[ - it isn't a long walk. not enough time to really think, what must it be like, coming home? ]
Maker, it is you. I owe someone a bet.
[ marcus rowntree. dead, alive, stone-faced as ever. for his part, isaac looks older - five years will do that. if the senior enchanter's still tediously youthful, well. he tips the bottle in hand: look what i've got. ]
I've no idea what this is, but Smythe won't miss it.
[ she will, and that's a problem for future isaac ]
[ When Isaac arrives, Marcus is busy sitting at a table and watching the window, and the slice of Kirkwall visible beyond it. He, too, looks a little different, with some flattering improvements, i.e., better dressed and bathing regularly, and the messy scars that had opened his face at some point having healed to the best of their ability.
He indicates the other empty chair at the table. ]
We'll find out.
[ He'd procured a small pitcher of simple ale from the kitchen and some cups to go with it, but instead pushes the vessels to Isaac to charge. ]
Isaac uncorks and pours with a flourish, eyebrows skating first up — isn’t that a peculiar colour for liquor — before leveling into admission: ]
I’d claim I haven't been avoiding you, [ Fingers to pocket, to a cigarette extended in offer. Want one? He hasn’t yet drunk (Isn't about to go first) ] But then I'd have no reason not to know what the devil you've been up to.
[ Marcus's attention flicks to the cigarette with still low-key but more sincere interest than the prospect of exciting liquors, identifying a vice he seeks out outside of luring people into social rituals. He nods his thanks and takes the offering, lighting the end with a small, practiced gesture, flames rippling off his fingertips, flickering out.
He brings the cup closer, once filled, but doesn't drink from it yet either. ]
You're a busy man, [ Marcus says. ] I didn't take it personally.
[ He also did not do the rounds, necessarily, nor felt the need to. ]
I've been to the Crossroads, and befriended rifters, and killed snow monsters. Riftwatch has a way of keeping you occupied.
[ Marcus Melts the Monsters. Isaac pinches paper into spark, takes a drag longer than strictly necessary. A chronic case of dramatics, true — and a moment for decision. ]
Busy, [ He agrees. ] Not been so busy as I might. There have been eyes.
[ Better now, as an offering of trust, than someone's inevitable fuckup. His fingers splay, ]
[ Marcus watches him, through smart remark and savouring his cigarette and then the sidewinding approach to a topic at hand. About as easy to dig into as stony ground.
He's done more than humour us, but I've little notion of his end goals,
[ — save that they aren't fueled by the fate of southern circles. if flint's ideals are some piece of this, they will be a piece alone. john silver is chronically wary, terminally oblique; but something in nevarra had touched a true nerve.
flint can't have known. ]
Someone ought to find out.
[ he finally gives the mug an exaggerated sniff... and wrinkles his nose. hm, gross. ]
[ This is delivered straight, so it would seem, but maybe if you're looking for it, there is a glimmer of humour in glance away and down at the prospect of drinking.
Marcus likewise holds the cup under his nose for a moment, but does close the deal with a sip. It's-- fine. ]
Since the war, I've noted that while some're willing to entertain the notion of mages living outside of captivity, when the issue is forced, [ or, when weeks later, an Abomination explodes in the Gallows ] they'll take the path of least resistance.
Among our own, as well. [ He is thinking of Kostos, but it's an open sort of statement. ]
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Where?
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[ - it isn't a long walk. not enough time to really think, what must it be like, coming home? ]
Maker, it is you. I owe someone a bet.
[ marcus rowntree. dead, alive, stone-faced as ever. for his part, isaac looks older - five years will do that. if the senior enchanter's still tediously youthful, well. he tips the bottle in hand: look what i've got. ]
I've no idea what this is, but Smythe won't miss it.
[ she will, and that's a problem for future isaac ]
no subject
He indicates the other empty chair at the table. ]
We'll find out.
[ He'd procured a small pitcher of simple ale from the kitchen and some cups to go with it, but instead pushes the vessels to Isaac to charge. ]
no subject
Isaac uncorks and pours with a flourish, eyebrows skating first up — isn’t that a peculiar colour for liquor — before leveling into admission: ]
I’d claim I haven't been avoiding you, [ Fingers to pocket, to a cigarette extended in offer. Want one? He hasn’t yet drunk (Isn't about to go first) ] But then I'd have no reason not to know what the devil you've been up to.
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He brings the cup closer, once filled, but doesn't drink from it yet either. ]
You're a busy man, [ Marcus says. ] I didn't take it personally.
[ He also did not do the rounds, necessarily, nor felt the need to. ]
I've been to the Crossroads, and befriended rifters, and killed snow monsters. Riftwatch has a way of keeping you occupied.
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[ Marcus Melts the Monsters. Isaac pinches paper into spark, takes a drag longer than strictly necessary. A chronic case of dramatics, true — and a moment for decision. ]
Busy, [ He agrees. ] Not been so busy as I might. There have been eyes.
[ Better now, as an offering of trust, than someone's inevitable fuckup. His fingers splay, ]
Not on me. Near enough to warrant caution.
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He asks; ] Whose?
[ Direct, but in a sort of permissive fashion. ]
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[ if the constant, tiresome little pissing matches with leander are any indication — well. it isn't so hard to guess where that knife went.
he's no closer to drinking. ]
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[ A pause, and he clarifies; ]
More than one might, usually, for mundane humans empowered for their skills in spying and negotiation.
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[ not that flint can have helped from the goodness of his heart ]
And the Provost will prioritize holding his position. At the Grand Cathedral he asked me how best to placate our people.
[ more or less. ]
whoops where did this go from my inbox
He's heard it before. ]
I'm told the Commander holds sympathy for the cause, [ while on the subject of division heads. ] I had wondered if he only considers it useful.
to age like fine wine (the kind u buy in a box)
[ fingers splay about the mug, ]
He's done more than humour us, but I've little notion of his end goals,
[ — save that they aren't fueled by the fate of southern circles. if flint's ideals are some piece of this, they will be a piece alone. john silver is chronically wary, terminally oblique; but something in nevarra had touched a true nerve.
flint can't have known. ]
Someone ought to find out.
[ he finally gives the mug an exaggerated sniff... and wrinkles his nose. hm, gross. ]
delicious
[ This is delivered straight, so it would seem, but maybe if you're looking for it, there is a glimmer of humour in glance away and down at the prospect of drinking.
Marcus likewise holds the cup under his nose for a moment, but does close the deal with a sip. It's-- fine. ]
Since the war, I've noted that while some're willing to entertain the notion of mages living outside of captivity, when the issue is forced, [ or, when weeks later, an Abomination explodes in the Gallows ] they'll take the path of least resistance.
Among our own, as well. [ He is thinking of Kostos, but it's an open sort of statement. ]