[It's the slow start of something, like the gnawing of teeth across a lower lip, all digging contact with no real bite: there is much he would say were he certain it was his place to. Instead, he lets that fade— a mirror to his own stop-start conversation with Benedict in reverse.]
I will not break agreement with the Head of Diplomacy, Daughter of Denerim. A word given is one that need be kept.
[And ah, to that end, there's more to be said:]
Your tournament, have you yet made progress with its planning?
It's a stupid agreement. [Just saying.] But it's yours. Think saying 'impressed' or 'proud' oughtta do the trick.
A bit. Talked to Thenuviet, after. Seemed right impressed, he did. Might need a bit more elbow grease before he's in the funding mood, but it's comin' along.
I have spoken with Lady Gwenaëlle and Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard. The Lady Alexandrie is willing to spread word throughout Hightown on your behalf, and has inquired about forming a committee in order to ensure the tournament you desire comes fully to fruition.
Oh, fuck me, you had to find the Orlesian Vint and the grand Dame herself, didn't you, 'kinell-... [A progressively more muffled string of expletives follows. Give her a minute.]
[She's granted as much time as she desires; he's there, of course, when she returns— listening just as intently as before, and hardly deaf to the litany she'd just evinced.]
Little. They will cause you no trouble.
[Or at the very least enough benefit to offset that trouble, knowing Jone's thinned tolerance for all things overwrought.]
Lady Alexandrie in particular is taken by the idea of bolstered morale. She believes it holds potential for those combatants who are currently training for the Grand Tourney, and that the attention might do Riftwatch a great deal of good.
Mm. [The reminder draws a soft sound from him, a promise that Jone has indeed guessed correctly, should she recognize his own habitual tell.] She said a great deal more than that.
[Still, if he is to wash his hands in absolution, there is one last matter that need be dealt with:]
Lady Alexandrie also wishes to meet with us both at our next convenience, to discuss the plans you wish to make.
[As companion, as ally, as compatriot— she has kept watch over him during these first tumultuous weeks. Seen fit to shelter him from the worst that might find him. What else could he do to repay such a kindness? If this is grasping at straws in her name, then he’ll gladly do so.
Surely she must know that by now.]
I ought see to the matter of replacing your armor as well. I do not care for how poorly it fares under duress.
I am not without resources of my own. If need be, I will put them to use.
[This, of course, is not a you’re welcome or I’m glad to be with you: he can only offer her the same rigidity she’s come to know so well— brushing past all claims of softness as if she’d never said them.
He thinks it different. The tasks done for someone that matters and those done for a cause itself. Which side of the line she falls on, well, that’s clear enough.]
[That question takes him entirely by surprise, pulling pause from an otherwise unchallenging conversation:] Cruel...?
No.
[And though politeness can often be cutting, she'd wielded no claws at the time. Certainly less than Gwenaëlle.]
Curious, perhaps. But such a thing is hardly unnatural: I'd come to her bearing far too little information to begin with in regards to my own request for assistance.
That'll make life easier. Lot of folk in her position would be, just for a laugh...
[It's why she hadn't gone to d'Asgard in the first place, but saying that now seems... off. He did go out of his way for her, something she's still not sure how to hold in her mind. It's like when he fixed her armor, but that'd been different, his fault. This... it's a gift.]
[A strange one, but she's fond of his strangeness.]
[If only he knew what she’d been thinking at the time, that clever Alexandrie.]
To know what plans had been made already, and to add to that the matter of your own availability.
As I’d done my work beyond the scope of your own efforts, thus had I no true insight to impart.
[It was, admittedly, a misstep. But he is a man given to making those long, long before now, and there’s no shame to be felt in the aftermath for all his callouses.]
[So how does she give back her gift? Not return it, but double it? It feels like the only worthy thing to do, and Jone wants, at that moment, very much to be worthy.]
Better start making plans, then. Have to have a joust and a melee. Maybe a quintain and a pas d'armes... What d'you reckon?
You ask as though I would know better. [There's a recoil in it, his response, as though through the crystal itself she might somehow be shoving at him in her usual, unyielding manner.
Even so, he's writing it down all the same: unfamiliar (and likely misspelled for that fact alone) terms etched down into the margins of Flint's book, just beneath the lines already marked from his exchange with Alexandrie.]
I place faith in your determinations, and would back them in discussion with the Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard. I can offer you no more.
[Dare him, Jone. He can and he— won't in fact, blame you.
Not this time, at least, when he walked figuratively into this conversation knowing full well the sort of trouble he'd be resting soundly in her lap. That fire dies off, snarling instinct settled in a single beat.]
I will look into it, then.
[Another task added to an endless list.]
Will you train with him again as you did, Lord Artemaeus?
Arms Pass. [He repeats, the sounds catching thoughtfully against his tongue.
Something to be considered later.]
I would sit in next time. To watch his progress.
[If the man makes an effort in sporting, it might make for an easy segue into demanding more frequent practice: something he might see to on his own, rather than whittling away hours shut inside a room filled with the smell of spent smoke and charcoal.]
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[It's the slow start of something, like the gnawing of teeth across a lower lip, all digging contact with no real bite: there is much he would say were he certain it was his place to. Instead, he lets that fade— a mirror to his own stop-start conversation with Benedict in reverse.]
I will not break agreement with the Head of Diplomacy, Daughter of Denerim. A word given is one that need be kept.
[And ah, to that end, there's more to be said:]
Your tournament, have you yet made progress with its planning?
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A bit. Talked to Thenuviet, after. Seemed right impressed, he did. Might need a bit more elbow grease before he's in the funding mood, but it's comin' along.
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He will not be your only guarantor.
[Hardly the way he'd intended to broach the topic, but his own bluntness rarely heeds his best intentions.]
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How'd you mean?
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[Tiredly,] What'd you tell 'em?
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Little. They will cause you no trouble.
[Or at the very least enough benefit to offset that trouble, knowing Jone's thinned tolerance for all things overwrought.]
Lady Alexandrie in particular is taken by the idea of bolstered morale. She believes it holds potential for those combatants who are currently training for the Grand Tourney, and that the attention might do Riftwatch a great deal of good.
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Which one said that, Baudin? 'Cos if she did, you cut out the bit where she called you a cunt.
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[Still, if he is to wash his hands in absolution, there is one last matter that need be dealt with:]
Lady Alexandrie also wishes to meet with us both at our next convenience, to discuss the plans you wish to make.
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[She sounds almost relieved at the memory.]
Oh, for fuck- fucking- [deep breath-] Okay. I'll find something impressive to wear. Blimey, Gabranth, you don't do nothing in half-measure.
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Would wearing your armor not simply suffice?
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[Another pause.]
You're putting a fair deal of effort in for this, Gab, seeing as you don't intend to put your hand in.
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[As companion, as ally, as compatriot— she has kept watch over him during these first tumultuous weeks. Seen fit to shelter him from the worst that might find him. What else could he do to repay such a kindness? If this is grasping at straws in her name, then he’ll gladly do so.
Surely she must know that by now.]
I ought see to the matter of replacing your armor as well. I do not care for how poorly it fares under duress.
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[A snort.] It's the best I'm like to own. You're all heart, y'know.
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[This, of course, is not a you’re welcome or I’m glad to be with you: he can only offer her the same rigidity she’s come to know so well— brushing past all claims of softness as if she’d never said them.
He thinks it different. The tasks done for someone that matters and those done for a cause itself. Which side of the line she falls on, well, that’s clear enough.]
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[A pause, thinking once more. This might just become a habit.]
When you spoke with d'Asgard, was she cruel t'you?
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No.
[And though politeness can often be cutting, she'd wielded no claws at the time. Certainly less than Gwenaëlle.]
Curious, perhaps. But such a thing is hardly unnatural: I'd come to her bearing far too little information to begin with in regards to my own request for assistance.
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[It's why she hadn't gone to d'Asgard in the first place, but saying that now seems... off. He did go out of his way for her, something she's still not sure how to hold in her mind. It's like when he fixed her armor, but that'd been different, his fault. This... it's a gift.]
[A strange one, but she's fond of his strangeness.]
[So, for once, she holds her tongue.]
What information was she needing?
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To know what plans had been made already, and to add to that the matter of your own availability.
As I’d done my work beyond the scope of your own efforts, thus had I no true insight to impart.
[It was, admittedly, a misstep. But he is a man given to making those long, long before now, and there’s no shame to be felt in the aftermath for all his callouses.]
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Better start making plans, then. Have to have a joust and a melee. Maybe a quintain and a pas d'armes... What d'you reckon?
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Even so, he's writing it down all the same: unfamiliar (and likely misspelled for that fact alone) terms etched down into the margins of Flint's book, just beneath the lines already marked from his exchange with Alexandrie.]
I place faith in your determinations, and would back them in discussion with the Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard. I can offer you no more.
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Not this time, at least, when he walked figuratively into this conversation knowing full well the sort of trouble he'd be resting soundly in her lap. That fire dies off, snarling instinct settled in a single beat.]
I will look into it, then.
[Another task added to an endless list.]
Will you train with him again as you did, Lord Artemaeus?
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[Just saying.]
Yeah. Not all the time, or he won't learn shite. But sometimes.
And don't worry, luv, I won't waste my time trying to get you to play.
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Something to be considered later.]
I would sit in next time. To watch his progress.
[If the man makes an effort in sporting, it might make for an easy segue into demanding more frequent practice: something he might see to on his own, rather than whittling away hours shut inside a room filled with the smell of spent smoke and charcoal.]
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ignore me
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