[A cloud passes over Nikos' face, darkening his idealism. Too impatient, too ready for disaster, for the fight that he is always poised for.]
There's more. If you have an ear to hear it.
[--Clipped, sharp like he could cut with the words themselves. No one is ever listening. No one is ever ready. If Caspar were here, maybe he could say something more, something that makes real sense. If Nikos hadn't drank a small harbor, he'd maybe be able to parrot them back, put some of his smoldering anger into words that he ought to know by heart and have them come out full of truth and conviction. Instead his hands are curled already into fists, tight.]
You asked what I was owed, the price. That's it. Whatever you think of it, I don't give a shit.
[Not here, is his first thought. There are window ledges, however darkened and shuttered, high above them in this miserable side alley and there's no telling what eyes or ears might be present. It's just as likely that Nikos, all rum-soaked and wire tight, could be saying anything for the sake of anyone. I could resume that bargain if she doesn't return, he could offer, then set it aside for a time. Give the arrangement some breathing room so if any part has been made to unravel or rigged to explode, it won't do it in his hands.
Instead, Flint looks to Nikos's fists then to the storm in his face. His attention is stone heavy - not still and not really anything else either.]
[Not here would be the sensible thought. Postpone it, meet in a cellar, in a dim corner, in darkness smudgy with candlelight. In Cumberland, it was a student tavern. Hand around pamphlets.
Go on is an opening, an exposed chink to bite into. Nikos, like a half-mad dog with a locked jaw, digs in.]
Systems. Institutions. Toppled, dismantled, drawn and quartered, all of them.
[And from the ash, build a model that works for the people that it governs, but instead, Nikos' current frustration (one of many; he is perpetually frstrated)--]
And meanwhile the Inquisition satisfies itself that it is working for the good of Thedas. Eradicating this pressing threat. A worthy masturbatory goal that allows itself and its members to take comfort in their goodness. To forget, that before there was Corypheus, there was subjugation. Dominion. Systems that will be in place--systems that the Inquisition supports, allies with--after Corypheus is gone.
[Ah, says the look on his face. That blunt-side-of-a-knife good humor is annoyingly persistent even while being mauled.]
Did you come to the Inquisition planning to leverage its intelligence, or is it an ambition you've acquired since?
[A sounding shot in the dark. But if he's close, a flinch could be telling. And if he isn't - well. Saying a thing aloud sometimes clarifies it as a possibility.]
[Raw anger is difficult to reign in once exposed. So there's a flash in his eyes, instead of a flinch. Shut up goes hand in hand with not here. And despite his consuming rage, and his penchant for saying whatever he feels, wielding bluntness like a weapon: Nikos isn't stupid. That's how he's lived this long. He would lecture anyone, parroting speeches he's listened to Caspar writing, right up until he grew too impatient to keep talking.
This would be more than a lecture. This would be opening a packet of coded letters, and giving away part of the key.]
I came to the Inquisition to influence what comes after the world is saved. Or if you prefer fatalism, what comes after it is destroyed. My ambition is more noble than climbing the ranks and leading projects, [a fuck you to Kostos, who isn't even there] and mouthing along with empty promises and beliefs. And I came to drink. The wine in Antiva is drying up.
[Sullen, he folds his arms over his chest, without even the slightest sway to give him away.]
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no subject
There's more. If you have an ear to hear it.
[--Clipped, sharp like he could cut with the words themselves. No one is ever listening. No one is ever ready. If Caspar were here, maybe he could say something more, something that makes real sense. If Nikos hadn't drank a small harbor, he'd maybe be able to parrot them back, put some of his smoldering anger into words that he ought to know by heart and have them come out full of truth and conviction. Instead his hands are curled already into fists, tight.]
You asked what I was owed, the price. That's it. Whatever you think of it, I don't give a shit.
no subject
Instead, Flint looks to Nikos's fists then to the storm in his face. His attention is stone heavy - not still and not really anything else either.]
If there's more to say, go on.
no subject
Go on is an opening, an exposed chink to bite into. Nikos, like a half-mad dog with a locked jaw, digs in.]
Systems. Institutions. Toppled, dismantled, drawn and quartered, all of them.
[And from the ash, build a model that works for the people that it governs, but instead, Nikos' current frustration (one of many; he is perpetually frstrated)--]
And meanwhile the Inquisition satisfies itself that it is working for the good of Thedas. Eradicating this pressing threat. A worthy masturbatory goal that allows itself and its members to take comfort in their goodness. To forget, that before there was Corypheus, there was subjugation. Dominion. Systems that will be in place--systems that the Inquisition supports, allies with--after Corypheus is gone.
no subject
Did you come to the Inquisition planning to leverage its intelligence, or is it an ambition you've acquired since?
[A sounding shot in the dark. But if he's close, a flinch could be telling. And if he isn't - well. Saying a thing aloud sometimes clarifies it as a possibility.]
no subject
This would be more than a lecture. This would be opening a packet of coded letters, and giving away part of the key.]
I came to the Inquisition to influence what comes after the world is saved. Or if you prefer fatalism, what comes after it is destroyed. My ambition is more noble than climbing the ranks and leading projects, [a fuck you to Kostos, who isn't even there] and mouthing along with empty promises and beliefs. And I came to drink. The wine in Antiva is drying up.
[Sullen, he folds his arms over his chest, without even the slightest sway to give him away.]
What of your ambition?