fade rift. inbox.

[charmoffensive]

crystal / correspondence / action

Comments

[bouchonne]

Oh, yes. No doubt. The issue is, my dear fellow, that intention is actually only a rather small fraction of what makes a man qualified.

[charmoffensive]

Before I dismissed the whole thing as a waste of my time and yours, the whole conversation felt like a trap. You know very well that friendships are not magical things, summoned from nothing, and what a figurative phrase is.

[ For gods' sake. ]

With that in mind, to try to dance for you as you seemed to request seemed like the failure. A weakness of character. Walking out, not so much, but apparently I misread your clever test. I propose our philosophies are very different.

[bouchonne]

[ A light snort. ]

How would dancing to impress another ever be weakness?

[charmoffensive]

To convey desperation, to take insult, to perform for some nebulous approval. I may not be the politician you prefer, but I know that if it were not me but some other Rifter negotiating on my behalf, I'd prefer they did not debase themselves, and instill in the other party the idea that we'll do anything for their favour.

And if they did, it'd best be for a good fucking reason.

[ There's no venom in his voice, but his tone is careless. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Simply: ]

Am I your enemy?

[charmoffensive]

[ A pause long enough to fit a sigh, directed ceilingwards, however unheard. In a tone a little like he wants to say something else; ]

No.

[bouchonne]

[ He can't let that pass without comment. ]

My, my. Is treating me like I'm a fool and you can't stand the sound of my voice part of your grand plan to impress me? Such a labyrinthine plot to make me swoon.

[ Then: ]

You know, dear Loxley, Diplomacy is the dirtiest division of all. Scouting comes close, to be sure. The work of spies is nasty. But the work is turned against our enemies. Diplomacy, the nasty work is turned against friends and allies. Would you have the stomach for that?

[charmoffensive]

[ Fair. Loxley lets this first point stand, because what can he even say, and pivots to the second. After a little thought; ]

I don't know. To speak honestly.

[ He's not sure if 'honesty' is this man's game, really, but it's what he has at the moment. ]

I think there is merit in building constructive bridges of transparent and mutual benefit, of not being so underhanded as to burn then down again. But I've certainly done things I'm not proud of, for worthy enough purposes.

Bettering the standing of Rifters in this world is one.

[bouchonne]

If it was for a worthy cause, then why would you feel shame?

[charmoffensive]

I don't know. The same reason a warrior has cause to know fear, but will run into battle in spite of it?

[bouchonne]

Ah. But I have seen no evidence of your battle-readiness. That is the problem.

[charmoffensive]

Well, your lady wife might have an opinion.

[ Too flippant by far. More seriously; ]

But you don't mean blade skill, obviously.

If your assessment is based only on my capacity to befriend you, within the parameters you've defined, then there is no real winning. Friendship is not so declarative as all that, nor so one sided.

And you declined my offer of a drink.

[bouchonne]

It is based on the fact that you quit the field, dear fellow.

[charmoffensive]

Then your means of assessment is faulty. It's not fair, and it's reductive. You would hope your diplomats have the sense to walk away from the truly intransigent rather than make fools of themselves.

[bouchonne]

No. I wouldn't. [ Then, drolly: ] And given that I reached out to you, here, continuing to insist that I was intransigent casts greater doubt upon your judgment. Do you perhaps want to admit that you might have been wrong?

[charmoffensive]

[ What if he throws up instead.

No okay-- ]

I'll consider it, if you were outline how you feel I ought to have behaved.

[bouchonne]

[ And that bit of rudeness is the last that Byerly can tolerate without snapping. So: ]

No.

[ His voice is mild. ]

This is the problem, dear fellow. I said earlier that it makes me a little ill to throw my authority around, and so it does.

But I'll swallow my bile to say this: I am the head of Diplomacy. I am a very busy man. Speaker Fabria asked me to give you another chance, and so I have done so. But you are acting now, no less than before, as though it is my job to coddle and instruct you.

Come back to me with a proposal. Lay it before me with the respect the office deserves. Or come back when you have accrued enough power and respect that I must pay heed to you, regardless of your attitude. As you are, at the moment, a mouthy nobody, I believe that I do not need to tolerate your abuse any longer.

Are there any facts that I'm missing that would radically alter this picture?

[charmoffensive]

[ The worst thing is that this works on him. That it is so easy to be made to feel small, sometimes, even when you've convinced yourself that that person's opinion isn't worth shit. He holds his tongue at moments when he might have fired something off, because snapping at a little crystal with a little voice coming out of it feels maddening, and he so does not want to show his hand besides--

And then he takes that question seriously, inasmuch as he is currently capable. ]

Not really, [ and he does a good job of making his voice come out even. ] Only that when I walked into your office, it wasn't your approval that I was looking for, so much as a man I might respect and follow.

The mistake was mine.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's voice is rather uncharacteristically blunt. ]

It was, yes. My concern isn't winning love; it's winning the war. If you're looking for inspiration, turn your eyes to Andraste.

[charmoffensive]

[ Well, someone has to get the last word. Rather than grapple for it, there's the sound of Loxley breathing in like he's about to try, before the crystal simply goes silent as it's switched off. ]