a coworker asks me if i'm sad, still,

[ipseite]

WHO: Flint + Petrana
WHAT: A conversation
WHEN: Current-ish
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Probably fine.

( it is a curious sort of double-vision.

this is not the first time that petrana has found herself, armed with notes and plans, in search of the commander of forces for a forgotten appointment. it is the first time that the commander has been james flint, and not luwenna coupe, and that she had no expectation of said appointment being forgotten—that she had played no role in creative scheduling—

that is a term for it, that shot in their ongoing cold war that had presumably prompted coupe's request for her testimony on the matter of the former commander's fitness for position. it had been petty and unkind and so had most of the things they said to one another, which sits oddly now alongside the tinge of real concern she's conscious of as she makes her way down from flint's empty office to the docks. she has not known him to be tardy or careless; quite the opposite. they had intended, of efficiency, to fold her lessons in tevinter into a briefing regarding certain planned encounters in hightown—there is something thrilling about forcing herself to think in another language for the purpose of something at which she is far more skilled.

but he is absent. so she will try the docks, first, and then perhaps leave a note. she stands out, there, dainty in blue and her blonde hair pulled back with a ribbon at her shoulders. she looks out of place and oblivious to it in sheer purposefulness— )

Commander, ( when she finds him. ) Am I interrupting?

Comments

[ipseite]

You have, as ever, my gratitude.

( she touches his shoulder, once, as she rises; either to steady herself in the doing or to steady him, again, or both. neither, and only a gesture of ease between colleagues who seem to keep secrets for the company and know each other in familiar outlines where shading in more detail would

be unnecessary. ah, they would say. yes, that's so. )

I'll not keep you further, Commander. Thank you.

[katabasis]

Good afternoon, Madame, [he says by way of goodbye rather than outright dismissal, the last word slipping out of Tevene like shucking free from a shell. If there is some pleasure in using the language of a place to discuss how he means to undo it, it isn't an irony he can recognize in this hour.

(Later.)

For a moment after she goes, he will remain as he is - a dark shape in the garden, wound close, and poised to fire in whatever direction seems of most utility. There is some value in that pause, a moment of calculation arranged for by a light hand at the shoulder. He will spend it on his aim, rather than on catching his breath.]