WHO: Loki, Erik, Adrasteia & y'all WHAT: Catch-all WHEN: Late Solace / Early August WHERE: Kirkwall NOTES: Language warning for Erik, otherwise nothing yet. Open starters in comments.
It's a rare moment when Benedict isn't in the office. Which - Perhaps it's a good thing for Loki that Benedict isn't there, indeed, because the young man has sense enough that he'd likely try to keep distance between Loki and his sour-tempered boss, cutting off all access to the Ambassador. But on the other hand, that distance would be for Loki's safety as well. So really, who's to say?
Regardless, what it means is that after Loki knocks, it's Byerly's voice that says, "Enter."
This is going to be great, Loki thinks to himself, because really if he doesn't give himself a pep talk he'll never go through with this.
Alternatively, he'll set the group housing room he's in on fire tomorrow morning, and see how well that goes over with everyone.
No, this is definitely the correct action, even though he's completely unsure how it will actually go. So. Loki pokes his head around the door and then the rest of him follows, dressed in the typical clothing Riftwatch grants their wayward Rifters use of upon arrival. "I was hoping to speak to you about joining the Diplomacy Division."
There. Short, sweet, to the point. No presumptions and no attitude. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits to see what happens next.
What if, Byerly thinks, he just punched him in the face? By isn't good at punching. Rather famously, he has weak arms and a poor grip. And yet, this smarmy Tevinter bastard surely will take a punch even worse than Byerly will give one, won't he? Just look at him. So skinny. So frail. And it'll be so satisfying. And Byerly has been working so hard; doesn't he deserve nice things?
Then again, if By breaks his hand, he won't be able to sign all the documents in front of him. And look at those fucking cheekbones. He'd probably shatter his wrist on those cheekbones.
"In what capacity?" By asks. There. That was...moderately courteous.
It is really a blessing of the highest order that Loki cannot tell what Byerly is thinking at this moment. For one thing, he's better at both taking and receiving a punch than the Tevinter version of himself is. Presumably. He's definitely had more practice in that regard. Just by the sheer amount of time he's been alive and causing trouble.
For another, he thinks this is going fairly well. It isn't. But he doesn't know that, yet.
"Ah," Loki frowns a little. "I'm afraid I don't know what the options available are, exactly, in that regard."
What, Lexie hasn't coached you in what to ask for?
By sighs through his nose and sets down his pen. Looks more fully at this man. "Help yourself, won't you?" By says, gesturing to the sideboard stocked with various decent wines and liquors.
Ah, to be his spymaster back in Ferelden, who always had one poisoned bottle on the shelf. Which bottle it was rotated. By was never certain whether the policy was in place so that the man could pour a poisoned cup in case of emergency assassination or whether it was to discourage pilfering by his staff; it worked in both cases.
So that, while a welcome offer, is so wholly unexpected that Loki just blinks at first instead of moving towards where Byerly has gestured. He does recover in a second or three and goes to the assorted bottles before lifting to read the label of what seems to be Prophet's Laurel gin, and a pair of glasses, before looking over at Byerly again.
"Would you like one as well?" Something Loki has chosen, or something else? He doesn't want to presume, here.
Will the man slip something into the cup? Seems like something he'd do. After all, if he's looking to join the Diplomacy division, then no doubt at some level he thinks he ought to be in charge of the Diplomacy division. To say nothing, of course, of the fact that Byerly is now a romantic rival. But this creature is a Rifter, newly arrived; even he wouldn't be able to get his hands on venom this quickly.
Or maybe he would, and Byerly would die. After the month he's had, that doesn't sound so very unwelcome.
"Alright." So, two glasses of Prophet's Laurel gin it is, the first of which is gingerly set on whatever space is available in front of Byerly that doesn't have a paper underneath it; Loki would rather set it on a coaster or something but alas. The working Ambassador's desk does not have an immediately apparent one of those available.
The other glass remains in Loki's hand as he settles himself into a seat at the opposite side of said desk, crossing one leg over so that his ankle rests on his knees before taking a sip. Not bad, actually.
Loki's eyebrows go up; he takes a sip of his drink and swallows, eyes going from Byerly to the desk, to the walls, and back to the man in front of him.
"Well." Begin at the beginning, isn't that how the saying goes? Yet 'I was adopted after a war between the Jotun and the Æsir in which I was abandoned by the former' seems like... hm. Somewhere he doesn't want to start.
He is taking too long to answer this, he knows. So he takes a breath and begins ticking items off of his fingers. "Prior to my arrival here I was a Frost Giant, raised by Asgardians. Crown prince, actually; second in line to the throne I had very little interest in holding. One-time Regent of the people and planet of Asgard. God of Mischief; Liesmith." Five items thus far. "Former 'employee' of the Time Variance Authority, though that was primarily under duress, and considering they erased me from time, clearly I was not great at that job."
Loki takes another sip of his drink. If you have questions, Byerly, now might be a good time.
He takes a very mild sip as Loki speaks. At the end of it, he says, voice placid, "I hope, good fellow, you aren't so ignorant of this world that you believe that what you've said is comprehensible to me."
Another successful negging, delivered by Ambassador Rutyer.
"Fair." He closes his eyes for a moment and continues that way. "Before I arrived here I was not human, though I appeared to be so. I have had a rather long and varied life, including acting as Regent — I should hope you have those here, at the very least — being worshipped as a god and chasing an alternate version of myself through time and different world-ending events. I have experience convincing large numbers of people that I am right, at the very least, but also running a monarchy. I am good at magic, mainly illusions, and I would appreciate some position within your department."
Mainly so he can get the hell out of the group bedrooms but that's not worth mentioning, he decides. Loki opens his eyes. "Is that better?"
Seems like an honest question, not a taunt, though with him? Often hard to tell.
It is better, yes. Yet there's little indication on Byerly's face regarding how Loki is doing. His face remains fixed in its usual expression of faint irony.
"In my experience," he says, "the powerful make poor diplomats."
"Then perhaps it is for the best that I am not as powerful as I once was." Loki takes another sip of his drink and considers the glass and its contents. "Provost Stark, I'm sure, would gladly tell you a horror story of how I attempted to overtake his home with the help of well-armored friends, if you wish for more direct reasons why you shouldn't take me on. But I am good at what I set my mind to."
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Regardless, what it means is that after Loki knocks, it's Byerly's voice that says, "Enter."
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Alternatively, he'll set the group housing room he's in on fire tomorrow morning, and see how well that goes over with everyone.
No, this is definitely the correct action, even though he's completely unsure how it will actually go. So. Loki pokes his head around the door and then the rest of him follows, dressed in the typical clothing Riftwatch grants their wayward Rifters use of upon arrival. "I was hoping to speak to you about joining the Diplomacy Division."
There. Short, sweet, to the point. No presumptions and no attitude. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits to see what happens next.
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Then again, if By breaks his hand, he won't be able to sign all the documents in front of him. And look at those fucking cheekbones. He'd probably shatter his wrist on those cheekbones.
"In what capacity?" By asks. There. That was...moderately courteous.
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For another, he thinks this is going fairly well. It isn't. But he doesn't know that, yet.
"Ah," Loki frowns a little. "I'm afraid I don't know what the options available are, exactly, in that regard."
Please, Ambassador. Enlighten him.
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By sighs through his nose and sets down his pen. Looks more fully at this man. "Help yourself, won't you?" By says, gesturing to the sideboard stocked with various decent wines and liquors.
Ah, to be his spymaster back in Ferelden, who always had one poisoned bottle on the shelf. Which bottle it was rotated. By was never certain whether the policy was in place so that the man could pour a poisoned cup in case of emergency assassination or whether it was to discourage pilfering by his staff; it worked in both cases.
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"Would you like one as well?" Something Loki has chosen, or something else? He doesn't want to presume, here.
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Or maybe he would, and Byerly would die. After the month he's had, that doesn't sound so very unwelcome.
"Sure," he says. "Pour me one."
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The other glass remains in Loki's hand as he settles himself into a seat at the opposite side of said desk, crossing one leg over so that his ankle rests on his knees before taking a sip. Not bad, actually.
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"Well." Begin at the beginning, isn't that how the saying goes? Yet 'I was adopted after a war between the Jotun and the Æsir in which I was abandoned by the former' seems like... hm. Somewhere he doesn't want to start.
He is taking too long to answer this, he knows. So he takes a breath and begins ticking items off of his fingers. "Prior to my arrival here I was a Frost Giant, raised by Asgardians. Crown prince, actually; second in line to the throne I had very little interest in holding. One-time Regent of the people and planet of Asgard. God of Mischief; Liesmith." Five items thus far. "Former 'employee' of the Time Variance Authority, though that was primarily under duress, and considering they erased me from time, clearly I was not great at that job."
Loki takes another sip of his drink. If you have questions, Byerly, now might be a good time.
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Another successful negging, delivered by Ambassador Rutyer.
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Mainly so he can get the hell out of the group bedrooms but that's not worth mentioning, he decides. Loki opens his eyes. "Is that better?"
Seems like an honest question, not a taunt, though with him? Often hard to tell.
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"In my experience," he says, "the powerful make poor diplomats."
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He considers a moment. "I may have just the work for you to prove that diligence."
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It depends entirely on the work.
"Okay..."
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"All right. You're dismissed."
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"Thank you for the drink."
He's just gonna. Leave. Then.