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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[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.

[archademode]

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.

[bouchonne]

Why don't you do it?

[archademode]

Me?

[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?

[bouchonne]

Why, I imagine he'd enjoy it. It'd mean something.

[archademode]

...as you will it.

[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.]

[bouchonne]

Have we come to an agreement, then?

[ By's smile is amused and very difficult to parse. ]

[archademode]

[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.]

As much as two such as us might hope for.

[bouchonne]

[ With a laugh - ]

What, that sounds pessimistic. Do you think we'll be at odds?

[archademode]

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.]

[bouchonne]

Nethicite?

[ 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?

[archademode]

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.

[Still, that's beside the point:]

My question stands.

[bouchonne]

[ By shrugs, and replies cheerily: ]

I like dissension.

[archademode]

[The wearied sigh that earns.]

Of this, I am well aware.

[He hasn't forgotten your last assignment, after all.]

I would prefer peace in matters of leadership. Blood is meant for the battlefield, in my experience.

[bouchonne]

What, you've never split a lip or bloodied a nose during combat training?

[archademode]

[There's a noise that catches in the back of his throat there, just barely audible. Something perhaps to do with the burns he'd left Jone with upon their first meeting— kindled temper being what it is.

He dislikes the memory of it, and discards it the moment it arises.]

There is a difference. You seek trouble as a bird to its prey, though your heart is a far softer thing than your talons.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh of surprise. ]

Maker, you don't mince words, do you?

[ Then a shake of his head. ]

Make no mistake, Judge Magister, my heart is a withered and deadened little thing. But a fellow can be hard-hearted and still have a sense of duty. Sharp talons, but jesses and a hood; that's all. I'm flattered by your generous assessment, though.

[ A small shrug. Then: ]

But don't dismiss the importance of diplomatic training, good fellow. Wordplay and swordplay must both be learned.

[archademode]

[He would defy that assessment by way of Benedict’s care— but instead opts to let it lie. No man wishes to be pulled from his own perceptions.]

For Lord Artemaeus, yes.

[For himself? No.

Request debates all you like, Byerly, he’s just going to keep smashing that Jeopardy buzzer and listing the first things that come to mind.]

Now, if you will excuse me, I fear I have little time left to spare. My own work in the name of Commander Flint is far from complete.

[It sucks also, but he’s keeping that part to himself thank you very much.]