Skull is spending quality time with his raven friends. Or perhaps being carried around by that weird kid. Or who the fuck knows. He's living his life the best he can.
Anyway. Eshal looks up from the couch chair she'd secreeted herself onto with a scrunched look. "Do I have to?"
But obviously she does. Sometimes she just likes to add color. "I asked questions. And I know I can be fucking... blunt? But I didn't call her a cunt or insult her mother, and she's a rifter, so I've never fucked anyone in her family. I dunno what her problem was, but she went loose on me. I'm glad as shit she isn't my problem; I'd probably have to do a mercy kill when she tried to fight a statue."
He draws up a seat in one of the slightly less couch-like chairs, fetching it in closer from across the rug. How much of this decor is left from Herian, and how much is Byerly's influence?
"I didn't learn anything, if that's what you're asking." She lets her head loll back, staring up at the ceiling. "I asked her what she saw, if there was blood magic, and told her I wanted to make it easier for people to get over here and be safe. She clearly didn't have anything useful, so I gave her some maraas-lok as a thank you for her time and she lost it."
She turns her head to look at Flint. "Is that an insult, outside the Qun? Have I been insulting everybody? Because nobody's fucking minded but her." But sometimes people are too fucking polite for their own good.
"Only if you don't warn them first," he mutters while settling into both the chair and the black mood that's trailed him here. After a stormy beat spent rearranging the corner of his mustache, he adds-- "I don't imagine I have to say this, but I would avoid saying much else to her going forward. There's no purpose in coddling her pride."
Which is true when he says it. Then, entirely unprompted, he changes his mind-- "She's been holding on to information could be valuable to us. Yseult has been made aware and is pursuing it, but the situation is delicate enough that it warrants careful handling."
Eshal sits up, bolt straight. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her brow furrows, then unfurrows. She takes a breath, and stands.
There's a fair amount of furniture in the office, but the chairs made of flotsam are Eshals. She walks past them, opening a window, before taking one of the chairs and hefting it cleanly out of the tower. She waits until she hears the crash, and then closes the window.
Her eyes are very cold.
"Does anyone in this fucking place think about their job before they think about themselves?"
He watches all this without remark, verging on the dispassionate if it weren't for the clear bolt of satisfaction that comes just as the chair is flung fully free of the window. There is a kind of gratification in seeing someone follow a similar line of logic as oneself and then to just act on it.
So he's already in a marginally better mood when he next says, "It's a short list."
Eshal doesn't answer. She glares at the wall and tries to calm the cold rage in her stomach. It's not at Kitty. It's not at anyone, save perhaps herself. If she'd done better... Blaming others, complaining, that's beneath her. She must focus on how she can improve, or she will go mad.
"What sort of information was she withholding?" Eshal's voice is level, but carefully so. It's one that takes effort, and freezes more than it calms. "If it's not above my... my position. My Issalit- my needing to know."
"Contacts among the Tevinter slave population," he answers, running his knuckles absently under his chin against the scratch of beard. "With some interest in revolt, if what I know of Jones' interests holds true."
"It's everyone shit. What Yseult does feeds into what you and I do. It informs--" This isn't something she needs explained.
"When pressed, Jones said she'd made both Yseult and the head of Project Jeshavis aware. The first was a lie, but we won't know if the second was until De la Fontaine returns from Orlais."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thank fuck.
Anyway. Eshal looks up from the couch chair she'd secreeted herself onto with a scrunched look. "Do I have to?"
But obviously she does. Sometimes she just likes to add color. "I asked questions. And I know I can be fucking... blunt? But I didn't call her a cunt or insult her mother, and she's a rifter, so I've never fucked anyone in her family. I dunno what her problem was, but she went loose on me. I'm glad as shit she isn't my problem; I'd probably have to do a mercy kill when she tried to fight a statue."
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He draws up a seat in one of the slightly less couch-like chairs, fetching it in closer from across the rug. How much of this decor is left from Herian, and how much is Byerly's influence?
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She turns her head to look at Flint. "Is that an insult, outside the Qun? Have I been insulting everybody? Because nobody's fucking minded but her." But sometimes people are too fucking polite for their own good.
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"Oh, if I never see that bag of crazy again I'll die fulfilled. I'd heard that children were difficult, raised outside the Qun, but- wow."
She shakes her head.
"Is that what you came here to tell me?"
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Which is true when he says it. Then, entirely unprompted, he changes his mind-- "She's been holding on to information could be valuable to us. Yseult has been made aware and is pursuing it, but the situation is delicate enough that it warrants careful handling."
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There's a fair amount of furniture in the office, but the chairs made of flotsam are Eshals. She walks past them, opening a window, before taking one of the chairs and hefting it cleanly out of the tower. She waits until she hears the crash, and then closes the window.
Her eyes are very cold.
"Does anyone in this fucking place think about their job before they think about themselves?"
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So he's already in a marginally better mood when he next says, "It's a short list."
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"What sort of information was she withholding?" Eshal's voice is level, but carefully so. It's one that takes effort, and freezes more than it calms. "If it's not above my... my position. My Issalit- my needing to know."
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And then, "sucks for Yseult, though."
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"When pressed, Jones said she'd made both Yseult and the head of Project Jeshavis aware. The first was a lie, but we won't know if the second was until De la Fontaine returns from Orlais."
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But her anger burnt out, she's just disappointed. She sits on the couch again. "Wanna drink? I could use one."
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"One won't kill me."