[ Bastien has time for, like, half of a cheeky, dimpled grin, before the conversation moves on from slob and into buttering up Stark and the grin disappears. ]
By.
[ Maybe this will earn him an exasperated look, too. Maybe something worse. But his tendency to be (happily) indulgent and cooing has, if not gotten them here, not diverted them from the destination, either.
So. ]
For argument's sake, let's suppose that they gave you the position because they believed you could do it, or hoped that you could, and they have worked with you this long willingly, and even if they don't like you they want you to succeed because they want Riftwatch to succeed, and as we've established and there is no obvious, perfectly-behaved, well-trained replacement waiting in your shadow. Let's assume they are not considering this lightly, and so a light buttering up is not going to solve it.
[ Feet still on the desk. One arm flopped around his own middle, the other holding his water. On the one hand, it's a shame to do this in front of Benedict. On the other, maybe he needed Benedict to be here to motivate him to stay on this side of the desk, clear-eyed.
Maybe a little frustrated, also. ]
You fucked up. You know you fucked up. But you dug in deeper, and when they told you that you fucked up, you—you collapsed, you know? You do that. People criticize you, [ like he's doing now, more than he ever has in the course of their relationship, right in front of a smirky little shithead, but he'll deal with that later, whether that means in thirty seconds or tonight, ] and you say what did you expect or you might as well give up on me or—
[ He gestures. Please just fire me. Other things. ]
And then the conversation isn't about what they are trying to talk to you about. It's about you. And I will wrestle your self-loathing for you every day for the rest of our lives, because I love you and honestly I kind of enjoy it, but other people aren't going to do that. They don't have time. For them it only seems derailing and unproductive and possibly manipulative. I know they are three different flavors of asshole [ affectionate/derogatory ] who all love to be right and it is probably infuriating to deal with, but they need to be able to tell you when they think you are wrong, and you need to be willing to hear them out and have a reasonable conversation about it. You have to have a little faith in them, too, or what the fuck are we doing here? We wouldn't have to run away to an island and ignore the war. There are a thousand other places we could try to make ourselves useful. We could even bring Benedict.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-03-24 03:08 am (UTC)By.
[ Maybe this will earn him an exasperated look, too. Maybe something worse. But his tendency to be (happily) indulgent and cooing has, if not gotten them here, not diverted them from the destination, either.
So. ]
For argument's sake, let's suppose that they gave you the position because they believed you could do it, or hoped that you could, and they have worked with you this long willingly, and even if they don't like you they want you to succeed because they want Riftwatch to succeed, and as we've established and there is no obvious, perfectly-behaved, well-trained replacement waiting in your shadow. Let's assume they are not considering this lightly, and so a light buttering up is not going to solve it.
[ Feet still on the desk. One arm flopped around his own middle, the other holding his water. On the one hand, it's a shame to do this in front of Benedict. On the other, maybe he needed Benedict to be here to motivate him to stay on this side of the desk, clear-eyed.
Maybe a little frustrated, also. ]
You fucked up. You know you fucked up. But you dug in deeper, and when they told you that you fucked up, you—you collapsed, you know? You do that. People criticize you, [ like he's doing now, more than he ever has in the course of their relationship, right in front of a smirky little shithead, but he'll deal with that later, whether that means in thirty seconds or tonight, ] and you say what did you expect or you might as well give up on me or—
[ He gestures. Please just fire me. Other things. ]
And then the conversation isn't about what they are trying to talk to you about. It's about you. And I will wrestle your self-loathing for you every day for the rest of our lives, because I love you and honestly I kind of enjoy it, but other people aren't going to do that. They don't have time. For them it only seems derailing and unproductive and possibly manipulative. I know they are three different flavors of asshole [ affectionate/derogatory ] who all love to be right and it is probably infuriating to deal with, but they need to be able to tell you when they think you are wrong, and you need to be willing to hear them out and have a reasonable conversation about it. You have to have a little faith in them, too, or what the fuck are we doing here? We wouldn't have to run away to an island and ignore the war. There are a thousand other places we could try to make ourselves useful. We could even bring Benedict.