No, that is-- entirely-- No. That is to say, it is an offer meant with kindness, I am sure, but it-- [Maker.] This was a mistake. I am sorry, to have, wasted-- wasted your time--
Say nothing more, Seneschal. And please don't apologize for being uoset. I can tell whatever it is has troubled you deeply. I'll see you in ten-- no five! minutes.
[And she will hear no protest! The poor man clearly doesn't know how to take care of himself in the best of times, much less ones of stress. Is it a terribly enjoyable task to mind him? Not in the slightest. But someone simply must do it.
Somehow, she does make it to his office in those promised five minutes. Wysteria's only slightly out of breath as she swans in with a plate of cheese and a little corner of cold ham. If she catches him trying to leave before she can get there-- well. Surely it is purely coincidence.]
[Sheet dovetails nicely to cover the startled shit that Salvio lets loose as he stands to finally leave to hide from Wysteria (having first denied that she might truly be coming to the Base Operations office, and then settling in to do some work, and then concluding that she might actually be coming to the Base Operations office, and quickly finishing his paperwork so he is ready to leave the office before Wysteria arrives) only to turn and find himself nearly toe-to-toe with Wysteria herself. His hand fumbles backward, grabbing the corner of his desk for support, his other hand clutched at his chest.]
I am, [probably as white as a sheet] Poppell, this is not, I said-- Is that a plate--
[By the Maker, wait, and Salvio puts up his hands, cautiously.]
The paperwork. Please. [A weak concession:] I will sit. If you just--the worktable, over there. Meals have been permitted there.
[Salvio lingers, wary. There is nothing else for it. Like a man approaching a bear who he has been told is quite tame but whose tameness has not been verified, he edges around to the chair and--
Sits.]
Thank you. [A route response. He swallows.] You may, um. Also sit, of course. If you would be more... comfortable.
[The plate remains in his periphery, a miserable reminder. He does not look at it. He also does not look at Wysteria. This leaves him very little to look at, and he settles for staring down at the tabletop, which is much scarred and ink-stained in places, and badly in need of a scrub, probably. If only he could banish the plate from the table and tend to it.]
I, um. The Divine election, is the-- the topic. At hand. For much of, most of-- uh, well, Thedas. Kirkwall. The, um. Common consciousness, as it--were.
[She is, perhaps, making a joke. Or perhaps she really has heard a very little of it. That might be possible, if nigh on unthinkable, but Salvio has been tormenting himself with playing out the possibilities on paper, and possibly he has been alone in that pursuit, so--]
Well--
[The plate comes into his view like an inconvenient waxing moon. Salvio shuts his eyes, more against what he is going to say, but partially because of the plate.]
It's. Um. One of the candidates, for the, Divine--one of the candidates has been killed. Grand Cleric Agathe of Cumberland. On her way to the Decision, she, er, the, report, I don't-- [Helplessly, he puts his hands down flat on the tabletop.] It is recent. And it is news that must be shared. Surely. People must know. But I have--forgive me, I am talking loudly--I have fear, for what comes after, for, I'm--
[Shit, he thinks, again, and reaches to take a piece of cheese. And he eats it. And it tastes good, which is sort of unfair, but he has to admit it, however weakly,] This is good. Cheese.
[Beside him, perched on the other chair, she pauses. Sensibly, some of the good humor may even drain away out of her face. She takes her own slice of cheese. Consuming it slowly, the room lapses into a sudden unsettled quiet as neither of them scrambles to fill it.
At length, being somewhat of a loss for the right words:]
[Salvio's shoulders raise just slightly before they fall back into their slump. It is somehow worse that Wysteria takes the news with such gravity. Perhaps that was why he had contacted her in the first place. She is like an astringent, a sharp countermelody to misery.]
There are many possibilities. Removed from the doc, um, ballot--the Grand Cleric's absence will be felt there. Votes that would have been hers will go elsewhere. Perilously, perhaps. She was, mm, liberal, in some of her thoughts. If one were to place such things on a scale. And the Chantry will investigate, to try and determine the, um-- it was no accident, as the reports indicate, so there will be work to be done there, and depending on the guilty, those that are found guilty, some--strife, would be expected, with that, so-- And so often some group or person, might try to leverage the chaos, toward their advantage--Maker forbid, of course, but it is...
[He takes another bit of cheese from the plate and fixes it with a doleful look.]
That is to say, I don't know. Largely. It is--unwelcome news. For many reasons.
Perhaps that was the point - to be certain we'd all be focused on the mystery of uncovering who killed Reverend Mother Agathe and why that we simply wouldn't have time to do what might be best elsewhere.
[A Venatori plot, perhaps. Or someone who was angry that Agathe might give anyone who didn't deserve it some latitude. Or someone frightened she wouldn't give them enough. Or, or, or-- Anything at all in the entire world is possible, she supposes. Wysteria eats another piece of cheese. Once finished with it, she has resolved herself:]
Well. She's already dead, the poor woman. Avoiding that doesn't make it less true. Yes, Seneschal, I believe you are quite right that it would be best to say something now rather than to let news come in from the street. Kirkwall will know soon, if it doesn't already. Maybe if we get all the arguing out of the way now before the new Divine is elected, we'll be better prepared to grapple with what comes next. I'm a great fan of being candid, Messere Pizzicagnolo. It can only do everyone some good when there is nothing to be done about the very basic facts of a matter.
[Miserably assessing all of the possibilities raised by this response, and then miserably letting the tide of words wash over him, Salvio first says,]
Yes, [and then,] oh--
[Ham? Oh. The plate, again. His hand obeys before his mind has caught up, and before he can think better of it, or wave off the command, he has a bit of ham in his hand, and he is putting it in his mouth.]
Very good. Yes. [Not that he's tasting much at present.] Poppell, the, um.
[He sniffles, and rubs a hand over his face. It is the dust, and nothing more.]
Candor. Can it be. Taught? That is to say, if I say it... baldly, it will--
[And then somewhat out of nowhere--] I never wanted to be the seneschal, you know.
[Has the ham made him brainsick? Perhaps. For strength, or perhaps to be double sure, Salvio reaches for another piece, and shoves it in his mouth to shut himself up, lest he show any more of his ass.
Metaphorically. Maker forbid any other-- just, no.]
[He reminds her strangely of someone else just then, though she can't quite put her finger on who it might be. Maybe he seems like a magician she had known only in passing at Somerset, or maybe she is thinking of her cousin Albert and how uneasy he'd been to see her turned loose at the mercy of a strange institution. Or maybe it is simply some sympathy pain, or a sharp flare of anxiety that looking at him inspires. How much different things will soon be? And how comfortable she has been even in this strange place at the margin of a very great war, and how much of that will soon be gone forever if even Messere Pizzicagnolo (who Myr himself had said was some breed of Loyalist) is so concerned?
Whatever the reason, a terrible homesickness strikes her. She holds it there for a moment high in her chest, then expells it forcefully with one great exhale.
All right. It's fine. Let's think of something brighter, shall we?]
And yet here you are, doing a perfectly fine job of it. Do you not enjoy any part of the work?
[Salvio, no stranger to huge sighs, takes another bite of the ham without comment, and chews at it. He breaks his own silence with a gloomy laugh.
Fine. Yes.]
A kind assessment. The work gets done, and that is 'fine'. As to the work, I--
[Well. With the bitten piece of ham, he gestures back over his shoulder, toward his desk, and the files, and cupboards, and the great towers of paperwork and folios that stand like miniature and narrow mountains.]
I like paperwork. Order. The, um. No--I would not complain, of course, and the Inquisition has the need, and it was a title that was-- That is, before, I was assistant to the seneschal. For--quite a few years. So the appointment was natural, and I would not complain of it.
A certain forthrightness. Is expected. I think. Leadership, limited leadership, and--well, I would sooner be left alone. To work. This is all, ah, nothing at all--forgive me, I am-- The news has left me in confusion. This is nothing we need continue to speak of, I should--draft some, something that will be said.
Nonsense. Anyone would need time to arrange their thoughts. Best to help me finish the contents of this plate first. Besides, you will be doing me a favor. Otherwise I'll either be forced to return this half eaten and face the wrath of the kitchen staff, or be forced toss it from a window to avoid being scolded. Either would be a terrible waste, and one would be very cruel indeed.
[She fixes him with a wounded, pitiable look. Do these hands look like they can wash dishes to you? Scrub floors? Just look at her. She can't afford to do penance in a kitchen, Salvio.]
[Salvio pulls up short in his protestation. He scans for some sort of scam--the wounded look nearly pushes him over to the side of being fucked with--but then he settles on the side of no scam.]
Waste is a terrible... I mean to say, I would not. The budget.
[A man heavy with responsibility, he reaches for another piece of cheese.]
But I am-- I fear I have no more to say. On-- much of it. Unless you should like to be seneschal.
[Ah. No. Once he's said it, he realizes his mistake. In horror, Salvio nearly drops the piece of cheese, and looks hastily to Wysteria's face.]
Fear not. My penmanship is far too grim; I would be fired immediately. Your position is secure, messere. But I thoroughly appreciate the vote of confidence, and may use you as a reference should I ever feel compelled to get myself a legitimate bit of work in the Inquisition's ranks.
Well. If you were to-- improve your penmanship. Perhaps.
[That one is not a joke. Salvio takes a bite of the cheese, to stop himself from saying anything more. Such thoughts are better left to be recorded elsewhere, out of sight.]
Seneschal Casoferrazza was a--clever man. He knew a great deal. I had worked with him in Antiva City--and then at Suledin Keep, when he was transferred--and then Skyhold, and then Kirkwell. Before his, his departure, he was... He did his best. Certainly. With the circumstances.
[He points, to a dark corner of the room, where two cupboards nearly meet at the corner's angle.]
His files are just there. We are nearly prepared to sort them.
[She twists in her seat to follow the line of his arm and makes a small noise of surprise.] Oh! I had no idea he had been here so recently! Everyone talks as if you've had the position for ages and ages! Why, you must have only just begun before I arrived if there's still so much to go through.
In which case-- surely it is only natural to have doubts. So much has changed since then.
[She swivels back, fetching up a piece of cheese and only just thinking to ask--] Is there a reason you didn't go with Messere Casoferrazza when he left this time? [--before eagerly stuffing it into her mouth.]
Well. [Somewhat dispirited, Salvio lets his arm drop.] It is-- There is much, to go through. Though it is-- difficult, of course, to understand the full scope, of-- what the organization of another's file requires.
["Just" begun. Salvio nibbles a bit more cheese to console himself. Filing is something he is good at. There is no doubt there.
The sudden question takes him the smallest bit off his guard, and he nearly bites his own finger instead of the cheese.]
Ah-- well, my duty was here. With the Inquisition, in Kirkwall. Support was needed, and I would not--abandon, my position. Even if it were allowed, which it was not. Is not. The Inquisition is--more organized, than that. I suppose there might be a request, to be transferred. I would not make it.
[She, in turn, seems genuinely surprised by the answer - and then roundly embarrassed by her own surprise.] Oh. Of course. I didn't even think of-- yes, naturally. A reassignment would have to be made through Skyhold. That makes sense. I sometimes forget-- well, no. Never mind. What a silly thing to have asked. You must forgive me.
[Hurrying right along in the effort to put as much distance herself from being surprised by something so basic a would-be military organization splitting people up, she veers in a direction that could only be called 'rambling':] I might have been in the same position, you know. Where I come from. If you believe that sort of thing, I mean. Evidently it's a matter of some dispute.
[Wysteria wiggles her left hand for emphasis, the sickly green of the shard embedded there a mute pulsing glow.]
After my examinations, I would have been assigned to a position and had very little choice in the matter. Which would have been fine, of course. I wouldn't have joined the college if I hadn't been intrigued by the possibility. After all, there was always the slight hope that I might find myself doing something I found really very interesting. But I'm not sure I believe it. In retrospect, you know. It's far more likely that I'd have found myself down in Blackmarket Garden weaving encha--er-- uniforms? F-for the infantry abroad and so on. But I'm very handy with a [ugh, what a stupid substitute to have picked] needle and thread, so I suppose it could have been tolerated even if I don't care a whit for...
[She trails off, as if even she's grown tired of herself. And then all at once, as if something has occurred to her or she's been struck by something sharp, her scattered attention sharpens. Something in her becomes suddenly very direct, very purposeful.]
Is there something you would very much prefer to do? If you could pick anything at all? It doesn't matter if it has to do with the Inquisition or not.
[Think nothing of it would be more or less the mumbled protest that Salvio would make, except Wysteria careens forward--so he ends up with a mush-mouthed Thi, ah, before he finds himself listening to her story.
Listening is much easier. There is little passivity about the way that Salvio goes about it--not in any sort of exaggerated way. a simple attentiveness. He is used to listening, and making notes while he does it. If there were a bit of parchment and some ink nearby, he might start in on it, despite the topic. Certainly his fingers twitch, and he takes up instead another piece of ham, which he inadvertently holds like a pen for a moment before he realizes and switches it--which distracts him, a little, from the peculiar hesitations that begin to pepper Wysteria's chatter, and it's not until he's thought that he should ask her to clarify how one weaves a uniform that he realizes she has faltered, which strikes him as unusual for her. In that trail off, he begins to gather himself, to prompt her with a yes or a what was it that you could have tolerated but not cared for, or similar polite inquiry--
Then she stabs at him with the next question instead and takes the wind from Salvio entirely.]
Oh--
[--A poor response that startles out of him. He puts the ham in his mouth.]
Um, [chewing, chewing, why did he put ham in his mouth, chewing,] that is, ah, I-- I suppose it would be. Assistant to the seneschal. Or--similar. That is what I know, so... that is what I would do.
[A little pause, but leaving any space to be filled in seems unwise, given how quickly Wysteria had moved to occupy the previous silence, so--]
And, um. Yourself? Poppell? Though, I suppose you must have, um-- chosen something else, if you did not... Well, if you were not assigned. To that position. Or had you not completed these--examinations, before you--
[He doesn't want her to wiggle her left hand at him again, but Salvio takes the risk and gives it a little nod. That.]
[It's a fair question - and one that makes perfect sense given everything else. That doesn't stop her from hating it a little though.]
Oh, no. I'd only been studying for a very short while. It usually takes almost ten years before an examination is done, although I suspect that has more to do with the age of the average candidate than anything. There's no firm requirement for time. Mr Ralston - er, my teacher -, he could have booked my examinations at any point, I suppose. Though, it will be terrible to send along an apprentice too early and have them fumble their tests. But then again, holding them back is just as embarrassing - no one wants to have the same apprentice for fifteen years. It might say something poorly about the education you're providing, and so on. I can only assume it's a very delicate thing. Not that it matters now, but I was an unusually old apprentice.
[All of which gets absolutely nowhere near the real heart of the question to hand. Because-- Because...--
Anyway, the last piece of cheese has found it's way to her lips and she pauses here to nibble on it.]
But you know, [she says at last] I don't know what I would have picked, given the option. I hardly know what I'd pick to do now. --Not that I don't enjoy helping about, of course! And I do enjoy the little things the Provost assigns. And the Chantry Relations project has been very educational. And there is so very much to read and all of it is interesting and there are a great many things that I'm very curious about, but-- [She stuffs the rest of the cheese in her mouth, speaking from behind the shield of her hand.]
Well I think it's very nice that you know what you enjoy, Messere Pizzicagnolo. I imagine in a way that it must be a great comfort.
[It is difficult to get a word in between all that Wysteria has to say. An avid conversationalist would feel nothing but frustration here. Salvio has no such interest, and at best manages small sounds of interest like hm and ah, to indicate that he is listening.
But again, he is listening, and trying to create for himself a picture of Poppell's world. Examinations, apprenticeships--they have pseudo-similar equivalents, in Salvio's world. He would have done anything both to never have his Harrowing and to have his Harrowing done with. Far preferable was the work to prove himself capable of his position with the seneschal.
In fact Salvio still there in his mind when she finishes speaking at last, and, somewhat thoughtful, he offers,] If it means sounder preparation, there should be no-- embarrassment, associated with age.
[Oh, wait, she's somewhat moved on, and he hurries to put himself through the rest of what she'd said.]
Well-- it is work that I enjoy, chiefly. The, um. Organization, the dependability. That is to say, if there were another position, that might offer that same--structure, and, all the rest of it--and if it were a suitable time, to be released from uh, from service-- [He shrugs, more of an upward slump to his shoulders.] There is little else that I might do, that would provide it. Fortunately. Or--um, perhaps that isn't the word. But similar.
The thought of the choice being open. It is-- terrifying, in its way. I feel that is not often understood. I would say that it-- [He hesitates, but why the fuck not, really; this night is all upside-down.] A personal opinion. And do not mistake--I mean, I do not often think of you, outside of the work of the Inquisition, so--do not read this as a, as any sort of, imposition, but--it does surprise me to hear that you share this thought.
[And having shared this personal opinion, Salvio puts another piece of cheese into his mouth, too. For protection. They have made quite good progress on the plate.]
[She blinks, seeming to take a moment to sort through... well, he has a way of pointing the conversation in many different directions all at once and then treading between them in a way that sometimes makes the real thrust of the point difficult to grasp, doesn't he? But eventually, having discarded the bits about who thinks about whom, in what rate or capacity, being not entirely sure if its a compliment or an insult or something between both, Wysteria lands on:]
Does it? Good lord, I can't imagine why.
[Indeed, so great is her bafflement that she doesn't even have anything long winded to follow with.]
[--Somewhat weakly. Now he has to go into detail. And it is difficult to remain firm on the point of 'I have thought of you only professionally', if details are required--even though it is true--
Salvio swallows. Gathers his courage.]
Well. Um. It was only within the context of, of your position, within the Inquisition. Um. And--presumptuous, even then, somewhat. But you do not seem, ever, to be--terrified. Or to second-guess. Your, presence, is quite self-assured.
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No, that is-- entirely-- No. That is to say, it is an offer meant with kindness, I am sure, but it-- [Maker.] This was a mistake. I am sorry, to have, wasted-- wasted your time--
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[And she will hear no protest! The poor man clearly doesn't know how to take care of himself in the best of times, much less ones of stress. Is it a terribly enjoyable task to mind him? Not in the slightest. But someone simply must do it.
Somehow, she does make it to his office in those promised five minutes. Wysteria's only slightly out of breath as she swans in with a plate of cheese and a little corner of cold ham. If she catches him trying to leave before she can get there-- well. Surely it is purely coincidence.]
No, no. You must sit. You're pale as a sheet!
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I am, [probably as white as a sheet] Poppell, this is not, I said-- Is that a plate--
[By the Maker, wait, and Salvio puts up his hands, cautiously.]
The paperwork. Please. [A weak concession:] I will sit. If you just--the worktable, over there. Meals have been permitted there.
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[Make her way to the work table she does, setting there plate thus as directed. She also pulls out a chair and pats it encouragingly.]
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Sits.]
Thank you. [A route response. He swallows.] You may, um. Also sit, of course. If you would be more... comfortable.
[The plate remains in his periphery, a miserable reminder. He does not look at it. He also does not look at Wysteria. This leaves him very little to look at, and he settles for staring down at the tabletop, which is much scarred and ink-stained in places, and badly in need of a scrub, probably. If only he could banish the plate from the table and tend to it.]
I, um. The Divine election, is the-- the topic. At hand. For much of, most of-- uh, well, Thedas. Kirkwall. The, um. Common consciousness, as it--were.
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Yes, I believe I've heard a thing or two about it. What troubles you so about this one?
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Well--
[The plate comes into his view like an inconvenient waxing moon. Salvio shuts his eyes, more against what he is going to say, but partially because of the plate.]
It's. Um. One of the candidates, for the, Divine--one of the candidates has been killed. Grand Cleric Agathe of Cumberland. On her way to the Decision, she, er, the, report, I don't-- [Helplessly, he puts his hands down flat on the tabletop.] It is recent. And it is news that must be shared. Surely. People must know. But I have--forgive me, I am talking loudly--I have fear, for what comes after, for, I'm--
[Shit, he thinks, again, and reaches to take a piece of cheese. And he eats it. And it tastes good, which is sort of unfair, but he has to admit it, however weakly,] This is good. Cheese.
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At length, being somewhat of a loss for the right words:]
What do you think will happen?
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There are many possibilities. Removed from the doc, um, ballot--the Grand Cleric's absence will be felt there. Votes that would have been hers will go elsewhere. Perilously, perhaps. She was, mm, liberal, in some of her thoughts. If one were to place such things on a scale. And the Chantry will investigate, to try and determine the, um-- it was no accident, as the reports indicate, so there will be work to be done there, and depending on the guilty, those that are found guilty, some--strife, would be expected, with that, so-- And so often some group or person, might try to leverage the chaos, toward their advantage--Maker forbid, of course, but it is...
[He takes another bit of cheese from the plate and fixes it with a doleful look.]
That is to say, I don't know. Largely. It is--unwelcome news. For many reasons.
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[A Venatori plot, perhaps. Or someone who was angry that Agathe might give anyone who didn't deserve it some latitude. Or someone frightened she wouldn't give them enough. Or, or, or-- Anything at all in the entire world is possible, she supposes. Wysteria eats another piece of cheese. Once finished with it, she has resolved herself:]
Well. She's already dead, the poor woman. Avoiding that doesn't make it less true. Yes, Seneschal, I believe you are quite right that it would be best to say something now rather than to let news come in from the street. Kirkwall will know soon, if it doesn't already. Maybe if we get all the arguing out of the way now before the new Divine is elected, we'll be better prepared to grapple with what comes next. I'm a great fan of being candid, Messere Pizzicagnolo. It can only do everyone some good when there is nothing to be done about the very basic facts of a matter.
[Just as decisively:] Have some ham.
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Yes, [and then,] oh--
[Ham? Oh. The plate, again. His hand obeys before his mind has caught up, and before he can think better of it, or wave off the command, he has a bit of ham in his hand, and he is putting it in his mouth.]
Very good. Yes. [Not that he's tasting much at present.] Poppell, the, um.
[He sniffles, and rubs a hand over his face. It is the dust, and nothing more.]
Candor. Can it be. Taught? That is to say, if I say it... baldly, it will--
[And then somewhat out of nowhere--] I never wanted to be the seneschal, you know.
[Has the ham made him brainsick? Perhaps. For strength, or perhaps to be double sure, Salvio reaches for another piece, and shoves it in his mouth to shut himself up, lest he show any more of his ass.
Metaphorically. Maker forbid any other-- just, no.]
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Whatever the reason, a terrible homesickness strikes her. She holds it there for a moment high in her chest, then expells it forcefully with one great exhale.
All right. It's fine. Let's think of something brighter, shall we?]
And yet here you are, doing a perfectly fine job of it. Do you not enjoy any part of the work?
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Fine. Yes.]
A kind assessment. The work gets done, and that is 'fine'. As to the work, I--
[Well. With the bitten piece of ham, he gestures back over his shoulder, toward his desk, and the files, and cupboards, and the great towers of paperwork and folios that stand like miniature and narrow mountains.]
I like paperwork. Order. The, um. No--I would not complain, of course, and the Inquisition has the need, and it was a title that was-- That is, before, I was assistant to the seneschal. For--quite a few years. So the appointment was natural, and I would not complain of it.
A certain forthrightness. Is expected. I think. Leadership, limited leadership, and--well, I would sooner be left alone. To work. This is all, ah, nothing at all--forgive me, I am-- The news has left me in confusion. This is nothing we need continue to speak of, I should--draft some, something that will be said.
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[She fixes him with a wounded, pitiable look. Do these hands look like they can wash dishes to you? Scrub floors? Just look at her. She can't afford to do penance in a kitchen, Salvio.]
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Waste is a terrible... I mean to say, I would not. The budget.
[A man heavy with responsibility, he reaches for another piece of cheese.]
But I am-- I fear I have no more to say. On-- much of it. Unless you should like to be seneschal.
[Ah. No. Once he's said it, he realizes his mistake. In horror, Salvio nearly drops the piece of cheese, and looks hastily to Wysteria's face.]
A joke. I am-- A joke.
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[Maybe that's a joke too. Who can say.]
The seneschal before you. What was he like?
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[That one is not a joke. Salvio takes a bite of the cheese, to stop himself from saying anything more. Such thoughts are better left to be recorded elsewhere, out of sight.]
Seneschal Casoferrazza was a--clever man. He knew a great deal. I had worked with him in Antiva City--and then at Suledin Keep, when he was transferred--and then Skyhold, and then Kirkwell. Before his, his departure, he was... He did his best. Certainly. With the circumstances.
[He points, to a dark corner of the room, where two cupboards nearly meet at the corner's angle.]
His files are just there. We are nearly prepared to sort them.
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In which case-- surely it is only natural to have doubts. So much has changed since then.
[She swivels back, fetching up a piece of cheese and only just thinking to ask--] Is there a reason you didn't go with Messere Casoferrazza when he left this time? [--before eagerly stuffing it into her mouth.]
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["Just" begun. Salvio nibbles a bit more cheese to console himself. Filing is something he is good at. There is no doubt there.
The sudden question takes him the smallest bit off his guard, and he nearly bites his own finger instead of the cheese.]
Ah-- well, my duty was here. With the Inquisition, in Kirkwall. Support was needed, and I would not--abandon, my position. Even if it were allowed, which it was not. Is not. The Inquisition is--more organized, than that. I suppose there might be a request, to be transferred. I would not make it.
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[Hurrying right along in the effort to put as much distance herself from being surprised by something so basic a would-be military organization splitting people up, she veers in a direction that could only be called 'rambling':] I might have been in the same position, you know. Where I come from. If you believe that sort of thing, I mean. Evidently it's a matter of some dispute.
[Wysteria wiggles her left hand for emphasis, the sickly green of the shard embedded there a mute pulsing glow.]
After my examinations, I would have been assigned to a position and had very little choice in the matter. Which would have been fine, of course. I wouldn't have joined the college if I hadn't been intrigued by the possibility. After all, there was always the slight hope that I might find myself doing something I found really very interesting. But I'm not sure I believe it. In retrospect, you know. It's far more likely that I'd have found myself down in Blackmarket Garden weaving encha--er-- uniforms? F-for the infantry abroad and so on. But I'm very handy with a [ugh, what a stupid substitute to have picked] needle and thread, so I suppose it could have been tolerated even if I don't care a whit for...
[She trails off, as if even she's grown tired of herself. And then all at once, as if something has occurred to her or she's been struck by something sharp, her scattered attention sharpens. Something in her becomes suddenly very direct, very purposeful.]
Is there something you would very much prefer to do? If you could pick anything at all? It doesn't matter if it has to do with the Inquisition or not.
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Listening is much easier. There is little passivity about the way that Salvio goes about it--not in any sort of exaggerated way. a simple attentiveness. He is used to listening, and making notes while he does it. If there were a bit of parchment and some ink nearby, he might start in on it, despite the topic. Certainly his fingers twitch, and he takes up instead another piece of ham, which he inadvertently holds like a pen for a moment before he realizes and switches it--which distracts him, a little, from the peculiar hesitations that begin to pepper Wysteria's chatter, and it's not until he's thought that he should ask her to clarify how one weaves a uniform that he realizes she has faltered, which strikes him as unusual for her. In that trail off, he begins to gather himself, to prompt her with a yes or a what was it that you could have tolerated but not cared for, or similar polite inquiry--
Then she stabs at him with the next question instead and takes the wind from Salvio entirely.]
Oh--
[--A poor response that startles out of him. He puts the ham in his mouth.]
Um, [chewing, chewing, why did he put ham in his mouth, chewing,] that is, ah, I-- I suppose it would be. Assistant to the seneschal. Or--similar. That is what I know, so... that is what I would do.
[A little pause, but leaving any space to be filled in seems unwise, given how quickly Wysteria had moved to occupy the previous silence, so--]
And, um. Yourself? Poppell? Though, I suppose you must have, um-- chosen something else, if you did not... Well, if you were not assigned. To that position. Or had you not completed these--examinations, before you--
[He doesn't want her to wiggle her left hand at him again, but Salvio takes the risk and gives it a little nod. That.]
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Oh, no. I'd only been studying for a very short while. It usually takes almost ten years before an examination is done, although I suspect that has more to do with the age of the average candidate than anything. There's no firm requirement for time. Mr Ralston - er, my teacher -, he could have booked my examinations at any point, I suppose. Though, it will be terrible to send along an apprentice too early and have them fumble their tests. But then again, holding them back is just as embarrassing - no one wants to have the same apprentice for fifteen years. It might say something poorly about the education you're providing, and so on. I can only assume it's a very delicate thing. Not that it matters now, but I was an unusually old apprentice.
[All of which gets absolutely nowhere near the real heart of the question to hand. Because-- Because...--
Anyway, the last piece of cheese has found it's way to her lips and she pauses here to nibble on it.]
But you know, [she says at last] I don't know what I would have picked, given the option. I hardly know what I'd pick to do now. --Not that I don't enjoy helping about, of course! And I do enjoy the little things the Provost assigns. And the Chantry Relations project has been very educational. And there is so very much to read and all of it is interesting and there are a great many things that I'm very curious about, but-- [She stuffs the rest of the cheese in her mouth, speaking from behind the shield of her hand.]
Well I think it's very nice that you know what you enjoy, Messere Pizzicagnolo. I imagine in a way that it must be a great comfort.
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But again, he is listening, and trying to create for himself a picture of Poppell's world. Examinations, apprenticeships--they have pseudo-similar equivalents, in Salvio's world. He would have done anything both to never have his Harrowing and to have his Harrowing done with. Far preferable was the work to prove himself capable of his position with the seneschal.
In fact Salvio still there in his mind when she finishes speaking at last, and, somewhat thoughtful, he offers,] If it means sounder preparation, there should be no-- embarrassment, associated with age.
[Oh, wait, she's somewhat moved on, and he hurries to put himself through the rest of what she'd said.]
Well-- it is work that I enjoy, chiefly. The, um. Organization, the dependability. That is to say, if there were another position, that might offer that same--structure, and, all the rest of it--and if it were a suitable time, to be released from uh, from service-- [He shrugs, more of an upward slump to his shoulders.] There is little else that I might do, that would provide it. Fortunately. Or--um, perhaps that isn't the word. But similar.
The thought of the choice being open. It is-- terrifying, in its way. I feel that is not often understood. I would say that it-- [He hesitates, but why the fuck not, really; this night is all upside-down.] A personal opinion. And do not mistake--I mean, I do not often think of you, outside of the work of the Inquisition, so--do not read this as a, as any sort of, imposition, but--it does surprise me to hear that you share this thought.
[And having shared this personal opinion, Salvio puts another piece of cheese into his mouth, too. For protection. They have made quite good progress on the plate.]
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Does it? Good lord, I can't imagine why.
[Indeed, so great is her bafflement that she doesn't even have anything long winded to follow with.]
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[--Somewhat weakly. Now he has to go into detail. And it is difficult to remain firm on the point of 'I have thought of you only professionally', if details are required--even though it is true--
Salvio swallows. Gathers his courage.]
Well. Um. It was only within the context of, of your position, within the Inquisition. Um. And--presumptuous, even then, somewhat. But you do not seem, ever, to be--terrified. Or to second-guess. Your, presence, is quite self-assured.
Professionally.
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hope you like novels
love em thanks for asking
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