[ All he knows of Ghislain is it's where they send people whose brothers make enemies of kings. All he knows of the de Revins is they keep slaves who marvel at gentleness is if it's rarer than spun gold.
A long time ago. I didn't think they'd kept track.
[ but it's easier now. one name in sixty, not thousands. one name that lately visited val royeaux in company of a nobleman and an obscenely tall elf. it's easier. ]
[ The comparison is-- effective, more telling than he's come to expect from Isaac. (Worrying. Warming some small point behind his ribs, all the same.) ]
You've a better head for plots than I. [ Not a dismissal; trust your judgement. ] But it does at least seem unlikely anyone would arrange to lose to me at cards on the off chance the Avereschs would start a two-man Exalted March over it.
[ Which, of course, doesn't rule out a trap more belated in the making. ]
I don't know that he'd care to dispute it, either. [ Impassioned fools, was the turn of phrase he'd had for Kostos and Nikos. Ilias gives a tetchy sigh. ]
Is there any hope of the consequences touching them regardless?
He's clever. [ A conversation regathered; a view again obscured. Isaac rolls onto his elbows, considers. ] Gave him an idea and he made it better. More useful.
[ To himself, not Isaac. Obviously. It wouldn't be a compliment otherwise.
(It wouldn't be a question: He wants Ilias' measure of the bloodthirsty little stranger. Some names have a way of blotting out the sun, but his eyes have since adjusted; there must be a reason that Mhavos came up.) ]
Perhaps not nothing. Safety, choice, comfort, routine. But the things bigger than those -- hopes and dreams, careers, love -- he doesn't seem to know what to do with.
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They wrote to Riftwatch? I didn't know anything came through diplomacy about it.
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It didn't come through Diplomacy.
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The de Revins wrote to you?
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[ correction: no one who matters. ]
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A certain caution stills in his eye. ]
A patron?
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[ but it's easier now. one name in sixty, not thousands. one name that lately visited val royeaux in company of a nobleman and an obscenely tall elf. it's easier. ]
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[ The letter. The keeping track. (Interesting, that they did.) ]
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[ the pause is indelicate, hangs like cord. ]
You asked me once, whether you were being paranoid. [ and here leander is, alive. ] But if there's a trap, I can't divine the mechanism.
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You've a better head for plots than I. [ Not a dismissal; trust your judgement. ] But it does at least seem unlikely anyone would arrange to lose to me at cards on the off chance the Avereschs would start a two-man Exalted March over it.
[ Which, of course, doesn't rule out a trap more belated in the making. ]
What did they say the money was for?
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Is there any hope of the consequences touching them regardless?
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Finally: ]
He's clever. [ A conversation regathered; a view again obscured. Isaac rolls onto his elbows, considers. ] Gave him an idea and he made it better. More useful.
[ To himself, not Isaac. Obviously. It wouldn't be a compliment otherwise.
(It wouldn't be a question: He wants Ilias' measure of the bloodthirsty little stranger. Some names have a way of blotting out the sun, but his eyes have since adjusted; there must be a reason that Mhavos came up.) ]
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He's good at that. Making himself useful to other people. Less so, I think, with-- [ Hm. ] wanting anything for himself.
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That seems like underestimation.
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Perhaps not nothing. Safety, choice, comfort, routine. But the things bigger than those -- hopes and dreams, careers, love -- he doesn't seem to know what to do with.