[A knocking sound like a glass bottle on a door-- which is exactly what it is. She could probably just open the door, but she's trying to be polite to fellow Divison Heads.]
It's open. [It's a strangely muffled sound, explained away by the fact that the office beyond is empty (of people, anyway) and the doorway to the adjoining room is standing open.]
In here.
['In here' is a strangely barren room, furnished with a bed that clearly seen more use as a bookshelf and a chair near one of the windows and very little else. Flint is in the chair, one foot up on the edge of an open trunk and a book open in his lap.]
[She wanders in and sniffs, something like laughing. Finding a seat, she sits with a jug of something that looks, smells, and sounds like alcohol on her lap.]
Could be a fancy painting. Pirate in repose.
[She uncorks the jug.] Need to pick your brain about shit, so I brought good booze for payment.
[He closes the book, but doesn't lower his heel from where it's hooked up on the lip of the trunk. He's not certain he can without jostling his ribs, and he's only just found a way to sit comfortably without poking some out of sight scrape or bruise.]
[So she goes on.] While back, talked to that Vint everybody hates. [ She almost says, more than you, but thinks of a better joke and opts to hold it in reserve.] Bere- Bene- whatever. You know the one. I did the whole sten-saam sten-raas routine, you know, act mean until you're nice.
[Of course the Qun has a term for good cop bad cop. She says her little speech while pouting two mugs of drink from her jug, handing him one. It smells like alcohol, but... stronger. Stranger. Or not, if he's ever raided a Qunari ship and gone through their larder.]
He told me some interesting shit about Tevinter, but since I trust him about as far as he can throw me, figured I'd run it by the Vint everybody likes.
[A smile, glinting in her eye, (that was the joke) and she takes a sip.]
[The paint stripping tang coming off the contents of the mug inspires its own kind of pang - homesickness. Booze, even Qunari booze, has a way of traveling. Nascere is a short trip.]
He takes a drink and tucks the book with its dry ecclesiastical title between his hip and the side of the chair.]
[She raises her mug before taking another sip. It knocks most humans right the fuck back, but she grew up on it.]
Corypheus has Tevinter, the territory. I want Tevinter, the people. At least, as many as we can get. Defectors. From what the boy told me, most of the rich tits are fine rubbing elbows with his nibs, but the other ones... sopory? Soparty? [Soporati. Her Tevene is absolute shit.] Those fucks aren't so happy. And since we didn't kill the little twerp, we can use him as an example of how nice we are to defectors.
[She shrugs, giving him a look. Make sense so far?]
[Something in his face goes crooked over the mangling of soporati. It's a little like not knowing how to say the word for head or heart or any other vital body part you're not supposed to be able to live without. It's funny.]
You'll have to do better than that if you want more than a few dozen of the poorest free citizens. But it's an idea. I've discussed something similar with Miss Jones.
[He's not. Or he's sick enough of the paperwork that's piled up in his absence to ignore that he is.]
There's a joke in Tevinter. It goes-- [He's written and read more in Tevene than he's spoken it in quite some time; after a pause, he says something pleasant and rolling which translates to:] What's the difference between a slave and a soporati? The slave doesn't need to worry about what's for breakfast.
They're merchants and soldiers and clerks and poor farmers whose grandparents were once slaves or were bad at or unlucky in business. They're free citizens, meaning maybe a tenth can read and write and that they want what everyone wants: security and comfort. In Tevinter, that usually means figuring out how to keep your family alive along enough for someone in it to eventually be born a mage.
[She scratches her chin, thinking.] So they're the fuckers who make the food and keep money going in and out. [She grew up without money, but in Rivain, she still had to know how it worked. The Qun had to buy supplies to distribute, instead of relying entirely on their farms. She understands the concept fine, thanks.]
I was playing with the idea of getting the mages to blast some pamphlets in their direction-- it'd be risky, but so's war-- except, if they can't read, fuck that. Could send spies in, but the risk's high for an unknown reward.
...He said there was a resistance, but he could've just been saying it to make me like him or whatever. But we know there's curfews and blocks on who gets in'n out. That's guaranteed to make fuckers unhappy enough to jump.
If you want numbers, Minrathous is the wrong place to look for them. Even if you could reach the city and find out who there is allegedly working against Corypheus's possession of the city and his influence in the Magisterium, I can't imagine you'll come away with many. In which case, they're more use to us exactly where they are - gathering information until the point that an alternative is so appealing that we don't even have to go looking for them.
[His leg is falling asleep. A tentative shift of the heel sends a flash of pain up through to his side, and he grimaces into his mug.]
Where we should go is Perivantiuim and Marothius and Solas. The farther from the seat of power, the more likely they are to be concerned about being pinched between it and the coming Exalted March. The more likely they are to defect. The more likely they are to realize that between them and the slaves, they exist in numbers strong enough to do whatever the fuck they've been persuaded to like.
[Eshal's face lights. This is the kind of information she needs.]
Which would hurt, what, trade? Minrathous isn't the Par Vollen, it's not a- it's not contained. Even Kont-aar had to trade with bas to make ends. We send ships to those places, spread word around. Can't hurt. Offer free passage to just a few, get people thinking.
[She scratches her chin.] And I don't have to go to a fucking tea party over it.
[Later tonight, she's going to look over her maps and feel briefly embarrassed.]
Mmmm, sounds like a job for Byerly. [She stares into her mug.] Speaking of- you were fucking right. Took him long enough, but he figured out how to fucking needle me.
The ships are being refit before the winter storms come in. One of the merchant vessels has a cracked hatch cover. [All true. Dismissively:] I'll recover.
[She can sense a dismissal when she hears one. Soldiers-- sailors-- never like discussing their injuries. But-] See, if I was hissrath, I'd polish you off like that. [She clicks her tongue.]
The kid was a wreck. He was afraid someone'd come with an axe for his neck any moment, which, honestly, who told him how close the vote was. [Eyeroll.] You can use that, though. You don't gotta torture him if you just catch him while he's sleeping and wave a sword around.
[A shrug, and she leans back a bit, thinking.]
Minrathous has curfews. He tried to escape on his own once, got caught. Blood magic's up. Sounded like people were using their own blood for magic, as much as slaves. Maybe more than? And there are rebel cells in the city, and Corypheus is trying to root them out, which means he hasn't yet. Oh, and his favorite food is rice.
[Which is shame. Rice is cheap; it would be easy to keep him fed on it.]
It's likely less overt than all that. He might not think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen nothing but what's gone the most rancid. I've heard Magister Artemaeus is a desiccated harpy of a woman, and the whole House possesses the reputation of grasping after whatever power falls most conveniently to hand.
I got him rice, and it's what got him blabbing. I also told him if you decide to start in on torture to 'tell me'. Didn't say I'd do anything about it, but... [You know how it is.]
Overt in the rebel shit, or the blood magic shit? Because I'm not sure which is more important, honest. Tevinter's so foreign and exotic... [She rolls her eyes with a smile.]
[Fuck's sake. Rice got him talking. They should throw the idiot into the harbor with one hand tied to his foot and a knife strapped to the other hand and watch him drown.]
Both. The blood magic may be the expression of their new power, but putting own any fledgling rebellion force would be paramount if they mean to keep it. The fact that the Magisterium hasn't been more outspoken regarding the present state of Tevinter suggests there must be someone left in it who's yet to be fully convinced.
[That's interesting. Eshal sits back a little, nursing her drink.]
You're saying-- and fucking tell me if I'm off-- you're saying they'd be bragging more, but they don't want anybody looking too closely and finding out it isn't so perfect as they say.
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action.
Karaaaas.
[So polite.]
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In here.
['In here' is a strangely barren room, furnished with a bed that clearly seen more use as a bookshelf and a chair near one of the windows and very little else. Flint is in the chair, one foot up on the edge of an open trunk and a book open in his lap.]
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Could be a fancy painting. Pirate in repose.
[She uncorks the jug.] Need to pick your brain about shit, so I brought good booze for payment.
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Go on.
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[Of course the Qun has a term for good cop bad cop. She says her little speech while pouting two mugs of drink from her jug, handing him one. It smells like alcohol, but... stronger. Stranger. Or not, if he's ever raided a Qunari ship and gone through their larder.]
He told me some interesting shit about Tevinter, but since I trust him about as far as he can throw me, figured I'd run it by the Vint everybody likes.
[A smile, glinting in her eye, (that was the joke) and she takes a sip.]
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He takes a drink and tucks the book with its dry ecclesiastical title between his hip and the side of the chair.]
So, Tevinter shit.
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[She raises her mug before taking another sip. It knocks most humans right the fuck back, but she grew up on it.]
Corypheus has Tevinter, the territory. I want Tevinter, the people. At least, as many as we can get. Defectors. From what the boy told me, most of the rich tits are fine rubbing elbows with his nibs, but the other ones... sopory? Soparty? [Soporati. Her Tevene is absolute shit.] Those fucks aren't so happy. And since we didn't kill the little twerp, we can use him as an example of how nice we are to defectors.
[She shrugs, giving him a look. Make sense so far?]
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You'll have to do better than that if you want more than a few dozen of the poorest free citizens. But it's an idea. I've discussed something similar with Miss Jones.
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[Whoever she is.]
Tell me about the Sss- you know the ones. What do they do, what do they want, can they read.
[She looks around his room.]
If you're not busy.
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There's a joke in Tevinter. It goes-- [He's written and read more in Tevene than he's spoken it in quite some time; after a pause, he says something pleasant and rolling which translates to:] What's the difference between a slave and a soporati? The slave doesn't need to worry about what's for breakfast.
They're merchants and soldiers and clerks and poor farmers whose grandparents were once slaves or were bad at or unlucky in business. They're free citizens, meaning maybe a tenth can read and write and that they want what everyone wants: security and comfort. In Tevinter, that usually means figuring out how to keep your family alive along enough for someone in it to eventually be born a mage.
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I was playing with the idea of getting the mages to blast some pamphlets in their direction-- it'd be risky, but so's war-- except, if they can't read, fuck that. Could send spies in, but the risk's high for an unknown reward.
...He said there was a resistance, but he could've just been saying it to make me like him or whatever. But we know there's curfews and blocks on who gets in'n out. That's guaranteed to make fuckers unhappy enough to jump.
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[His leg is falling asleep. A tentative shift of the heel sends a flash of pain up through to his side, and he grimaces into his mug.]
Where we should go is Perivantiuim and Marothius and Solas. The farther from the seat of power, the more likely they are to be concerned about being pinched between it and the coming Exalted March. The more likely they are to defect. The more likely they are to realize that between them and the slaves, they exist in numbers strong enough to do whatever the fuck they've been persuaded to like.
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Which would hurt, what, trade? Minrathous isn't the Par Vollen, it's not a- it's not contained. Even Kont-aar had to trade with bas to make ends. We send ships to those places, spread word around. Can't hurt. Offer free passage to just a few, get people thinking.
[She scratches her chin.] And I don't have to go to a fucking tea party over it.
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You mean they're not your strong suit?
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Mmmm, sounds like a job for Byerly. [She stares into her mug.] Speaking of- you were fucking right. Took him long enough, but he figured out how to fucking needle me.
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I hope you at least got something out of it in return.
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Learned he's way the fuck out of his depth, and likely to-- whats' the expression in this fucking- right, yeah-- bite off his nose to spite his chin.
[Close.]
Also, he's fucking obsessed with spies. Thinks I'm a Qunari spy.
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Then we can be certain of one thing, at least. He's apparently never meet a Qunari intelligencer.
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[Because she knows what an injured soldier looks like. Sailor. Not soldier- person.]
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Did Artemaeus have anything else to say?
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The kid was a wreck. He was afraid someone'd come with an axe for his neck any moment, which, honestly, who told him how close the vote was. [Eyeroll.] You can use that, though. You don't gotta torture him if you just catch him while he's sleeping and wave a sword around.
[A shrug, and she leans back a bit, thinking.]
Minrathous has curfews. He tried to escape on his own once, got caught. Blood magic's up. Sounded like people were using their own blood for magic, as much as slaves. Maybe more than? And there are rebel cells in the city, and Corypheus is trying to root them out, which means he hasn't yet. Oh, and his favorite food is rice.
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[Which is shame. Rice is cheap; it would be easy to keep him fed on it.]
It's likely less overt than all that. He might not think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if he'd seen nothing but what's gone the most rancid. I've heard Magister Artemaeus is a desiccated harpy of a woman, and the whole House possesses the reputation of grasping after whatever power falls most conveniently to hand.
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Overt in the rebel shit, or the blood magic shit? Because I'm not sure which is more important, honest. Tevinter's so foreign and exotic... [She rolls her eyes with a smile.]
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Both. The blood magic may be the expression of their new power, but putting own any fledgling rebellion force would be paramount if they mean to keep it. The fact that the Magisterium hasn't been more outspoken regarding the present state of Tevinter suggests there must be someone left in it who's yet to be fully convinced.
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You're saying-- and fucking tell me if I'm off-- you're saying they'd be bragging more, but they don't want anybody looking too closely and finding out it isn't so perfect as they say.
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