WAR TABLE MISSION: People of Riftwatch

[bouchonne]

WHO: Diplomacy interviewers and interviewees
WHAT: As outlined in this ooc post, Diplomacy members have been asked to interview other members of Riftwatch to gather information so they can have pamphlets written about them.
WHEN: Whenever
WHERE: Diplomacy office
NOTES: None as of yet

The Diplomacy office has a rather nice set-up: there are a few comfortable chairs and couches, and the offices themselves are well-supplied with coffee, tea, and drinks of a stronger nature. So, at the very least, the interviewers and their subjects will feel relatively comfortable during their conversation.

If things go according to plan, each interviewer will be set up in the office when their interview subject arrives. Benedict Artemaeus will have opened the door and shown the interviewee inside and will have gotten them a drink of their choice. From there, it falls to the interviewer to ask the first question.

Comments

flint!

[cozen]

"I will try to make this as painless as possible," is what Bastien led with when Flint first arrived. A nod to the polite fiction that anyone is all that pained by being asked to talk about themselves. At least when the stakes are low and the questions are refusable.

That was several minutes of drink and seating logistics ago. The counterbalancing of Flint's presence against his comfort with the room means that Bastien has one whole foot on the floor beneath his armchair, the other leg crossed, knee a platform for a writing board he is already writing on—needlessly—before asking any questions.

"Commander-once-Captain James Flint," he narrates, and glances up to evaluate (also needlessly) before deciding, "fifties, of Tevinter. Would you like to be more specific than that?"

[katabasis]

"Not if we can help it."

Having been somewhere in the neighborhood of five minutes late, Flint has apparently since made himself comfortable enough on one of the narrow sofa to deploy something like sounds suspiciously like a joke despite its bone dry delivery. Clearly, he's spent the day prior to this outdoors. The back of his neck above his collar has taken on the distinct tint of 'ginger-spent-too-long-in-the-sun' and, despite having changed into a fresh set of clothes before crossing over to the Diplomacy offices, the general malaise of work and sweat remains persistent about his person.

"Though if we desperately need a city," he says, filling a cup from the water pitcher near to hand. "I'm sure that between the two of us we can manufacture something compelling."

[cozen]

It's obvious and half play-acted, the way Bastien glances over at him, like a dog making sure it really, truly has permission to do something typically verboten, before he grins.

He suspects Flint suspects that Bastien might have heard, from someone, about something-something McGraw. But he also suspects this will become a very different sort of meeting if he gives any sign of recalling it. He doesn't plan to.

"Vyrantium?" he proposes. "Or perhaps you were born at sea. Washed ashore alone in a rowboat and raised by a fishmonger."

[katabasis]

The sound of that second one appeals, says the slant of his brow past the edge of the cup as he takes a drink of disappointingly lukewarm water (it's the wrong season for anything in Kirkwall to stay cold unless it's been subject to some enchantment). Though what he says is—

"No one would believe Vyrantium. But Kyrses would serve. That's the town that came up around the shipping yards north of Asariel."

It's the sort of place that breeds Imperium ships and insolvent sailors.

[cozen]

"Kyrses," Bastien echoes approvingly, as he writes C U R S E S in blocky letters among his otherwise scribbly notes. It is not much more necessary than the rest of them; he'll remember. The notes are for the pleasure of watching the marks appear and the benefit of making a man feel listened to with adequate focus.

Later he'll consult a map and find the more appropriate Tevinter spelling. He might even use it.

"Orphan?"

[katabasis]

With the assurance of a willing accomplice rather than a perfunctory interrogation, Flint allows himself to settle more deeply into the settee. It's a visible thing—the appearance of ease uncoiling into the reality of it.

"Or a runaway."