The fixture of Flint's attention on him narrows a degree or two further, developing into a legitimate squint. It holds there for a moment or two, relentlessly unresponsive in the face of Edgard's attempts at being helpful. Then, when no answer as to why Riftwatch's most notoriously unkempt member is presently standing in his office looking like a well groomed hunting dog spontaneously manifests under the pressure of his examination, Flint does the logical thing:
He plays along with it.
Fine. Whatever it is will shake itself out in time.
"Nevermind it." Put that parchment down, says the sharp look Flint gives it. "What concerns do you have with your work, exactly?"
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"Do you want me to go, ser?"
The idea that Commander Flint could be rendered speechless is not something that has occurred to him.
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"Are you ill?"
If it's something with pus or vermin, they'll need to flush out the Gallows again.
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"No. Feel fine, ser."
He chances a look at him and tries to guess why he might be asked that.
"Is there an illness going around? Need help with--something related to that?" He falters.
He grabs some spare parchment on the desk ready to take notes. Yes, this will help. He looks up attentive.
no subject
He plays along with it.
Fine. Whatever it is will shake itself out in time.
"Nevermind it." Put that parchment down, says the sharp look Flint gives it. "What concerns do you have with your work, exactly?"
no subject
"Everyone respects you. As they should, not just because of your position, but because you demand it and your work shows it."
Edgard looks down at his feet again and sighs a little before continuing.
"Think that if my work was better perhaps I would be treated with more respect. So I'm here to see to that."
As he's looking down, he notices Flint's desk, a clutter of papers, some maps, artfully draped. Even Flint's mess looks nice.