[It would do Benedict no good to be dragged any further through his own misdeeds, as far as Gabranth is concerned.] The matter of his indemnity is seen to. His apologies were sincere.
Had I suspected anything less, I would not be standing here before you now, suing for good faith in his name.
All the more reason to plea grace if so, for I am a man of difficult temperament, and I suffered no injury beyond pride.
[This, perhaps predictably, is said objectively. He's lived too long in his role as Judge, jury, executioner, and so on and so forth to let bias sink its claws into his verdicts unless they relate to his brother which right now they do not, though what chases it is far, far milder in tone:]
The most likely punishment, given what you've said, is scrubbing our facilities. [ Bathroom facilities, obviously, given the way he says that word. ] A bit of grime under his nails may make him keep a rather more civilized hand.
Worry not, my opinion of you will reach the ears of no other.
[Aside from Beth, of course, when he'd told her you were a good man as well. Alas.]
Mm. [It isn't likely to breed resentment, a task like that, he supposes. No more than a little sting, easily moved past.] And what of his recompense for the rest of his work? A job well done needs praise as much as a poor hand begs punishment.
[It seems confusion is, in fact, capable of being read even through the guise of an emotionless mask, if only for how Gabranth’s immediate head tilt paints the image of a hound unsettled.]
I hold no sway in this world. What merit does my own approval afford him?
[Which, in Gabranth speak (something someone who knows him well enough might recognize) means 'I don't understand, but not enough to be stubborn about it and argue'. Punctuated, of course, by the formality of a stiff bowing of his head in acquiescence.]
If there is nothing more, then.
[Or would you like to argue about something else, Byerly? This kind of indulgence is a new one for him, after all, and he's not certain how it's meant to go.]
[That smile— compared to the one he's most used to by way of leadership— might as well be a welcome sight in its familiarity. He isn't certain he's gotten the bargain he'd sought out (in fact, considering Gabranth's less-than-meager skills concerning positive reinforcement, there's no doubt he has not) but it sits close enough within the scope that he's willing to accept it by way of one last, single nod.]
We are as Mist and nethicite in our predilections, is it so difficult to imagine that our difference in opinion might yet lead to more dissension the longer we press on?
[He asks it without inflection, without any amount of frustration or expectation on his part aside from the knowledge that he— bullish and cut from the cloth of certainty— and Byerly— slight and nimble of thought— would likely disagree on the matter of the very air itself if given chance to argue their case.]
[ He purses his lips. It's obviously a metaphor, and he can certainly guess at the meaning, and so he's only really asking this to be a bit of an ass, but: ]
I speak from experience when I say you would not wish it to be.
[There's wryness in it, that voice from inside his grim-wrought helm. Perhaps he's used to it by now, the way Byerly seeks to shift topic with abrupt ease.]
Another Judge Magister sought power by infusing himself with a single fleck of that stone, and I have been told little was left to speak of in the aftermath. It is volatile, that magick. And it chooses whom it favors.
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When you typically aim to blind someone, think about the movement you would employ.
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But yes.]
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[The other guesses remain no less rude either, but Gabranth won't bother to remind him of that fact.]
The matter is dealt with, however. It need not be brought up again.
[Translation: do not bring this up again.]
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[It would do Benedict no good to be dragged any further through his own misdeeds, as far as Gabranth is concerned.] The matter of his indemnity is seen to. His apologies were sincere.
Had I suspected anything less, I would not be standing here before you now, suing for good faith in his name.
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The boy is under my command. And to strike a fellow soldier in anger is a serious breach of discipline.
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I am the offended party, am I not? My stake in this matter must also hold weight.
[A beat, and then, for the sake of respect:]
Still, if you were to punish Lord Artemaeus, I must ask what you would see fit to enforce.
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I suppose that depends on how much injury he did you, and how much you'd done beforehand to rouse his temper.
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[This, perhaps predictably, is said objectively. He's lived too long in his role as Judge, jury, executioner, and so on and so forth to let bias sink its claws into his verdicts
unless they relate to his brother which right now they do not, though what chases it is far, far milder in tone:]As you said, the man is frail in force.
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You are hardly my subordinate.
...or a man so feckless as you once claimed.
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I'm utterly feckless.
[ How dare you. Anyway - ]
The most likely punishment, given what you've said, is scrubbing our facilities. [ Bathroom facilities, obviously, given the way he says that word. ] A bit of grime under his nails may make him keep a rather more civilized hand.
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[Aside from Beth, of course, when he'd told her you were a good man as well. Alas.]
Mm. [It isn't likely to breed resentment, a task like that, he supposes. No more than a little sting, easily moved past.] And what of his recompense for the rest of his work? A job well done needs praise as much as a poor hand begs punishment.
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[It seems confusion is, in fact, capable of being read even through the guise of an emotionless mask, if only for how Gabranth’s immediate head tilt paints the image of a hound unsettled.]
I hold no sway in this world. What merit does my own approval afford him?
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[Which, in Gabranth speak (something someone who knows him well enough might recognize) means 'I don't understand, but not enough to be stubborn about it and argue'. Punctuated, of course, by the formality of a stiff bowing of his head in acquiescence.]
If there is nothing more, then.
[Or would you like to argue about something else, Byerly? This kind of indulgence is a new one for him, after all, and he's not certain how it's meant to go.]
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[ By's smile is amused and very difficult to parse. ]
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As much as two such as us might hope for.
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What, that sounds pessimistic. Do you think we'll be at odds?
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[He asks it without inflection, without any amount of frustration or expectation on his part aside from the knowledge that he— bullish and cut from the cloth of certainty— and Byerly— slight and nimble of thought— would likely disagree on the matter of the very air itself if given chance to argue their case.]
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[ He purses his lips. It's obviously a metaphor, and he can certainly guess at the meaning, and so he's only really asking this to be a bit of an ass, but: ]
What is that, some sort of kidney stone?
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[There's wryness in it, that voice from inside his grim-wrought helm. Perhaps he's used to it by now, the way Byerly seeks to shift topic with abrupt ease.]
Another Judge Magister sought power by infusing himself with a single fleck of that stone, and I have been told little was left to speak of in the aftermath. It is volatile, that magick. And it chooses whom it favors.
[Still, that's beside the point:]
My question stands.
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