[Byerly Rutyer is a fool for sentimentality. He'd decided this some time ago, had marked the impulse, and once or twice has made to use it like a chip in a tiling stone for wedging in a lever and shifting the heavy block of the man's sensibilities this way or that.
So later, after he has climbed to the griffon eyrie and has saddled his animal of choosing and is clipping himself in to the saddle, Flint will be irritated to have been at all caught off guard by this sentiment.
He turns abruptly toward the door at the man in it, briefly seeming to have forgotten the urgency of his trajectory in favor of planting himself there in the long room in order to weather the shock of the compliment.
Then he folds the coat across his arm, the motion mechanical as a dwarven clockwork.]
This sets a poor precedent. The next time we disagree on something, I'm going to strongly consider whether killing and resurrecting you to knock some respect back between the ears isn't a viable solution.
[ He's pleased by this response, and by this wit. Perhaps he ought to try being kind more often. Though, to be fair, too much kindness might dull its effects, like how you can build up immunity to toxins over time - a large part of the pleasure is the way that Flint has been taken aback. ]
Just as long as you manage the second part of the process.
[ And he offers Flint an odd little gesture of camaraderie - a bump of the knuckles against the man's bicep. Less than a slap on the shoulder, but more than nothing. ]
[He gets a grunt of acknowledgement—either for the well wishes of the bump of knuckles—for his trouble, Flint's hand rising briefly to adjust the lay of the saddlebags across his shoulder.]
Good luck with keeping everyone alive in the interim.
[Which is as heartfelt a goodbye as Byerly is likely to get as Flint brushes him back from the Division office's doorway and into the corridor where he may pull the door shut in their wake. He's for the stairs after—not down toward the ferry slip and the stables, but up toward the griffons.
And this would seem to be the last of the brief exchange, only Flint pauses there on the bottom before ascending out of view. He twists half back.]
You might consider a frank conversation with Bastien as to what you're doing any of this for. He left when you died, if he hasn't said so already.
[ The lack of surprise confirms well enough that Bastien has indeed said so already.
(What a strange turn of phrase. When you died. It makes Byerly want to laugh, but he suspects that it would come out sounding a bit alarming.) ]
We speak on the subject often. My beloved's heart pumps idealism, to be sure, but the prevailing passions of this place are not his. The movement of great men, instead of the defense of the common one. [ A casual shrug, but Byerly's eyes are trained on Flint's face, searching to see how much this resonates: ] So he fights for me. And I for him. And he fought a whole dragon.
It seems as if Flint might turn fully back from the invitation of the upper stairwell and face the shape of that sentiment. And then his hand simply rises and adjusts the lay of the saddlebags across his shoulder.]
I'll see you in a few days' time.
[And then he does turn—toward the upper floors rather than away, the scuff of his boots sure on the step.]
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no subject
So later, after he has climbed to the griffon eyrie and has saddled his animal of choosing and is clipping himself in to the saddle, Flint will be irritated to have been at all caught off guard by this sentiment.
He turns abruptly toward the door at the man in it, briefly seeming to have forgotten the urgency of his trajectory in favor of planting himself there in the long room in order to weather the shock of the compliment.
Then he folds the coat across his arm, the motion mechanical as a dwarven clockwork.]
This sets a poor precedent. The next time we disagree on something, I'm going to strongly consider whether killing and resurrecting you to knock some respect back between the ears isn't a viable solution.
no subject
[ He's pleased by this response, and by this wit. Perhaps he ought to try being kind more often. Though, to be fair, too much kindness might dull its effects, like how you can build up immunity to toxins over time - a large part of the pleasure is the way that Flint has been taken aback. ]
Just as long as you manage the second part of the process.
[ And he offers Flint an odd little gesture of camaraderie - a bump of the knuckles against the man's bicep. Less than a slap on the shoulder, but more than nothing. ]
Travel well, Commander.
no subject
Good luck with keeping everyone alive in the interim.
[Which is as heartfelt a goodbye as Byerly is likely to get as Flint brushes him back from the Division office's doorway and into the corridor where he may pull the door shut in their wake. He's for the stairs after—not down toward the ferry slip and the stables, but up toward the griffons.
And this would seem to be the last of the brief exchange, only Flint pauses there on the bottom before ascending out of view. He twists half back.]
You might consider a frank conversation with Bastien as to what you're doing any of this for. He left when you died, if he hasn't said so already.
no subject
(What a strange turn of phrase. When you died. It makes Byerly want to laugh, but he suspects that it would come out sounding a bit alarming.) ]
We speak on the subject often. My beloved's heart pumps idealism, to be sure, but the prevailing passions of this place are not his. The movement of great men, instead of the defense of the common one. [ A casual shrug, but Byerly's eyes are trained on Flint's face, searching to see how much this resonates: ] So he fights for me. And I for him. And he fought a whole dragon.
no subject
It seems as if Flint might turn fully back from the invitation of the upper stairwell and face the shape of that sentiment. And then his hand simply rises and adjusts the lay of the saddlebags across his shoulder.]
I'll see you in a few days' time.
[And then he does turn—toward the upper floors rather than away, the scuff of his boots sure on the step.]