[closed] let's go de-fense

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow, Flint, Marcus
WHAT: let's talk about FORTIFICATIONS
WHEN: for comedy's sake let's say a few days before DeathPlot
WHERE: Misc Office M
NOTES: if you don't do the safety dance you will be left behind

In proper Barrow fashion, he closed his eyes and submitted his name and then forgot about it for a month and a half, and when the posting arose, he continued to pretend it didn't exist for another week or so before finally, while gazing absently at the battlements one day, he realized time wasn't going to slow down.
And so it is that Barrow has requested the presence of the two most likely collaborators in his newfound position of Master of Works, also known as The Bloke In Charge Of The Siege Things, and it's with a very convincing (he thinks) confidence that he welcomes them into the spare office, where he has laid out some glasses with a decanter of whiskey and some assorted biscuits (what do official types drink during meetings, anyway?).

"Gentlemen," he begins, the disarming smile plastered on his face-- look, look at me, you have to work with me now, let's pretend we like each other-- "thank you for coming. I thought I'd have a look into what's already in place before I start making any grand plans."

Comments

[luaithre]

Marcus has helped himself to neither whiskey nor biscuits.

He has, however, brought some documentation with him, a demonstration of willing that is set on the table in front of him, and currently untouched. Arms folded, expression neutral, unsmiling, the aura of a person who believes most meetings he attends could have been a fantasy email, but aware that he himself did not assert this, and so.

Here they are. "Protocols," he says. A slight tip of his head to those pages in front of him. "Accounting for guard routes, time of day, griffon pilots, existing defenses, evacuations. Practices in place to muster defense, retreat, and shelter in the event of attack."

[katabasis]

Flint, meanwhile, had immediately helped himself to a finger (and a half) of whisky. The biscuits remain untouched, but there is very little in the way of official business that isn't improved by having a cup in hand—and that goes double when one finds himself trapped in a room between Rowntree and one of Riftwatch's (very) ex-Templars.

(Hypothetically, a theory could be drawn about having approved Barrow's appointment in order to see whether some natural tension here might be made less fractious; but let's be candid—there weren't many names put forward, and Machiavellian interpersonal diplomacy plots are less likely than happenstance.)

"To that end," Flint says from his chair. He is not smiling. "I expect a degree of collaboration between the pair of you. Obviously the division office is ready to support what it can, but if you've identified an issue, then my preference is to hear your solution and what you require to implement it."

[thereneverwas]

"'Course, Commander," Barrow says with an ease so amiable it verges on forced, and he reaches forward with a quick glance at Marcus (no sudden movements) to take the documents from the table. The biscuits don't go ignored for long, as he plucks one up in his other hand and puts the entire thing in his mouth, then realizes in the fraction of a second before he's about to touch a page that he might have frosting on his fingers and pauses to surreptitiously (as much as Barrow can do anything surreptitiously) wipe them on his trouser leg.

"Mmhmm," he intones, looking over one page, then the next, "perfect. Thanks, Ench-- um. Captain." Ser??

[luaithre]

If there is some sense that maybe Marcus would bite if Barrow's hand strayed too close—

Well, it likely isn't helped along by the way he doesn't push the documents forward by the time Barrow is reaching for them, but his focus had switched to the Commander when he'd spoken up. Returns, over that little trip up between titles, and it's possible there is some objection to be had about that, if he wanted to have one.

What he says instead is, "The nature of our work sees the Gallows brutally understaffed, often, and security is lacking even with a full roster. Something to bear in mind, for your grand plans."

[katabasis]

"Copies of which we'll be seeing sooner rather than later, I presume," is a prompt dug in Barrow's direction, something expectant in the Commander's face despite the cup and its finger (half finger, now) of whisky in his possession.

Like maybe in the next five minutes, seems to be the suggestion.

[thereneverwas]

"Copies," Barrow repeats with a perfect poker face, not looking up from his reading, "'course."

He hasn't bluffed his way through the last forty-to-fifty years by just caving immediately when asked for things, except of course when he's being tortured, and they're not quite there yet-- he does, however, very much to need to devise some grand plans to be able to make copies of them.

"Can't say I'm surprised," he replies to Marcus instead around the biscuit he's still chewing, "seeing's bribes were involved last time something needed doing."

Which he collected, thank you.

[luaithre]

"What I mean," has that edge of deliberate patience that implies a certain lack, "is that we live in a very large fortress with a population that can only fully sustain a fraction of it, which in turn has its responsibility to Kirkwall should the city come under attack. We can assume for the sake of planning anti-siege measures that no one requires incentive to attend to their duties."

Marcus would not mind a biscuit, actually, but he can hardly capitulate to the urge now. Maybe Barrow won't have mowed through all of them by the time they're finished here.

[katabasis]

In the chair adjacent to this slow motion trainwreck—a word that might occur to a man who has stood on a stinking New York City subway platform—, Flint raises his cup. Takes a nip from it rather than attempt to intercede between the crunch of metaphorical crumpling metal.

[thereneverwas]

"One would certainly hope so." Barrow flashes a fleeting smile at Marcus which he quickly buries back in the documents, thinking better of it but only after it has already been done.

He clears his throat. "There a roster of non-combatant Riftwatchers? Could they be assigned to weapons maintenance or operation in an emergency?"

He is the train and he is going to make it back to Penn Station unscathed, even if it means slamming the doors shut and going full express through every stop before anyone even has a chance to get on.

[luaithre]

Lacking a prop like a cookie or a glass of hard liquor (or a cigarette, and although he's considered the slight weight of the case in his jacket pocket, has ultimately decided against it) to signal that Marcus is passing that question over, he just stays silent.

[katabasis]

It takes a split second for Flint to pick up on the slack, though if he thinks, 'What, no opinion?' in Marcus' direction then the psychic projection of it is at least weak enough not to leech out past his forehead. Instead, after a last nip at the glass' contents as if giving the proposal consideration and not simply reminding himself that his place in this conversation consists of more than just impatiently tapping his thumb on the chair arm—

"I don't see why not. Though you will want to see them acquainted with the working of everything before it comes to that. I don't want some seamstress losing her finger in a ballista latch because she's not touched one before she finds herself being asked to ward off a lyrium infested seahorse."

[thereneverwas]

"Aye, naturally." Barrow's smile up at Flint when he finally weighs in is a good-natured one: perhaps relieved, if one squints.

"Training exercises, and all that. I'll put out a call for volunteers, unless, er..." He glances from Flint to Marcus, scratching lightly at the stubble on his cheek, "...it can't be mandatory, can it?"

[luaithre]

At least a dozen (pointlessly, he knows) unkind answers present themselves to Marcus.

It means there is a beat of silence before he opts for, "Within Forces, of course it's mandatory. Outside of Forces," and there's a glance to Flint, some suggestion that the other man is in better position to speak to it, but continues with, "I would still suggest that anyone who has presented themselves with battle capability be made to perform the same training.

"There's that other Templar that insists on being in Research, is there not?" As an example.

[katabasis]

"And your sister," as another completely random one, a casual remark before Flint drains his cup, leans forward, and sets it there at the edge of the desk.

"Draw up lists for who you both think should be required to muster in an emergency, and see that Matthias gets it to my desk for review. I'll make sure its brought before the other division heads to secure their buy in, and that anyone not included on it has the opportunity to volunteer to learn."

[thereneverwas]

Redvers, of course. Maybe they should invite him to this meeting too.

"Righto," Barrow says, finally setting down the documents and trading them for another biscuit, which he bites in half. "Will do, Commander. Off the top of your head, anything else you think I ought to look into, to get things rolling?"

His gaze darts to Marcus as well, including him in the question without saying so directly.

[luaithre]

His chair scrapes against the ground as he stands, a sound that clips over the end of Barrow's question and glance towards him, which could be the start of some sort of sudden, impulsive refusal—

"I'll collect a roster," comes the explanation. His office is one flight of stairs up, anyway.

Marcus takes a moment to reset his papers in front of his own chair, take a biscuit with a look to Barrow that suggests that this biscuit is being removed from him personally rather than only the communal plate of them, and makes to go fetch.

sorry it took me 12 days to write the dumbest tag

[katabasis]

Somewhere in there, Flint makes eye contact with Barrow while patiently waiting for Rowntree to retrieve his biscuit and remove himself from the room. And though the particulars of the look have the tenor of something verging on sympathetic—maybe something along the lines of, 'This fucking guy, am I right?'—what Flint actually says when Marcus has gone is:

"See that you don't fuck this up, Barrow."

you're valid

[thereneverwas]

It's impossible to miss the implications of the biscuit's departure, and Barrow watches bemusedly after Marcus for a moment, interrupted in his thoughts only by Flint's addressing him. He turns his gaze on him pleasantly enough, giving a little nod as though he was just told he's doing a great job.

"Appreciate the vote of confidence, Commander," he says breezily, amusement in his eyes, "I'll do my best."

And then he dies like a day or two later.