WHO: Max & Various WHAT: A little catch-all post, mmaybe some open starters to come but I'll edit if so. WHEN: Ambiguously Harvestmere WHERE: Places NOTES: Black Sails spoilers and discussion of slavery in the thread with Silver.
[ There are pieces of Marisol's explanation that feel distant as fantasies to Max — family, inheritance, and birthrights are the stuff of dreams, the sort of foundation that can withstand generations and seems as though it could never be washed away. But the small and jealous creature that envies Marisol that has only ever been a fraction of Max. That smile, that she understands completely. ]
You want what is yours. What you have earned. [ Not, perhaps, the way things are usually earned, through labor, but through suffering and toil all the same, against a world that does not believe she deserves it. Max's hand unfolds across the table and reaches out to touch the other woman's arm, an idle side of a thumb to forearm. ] We have that in common, I think.
[ Rebellions, less so, but she did not miss how Marisol ordered those priorities. Max doesn't draw back as she continues. ]
You have contacts, I have contacts — of different sorts and in different places, I would wager, but perhaps that is precisely what makes us well matched. If our interests are in line, it may be that we could be of great help to one another.
( She is very aware of the contact, and it is— a strange thing. When she is used to being the one who offers contact, makes a game of it. Men are, she finds, so very easy to bend to her will with the indulgences of contact and attention. All the more, when she plays the part of the virtuous Antivan maiden, the forbidden fruit of a mage, an apparent maiden locked away in a Circle Tower, the tantalising thought of bedding the daughter of a very dangerous man. Men made many assumptions, and she could dance the steps all the more easily because it was an objective exercise, with no attraction on her part. People initiating contact with her who aren't her family, or the ultimately innocent flirtations with Petronella (too much friend to ever be lover) are rare.
With all that said, she is not one to be thrown or rendered blushing or swooning by a hand at her arm. It's just unusual. )
Careful. ( Quiet, still. Only for Max to hear. ) Nikos does not believe in any man having rights to wealth or property above any others. We are all equal, and our possessions should reflect equal worth, not one striving to assert themselves over another.
( A playful caution, but a caution all the same. ) He may watch ambition suspiciously. Don't give him cause to doubt you.
( That she is warning Max against Nikos' cause is something she had not anticipated, but there is something kindred in them, she thinks. They are women fighting to carve their place.
Of course, perhaps that is the game Max would play. Perhaps Nikos let on, even accidentally, of his disapproval for Marisol's pretences and manipulations in some areas. That hardly seems likely, though. Nikos is too careful and protective, for that. )
It would be very agreeable, to share common ground. ( She hopes they could be a help to one another. She'll admit that much. ) Am I too forward, to ask your interests?
[ The warning earns a delicate lift of the eyebrow. Interesting, that Marisol would give it at all — but Max does not look particularly worried, either. Nikos can disapprove of her sitting atop gaatlok gold mountain when he has lived through half of what she has to get there. All the same, it would be inconvenient to lose his favor. She dips her chin, acknowledging without showing a single indication she intends to bend.
The question is a good one, however. ]
The Inquisition's success, first and foremost. What that means in the end is different for me than for you, but the tool is the same.
[ But that is only half an answer. Less than half — the tool is not what Marisol asked. For a wavering moment, Max lets that hang suspended between them like she might call it sufficient all the same. The rest is more than she has spoken frankly of for some time, even to Nikos. Her purpose in Kirkwall, the thing that had kept her from being thrown overboard on their way to it, is to present herself as an ally to the more self-evidently useful men she accompanied here. And in some respects, they are of one mind. They want the Venatori scoured from Thedas. They want Nascere freed. But once that is accomplished? What singular vision could they possibly hope to follow then?
But that is precisely why Marisol is not an ally Max is seeking for Flint or Vane or even Silver's benefit; she is an ally Max wants for herself. Against the rest of them, if need be. That calls for a more honest answer. Her lips press together; fingers slide from the other woman's arm, lingering instead beside it. ]
Nikos may have mentioned my position on Nascere. [ That she dealt in information. That she was richer than the Maker. ] What he may not have conveyed is that it was more than just secrets and lucrative businesses arrangements. What I built on that island was a foundation — for commerce, for prosperity, for life that could not flourish anywhere else, and that had hardly had the chance to do so for more than the span of a spent temper before I began managing its affairs. That is what the Venatori took from me.
[ Not that she's bitter. ]
What I did there worked. It will work again. [ And Marisol could have an ally who controls an entire fucking island crucial to trade on the Nocen Sea, instead of just a friend with a few useful contacts. Her expression swings wry. ] There is only the little problem of the world ending, in the meantime.
Edited (casually triples the length of this tag, also makes a million typos don't look at me) 2018-11-01 08:02 (UTC)
( Nikos may have mentioned— Marisol's head tilts very slightly to the side, an acknowledgement. Yes, it would seem Nikos had shared some things, although she doesn't bother with interrupting. It would serve no purpose save to illustrate what Max has already deduced, and frankly what Max herself is offering is far more interesting. Marisol's gaze is sharp, attentive, and her mouth opens very slightly with the barest intake of breath.
Gently, carefully, she catches Max's fingers with her own. Only a loose hold, as she studies Max's hand a moment, before her gaze flickers up to her face. Wonders if the hands are callused from labour, or smooth and soft. Either could tell different stories, grant context to the picture. For a moment she is quiet. )
They took your freedom from you.
( A freedom that she had pulled together, had fought for, Marisol would wager. Freedom that had been built.
She didn't need to know the specifics to imagine it; her mother's family had its fair share of pirates, raiders, and they were a wild, dangerous breed. Defiance and carving out their place was in their blood. )
We've both been robbed, Max, but maybe keeping the world from ending can play its part in taking your Nascere back. ( Her smile is very slight. ) I had harboured a naive hope that Tevinter might offer hope to mages needing a fresh beginning, but I have abandoned such... childish hopes.
( And now, something in the smile turns... bittersweet, maybe. ) What do you think of mages, if you have had such terrible experiences of the Imperium?
[ Freedom isn't a word Max throws around lightly anymore. Once upon a time it was open windows and wind-caught curtains, a boat waiting in the harbor to take them somewhere she hadn't even bothered to imagine because together and away were enough. It was a dream tainted in the losing, a hope she told herself not to hold again without a solid foundation beneath her feet to support it. But Marisol calls that freedom too, and it doesn't feel like a fantasy. It doesn't sound like the sort of empty rabble rousing she grits her teeth at amongst the Walrus men. It sounds like something as solid as Marisol's hand in hers, and she looks for a moment surprised by that thought, by the carefully contained impact of giving this dream the name she hadn't dared to use. To imagine the meaning of the word having a different shape for her than those who use it so casually.
Her hand — smooth as a kept cat's — tightens on Marisol's almost imperceptibly. It makes answering the rest of her question all the more difficult. Max chooses her words carefully. ]
I believe that power, placed in the hands of those inclined toward cruelty, will be used that way. [ She looks at Marisol, and she thinks of Anne, blood wicking up the hem of her skirt and magic still crackling on her skin, fighting the ghosts of men long since dead. ] Being born a mage does not protect you from that. It does not create that. It simply is.
( A very slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, skirting the edges of that. )
Wise words.
( Perhaps careful, rather than honest; aware of who she is speaking to. She might keep the extent of her magical abilities secret from most, but person need only be sensible to have concerns about displeasing the daughter of a Merchant Prince. They are nice to hear, but she knows better than to be too taken in by nice words. Isn't that exactly how she likes to best disarm people?
It is now that one of the staff return with glasses and something for them to drink. She allows him to work to make space, rather than leaning back and releasing Max's hand to make it easier. Perhaps she is curious to see who will let go first, or perhaps she is indulging herself with contact. So long as she remains sensible it hardly matters, does it?
She waits for the waiter to have poured their drinks and depart before speaking. )
In my experience, those who have felt the string of cruelty hold their friends and allies all the more preciously. Trust and loyalty are... very valuable currencies. Those who violate such things?
( A little shake of her head. Presumably things don't go so well for them. )
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You want what is yours. What you have earned. [ Not, perhaps, the way things are usually earned, through labor, but through suffering and toil all the same, against a world that does not believe she deserves it. Max's hand unfolds across the table and reaches out to touch the other woman's arm, an idle side of a thumb to forearm. ] We have that in common, I think.
[ Rebellions, less so, but she did not miss how Marisol ordered those priorities. Max doesn't draw back as she continues. ]
You have contacts, I have contacts — of different sorts and in different places, I would wager, but perhaps that is precisely what makes us well matched. If our interests are in line, it may be that we could be of great help to one another.
no subject
With all that said, she is not one to be thrown or rendered blushing or swooning by a hand at her arm. It's just unusual. )
Careful. ( Quiet, still. Only for Max to hear. ) Nikos does not believe in any man having rights to wealth or property above any others. We are all equal, and our possessions should reflect equal worth, not one striving to assert themselves over another.
( A playful caution, but a caution all the same. ) He may watch ambition suspiciously. Don't give him cause to doubt you.
( That she is warning Max against Nikos' cause is something she had not anticipated, but there is something kindred in them, she thinks. They are women fighting to carve their place.
Of course, perhaps that is the game Max would play. Perhaps Nikos let on, even accidentally, of his disapproval for Marisol's pretences and manipulations in some areas. That hardly seems likely, though. Nikos is too careful and protective, for that. )
It would be very agreeable, to share common ground. ( She hopes they could be a help to one another. She'll admit that much. ) Am I too forward, to ask your interests?
no subject
The question is a good one, however. ]
The Inquisition's success, first and foremost. What that means in the end is different for me than for you, but the tool is the same.
[ But that is only half an answer. Less than half — the tool is not what Marisol asked. For a wavering moment, Max lets that hang suspended between them like she might call it sufficient all the same. The rest is more than she has spoken frankly of for some time, even to Nikos. Her purpose in Kirkwall, the thing that had kept her from being thrown overboard on their way to it, is to present herself as an ally to the more self-evidently useful men she accompanied here. And in some respects, they are of one mind. They want the Venatori scoured from Thedas. They want Nascere freed. But once that is accomplished? What singular vision could they possibly hope to follow then?
But that is precisely why Marisol is not an ally Max is seeking for Flint or Vane or even Silver's benefit; she is an ally Max wants for herself. Against the rest of them, if need be. That calls for a more honest answer. Her lips press together; fingers slide from the other woman's arm, lingering instead beside it. ]
Nikos may have mentioned my position on Nascere. [ That she dealt in information. That she was richer than the Maker. ] What he may not have conveyed is that it was more than just secrets and lucrative businesses arrangements. What I built on that island was a foundation — for commerce, for prosperity, for life that could not flourish anywhere else, and that had hardly had the chance to do so for more than the span of a spent temper before I began managing its affairs. That is what the Venatori took from me.
[ Not that she's bitter. ]
What I did there worked. It will work again. [ And Marisol could have an ally who controls an entire fucking island crucial to trade on the Nocen Sea, instead of just a friend with a few useful contacts. Her expression swings wry. ] There is only the little problem of the world ending, in the meantime.
no subject
Gently, carefully, she catches Max's fingers with her own. Only a loose hold, as she studies Max's hand a moment, before her gaze flickers up to her face. Wonders if the hands are callused from labour, or smooth and soft. Either could tell different stories, grant context to the picture.
For a moment she is quiet. )
They took your freedom from you.
( A freedom that she had pulled together, had fought for, Marisol would wager. Freedom that had been built.
She didn't need to know the specifics to imagine it; her mother's family had its fair share of pirates, raiders, and they were a wild, dangerous breed. Defiance and carving out their place was in their blood. )
We've both been robbed, Max, but maybe keeping the world from ending can play its part in taking your Nascere back. ( Her smile is very slight. ) I had harboured a naive hope that Tevinter might offer hope to mages needing a fresh beginning, but I have abandoned such... childish hopes.
( And now, something in the smile turns... bittersweet, maybe. ) What do you think of mages, if you have had such terrible experiences of the Imperium?
no subject
Her hand — smooth as a kept cat's — tightens on Marisol's almost imperceptibly. It makes answering the rest of her question all the more difficult. Max chooses her words carefully. ]
I believe that power, placed in the hands of those inclined toward cruelty, will be used that way. [ She looks at Marisol, and she thinks of Anne, blood wicking up the hem of her skirt and magic still crackling on her skin, fighting the ghosts of men long since dead. ] Being born a mage does not protect you from that. It does not create that. It simply is.
no subject
Wise words.
( Perhaps careful, rather than honest; aware of who she is speaking to. She might keep the extent of her magical abilities secret from most, but person need only be sensible to have concerns about displeasing the daughter of a Merchant Prince. They are nice to hear, but she knows better than to be too taken in by nice words. Isn't that exactly how she likes to best disarm people?
It is now that one of the staff return with glasses and something for them to drink. She allows him to work to make space, rather than leaning back and releasing Max's hand to make it easier. Perhaps she is curious to see who will let go first, or perhaps she is indulging herself with contact. So long as she remains sensible it hardly matters, does it?
She waits for the waiter to have poured their drinks and depart before speaking. )
In my experience, those who have felt the string of cruelty hold their friends and allies all the more preciously. Trust and loyalty are... very valuable currencies. Those who violate such things?
( A little shake of her head. Presumably things don't go so well for them. )