[Through it, Wysteria keeps her fingers delicately about the shape of her cup on its saucer. The delicacy of the china is a fine reminder not to close her hands into fists, and focusing on that somehow keeps the furious heat in her chest from flushing up the back of her neck and into her face. It also means no prick of emotion touches behind her eyes either, which is a great relief for she is quite finished with being made to cry over the likes of Byerly Rutyer.]
I see. [Is remarkably cool for the likes of Wysteria Poppell—level headed, even. She takes a moment, an interim in which she visibly arranges her thoughts. For is Alexandrie could report so succinctly on the matter, there is no reason why she cannot also.
She takes a breath.]
No, that is not at all why we quarrelled. Or certainly that is not the whole of it, for I have long known that Mister Rutyer would never see any of my work as particularly valuable or myself as anything but extraordinarily silly and so I could hardly be upset by the same wound twice. But he made it quite clear he believed all of our disagreements to be entirely my doing, and that there could be nothing he had ever done to ever offend or disregard me despite at least one instance of agreed upon evidence to the contrary.
For is it not remarkable that I have twice in life been in the hands of Venatori but it is only now given the conjugations of a dream that he saw any use in seeing that I couldn't be made into a threat? To say nothing of various other irritations or the sort of power a person in his position—head of a division, a man who is happily not beholden to much of anyone save his own temperament—might naturally exercise over someone like myself, a Rifter who he himself once advised to make secure connections lest I find myself on the far side of the war with no friends and the interests of the Chantry against me. —All of which I said to him, more or less, as I do to you now. Only to face interrogation, censure, and seemingly no awareness whatsoever from the man that his feelings are not the only ones which exist.
[There, easily and simply done. She hardly has to tighten her fingers at all to lift the teacup once more and sip from it.]
And if it is all the same to you, dear Alexandrie, I would prefer my part in this not to be used in whatever game the two of you enjoy playing. I'm sure there are any number of things you might correct him on, but I feel strongly that he ought to either muddle his way through to realizing he must take some responsibility or not at all. I couldn't bear it if someone were to do yet more work on his behalf.
no subject
I see. [Is remarkably cool for the likes of Wysteria Poppell—level headed, even. She takes a moment, an interim in which she visibly arranges her thoughts. For is Alexandrie could report so succinctly on the matter, there is no reason why she cannot also.
She takes a breath.]
No, that is not at all why we quarrelled. Or certainly that is not the whole of it, for I have long known that Mister Rutyer would never see any of my work as particularly valuable or myself as anything but extraordinarily silly and so I could hardly be upset by the same wound twice. But he made it quite clear he believed all of our disagreements to be entirely my doing, and that there could be nothing he had ever done to ever offend or disregard me despite at least one instance of agreed upon evidence to the contrary.
For is it not remarkable that I have twice in life been in the hands of Venatori but it is only now given the conjugations of a dream that he saw any use in seeing that I couldn't be made into a threat? To say nothing of various other irritations or the sort of power a person in his position—head of a division, a man who is happily not beholden to much of anyone save his own temperament—might naturally exercise over someone like myself, a Rifter who he himself once advised to make secure connections lest I find myself on the far side of the war with no friends and the interests of the Chantry against me. —All of which I said to him, more or less, as I do to you now. Only to face interrogation, censure, and seemingly no awareness whatsoever from the man that his feelings are not the only ones which exist.
[There, easily and simply done. She hardly has to tighten her fingers at all to lift the teacup once more and sip from it.]
And if it is all the same to you, dear Alexandrie, I would prefer my part in this not to be used in whatever game the two of you enjoy playing. I'm sure there are any number of things you might correct him on, but I feel strongly that he ought to either muddle his way through to realizing he must take some responsibility or not at all. I couldn't bear it if someone were to do yet more work on his behalf.