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[ By rubs the bridge of his nose. Artemaeus finds his spine at all the wrong fucking times. ]
You're one of us, Artemaeus. A member of Riftwatch. As are they - but they're the ones not acting as such, holding secret meetings and embracing factionalism. Do you disagree with that?
You're one of us, Artemaeus. A member of Riftwatch. As are they - but they're the ones not acting as such, holding secret meetings and embracing factionalism. Do you disagree with that?
I-…
[He can’t, actually, disagree with that. But will Us stay Us if all the mages are put away by force?]
…what are you afraid they’ll do?
[He can’t, actually, disagree with that. But will Us stay Us if all the mages are put away by force?]
…what are you afraid they’ll do?
Well that’s…
[seems dramatic, if not unprecedented.]
They’re part of Riftwatch too. I doubt they’ll burn down their own fortress.
[seems dramatic, if not unprecedented.]
They’re part of Riftwatch too. I doubt they’ll burn down their own fortress.
[The point is made, but being Byerly’s little snitch still doesn’t sit right— not after all this time trying to prove himself trustworthy.]
If the Chantry forces its will, and tries to lock us away. Will you stand for it?
If the Chantry forces its will, and tries to lock us away. Will you stand for it?
[ Maker - This coming from the boy who just a few months ago was sighing about how he doesn’t want to use his magic. Whatever the easiest thing is at any given moment, Artemaeus picks the precise opposite.
The annoyance flickers through Byerly’s expression only a little. His voice remains level as he says: ]
In spite of common misconceptions about me, I have no quarrel with mages. They are members of this organization like any other. And as such, I will endeavor to shield them like any other.
The annoyance flickers through Byerly’s expression only a little. His voice remains level as he says: ]
In spite of common misconceptions about me, I have no quarrel with mages. They are members of this organization like any other. And as such, I will endeavor to shield them like any other.
[At least slightly reassured, Benedict gives a small nod.
It’s been a strange month since returning from Antiva, with the nightmares coming back in force and all they imply— especially for a mage. He’s kept mum about it, and withdrawn. No need to frighten anyone else.]
I’ll tell you if there’s danger threatened toward anyone in Riftwatch.
[His gaze flickers back to his desk, then to Byerly. This is his compromise.]
It’s been a strange month since returning from Antiva, with the nightmares coming back in force and all they imply— especially for a mage. He’s kept mum about it, and withdrawn. No need to frighten anyone else.]
I’ll tell you if there’s danger threatened toward anyone in Riftwatch.
[His gaze flickers back to his desk, then to Byerly. This is his compromise.]
[It’s a tone he knows well. There’s little arguing with it.]
Please don’t ask me to do this, [spoken to his desk.]
Please don’t ask me to do this, [spoken to his desk.]
[ The pleasantry is dropped in favor of clipped brusqueness. ]
At no point have I been asking.
[ It's strange, and disconcerting, when Byerly - normally so dissolute and indirect and wry - turns steely. But he's steely now. ]
Your loyalty is here. To this office. Your sympathies may lie with them, but your loyalty is with me. Do you understand?
At no point have I been asking.
[ It's strange, and disconcerting, when Byerly - normally so dissolute and indirect and wry - turns steely. But he's steely now. ]
Your loyalty is here. To this office. Your sympathies may lie with them, but your loyalty is with me. Do you understand?
[ It's after the truth event, and after Cumberland, when Byerly finally says to Benedict, out of the blue one day in the office - ]
Listen. Artemaeus. I've been wanting to say - I'm sorry about my...rough treatment of you before that meeting of the mages.
Listen. Artemaeus. I've been wanting to say - I'm sorry about my...rough treatment of you before that meeting of the mages.
With half the company having gone running off toward Nevarra, the Gallows has lapsed into an odd state of semi-quiet and skeleton crew assignments. It's the ideal state wherein a man who ordinarily makes a practice of boarding himself up in the library might instead drag all his work out into the sunshine of the Gallows courtyard, or into the little chapel-adhavent garden, or simply to the dining hall—anything for a change of scenery, given the relative quiet he might find wherever he goes.
That is not what Laurentius Vesperus is doing today.
Today, he is standing in the assistant's office designed to head off inquiries exactly like this one being put directly to Byerly:
"I'm interested in joining the division. Tell me what I should know."
That is not what Laurentius Vesperus is doing today.
Today, he is standing in the assistant's office designed to head off inquiries exactly like this one being put directly to Byerly:
"I'm interested in joining the division. Tell me what I should know."
Edited 2022-08-01 04:55 (UTC)
"Hello," Benedict replies flatly, quill in hand as he was mid-stroke when Laurentius arrived and announced himself, "do you have an appointment?"
Laurentius doesn't need an appointment, necessarily, but the only person allowed to stomp in here and start issuing commands is Byerly, and even he gets sass about it occasionally.
Laurentius doesn't need an appointment, necessarily, but the only person allowed to stomp in here and start issuing commands is Byerly, and even he gets sass about it occasionally.
Edited 2022-08-02 03:51 (UTC)
"Do I need one?"
It's a direct question, briskly asked—not impatient, but not exactly knocked back on his heels by the appearance of having committed some manner of scheduling faux pas. It's only afterward that Laurentius flicks a glance about the room, drops his eye to whatever paper it is that Benedict is halfway through scraping his quill across, and then returns at last to the younger man's face with something like expectation written in the heavy line of his brow.
It's not as if there was a queue in the hall, is it?
It's a direct question, briskly asked—not impatient, but not exactly knocked back on his heels by the appearance of having committed some manner of scheduling faux pas. It's only afterward that Laurentius flicks a glance about the room, drops his eye to whatever paper it is that Benedict is halfway through scraping his quill across, and then returns at last to the younger man's face with something like expectation written in the heavy line of his brow.
It's not as if there was a queue in the hall, is it?
[The scratching of Benedict's quill pauses mid-word, and he holds still for a moment, like a rabbit caught in a hawk's gaze. Then, he turns to look behind him, casting a quizzical look at Byerly. An apology?]
If you're going to come barge in here all demanding like that, goes unsaid, Benedict instead taking his time to think about his answer as he finishes penning the sentence. That done, he sets the quill down and leans forward to lace his fingers together delicately, resting his chin atop them.
"Not necessarily," he says, "though it helps to be, you know. A bit diplomatic. When asking for something."
"Not necessarily," he says, "though it helps to be, you know. A bit diplomatic. When asking for something."
[Waiting a beat longer, in case Byerly wants to say more, it quickly becomes clear that he doesn't. Instead, Benedict disrupts the silence.]
There are those concerned that you'd let the Chantry have us, if push came to shove.
[Despite what he says, his own tone isn't accusatory; if anything, it's apologetic, as if to say I know better, but not everyone does. Unless.]
There are those concerned that you'd let the Chantry have us, if push came to shove.
[Despite what he says, his own tone isn't accusatory; if anything, it's apologetic, as if to say I know better, but not everyone does. Unless.]
It's not that the others weren't mentioned. It's thought that Flint might use the rebellion as a smokescreen to achieve his own ends,
[he taps his index fingers together,] but I don't... know what those might be. And it was implied that you might protect me, but not others. If it doesn't serve you.
[he taps his index fingers together,] but I don't... know what those might be. And it was implied that you might protect me, but not others. If it doesn't serve you.
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