[ Byerly's eyes flick up to Bastien, over to Benedict, back to Bastien, down at his desk again. At least no sneer from Artemaeus about how he, personally, by being stupid, has imperiled the boy. Like he doesn't know it. Like he doesn't feel that guilt. Even so, he still looks weighted down - almost physically weighted down, his shoulders stooped, his neck low. ]
Truthfully, I might have been the one to bring up the prospect. I don't fully recall. It was - [ Well. They both know. Emotionally charged. Miserable. A muddle of anger and shame. ] I think I might have suggested it as the extreme extension of what they might do if they were so afraid of the mages' displeasure - make a grand show of firing me, humiliate me to score some points with them. And their response was yes, let's. [ A look up to Bastien. Remembering their trip through that temple, him and Bastien and Josias and Sidony. The way Bastien had looked at him like I know what you're going to offer. ] Perhaps I've become too accustomed to people who are horrified at the idea of someone martyring themselves.
I think it was Flint that jumped on the idea. Which is odd, in retrospect, knowing -
[ Byerly gestures to Bastien, an unspoken indication of what he's shared with him. Knowing that he and Flint are in their strange little alliance. ]
[All his sneering left to the previous day, Benedict, for the moment, only looks concerned; it’s in his prim and proud way, trying not to show weakness, but there’s a flutter of it anyway, here and there.]
Knowing…? [he prompts, speaking for the first time as he looks between them. Whatever’s being referenced, he hasn’t been privy to it.]
[ Wheels are turning. But while they turn, Bastien says, ]
They fucked,
[ with a pleasantly straight face—the same way he would have an straight face if it were a joke requiring a straight face, instead of half true. Also the way he would have a straight face if it were true. It's a multipurpuse expression.
It can be a joke if Byerly wants it to be. Or it can be the secret he would rather Benedict have than the one he actually means. Either way, a minute twitch of Bastien's eyebrows in his direction means lighten up. ]
[ He doesn't want to lighten up. He wants to steep in misery, like a sad little juniper berry floating atop rotgut moonshine that someone's going to pass off someday as gin. He wants to crawl on his belly through shit. ]
He's surprisingly gentle.
[ Is Byerly's semi-sullen contribution to the joke. But it's a contribution. ]
But he likes to be called sir.
[ Then - a breath blown out, a scrub of his fist across his cheek. Lighten up. ]
Flint and I have an informal sort of agreement in areas where our interests align. Around...Using some of the uncertainty of war to try to pull down certain unjust structures. Slavery in the North being a prime example of this, though there are certainly other targets that could be named.
[His attempt to remain inscrutable is disrupted by the horrified fascination crossing Benedict's face at the bluntness with which the statement is made, and it takes him several more of Byerly's sentences to realize he's being had.
Maybe it'll cheer Byerly up a bit more, at least, to see that thought process move from Shocked to Comprehending to Disgusted (by his own gullibility, if nothing else) before Benedict focuses himself back on the task at hand.]
So he has reason to keep you around, [he clarifies. His hand twitches with his own desire to take notes, but this is the sort of conversation best kept off-record.]
Around, [ Bastien says, ] but not in this office, if he thinks he can install another ally here and get what he needs out of Byerly anyway, without the position. Not that threatening to withhold help is a good idea,
[ He swirls his water. He's considering putting his feet on the desk. It is a game, if he can convince these two dramatic doom-cycle-loving men to see it that way: puzzles of motivation and personality, exercises in imagining viewpoints. ]
because anyone with a cause like that wants a true believer. And you would never threaten to withhold his help with something like that over something like this.
No. Truthfully, I was - immediately very anxious about how my removal might impede those plans, and rushed to think of ways in which I could still help even in a reduced position.
[ He grimaces. It's very like a Fereldan to give away his heart so completely, isn't it? ]
Like a complete rube.
But the only one I can imagine he'd be angling to get into that position is Silver. Which Yseult and Stark would never allow. Silver is too obviously Flint's creature; they'd just be doubling the man's weight. [ Well. He amends: ] Increasing by three-quarters or so.
[Byerly calling himself a rube merits himself a knowing and not unfriendly smirk from Benedict: yeah, it’s like that sometimes, try as one might to be above it.]
Even if Commander Flint knows where you stand, [he chimes in carefully,] the other mages don’t.
The mages have not shown a great deal of interest in where anyone stands on anything except their own cause. Which is to be expected. [ Meant for Benedict, mostly, to soften the criticism of this group he half belongs to—mage yes, rebel no—but with a look at Byerly too. Have some sympathy. ] If you are on fire yourself it is hard to worry about putting out your neighbor.
And whether Flint has a replacement for you in mind or not, By, he's clearly willing to entertain the possibility of finding one.
[Benedict cuts in gently, leaning forward to rest his weight on his folded hands atop the folio.]
--if they were to learn where you actually stand, which is to say, where I know you stand, it wouldn't necessarily hurt your cause.
They may not all see by your exact reasoning, [he gestures toward Bastien; what he said,] but there's a chance of lessening how adversarial the conversation is. Saying one stupid thing doesn't define a whole philosophy.
[ Bastien tips his head in agreement. It doesn't. ]
Something to consider.
[ Agreeably. ]
But I'm not sure the mages are the immediate problem. It's the other division heads, no? Let's—
[ Focus, says his little gesture, and he tries to recap what he understands. ]
A meeting with them and with Derrica. [ Who's gained some esteem, with Bastien personally, but still—with the benefit of hindsight, it might have been better for Byerly to give her position to someone who would actually work with him. ] You were going in circles. I imagine it was tense? You made a suggestion that was offensive to her and unappreciated by them. She left. They lay into you, [ with a questioning lilt; that could mean a few things. ] And you said they could have used your misstep to score points with her and the others, and that they could score even more by removing you. They said perhaps they ought to do that. Yeah?
[ A pause, before he decides there's no way to be as gentle as he'd like to be without doing everyone a disservice and plows ahead with what he has. ]
I know it's fucking miserable to be in a room full of people who are angry with you, [ or he'd guess, anyway, having shaped his entire personality from childhood on to avoid ever actually experiencing that situation, ] but answering their concerns with fire me if you can might have sounded a lot like if you do not like my cooking, go eat with the pigs.
[ This is, to Bastien, a bit hasty and backwards—rushing to nail down potential solutions without working out exactly what the issue is, exactly why Flint (somewhat of an ally) and Yseult (certainly not the mages' ally, if also certainly not Byerly's) and Tony (almost a bandmate) would be united in a decision to oust him. Too hasty to write off the usefulness of an apology, too.
But that's alright. None of them are going anywhere. They don't have to go in order.
[ That's said to Bastien with full, warm affection. Byerly apparently approves of the disrespect, even in the midst of his ongoing tantrum.
Then, to Benedict's question: ]
I don't know. Not...gifts, or anything of the sort. Again, that would just seem to be weaseling. [ By's quiet a moment, then says - ] I wonder if I could ask for something from Stark. He seems to enjoy tinkering. And it is a bit of a truism that, to earn someone's loyalty, it's more effective to ask for a favor than to grant one.
[The ‘really?’ is clear on Benedict’s face even if he doesn’t ask it aloud. Clearly there’s still a lot he has to learn about how normal people conduct business.]
[ 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.
[ Bastien has never spoken to him like this before. Not even when they were fighting. Byerly feels naked, and humiliated - in front of fucking Artemaeus, who's probably just going to smirk at him and take pleasure in seeing it. And Byerly's mind immediately says, He hates you, and He thinks you're stupid, he thinks you're worthless, the man who knows your heart better than any others and he thinks you're worthless -
He thinks about his mother. For some reason, in that moment, he thinks about his mother. Who, as their finances dwindled and the house rotted and her children got hungrier and hungrier, simply found her bed, and crawled into it, and became a living corpse.
His jaw tightens so hard that his teeth creak. He wants to hurl himself at the liquor cabinet. But he tells himself: Bastien always runs. When he gives up, he runs. He doesn't say cruel things; he just fades away to nothing. This is hard for him, too. ]
All right.
[ His voice is low, and a little strangled. And then he says: ]
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Truthfully, I might have been the one to bring up the prospect. I don't fully recall. It was - [ Well. They both know. Emotionally charged. Miserable. A muddle of anger and shame. ] I think I might have suggested it as the extreme extension of what they might do if they were so afraid of the mages' displeasure - make a grand show of firing me, humiliate me to score some points with them. And their response was yes, let's. [ A look up to Bastien. Remembering their trip through that temple, him and Bastien and Josias and Sidony. The way Bastien had looked at him like I know what you're going to offer. ] Perhaps I've become too accustomed to people who are horrified at the idea of someone martyring themselves.
I think it was Flint that jumped on the idea. Which is odd, in retrospect, knowing -
[ Byerly gestures to Bastien, an unspoken indication of what he's shared with him. Knowing that he and Flint are in their strange little alliance. ]
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Knowing…? [he prompts, speaking for the first time as he looks between them. Whatever’s being referenced, he hasn’t been privy to it.]
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They fucked,
[ with a pleasantly straight face—the same way he would have an straight face if it were a joke requiring a straight face, instead of half true. Also the way he would have a straight face if it were true. It's a multipurpuse expression.
It can be a joke if Byerly wants it to be. Or it can be the secret he would rather Benedict have than the one he actually means. Either way, a minute twitch of Bastien's eyebrows in his direction means lighten up. ]
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He's surprisingly gentle.
[ Is Byerly's semi-sullen contribution to the joke. But it's a contribution. ]
But he likes to be called sir.
[ Then - a breath blown out, a scrub of his fist across his cheek. Lighten up. ]
Flint and I have an informal sort of agreement in areas where our interests align. Around...Using some of the uncertainty of war to try to pull down certain unjust structures. Slavery in the North being a prime example of this, though there are certainly other targets that could be named.
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Maybe it'll cheer Byerly up a bit more, at least, to see that thought process move from Shocked to Comprehending to Disgusted (by his own gullibility, if nothing else) before Benedict focuses himself back on the task at hand.]
So he has reason to keep you around, [he clarifies. His hand twitches with his own desire to take notes, but this is the sort of conversation best kept off-record.]
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[ He swirls his water. He's considering putting his feet on the desk. It is a game, if he can convince these two dramatic doom-cycle-loving men to see it that way: puzzles of motivation and personality, exercises in imagining viewpoints. ]
because anyone with a cause like that wants a true believer. And you would never threaten to withhold his help with something like that over something like this.
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No. Truthfully, I was - immediately very anxious about how my removal might impede those plans, and rushed to think of ways in which I could still help even in a reduced position.
[ He grimaces. It's very like a Fereldan to give away his heart so completely, isn't it? ]
Like a complete rube.
But the only one I can imagine he'd be angling to get into that position is Silver. Which Yseult and Stark would never allow. Silver is too obviously Flint's creature; they'd just be doubling the man's weight. [ Well. He amends: ] Increasing by three-quarters or so.
[ Ha ha ha funny amputation joke. ]
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Even if Commander Flint knows where you stand, [he chimes in carefully,] the other mages don’t.
your**** help
And whether Flint has a replacement for you in mind or not, By, he's clearly willing to entertain the possibility of finding one.
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So the one person who might be rather ally-like is nothing of the sort.
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[Benedict cuts in gently, leaning forward to rest his weight on his folded hands atop the folio.]
--if they were to learn where you actually stand, which is to say, where I know you stand, it wouldn't necessarily hurt your cause.
They may not all see by your exact reasoning, [he gestures toward Bastien; what he said,] but there's a chance of lessening how adversarial the conversation is. Saying one stupid thing doesn't define a whole philosophy.
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Something to consider.
[ Agreeably. ]
But I'm not sure the mages are the immediate problem. It's the other division heads, no? Let's—
[ Focus, says his little gesture, and he tries to recap what he understands. ]
A meeting with them and with Derrica. [ Who's gained some esteem, with Bastien personally, but still—with the benefit of hindsight, it might have been better for Byerly to give her position to someone who would actually work with him. ] You were going in circles. I imagine it was tense? You made a suggestion that was offensive to her and unappreciated by them. She left. They lay into you, [ with a questioning lilt; that could mean a few things. ] And you said they could have used your misstep to score points with her and the others, and that they could score even more by removing you. They said perhaps they ought to do that. Yeah?
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That is - the general shape of it, yes.
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He falls back to listening instead, scanning the headings of the documents he’s compiled.]
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I know it's fucking miserable to be in a room full of people who are angry with you, [ or he'd guess, anyway, having shaped his entire personality from childhood on to avoid ever actually experiencing that situation, ] but answering their concerns with fire me if you can might have sounded a lot like if you do not like my cooking, go eat with the pigs.
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I know. I'm not proud of having said it.
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They wouldn't give a damn if I apologized to them. They'd decide I was just - trying to weasel out of consequences.
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But that's alright. None of them are going anywhere. They don't have to go in order.
He puts his feet on the desk, after all. ]
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[ That's said to Bastien with full, warm affection. Byerly apparently approves of the disrespect, even in the midst of his ongoing tantrum.
Then, to Benedict's question: ]
I don't know. Not...gifts, or anything of the sort. Again, that would just seem to be weaseling. [ By's quiet a moment, then says - ] I wonder if I could ask for something from Stark. He seems to enjoy tinkering. And it is a bit of a truism that, to earn someone's loyalty, it's more effective to ask for a favor than to grant one.
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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.
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[ Bastien has never spoken to him like this before. Not even when they were fighting. Byerly feels naked, and humiliated - in front of fucking Artemaeus, who's probably just going to smirk at him and take pleasure in seeing it. And Byerly's mind immediately says, He hates you, and He thinks you're stupid, he thinks you're worthless, the man who knows your heart better than any others and he thinks you're worthless -
He thinks about his mother. For some reason, in that moment, he thinks about his mother. Who, as their finances dwindled and the house rotted and her children got hungrier and hungrier, simply found her bed, and crawled into it, and became a living corpse.
His jaw tightens so hard that his teeth creak. He wants to hurl himself at the liquor cabinet. But he tells himself: Bastien always runs. When he gives up, he runs. He doesn't say cruel things; he just fades away to nothing. This is hard for him, too. ]
All right.
[ His voice is low, and a little strangled. And then he says: ]
So what do I do with that?
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u can skip me for a bit, just assume he’s listening/processing
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stung** dangit
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