In the heavy grey daylight, he fixes Julius with a sharp look. Something is being calculated behind that face; it lurks in the compressed line behind Flint's whiskers, in the absent tap of his forefinger where his hand has come to lay across the studded surface of the heavy belt at his middle.
His expression doesn't change, but there is a pause: not excessive, but long enough to indicate he is choosing his words (or possibly counting to ten in his head). "It does," he says, after that pause.
Instead of whatever he might want to say, he adds, "They informed me they had a horse, and that they'd managed to take a few private documents from their captors. Silver described their situation as," a pause that could be him recalling the exact word, "an inconvenience, not more. They did not expand enough for me to contradict the characterization."
Here, another pause. Not quite counting to ten. Maybe half that. Then—
"We should trust that they've the best vantage from which to gauge it." Whether he sounds less than thrilled with this fact is irrelevant. "So long as they retain a line of communication and some mobility, then I see no reason to question that. You might say as much," he adds. "Should either of them reach out by crystal again. It might convince them to be more forthcoming about their progress."
As something of a rule, his face is less discreet than Julius'. Fuck's sake, says some line in it.
"Understood, Commander." It's not that Julius disagrees about the aim, but his experiences with Petrana and, to a lesser extent, Silver do not give him a great deal of hope in talking them out of anything they've decided rapidly enough for it to make a difference. Then again, maybe invoking Flint will help. It's worth trying.
"I'll alert you, if they reach out to me again. I can't promise they'll give me a great many more details, but I'll do my best."
It's fine, the day wasn't stressful enough already.
"Good," comes with a curt little nod it ought to. Less present is the generally requisite diversion of his attention—the tell tale flick of his eyeliner across Julius' shoulder to some other pressing problem beyond him. No doubt if Flint were only to look, he might find a half dozen to choose from.
Instead, the pinch of disatisfaction in all of this keeps him here longer than it really ought to. What else is there to say, or discuss? Petrana and Silver are capable and relatively fit, and as far as items which demand attention go they are leagues removed from the aforementioned to do list right below their noses.
"Have the healers given any definitive word on Marcus?"
(That he uses that instead of Rowntree is no doubt in consideration of the sensitive nature of the question, and to who he's putting it to. This is a courtesy for the man in front of him, not some concern for the future of his division's makeup.)
The shift in Julius's posture is subtle — suppressed worry and irritation to suppressed worry and something else — and mainly manifests in a small adjustment to the way he holds his shoulders. He doesn't pause, though, before answering.
"Dickerson expects him to be well, unless there turns out to have been any nerve damage. But as far as I could determine, he didn't think that was likely. In any event, Marcus seems well enough that getting him to lie down for more than a brief stretch is going to be an increasingly difficult challenge, so I'm sure he'll be ready to move when we start heading back."
Flint meant it well, or at worst neutrally, so Julius doesn't see any reason not to answer in the same vein. The tangled mess of how he feels about it is something to think about later (or, if Marcus will allow it, possibly never). Nor does Flint need the it's-not-actually-funny observation that Marcus probably won't even have scars as bad as those Julius got off a dracolisk at Ghislain; Julius is probably not going to make the joke to anyone, under the circumstances, but it has occurred to him all the same.
His low grunt of assent sounds like a tally being made in a mental column. Even if he weren't ready to move, they've one or two resources to hand that might have seen it accomplished. While he doesn't imagine a ride in a litter strung under a griffon to be particularly pleasant—
Isn't really relevant or why he'd inquired, suggests the continued beat of study Flint makes of Julius.
"Should I be informing Rutyer that you require further occupation, or that you're to be freed from whatever he's already saddled you with?"
The slightly longer-than-usual pause is the only real indication that Julius is slightly mortified to be perceived as having an emotion. He'd prefer if even the pause wasn't there.
Still, he says, "There is plenty to do, in every quarter. I don't think I require special treatment, given that I'm not the one who sustained a serious injury." It's probably an indication of just how tired he is that he doesn't stop himself before adding, "Though of course I can't stop you from exercising the discretion of your rank. Commander."
It's not snide; it's not a joke. If anything, it's an acknowledgement that Julius has been stretched thin over the last 36 hours and if someone whose judgment he respects feels the need to intervene, he won't fight it.
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"It sounds like they were lucky."
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Instead of whatever he might want to say, he adds, "They informed me they had a horse, and that they'd managed to take a few private documents from their captors. Silver described their situation as," a pause that could be him recalling the exact word, "an inconvenience, not more. They did not expand enough for me to contradict the characterization."
no subject
"We should trust that they've the best vantage from which to gauge it." Whether he sounds less than thrilled with this fact is irrelevant. "So long as they retain a line of communication and some mobility, then I see no reason to question that. You might say as much," he adds. "Should either of them reach out by crystal again. It might convince them to be more forthcoming about their progress."
As something of a rule, his face is less discreet than Julius'. Fuck's sake, says some line in it.
no subject
"I'll alert you, if they reach out to me again. I can't promise they'll give me a great many more details, but I'll do my best."
It's fine, the day wasn't stressful enough already.
no subject
Instead, the pinch of disatisfaction in all of this keeps him here longer than it really ought to. What else is there to say, or discuss? Petrana and Silver are capable and relatively fit, and as far as items which demand attention go they are leagues removed from the aforementioned to do list right below their noses.
"Have the healers given any definitive word on Marcus?"
(That he uses that instead of Rowntree is no doubt in consideration of the sensitive nature of the question, and to who he's putting it to. This is a courtesy for the man in front of him, not some concern for the future of his division's makeup.)
no subject
"Dickerson expects him to be well, unless there turns out to have been any nerve damage. But as far as I could determine, he didn't think that was likely. In any event, Marcus seems well enough that getting him to lie down for more than a brief stretch is going to be an increasingly difficult challenge, so I'm sure he'll be ready to move when we start heading back."
Flint meant it well, or at worst neutrally, so Julius doesn't see any reason not to answer in the same vein. The tangled mess of how he feels about it is something to think about later (or, if Marcus will allow it, possibly never). Nor does Flint need the it's-not-actually-funny observation that Marcus probably won't even have scars as bad as those Julius got off a dracolisk at Ghislain; Julius is probably not going to make the joke to anyone, under the circumstances, but it has occurred to him all the same.
no subject
Isn't really relevant or why he'd inquired, suggests the continued beat of study Flint makes of Julius.
"Should I be informing Rutyer that you require further occupation, or that you're to be freed from whatever he's already saddled you with?"
no subject
Still, he says, "There is plenty to do, in every quarter. I don't think I require special treatment, given that I'm not the one who sustained a serious injury." It's probably an indication of just how tired he is that he doesn't stop himself before adding, "Though of course I can't stop you from exercising the discretion of your rank. Commander."
It's not snide; it's not a joke. If anything, it's an acknowledgement that Julius has been stretched thin over the last 36 hours and if someone whose judgment he respects feels the need to intervene, he won't fight it.