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.
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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"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."