A Matter of Reputation

[sulahnan]

WHO: Athessa, Byerly, Mhavos, Silver
WHAT: Talking about Propaganda!
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Diplomacy Office
NOTES: Content warnings, OOC notes, links to other relevant posts, etc.

Mhavos made the appointment, so who knows what Byerly is expecting from this meeting. Athessa actually sits normally in her chair, though whatever energy that usually bids her to sit improperly manifests in her leg bouncing up and down.

It's one thing to pay Byerly a visit, and another entirely to be talking to him in his professional capacity as Lord Ambassador.

Comments

[bouchonne]

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

[sulahnan]

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.

[murderbaby]

"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."

[bouchonne]

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.

[sulahnan]

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.

[murderbaby]

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?"

[sulahnan]

[bouchonne]

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."

[sulahnan]

"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."

[murderbaby]

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.

[bouchonne]

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."

[sulahnan]

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.

[bouchonne]

"What do you mean?" he asks, blinking slowly. "Your friend is quite an impatient sort. He was ready to storm out halfway through."

[sulahnan]

"Didn't help that you were treating him like a Venatori wearing a fake mustache."

Which means: suspiciously.

[bouchonne]

He lifts one shoulder. "A baseless accusation. He wasn't wearing a fake mustache at all."

Then - "As I said, Athessa, I don't know the man from Maferath. Or from Shartan, if you insist. And this project - to turn your life story into a propaganda piece - comes from him? Do you like this idea?"

[sulahnan]

She taps her nails against the wine bottle, thinning her lips.

"I thought you said you knew Mhavos," she insists, and then releases the bottle in favor of a shrug and low-speed pacing before the desk. "It's not gonna be my life story, it's just gonna be like... storified versions of missions and stuff. Like fighting Venatori and rescuing damsels, that kind of thing."

But does she like it?

"I do like the idea. Not being propaganda, but...I dunno. There's a lot of bullshit out there about elves, and I like the idea of countering some of it. All of it, eventually, but I'm just one woman."

[bouchonne]

"I know everyone," he replies, "and trust very few of them."

Then, a breath out through his nose. "Have you ever been the subject of gossip before?"

[sulahnan]

"If I have, I haven't heard it."

Who would care to gossip about some nobody elf? Even when she had the misfortune to live in an unsanctioned brothel, she wasn't called by her real name. (Devigny likely never knew it in the first place.)

[bouchonne]

"There are few things worse," he says, with a painful little twist of the mouth. "And if you make yourself into a folk-hero, you'll have to deal with slander. Even if they don't know your name, they will talk about how you lie, how your deeds are false, how you deserve no praise. They will attribute evil to you. They will demand to know why you weren't better. This will be painful."

[sulahnan]

Hm. Maybe she does have experience with this, actually.

"People already talk about the Dalish that way," she crosses her arms and thinks for a moment. "I can handle it."

Especially if at least one elf finds some hope because of it.

"So John Silver is your first pick?"

[bouchonne]

He shakes his head. "It's completely different," he says. "Orlesians shit on Fereldans. Very different from when someone comes for you personally."

But...He sighs. "Yes. Silver would do."

[sulahnan]

She makes a skeptical face. Not about Silver; he's fine, and smart, and good at storytelling and all. But at least Fereldans have a country. They're not dwindling, about to disappear.

"Who else? You said you had a few."

[bouchonne]

He feels, abruptly, rather sullen. He supposes that it's another instance of the same - admitting something personal, and having it just...glance right off her, having her not even absorb it. Ah, well. At least he's more accustomed to it of late.

"How many do you want? I believe there's a saying about cooks and broth."

[sulahnan]

"There's also a saying about counting chickens before they hatch."

She sighs and shifts her weight to one foot, one hand on her hip, the other at her mouth so she can chew on her thumb. Orlesians. Fereldans. Dalish. Gossip. Hurt.

"How long did it take before you started to believe it?"

[bouchonne]

His brows draw together slightly. "The saying about too many cooks spoiling the broth?"