sure what sculls are, so it's hard to picture. ]

Do you play, too?

[archademode]

No.

[Shocking.]

I care nothing for sport.