[Isn't it strange, how something simple said with such certainty can at once make something less like an idea and more like something obvious and already under way? And for a moment, Flint leaves it just there - a wary, calculated thing. As if he is somehow still gauging her even after what's already been said. He doesn't look past her; his attention is fixed, razor sharp, the ease in the line of his arm forgotten.
Then, apparently having made his decisions, he leans forward across the table by a degree.]
You joined the Inquisition out of Llomerryn, is that right?
[ Nell doesn't flinch under that scrutiny, and holds herself back from demanding to know what. Patience isn't her strong suit either, but she can bide her time when she must, even if the sense is palpable, of energy reined, kinetic, prickling up the back of her neck as she resists the urge to lean forward. Then he does, and her grin is quick and every bit as sharp as his attention. ]
Yes.
[ She could and will elaborate if needed but why delay getting to the plan. ]
Then you and I both know what work those people might be trusted with.
[There's risk in this. No, not just risk - deadly danger. Speaking any part of this aloud only makes it more likely to lead to some dark end. But that, he thinks, is the trouble. Waiting. Keeping still while the rest of the world tilts around them. He sees it here in the eager lines of her face as much as he had from Walrus' sterndeck while he'd watched the Galicia devoured by the sea without Radonis to keep her company.]
Which is a rare thing, I think - trust. So much of the world has a way of making any desire to change it into a something poisonous. But what I've put in motion requires more than what I can do myself, and I sense you and I are of a similar mind.
Our friend's value, if he has any, currently hinges entirely on decisions made in the North. I mean to take that decision from them by showing the world their true colors before they have the luxury to dictate the narrative. Able men and women, made to look a certain way and seen to be doing certain things, might encourage the Inquisition's allies to draw their own conclusions before someone else tells them how to think.
[ Nell's gaze narrows, the tilt of her head growing deeper as she listens. She pauses that way for a moment, thinking, head angled marginally more upright to avoid dribbling wine when she drinks. ]
That would certainly be valuable motivation. And save the Inquisition a lot of effort and bargaining. But I don't see that it completely solves the matter of our guest. There's still the question of whether the people there can be rallied to fight from within behind some leader we like better. We'd still need to supply a more attractive option than the one at hand, or risk them turning to him to try to force the enemy to fight on two fronts.
[Were he not leaned that half degree forward, it might be easy to miss the way Flint's expression twitches toward satisfaction in the smoky, irregular light of the tavern loft. It's evidence of some minuscule but constant process of recalculation, the fulfillment of some predetermined point followed by the immediate shift of his attention to whatever thing lays beyond it.]
And who or what would you recommend as this more attractive option?
[He has thoughts. But let's pretend for just a moment that he doesn't - that anything she says will serve to turn the direction of that adamant momentum.]
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no subject
[Isn't it strange, how something simple said with such certainty can at once make something less like an idea and more like something obvious and already under way? And for a moment, Flint leaves it just there - a wary, calculated thing. As if he is somehow still gauging her even after what's already been said. He doesn't look past her; his attention is fixed, razor sharp, the ease in the line of his arm forgotten.
Then, apparently having made his decisions, he leans forward across the table by a degree.]
You joined the Inquisition out of Llomerryn, is that right?
[He's done his homework.]
no subject
Yes.
[ She could and will elaborate if needed but why delay getting to the plan. ]
no subject
[There's risk in this. No, not just risk - deadly danger. Speaking any part of this aloud only makes it more likely to lead to some dark end. But that, he thinks, is the trouble. Waiting. Keeping still while the rest of the world tilts around them. He sees it here in the eager lines of her face as much as he had from Walrus' sterndeck while he'd watched the Galicia devoured by the sea without Radonis to keep her company.]
Which is a rare thing, I think - trust. So much of the world has a way of making any desire to change it into a something poisonous. But what I've put in motion requires more than what I can do myself, and I sense you and I are of a similar mind.
Our friend's value, if he has any, currently hinges entirely on decisions made in the North. I mean to take that decision from them by showing the world their true colors before they have the luxury to dictate the narrative. Able men and women, made to look a certain way and seen to be doing certain things, might encourage the Inquisition's allies to draw their own conclusions before someone else tells them how to think.
no subject
That would certainly be valuable motivation. And save the Inquisition a lot of effort and bargaining. But I don't see that it completely solves the matter of our guest. There's still the question of whether the people there can be rallied to fight from within behind some leader we like better. We'd still need to supply a more attractive option than the one at hand, or risk them turning to him to try to force the enemy to fight on two fronts.
no subject
And who or what would you recommend as this more attractive option?
[He has thoughts. But let's pretend for just a moment that he doesn't - that anything she says will serve to turn the direction of that adamant momentum.]