WHO: Nicola + You WHAT: Fresh meat. And eventually old gross meat too. WHEN: Bloomingtide, pre-mod plot. WHERE: Kirkwall & the Gallows for now. NOTES: Putting open and closed things for all my dudes in here as I write them, so if you want to plan something with any of them, tap my shoulder about it.
Byerly wishes he could take solace in Benedict's rare show of backbone. He wishes he might join in it. Historically, one of his greatest talents has been dodging duels; in Orlais, some of his friends used to bet on whether or not he'd show up after he'd been challenged (with odds typically sitting around a hundred to one), and parlays would focus on the excuse he'd use for getting out of it. Overslept, accidentally scheduled another duel across town at the same time, stubbed his toe, left tied to the bed after a night of passion, et cetera et cetera.
But those sorts of duels had been for a ludicrously stupid parody of honor. This was different. In this case, he had truly offended, and gravely so. And he deserved the summons.
Still. Benedict's protest does serve as a reminder that his life is not entirely his own. "It would also be proper for us to receive permission from Riftwatch. Perhaps you might see to that, Senor?"
"You're not going to," Benedict snaps, bristling further when he clocks what resembles a smile on the stranger-- how dare you make fun of me-- and feels the urgency of the situation closing in. Byerly is playing along, and he shouldn't.
"Neither of you can be spared." well ONE OF YOU CAN
"Come now," Nicola says to Benedict, in a tone he's most recently directed at one of his more distant relatives while he had a dish-shattering tantrum, as if everyone only needs to be reminded to think logically about this. To Byerly, "Is he whose permission I need to secure?"
Clearly not. But Nicola's expert read on the current situation is that Benedict isn't going to listen to him telling him it's not his call.
Between Nicola’s patronizing tone and the question, Benedict has reached full Slighted Nobility— it seems like he couldn’t get any haughtier, but Byerly’s response sends a jolt of revelation through him and he draws up his crystal.
“Gela,” he says, tossing his hair like a fancy horse, “how do you feel about duels between members of Riftwatch?”
Nicola tilts his head and purses his lips: that isn’t how he would ask. This isn’t about anyone’s feelings. People can feel horrified or judgmental about the entire concept all they like without that changing a thing.
“We could always quit for a few days,” he murmurs to Byerly.
This is a joke. He is joking, some odd sense of camaraderie with the person here who is being reasonable about social mores and customs even if he’s also a cousin murderer. It’s even a little obvious, from the corners of his eyes and mouth, that he thinks he’s funny.
"With swords," Benedict confirms, "to the death." Thanks for the clarification, Nicola.
Gela's voice is audible but not clear in response; "will you say that a little louder, please?" he asks, holding up the crystal for the others to hear it better. "I don't have time for two members of Riftwatch to kill each other with swords," rings Gela's voice, "so if you wouldn't I'd be very grateful."
"Ta," Benedict says sweetly, and ends the conversation with a pointed, distinctly smug look Nicola's way.
That wasn't a do not, that would I would rather you didn't —
But it's now two and a half against one. The odds of convincing Rutyer are getting poorer by the minute. So Nicola only shrugs, blasé in the face of both Benedict's smirk and Byerly's shame.
"Ah well."
What can one freshly-arrived Antivan with no local friends do.
"If my family sends the Crows in my stead, tell the Maker that I tried."
Byerly, though, is frowning at the mention of the Crows. The threat has drawn him out, ever so slightly, from his miserable introspection.
"Is that considered honorable in Antiva these days? Sending assassins in place of holding a duel?" Though Maker help him, it actually might be acceptable by the rules of honor. Antivans are all completely insane.
Nicola's hands spread in a shrug: it's not dishonorable. It's Antiva. And, "If it's not in my hands, it's out of them. I did try."
Maybe Byerly should make friends with people who have more confidence in his skill with a sword? But that's none of Nicola's business, of course. He verges on smiling, the vaguely pleasant expression or someone who's not unhappy but just doesn't do a lot of smiling on the clock, and he steps back from the pair of them.
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Truly, you are an all star, get your game on, etc.
But those sorts of duels had been for a ludicrously stupid parody of honor. This was different. In this case, he had truly offended, and gravely so. And he deserved the summons.
Still. Benedict's protest does serve as a reminder that his life is not entirely his own. "It would also be proper for us to receive permission from Riftwatch. Perhaps you might see to that, Senor?"
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"Neither of you can be spared." well ONE OF YOU CAN
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Clearly not. But Nicola's expert read on the current situation is that Benedict isn't going to listen to him telling him it's not his call.
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"No," he replies. "That would be the head of Diplomacy."
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seems like he couldn’t get any haughtier, but Byerly’s response sends a jolt of revelation through him and he draws up his crystal.
“Gela,” he says, tossing his hair like a fancy horse, “how do you feel about duels between members of Riftwatch?”
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“We could always quit for a few days,” he murmurs to Byerly.
This is a joke. He is joking, some odd sense of camaraderie with the person here who is being reasonable about social mores and customs even if he’s also a cousin murderer. It’s even a little obvious, from the corners of his eyes and mouth, that he thinks he’s funny.
“Whoever lives joins again afterwards.”
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Gela's voice is audible but not clear in response; "will you say that a little louder, please?" he asks, holding up the crystal for the others to hear it better.
"I don't have time for two members of Riftwatch to kill each other with swords," rings Gela's voice, "so if you wouldn't I'd be very grateful."
"Ta," Benedict says sweetly, and ends the conversation with a pointed, distinctly smug look Nicola's way.
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“I wish I could give you some satisfaction. But I fear that duty must come before honor.”
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But it's now two and a half against one. The odds of convincing Rutyer are getting poorer by the minute. So Nicola only shrugs, blasé in the face of both Benedict's smirk and Byerly's shame.
"Ah well."
What can one freshly-arrived Antivan with no local friends do.
"If my family sends the Crows in my stead, tell the Maker that I tried."
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“I suppose you’re returning to them, then?” don’t make me onboard you
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"No. I have come to work, and 'neither of us can be spared,' as you say."
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"Is that considered honorable in Antiva these days? Sending assassins in place of holding a duel?" Though Maker help him, it actually might be acceptable by the rules of honor. Antivans are all completely insane.
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Maybe Byerly should make friends with people who have more confidence in his skill with a sword? But that's none of Nicola's business, of course. He verges on smiling, the vaguely pleasant expression or someone who's not unhappy but just doesn't do a lot of smiling on the clock, and he steps back from the pair of them.
"I will see you around."