Benedict follows his gaze, and curls his fingers to withdraw his hand into the safety of the space below the desk.
"I don't know."
It's a stupid thought-- he's in with them now, isn't he-- but the mere notion of being held against his will again turns his stomach and blurs the edges of his vision.
"Per...perhaps in some diplomatic capacity." It sounds more like a question than an answer.
The sound Laurentius makes—'Hm'—isn't dismissive, just thoughtful. Is there some measure of skepticism contained within it? Absolutely. But surely it would be almost disrespectful not to treat that suggestion with a heavy dose of the stuff. Nobody likes a sycophant.
"Maybe so," is generous. "A little optimism certainly never hurt anyone."
Perhaps one can blame it on the charged, nervous energy this conversation has imbued in Benedict, but he abruptly and irrationally finds himself loathing this man, with his noncommittal hums and his silent but obvious judgment pulsing under the surface. He feels a compulsion to lash out at Laurentius, but stills it with a tight, joyless smile and a nod in the affirmative. A little optimism, yes. That's just the thing that's needed here.
That miserable little smile prompts an answering out out of Laurentius, though his version seems markedly less taut about the edges (save perhaps what is natural given the naturally rather strict arrangement of his face). Then, with a soft pat of an exceptionally long hand to the pocket with the crinkling paper—
"When the Ambassador returns, you'll tell him that I'm at his disposal?"
Laurentius goes so far as to incline his head. It's a small thing, that little nod, and by no means equivalent to the sort of respect a Laetan ought to give the son of a Magister. But then, Laurentius Vesperus is an Imperial Chantry brother first and that would afford him some leeway even in Vyrantium, to say nothing of these far flung southern states where there are no rules and where they are both playing the role of societal cast off.
"Best of luck with the rest of your work," he says. And then, as promptly as he'd first appeared, Laurentius swings for the door and makes his exit.
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The line of Laurentius's eye drops to the gleam of the anchor in Benedict's palm. It isn't subtle; he isn't trying to be.
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"I don't know."
It's a stupid thought-- he's in with them now, isn't he-- but the mere notion of being held against his will again turns his stomach and blurs the edges of his vision.
"Per...perhaps in some diplomatic capacity." It sounds more like a question than an answer.
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"Maybe so," is generous. "A little optimism certainly never hurt anyone."
I thought I replied to this like fifty years ago
He feels a compulsion to lash out at Laurentius, but stills it with a tight, joyless smile and a nod in the affirmative. A little optimism, yes. That's just the thing that's needed here.
relatable tho
"When the Ambassador returns, you'll tell him that I'm at his disposal?"
Re: relatable tho
And he will, even if he'd rather not work with Laurentius closely-- ultimately, that's Byerly's decision to make.
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Laurentius goes so far as to incline his head. It's a small thing, that little nod, and by no means equivalent to the sort of respect a Laetan ought to give the son of a Magister. But then, Laurentius Vesperus is an Imperial Chantry brother first and that would afford him some leeway even in Vyrantium, to say nothing of these far flung southern states where there are no rules and where they are both playing the role of societal cast off.
"Best of luck with the rest of your work," he says. And then, as promptly as he'd first appeared, Laurentius swings for the door and makes his exit.