contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[bouchonne]

Tell me about the opportunities you imagine.

[archademode]

[He's a blunt instrument, a man who would prefer the simplicity of direction and given orders, rather than any amount of deeper thought. It isn't as if he hadn't needed to devise strategies or discern deeper plots while serving at the Emperor's side— or that of his son's— but that it pulls more from him, those efforts. He's hardly peregrine, only a man with a keen nose and sharper intuition.

Still. He does his best.]

Less talking. Less wine and finery involved in his given assignments, and more grit. His strengths would not be wasted on joint missions where the rest of those gathered make their way by blade, and need only one clever tongue amongst them.

There is merit in it, the absence of thought under press of action at times. It builds instincts, those more inclined to be selfless than selfish.

[The more protective Benedict is of his companions, the better the odds he'll choose in favor of their shared benefit, rather than dreading his own footing. Or so Gabranth thinks, judging by the lesser experiences he'd had in Archades.]

With your permission, I would take him with me for some of my own endeavors.

[bouchonne]

[ He's quiet a moment. Taps his finger lightly against his desk. Finally: ]

My hesitation comes from the fact that the fear that I've seen from the boy is fear of people, not of mortal peril. He flinches away from scolding, from condemnation. I'll grant you true enough that I've not often seen him in life-or-death situations, but my personal thought is - has been - that he ought to build strength against people. That he ought to be exposed to people, and that he ought to learn to resist or to repudiate them.

[ And then, wryly: ] Wine and finery can require grit, as well, you know.

[archademode]

[There's a scoff for that comment, somewhere in the helmet. Were it still off, there'd be a great deal more to unpack.

As it is, he continues on:]

I was harsher on him than any for his slights against me. He bore them, though as you so accurately stated, he did flinch— only just.

And he has moved on.

For all of it I remain at his side. [This, without saying so, isn't something Gabranth does lightly.]

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ He rubs his chin thoughtfully at that. That's good. ]

Then he's gaining a bit of mettle, it seems. When he first came to me, he vacillated widely between defiance and fear. What were the slights in question?

[archademode]

[Oh Byerly, you had to ask. For a long moment, Gabranth is silent. For longer still, in fact, as he exhales thinly through his nose in steeling preparation to deliver his own recount of events in the most distant and unfeeling way possible.]

He disrespectfully dismissed me before the Orlesian nobility when I came to collect him in order to prepare him for the battle ahead. [Slight one.] He then insulted me in private, disregarding my attempts at reinforcing the gravity of what we had been sent to do. [Slight two.

The last takes a beat longer to dislodge:]

...He then struck me in the eye, when I proposed that he dissolve our association if it was so undesired.

[bouchonne]

[ A beat - and then a honk of laughter. ]

He what!

[archademode]

[You had to laugh. You just had to. If his voice could sound any more thinned out and struck through with irritation, well— it'd be a miracle.]

This is hardly a laughing matter, Byerly.

[bouchonne]

It's completely a laughing matter. Him, punching!

[ hee hee hee ]

Were you even able to feel it? I've eaten pease porridge with more bite than the boy.

[archademode]

[If he sounds as though he's dying inside right now, trust that he is.]

...it was not a punch.

[bouchonne]

No? A little slap?

[ He mimes a tiny little slap. Then he crooks his hand into claws and makes a kittenish little scratching gesture. ]

[archademode]

[B Y E R L Y.]

When you typically aim to blind someone, think about the movement you would employ.

[bouchonne]

[ He thinks a moment, lips pursed - and then does an experimental thumb jab. Is this right? ]

[archademode]

[Lifting an index finger, Gabranth offers his own adjustment to that guess.

But yes.]

[bouchonne]

Well, that's just rude.

[archademode]

Indeed.

[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.]

[bouchonne]

Shall I punish him?

[archademode]

A Judge Magister settles his own business.

[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.

[bouchonne]

[ He spreads his fingers in acknowledgment, but says: ]

The boy is under my command. And to strike a fellow soldier in anger is a serious breach of discipline.

[archademode]

Then consider it a favor done in my name, lenience.

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.

[bouchonne]

[ An easy shrug. ]

I suppose that depends on how much injury he did you, and how much you'd done beforehand to rouse his temper.

[archademode]

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:]

As you said, the man is frail in force.

[bouchonne]

I have not found you to be so.

[archademode]

[Well. Aren't you kind, Byerly.]

You are hardly my subordinate.

...or a man so feckless as you once claimed.

[bouchonne]

[ Rude??? ]

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.