[closed]

[katabasis]

WHO: Silver, Flint
WHAT: Two pirates scouring Kirkwall's bookshops in the service of important diplomacy work.
WHEN: Early Drakonis
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Doing their JOBS.

It is their fourth stop. They've wound their way through the more prominent Hightown booksellers, having worked their way from out of the company of skittish shopkeepers anxiously overseeing the systematic scrutiny of their shelves by two alleged pirates and into the clutches of what can only be described as Kirkwall's most peevish old bat:

"I don't care who you think you are; you can't be here this long without purchasing something," she'd wheezed at them in the cavernous old place, one hand trembling at the head of her cane and the other arm wrapped around a ginger cat with large blinking eyes.

Which is why they now own a collection of romance novels with increasingly unlikely love interests, including but not limited to a Chantry sister and a shapeshifting witch, between them. It's also why they're being left alone now to pick through the labyrinthine shop's back room, wading through unorganized stacks of used titles, and--

Choking on dust, mostly.

"Have you considered simply copying the book instead?" This said into his sleeve while scrubbing a thick layer of grime from one of the room's upper shelves.

Comments

[hornswoggle]

The answer, the truth, is akin to cracking his own apart. For all the trust between them, there are instincts he can't shake. An answer that includes him feels like an impossibility. There are limits to how vulnerable he can allow himself to be, especially now that he's already given over a far more destructive truth to Flint.

If he cannot frame this in terms of the effectiveness of their partnership, of how useful John can be with Flint withholding information, then how does he frame it?

"It's a simple answer, really."

So simple John doesn't know how to speak it aloud.

"I can't tolerate our present circumstances."

Two concise statements, so narrow as to not betray the full scope of John's feelings on their situation.

[katabasis]

He straightens.

There in the shop's dusty, ill-lit back room, the shape of Silver seems somehow folded shut. As if there is very little to study, nothing to look at and find an answer in. He looks anyway, and his attention is bright in the way that burned things sometimes are.

When he does speak, Flint says, "We're not having this conversation here," and dumps the collection of papers back into their box.

[hornswoggle]

The beat of silence is all it takes for John to reconsider. That single slip of armor is enough for a knife. It's a matter of when it will come.

"Alright," he answers.

In this moment, he misses Madi so acutely it's hard to draw breath. He'd slipped with her as well, though he can't recall if that moment had felt like this one. The details are lost to him now.

But he does wonder (if only because it's a tactic he would certainly fall back on) whether the objection to venue is just a way to divert any further discussion altogether.

"Where? A tavern? The Walrus? Your office in the tower?" John's tone is forcibly light as his hand blindly settles on the dusty shelf to his left.

[katabasis]

They are not having this conversation today, is the thing that bubbles up into his mouth. He keeps his teeth around it until it can be turned instead into: "A tavern. Whichever you prefer," as he brushes past him back to the ladder.

There is that lifetime of labor in motion - how promptly he making his ascent and sees the overloaded shelf put right. When next he descends to Silver's level, it's with that slim volume in his possession. Flint pushes it into his hands.

"Pay the woman. I'll see you outside."