faderift | A Matter of Reputation

"Everything published during a war is about the war, Serah." Mhavos says placidly, "we know what we want to say: elves have a place in organizations helping the war. Look at this elf, who has done so. We want to know if there is something you do not wish to be said about such organizations. Accordingly, we are asking you what you would not wish to tell these people."

By's eyes flick over to Mhavos. His voice, abruptly, becomes quite pleasant, which Athessa will, of course, recognize means that he's quite annoyed.

"My thanks, good man," he replies warmly. "I'd lost track of why you were here."

Then his eyes come back to Athessa, and he loses that false warmth to speak more frankly. The annoyance certainly is not directed at her.

"You can publish this without my permission," he says. "I don't have chains on every printing press in Kirkwall. Or you can bring me into the process. But I can't precisely anticipate what might be said that I'd object to until it's been said. I'm nearly all-knowing and all-seeing, but I'm not quite there yet." A shrug. "Let me review the final version, or tell me to fuck off."

Even without it being directed at her, Athessa still tenses slightly at that overly genial tone of voice.

“You’ll get to review anything before we go publishing leaflets to drop from a griffon or something,” she says, “But any changes have to be discussed first, and made by Mhavos. You know that I trust you, but especially when it comes to crediting the work, even anonymously, there are undoubtedly things you might say that don’t sound like things an elf would. It might fuck with the, I dunno, authenticity, or something.”

There’s nothing for it, she has to sit with her legs criss-crossed, sitting semi-normally is too much pressure to perform.

“I don’t expect you to predict whatever we might write that’d be disagreeable, but you can give your opinion, which is what I wanna hear. Whether you think it’s a good idea. Whether you think it’d rub the wrong people the wrong way, if the benefit of endearing ourselves to ten thousand Royan elves with access to people’s drawers outweighs the risk of piss off a few masks in Orlais.”

Mhavos has no idea what Byerly's shift in tone means, he only knows the words weren't kind, and if that's the worst thing that happens today, everyone will be just fine. Again, he sits in silence, another nod, because why argue with a noble? Athessa is doing what she must, and that is fine, but two uppity elves do not help their case.

"What a leading question, dear Athessa," he says a little dryly, but there are no teeth to it. Then he says, "If you want to know what I think: I think that said Orlesian masks will not turn their attention to such a tract. It might be read in some of the more liberal salons, but said salons would already have pre-formed opinions about elven rights, in favor. Those against it would dismiss it out of hand for coming from an elf."

A breath out, and he drums his fingers on the table. "As for the benefits...First, I think you are likely setting your expectations a bit too high. Twenty thousand eyeballs is dreadfully ambitious. In my experience, tracts are transient and quickly trampled into the mud, especially if they don't even have dirty pictures in them. Though I'm certainly no judge of elvish matters. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone with less of a sense of the needs of your people, I fear."

To the lofty expectations, she shrugs.

“Bastien’s words, not mine. Well...paraphrased, a bit. He also said we’d have to make sure it makes sense when read aloud, since not everyone can read, of course.”

For all the silent deferring Mhavos is doing, Athessa is doing her fair share of deflecting. Bastien said, Mhavos will, etc. She doesn’t exactly see it as her idea.

In Mhavos' mind, the issue is cut and dry. They're not going to make any further leeway without annoying a head of their organization. They should take what they have, and be happy they didn't get an outright decree to stop.

After all, Byerly has never demanded final editorial rights.

Mhavos nods once more. "Thank you, serah. If editing in post is what you think best, we'll acquiesce as best we can."

He's expecting a sharp glare from Athessa, but he can explain himself later.

Byerly's tone is quite pleasant in return. "Very good speaking with you, good fellow."

And then he turns his attention back to Athessa and continues the conversation in a more normal tone of voice. Evidently, Mhavos has been dismissed, while Athessa still has his attention. "So then this was Bastien's idea? Or did he simply encourage it?"

And Byerly has her incredulous stare.

"No," she says, and gestures to Mhavos. "It was Mhavos' idea. But yeah, Bastien encouraged it. I told him about it to get his opinion on it, too. And because he's the one with the press."

Mhavos nods courteously, and stays put, intending only to leave if Athessa asks. As far as he's aware, he's here for moral support against a shared enemy: nobility, no matter where they're from. He's found most of Riftwatch's leadership to be amenable, and remembers Byerly with some vague sense of fondness, the giving of gifts and assurances against prejudice, but clearly that time is gone.

And that's simply the way of it, with nobility. You live on their timetable, in their memories, not the other way around.

"It was our idea," Mhavos says softly. "I suggested you belonged in a book, you wanted to push the idea forward. I'll do what is needed to keep the project on track."

"And what is your heart's desire, then?" By asks, turning his gaze towards Mhavos. Athessa - He can guess, particularly given how self-conscious and reluctant she seems to be. "What do you want to get out of it?"

This figures. Athessa taps her fingertips against the arm of her chair.

This is a trap, and the only way to get out of it is walk right through it. He's been in these before, and it's nothing surprising. A rich man asks you what you want, and you tell him, and he calls you a clannish little rabbit. A rich man asks you what you want, and you lie, and he calls you a devious little rabbit.

He sighs, and tells the truth. "I want to help Athessa with this project. I believe in its aims."

"Which aims, precisely?" He lifts an eyebrow. "It seems that there are many of them here."

Edited 2020-10-08 14:49 (UTC)

Athessa gives Mhavos a brief, apologetic glance, then looks back to Byerly. He'll want to hear what Mhavos has to say, but...well, this is starting to feel like an interrogation, rather than a proposal and his thoughts on it.

"I hope," Mhavos says, quietly and politely as he has been through all of this, "that my conduct has not given reason to doubt my motivations."

He shifts in his seat a bit, facing Byerly directly, but keeps his posture subservient, rather than direct. His chin does not jut out. His back is straight, but not too straight. A humble servant, a role Mhavos has no difficulty falling back into.

"I was once a part of the target audience for this project. If such a thing had been published when I was younger, I would have put more effort into escaping my station, and joining an organization such as this, or the Inquisition, rather than letting it happen by chance. I would not have assumed, for decades, that the worth of an elf's help was beneath notice."

Byerly is not, of course, the finest spy in the world. Ferelden's training has nothing on, say, the Orlesians. But Maker knows he's good enough to spot someone who's trying to play him. Usually. With one or two exceptions in the past. And this fellow, holding himself with such calculation, is not someone with enough hooks in Byerly to be able to turn him around.

"Your conduct very much gives reason to doubt your motivations," By says pleasantly. Then, still quite genial, he asks, "What is it that you're trying to hide?"

To be fair, of course, By might be paranoid. Maybe he's reading too much into the fellow, simply out of some protective instinct towards Athessa. On the other hand, though, what are you trying to hide has often in the past proven a fruitful question that's led to some utterly unexpected destinations, so it's worth a shot.

For all her training, Athessa isn't doing Jack shit to hide any of her reactions to the conversation. She may have started this meeting trying to be a level-headed adult person who sits in chairs normally and carefully considers things, but now she's just frowning and a little exasperated (because she doesn't think Mhavos is hiding anything) and she stops tap-tapping her fingers on her chair.

"Byerly..." It's quiet enough to be ignored, but equally a warning and an entreatment. Be nice to her friend, Lord Ambassador.

Once, Mhavos would have been very different. Demure, deflecting, anything to keep back the fear of a beating. But in the last year or so, he's been allowed more, to trust others and himself. He doesn't need to be afraid of this rich human, because he hasn't done anything wrong.

(Well, he has. But only in service of the organization they both work for.)

Mhavos' demeanor changes, slightly. He is genial, and he is pleasant, though with a certain sharpness born either from the very real anger he feels at the moment, or perhaps a failed impersonation of the man sitting before him. Mhavos has never tried to be anyone else, after all, only a quieter, easier to ignore version of himself.

"The publishing of a book detailing the positive aspects of elven life and how elves can be heroic and free would, of course, aid my efforts to steal human infants away into dark forests where they could be sacrificed to ancient elven gods. Are we quite done here?"

By's voice in return is very, very dry. "You're quite glib, particularly given that you're asking something of me." He's certainly not angry, or insulted, or wrathful, or anything of the like; all that's detectable in his manner is a bit of tart exasperation.

He speaks to Athessa, then. "I think this is a sound project," he says matter-of-factly. "But I don't know this fellow from Maferath, and certainly wouldn't want him to have final say in what's going out until he's proved himself to me in a few different ways.

"If you want to use Riftwatch resources and have Riftwatch endorsement, then I need to have absolutely final approval." A shrug. "Not that you're obligated to do that, of course; I'm not about to silence you if you go altogether rogue. But I'd encourage you to collaborate. There are a few people I can think of who I think would be quite helpful. Myself, not least among them."

"Maferath had smaller ears," Athessa quips, rolling her eyes. She can't fault Byerly for not trusting someone, but she can't help but feel protective of Mhavos. The three of them may as well be pointing knives at each other.

She stands with a sigh and walks over to where Byerly keeps his wine, perusing. If they're going to keep at this, she's going to rectify their first mistake: denying the offer of a drink.

"I'd like to know who those few are," she grabs a bottle and shows it to Byerly from where she stands, looking for a yea or nay. "But I'd appreciate it if you stop antagonizing Mhavos, first."

Mhavos moves to stand. "No need. As I am clearly the one causing the problem, I'll excuse myself. I thank you for your time, Lord, and wish it could have been spent on better manners. Or matters."

He gives a little bow, as one does when being dismissed by their better, and turns to go.

By dismisses him with an indifferent wave of his fingers, continuing to talk to Athessa.

"Silver's a good choice," he says. "I've become quite impressed with the fellow's wit of late. He's a way with words, too. Good choice; that's a fine bottle."

She stands when Mhav does, about to protest before Byerly goes on.

The bottle gets set upon the desk, but Athessa doesn't really care to drink any of it herself.

"What the fuck was that, By?" Her incredulity is back and she gestures towards the door as it closes behind Mhavos.

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