"Little to worry about beyond the baseline level of worry appropriate at all times in the middle of a war," he suggests, light enough to be at least partially a joke. He reaches for his wine as Marcus settles.
"Still. Three weeks is certainly long enough you'll be missed." He glances at Petrana with a small smile. "We'll have to think of something suitably festive."
“As if courting favour with rebels is not war business,” is a criticism of his framing without especial heat, only a sort of amused familiarity. All that had been done before they'd an army to march upon Lamorre with that had been no affair of Lamorre, until all of a sudden it was too big to ignore and long past the time anything might have been done.
Marcus has his wine glass up to his mouth, but gestures with it as Petrana says that as if to say, fair.
"The task in itself, I mean. We're knocking over wagons filled with money, attached to a project that has nothing to do with the Venatori. I understand," he adds, before Petrana or Julius might feel compelled to explain to him its importance in the scheme of things. "It's only a more indirect thing than the Forces division is used to."
Not just posing as highwaymen, but playing the role about as thoroughly as you can get without declaring it your career. "Two to three," he adds, to Julius, a non-serious correction.
"Two to three," agreeing to the correction with a smile. "Noted. And it makes me feel a bit better about sending people out to harass Cedric Marquette's associates, to be honest. Not every initiative is a straight line out from Corypheus."
It's partially a joke, but not entirely. Sometimes he feels like they've been pushing the same heavy stone up a hill for years, though he suspects anyone who has been in Riftwatch long enough occasionally shares the sensation.
"Do you want follow-up questions or is this one of those times we should stop thinking about work for a bit?" he adds, and this time it is a joke (if at his own expense).
“We might spare Marcus my half-remembered mercenary critiques of his proposed techniques,” is certainly more a joke about having spent too much time in the company of men who knocked over wagons full of money than it is a real suggestion that she's going to have notes on his strategy. “I will only bear in mind this skill-set, for our own future endeavours.”
"It won't be my first time either," Marcus says, a mild form of no thank you. "Although a mining company's payroll is a richer target than we had much opportunity for."
The 'we' is not so esoteric a reference, light sketches made in the past of a less-than-lawful existence in the wake of the rebellion: Tsenka, some others, some Julius and Petrana have met, whether in Cumberland or otherwise. Certainly, he didn't come into possession of Kevin through and exchange of gold and papers.
"I think asking about work is a different thing than doing work," to Julius. "Barely."
"Alright." Noted to be used like a lawyer when necessary, presumably. "If it makes a difference, it's not as if I have any tactical information or input to offer, I'm just interested in it because you'll be doing it." So that makes it less like work, surely.
He glances to Petrana and adds, "Well, I can speak for myself, at least. I don't know which particular future endeavors are in play." A gentle tease.
“I only think we may need to keep our options open in the future,” she says, mild as you like, “but having said so I would be more than happy to speak instead of a happy future than our overburdened present.”
Future endeavors, indeed.
“If the war were over tomorrow,” she proposes, “and the Divine saw sense, and we did not pivot at once to another front of war. Where would we start?”
From her tone, this is at least intended in light-hearted spirit.
There is more on the table than cake and wine, being a dinner date. Marcus is arranging his plate, the usual Gallows fare of stewed things (when it isn't pizza night, anyway) and looks to Julius at Petrana's posited question.
The You first is silent, as he takes up his glass.
He takes it in the spirit it's presumably meant, and nods as Marcus before he says: "In this world where we've won a war and avoided restarting a second, we're going to need to start building up some currently tenuous alliances, here and further afield. Presumably prioritizing a list, seeing who is near one another if we're to be launching a charm offensive in person." A mild smile. "Maybe tote up who owes us favors, just for reference."
It can hardly be surprising that the first point of order for Julius is relationships and resources in the form of people, given how his mind works. But he glances back, as if passing a ball.
“Rank those alliances,” she proposes, over her own plate, “most-to-least tenuous,” which is a joke but only inasmuch as the joke is that they'd probably do it, and if she weren't making a point of being light-hearted then it would be dangerously adjacent to losing their evening off with work. “We would have to consider where we wish to settle, of course, once we leave Kirkwall.”
Petrana takes as read that leaving Kirkwall would naturally follow.
“Presumably, in this pleasant thought-experiment, we have already addressed such matters as anchor-shards, and Riftwatch disbanded.”
"We might have garnered some good favour in the Free Marches, by then," Marcus says, as if the idea of a future without war were an easy thing to conceive of, as if it were no challenge at all to fit himself within that space. He turns the wine glass against the table. "Or go further. Rivain."
If their constitutions could handle that much warmth and humidity in exchange for relative social freedom. They'd at least adapted to that corner of the world in a dream.
"I'll build a house," angled to Petrana, a whimsical offer made serious in tone.
"I like the parts of Rivain that I've seen," is a bit of an offering to the game of imagining where they could go. "I even picked up a little conversational Rivani when I was in Antiva, if we needed it. Though I will be much less help at constructing much of anything."
Hardly a surprise. With a small shrug, he adds, "One can write ravens from anywhere, though."
Petrana's smile warms at I'll build a house, charmed by the image of it; the practicality of Marcus, doing hard labour, which is already delightful. The ease with which that slides into imagining him becoming increasingly particular, becoming an expert on what sort of stone should be used for a fireplace. He would be terribly ambitious about it, she decides. The finest house he could conceive of.
Which, she considers, might be a simpler thing in a warmer climate.
“You and I will watch,” she proposes to Julius. “We fill a supervisory role. Perhaps we'll make requests.”
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"Still. Three weeks is certainly long enough you'll be missed." He glances at Petrana with a small smile. "We'll have to think of something suitably festive."
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"The task in itself, I mean. We're knocking over wagons filled with money, attached to a project that has nothing to do with the Venatori. I understand," he adds, before Petrana or Julius might feel compelled to explain to him its importance in the scheme of things. "It's only a more indirect thing than the Forces division is used to."
Not just posing as highwaymen, but playing the role about as thoroughly as you can get without declaring it your career. "Two to three," he adds, to Julius, a non-serious correction.
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It's partially a joke, but not entirely. Sometimes he feels like they've been pushing the same heavy stone up a hill for years, though he suspects anyone who has been in Riftwatch long enough occasionally shares the sensation.
"Do you want follow-up questions or is this one of those times we should stop thinking about work for a bit?" he adds, and this time it is a joke (if at his own expense).
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The 'we' is not so esoteric a reference, light sketches made in the past of a less-than-lawful existence in the wake of the rebellion: Tsenka, some others, some Julius and Petrana have met, whether in Cumberland or otherwise. Certainly, he didn't come into possession of Kevin through and exchange of gold and papers.
"I think asking about work is a different thing than doing work," to Julius. "Barely."
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He glances to Petrana and adds, "Well, I can speak for myself, at least. I don't know which particular future endeavors are in play." A gentle tease.
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Future endeavors, indeed.
“If the war were over tomorrow,” she proposes, “and the Divine saw sense, and we did not pivot at once to another front of war. Where would we start?”
From her tone, this is at least intended in light-hearted spirit.
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The You first is silent, as he takes up his glass.
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It can hardly be surprising that the first point of order for Julius is relationships and resources in the form of people, given how his mind works. But he glances back, as if passing a ball.
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Petrana takes as read that leaving Kirkwall would naturally follow.
“Presumably, in this pleasant thought-experiment, we have already addressed such matters as anchor-shards, and Riftwatch disbanded.”
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If their constitutions could handle that much warmth and humidity in exchange for relative social freedom. They'd at least adapted to that corner of the world in a dream.
"I'll build a house," angled to Petrana, a whimsical offer made serious in tone.
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Hardly a surprise. With a small shrug, he adds, "One can write ravens from anywhere, though."
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Which, she considers, might be a simpler thing in a warmer climate.
“You and I will watch,” she proposes to Julius. “We fill a supervisory role. Perhaps we'll make requests.”