[ In this room there is a desk; seated at the desk is a blanket babushka. It’s upright at an odd, leaning angle, lax through the shoulders, with a pen or a quill or whatever people use in this universe bleeding ink out into an otherwise clean scrap of parchment.
The babushka jolts at the thud of Loxley’s supplies, the pen clatters from his fingers, Richard Dickerson’s mug craned bleary and wild-eyed into a look over his shoulder. ]
HHhfh, [ he breathes forcefully out through his teeth, exasperation quick to overtake fight or flight. Rather than chide, he looks to Loxley and his dinner, with a weary glance for the burned out stump of the candle on the desk. What year is it? ]
What's wrong?
Edited (when u rewrote the tag 5 times and its still awkward) Date: 2020-02-16 07:52 am (UTC)
[ This room needs more light, so Loxley's next task is to collect up some candles and light them. There's a glance, though, for Richard and his whole situation -- missing the spilled ink, though -- and the way his jaw is wound taut relaxes a little. Mouth presses into a line. Sorry.
It's with altogether less force that he sets a candle or two on the table in their holders, firelight turning silver-grey more like the bronzey-gold his skin colour had in another world, but only where its light immediately touches. ]
This whole place is so fucked, [ is a laugh, but there is less of the slightly disbelieving, malicious joy that had come out of their last bitch fest, tone keyed down and his posture and gesture absent of ease.
Good thing he doesn't have a tail, anymore, as it'd be slashing about as if to release the tension. ]
[ Grogginess oozes in to fill the void left by adrenaline on its way out; Richard reaches up to drop the hood of his blanket down around his shoulders, and then to rub at his eyes. The added light doesn’t do him any favors. He is drawn and unhappy and still ¾ babushka, with minor shifts and tugs here and there to lend dignity to the drape of his blanket burrito. ]
Rutyer.
[ Wasn’t that already over with?
Dick turns back to the desk proper, folds the blotted paper over, and bookmarks it into his journal. The journal itself, he slots into a drawer. ]
Riftwatch or the entire world? [ he asks, as he slides the drawer shut. ] You’re probably right either way.
Edited (who can do the most edits) Date: 2020-02-16 08:45 am (UTC)
Neither give me very much faith, no. Here, I've brought something to drink.
[ With a last clatter, two cups are sourced and set down near the bottle of ale, and finally, Loxley sits, and stillness and silence once again fill the room. At least for the moment. He'll start fussing with the food soon, breaking it down into components.
For now, he has an arm folded over the back of his chair and the other hand fidgeting along the edge of the table. ]
Fabria had apparently nudged him towards giving me a second chance, whatever that means, given the first go. The Ambassador made contact over the crystals. I'm certain he found me very insolent. Or worse.
[ Richard clears his throat to loosen some of the clag clinging there, half turned in his seat to consider the ale on offer with dead eyes. Eventually, he pushes up out of the chair to cross the room and pour himself a cup.
From the table, he proceeds directly to sit on the side of his cot, ale in tow. ]
None of it matters.
[ Matter-of-fact. He lifts his cup and swallows. ]
Your intentions were admirable. What did you tell him?
[ Loxley pours himself a cup once Richard's served himself, ashy-grey nails tik-tiking against the side of it once he draws it to himself. Not quick to drink it. A sideways look chases after this first remark, but he doesn't comment on it. ]
I questioned him, asked if he wished seriously to discuss the matters I'd raised with him in the first place. Where it began is where he left off, which was to impress upon me how important he is, how disrespectful I am, and how little I matter.
And somewhere in between [ he adds, with more verbal flourish, lifting his cup for his mouth ] was a predictably ridiculous argument about whether a good diplomat should have sat there and taken his shit or not.
[ Dick listens, leaned forward with his cup weighed loose between his knees. It would be very easy to tell Loxley he’s delusional and go to bed. He tries to think instead, invisible chains dragging patience up out of the mud that’s filled his skull. ]
Have you done much reading about, “The Game?”
[ He hasn’t. It’s ludicrous. ]
There’s an entire country built on lying, dealing and backstabbing in a narrative structure that’s a national pastime as much as it is a political process.
[ These people are all insane, he means, and takes a stouter drink of what he’s poured for himself. ]
If you want to help people here, there are ways to do it without having to fellate anyone.
[ Loxley is attentive, at least half-interested in a way separate to the context in which Richard is giving him this information. Like hearing about the unsettlingly violent habits of an exotic species, only it's just lunatic rich people (he assumes).
He almost laughs at this last part, but doesn't quite make it all the way there. Because. What can be said, except Rutyer's a creep. ]
Adventuring? [ he posits. ] What if the other leaders are as abhorrent as this one?
[ He manages just enough lilt to push it from a directive into a questionable suggestion, brows slanted to suggest this is to him a) the obvious answer and b) a tactic he’s already been liberally engaged in. ]
There are doubtless rapers in Kirkwall no one has gotten around to killing. Slavers passing through. I’ve been robbed more times than I can count.
[ Richard drinks, briefly distant at the memory of whatever the most recent pass through Lowtown entailed. ]
What's the worst that could happen?
Edited (oh my god) Date: 2020-02-16 08:20 pm (UTC)
But none that stay fixed or move Loxley to voice them. His look to Richard is a little sidealong, as if to only sneakily check that he isn't being mocked in some way. There all sorts of Villains out there, Loxley, go do something about it.
Richard's known him long enough, now, to sense when an idea has landed. Maybe Loxley innately knows this too, because he says, instead, ]
And you?
[ The chair creaks beneath him as he sits back. ] Would you find such-- an occupation worthwhile?
[ Dickerson meets that sidelong look steady on, tired and sick and tough to read. ]
I’ve been tending to the Grippe-stricken in the city, [ you know, helping people where his true expertise (theoretically) lies, ] but I’m happy to -- [ he shrugs one shoulder, ] ‘assist’ with vigilante justice. [ The if that’s what makes you happy is silent.
He lets eye contact linger a beat before he fades out again, nihilistically confident that Loxley is not a baby bird, and that even if he was, this would be a very small ledge to nudge him off of. ]
You’re offering them the benefit of your experience, not begging for employment.
[ There is a nod of acknowledgment of this first thing, for it makes. Sense? Question mark? A cleric who heals, tending to the sick, makes sense.
Hm.
Loxley's mouth twitches as if he might smile after this second thing, and it's odd how Richard's words ring against the echo of Byerly's. Discordant notes. Eventually, he'll let it go -- likely after an ale-tinged nap -- but for now-- ]
Rutyer would have enjoyed getting offended at that line, [ he says. ] For the best, anyway. If he'd decided to be personable for a minute, I'm sure I would have been in here complaining about every other day trying to work with these people.
Not to be crass, [ says Richard, as he stands to cross back for the table, ] but I don’t even think the natives give a rat’s ass about what offends Rutyer Byerly.
[ He places his cup down on the table’s edge, nods a curt thanks for Loxley bringing it for him, and turns back to his bed. He suppresses a wheezing, croupy cough as he goes, blankets bundled in tight.
Back to bed.
Where he sits in vacant silence, dead in the eyes. ]
Pity the bag of holding didn’t come through, [ he says, barely above a mutter. ] We might finally have had a worthwhile target for our rotten corn.
[ Loxley moves the cup to the centre of the table, a semi-private smile that broadens and shows teeth at this last comment. ]
I appreciate the sentiment, [ he says, a little gallantly, now looking over at Richard. And it's not as though he didn't notice the man's ill-looking manner before, but it strikes him more accurately this time, and his smile dims. Still, carries on with, ] And you just never know when you've a pile of moldering vegetables to find a home for, so.
[ Fingers crossed. ]
I'm sorry, you should be sleeping. I can cede the room if you like.
[ Is it fine? He dismisses concern with a shake of his head, eyes forced back into focus after a slow blink. ]
I’ve slept through worse.
[ Remember that time Loxley ran off to track down a pack of giant hyenas alone because Dick wanted to go back to bed? He leans back to lie down, borrowed (stolen) blankets pulled up from the foot of the cot to layer snug over the nest he’s made. Rustle rustle. On the subject though, he stills, briefly thoughtful before he rolls over to face the other way: ]
Have you had any unusual dreams since we’ve been here?
[ Asking for a friend, from a horizontal position. ]
[ Loxley has polished off most of his drink by the time Richard speaks to him again, half poised to stand up and start putting things way. Perhaps an early night would suit him, once he finishes off the rest of this ale he brought up for two people to get drunk on.
He pauses at the question. ]
No, [ after some brief internal debate about what constitutes an unusual dream. ] Why?
Nothing out of the ordinary, [ says Richard, who’s watched Loxley’s internal debate without intensity. Appropriate for casual interest -- no searching suspicion here. ] Just curious.
And then, the subtle clink and scrape of cups and a bottle of ale being tidied away, and floorboards creaking under otherwise quiet feet.
Pity for his state and thankfulness for his advice is what buys Richard the moment as opposed to a very ineptly made lie. The room darkens as a candle or two are snuffed out, and the cleric is left to sleep his own ailments off as the rogue does the same. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 07:42 am (UTC)The babushka jolts at the thud of Loxley’s supplies, the pen clatters from his fingers, Richard Dickerson’s mug craned bleary and wild-eyed into a look over his shoulder. ]
HHhfh, [ he breathes forcefully out through his teeth, exasperation quick to overtake fight or flight. Rather than chide, he looks to Loxley and his dinner, with a weary glance for the burned out stump of the candle on the desk. What year is it? ]
What's wrong?
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 08:07 am (UTC)[ This room needs more light, so Loxley's next task is to collect up some candles and light them. There's a glance, though, for Richard and his whole situation -- missing the spilled ink, though -- and the way his jaw is wound taut relaxes a little. Mouth presses into a line. Sorry.
It's with altogether less force that he sets a candle or two on the table in their holders, firelight turning silver-grey more like the bronzey-gold his skin colour had in another world, but only where its light immediately touches. ]
This whole place is so fucked, [ is a laugh, but there is less of the slightly disbelieving, malicious joy that had come out of their last bitch fest, tone keyed down and his posture and gesture absent of ease.
Good thing he doesn't have a tail, anymore, as it'd be slashing about as if to release the tension. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 08:44 am (UTC)Rutyer.
[ Wasn’t that already over with?
Dick turns back to the desk proper, folds the blotted paper over, and bookmarks it into his journal. The journal itself, he slots into a drawer. ]
Riftwatch or the entire world? [ he asks, as he slides the drawer shut. ] You’re probably right either way.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 08:55 am (UTC)[ With a last clatter, two cups are sourced and set down near the bottle of ale, and finally, Loxley sits, and stillness and silence once again fill the room. At least for the moment. He'll start fussing with the food soon, breaking it down into components.
For now, he has an arm folded over the back of his chair and the other hand fidgeting along the edge of the table. ]
Fabria had apparently nudged him towards giving me a second chance, whatever that means, given the first go. The Ambassador made contact over the crystals. I'm certain he found me very insolent. Or worse.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 09:07 am (UTC)From the table, he proceeds directly to sit on the side of his cot, ale in tow. ]
None of it matters.
[ Matter-of-fact. He lifts his cup and swallows. ]
Your intentions were admirable. What did you tell him?
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 09:15 am (UTC)I questioned him, asked if he wished seriously to discuss the matters I'd raised with him in the first place. Where it began is where he left off, which was to impress upon me how important he is, how disrespectful I am, and how little I matter.
And somewhere in between [ he adds, with more verbal flourish, lifting his cup for his mouth ] was a predictably ridiculous argument about whether a good diplomat should have sat there and taken his shit or not.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 10:02 am (UTC)Have you done much reading about, “The Game?”
[ He hasn’t. It’s ludicrous. ]
There’s an entire country built on lying, dealing and backstabbing in a narrative structure that’s a national pastime as much as it is a political process.
[ These people are all insane, he means, and takes a stouter drink of what he’s poured for himself. ]
If you want to help people here, there are ways to do it without having to fellate anyone.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 10:22 am (UTC)He almost laughs at this last part, but doesn't quite make it all the way there. Because. What can be said, except Rutyer's a creep. ]
Adventuring? [ he posits. ] What if the other leaders are as abhorrent as this one?
no subject
Date: 2020-02-16 08:18 pm (UTC)[ He manages just enough lilt to push it from a directive into a questionable suggestion, brows slanted to suggest this is to him a) the obvious answer and b) a tactic he’s already been liberally engaged in. ]
There are doubtless rapers in Kirkwall no one has gotten around to killing. Slavers passing through. I’ve been robbed more times than I can count.
[ Richard drinks, briefly distant at the memory of whatever the most recent pass through Lowtown entailed. ]
What's the worst that could happen?
no subject
Date: 2020-02-17 05:15 am (UTC)But none that stay fixed or move Loxley to voice them. His look to Richard is a little sidealong, as if to only sneakily check that he isn't being mocked in some way. There all sorts of Villains out there, Loxley, go do something about it.
Richard's known him long enough, now, to sense when an idea has landed. Maybe Loxley innately knows this too, because he says, instead, ]
And you?
[ The chair creaks beneath him as he sits back. ] Would you find such-- an occupation worthwhile?
no subject
Date: 2020-02-17 06:37 am (UTC)I’ve been tending to the Grippe-stricken in the city, [ you know, helping people where his true expertise (theoretically) lies, ] but I’m happy to -- [ he shrugs one shoulder, ] ‘assist’ with vigilante justice. [ The if that’s what makes you happy is silent.
He lets eye contact linger a beat before he fades out again, nihilistically confident that Loxley is not a baby bird, and that even if he was, this would be a very small ledge to nudge him off of. ]
You’re offering them the benefit of your experience, not begging for employment.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-17 10:59 am (UTC)Hm.
Loxley's mouth twitches as if he might smile after this second thing, and it's odd how Richard's words ring against the echo of Byerly's. Discordant notes. Eventually, he'll let it go -- likely after an ale-tinged nap -- but for now-- ]
Rutyer would have enjoyed getting offended at that line, [ he says. ] For the best, anyway. If he'd decided to be personable for a minute, I'm sure I would have been in here complaining about every other day trying to work with these people.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-21 06:55 am (UTC)[ He places his cup down on the table’s edge, nods a curt thanks for Loxley bringing it for him, and turns back to his bed. He suppresses a wheezing, croupy cough as he goes, blankets bundled in tight.
Back to bed.
Where he sits in vacant silence, dead in the eyes. ]
Pity the bag of holding didn’t come through, [ he says, barely above a mutter. ] We might finally have had a worthwhile target for our rotten corn.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-22 11:50 am (UTC)I appreciate the sentiment, [ he says, a little gallantly, now looking over at Richard. And it's not as though he didn't notice the man's ill-looking manner before, but it strikes him more accurately this time, and his smile dims. Still, carries on with, ] And you just never know when you've a pile of moldering vegetables to find a home for, so.
[ Fingers crossed. ]
I'm sorry, you should be sleeping. I can cede the room if you like.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-24 05:54 am (UTC)[ Is it fine? He dismisses concern with a shake of his head, eyes forced back into focus after a slow blink. ]
I’ve slept through worse.
[ Remember that time Loxley ran off to track down a pack of giant hyenas alone because Dick wanted to go back to bed? He leans back to lie down, borrowed (stolen) blankets pulled up from the foot of the cot to layer snug over the nest he’s made. Rustle rustle. On the subject though, he stills, briefly thoughtful before he rolls over to face the other way: ]
Have you had any unusual dreams since we’ve been here?
[ Asking for a friend, from a horizontal position. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-02-25 07:58 am (UTC)He pauses at the question. ]
No, [ after some brief internal debate about what constitutes an unusual dream. ] Why?
[ He adds more ale to his cup. ]
What've you dreamed?
no subject
Date: 2020-03-01 11:55 pm (UTC)[ He rolls over. ]
Goodnight, Loxley.
no subject
Date: 2020-03-02 09:36 am (UTC)And then, the subtle clink and scrape of cups and a bottle of ale being tidied away, and floorboards creaking under otherwise quiet feet.
Pity for his state and thankfulness for his advice is what buys Richard the moment as opposed to a very ineptly made lie. The room darkens as a candle or two are snuffed out, and the cleric is left to sleep his own ailments off as the rogue does the same. ]