[closed]

[katabasis]

WHO: Leander, Yseult, Flint
WHAT: Slappin' hands
WHEN: Pre-Vinmark? Time is fake.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: No firm tag order; go with your heart.

[So much of this has revolved around the question of timing - actions removed by months and weeks. But summoning Leander back to the Forces division office is very nearly a matter of hours rather than days.

But the desk in the office has been surrendered, its chair occupied not by the Commander but by Riftwatch's Scoutmaster. By contrast, Flint is settled near one of the windows near to hand, hip checked against the ledge and his wrist hooked easily (thoughtlessly) across the dagger in his belt.]

Comments

[katabasis]

[From the margins, there is some small noise - Flint shifting the line of his hip against the corner of the window frame or some absent clink from a ring catching distantly on some other metal. But evidently he has nothing to add on this particular point; he satisfies himself with a faint tip of the head and a flat study of the pair of them.]

[sarcophage]

[Leander has seated himself, as bidden, and while he's been listening, his expression has not changed overmuch. A subtle shift at the mention of the pay adjustment, perhaps—some movement behind the shutter—that one would be hard pressed to describe. His eyes flick from Yseult to Flint and back again.

Still neutral, as though this is any other meeting,]

It all sounds straightforward enough. Will this be a permanent wage reduction?

[katabasis]

Eight months. [This from Flint's post at the window. He is looking at Yseult.] The Seneschal will oversee shorting your pay. If you care to shorten the duration, you're welcome to draw from whatever savings you might have and pay down the debt directly.

[sarcophage]

Whatever would most benefit the infirmary, I suppose. I'll confer with them before making a decision.

[hassaran]

Yes, they'd be in the best position to say. Good. [ Yseult nods, as if to cap off that topic. ]

That's all, if you've no other questions then we won't keep you. We'll inform Lady Asgard shortly, now that we've spoken.

[sarcophage]

Thank you, Scoutmaster. I'll collect my things from the assistant's office at once.

[O to be a fly on the wall when they break this news to the Lady. Alas, he is but an ordinary peon now, and as such, he rises. (Maybe he'll overhear something through the adjoining door.)

By way of leave-taking,]

Captain.

[Any last-minute concerns now that he's stood?]

[katabasis]

That's all.

[As if to say, And let that be that - like it is the period at the end of a long and overwrought sentence, and not the beginning of another one. Flint tips his head toward the door. It's a clear dismissal.]

[sarcophage]

[It's a clear dismissal

and yet,]

I hope so.

[So says his mouth, his timbre, desirous of nothing but an end to this foolishness, relieved that his part in it is complete—a little tight, perhaps, with the smarting of a punishment he did not expect. The final glance he now flicks between the two of them suggests very little but a pause. The secret within that pause:

That will be all when I, not you, decide it to be so.

Minute assertion accomplished, he excuses himself from the room.]