While being in Riftwatch is most certainly a step down from what she was before, Margaery can easily appreciate the resources that her new surroundings provide. Her creativity gets indulged every time she remembers that she's allowed to ask for help, that she's now part of a team, and well - this might be her most brilliant decision as of yet. For herself, or for the cause, she's not sure.
"I must thank you again for agreeing to help me," she says over the tumbles of the carriage they're in, a far cry from all the horseback riding she's grown accustomed to. "The more I go on diplomatic missions, the more I realize exactly why the our division is so necessary."
A few months ago, she wouldn't have considered it to be possible, but Cassius Black looks far more at home in this luxurious transport than she feels, and she doesn't hide the way she studies him with interest. Whether it's because he exudes a certain brand of prestige or the way he keeps himself relatively soft in comparison to everyone else in the Gallows, Cassius feels - familiar. A kindred spirit she can understand far easier than most.
"I know you must have much to do, as such a prominent member in our group. May I ask what motivated you to agree?"
This, the man himself would insist, is a gross exaggeration of the facts. Does he care to sit astride a horse? No. Does he have any desire to sleep on the ground? Thank you, but absolutely not. Does he crave to escape the dread confines of the Gallows? Well, he may have his complaints with respect to the scenery but otherwiseβhardly. Cassius has always been of the impressions that there is security in a series of sturdy walls, and that everyone else would do well to remember as much. But beyond this, he had little issue with the concept of jaunting off to have a little chat with whoever it is that Riftwatch requires. Would he prefer that conversation be with an especially rich Marquis or an especially pretty widow? Certainly. But he isn't opposed to rubbing elbows with a country magistrate. So all things being equal and without the threat of riding to hinder his ambitions, where is the harm? Besides, he has a pretty woman right here.
(The marital status isn't usually the vital part of such equations anyway.)
Across the carriage from Margaery, comfortably swathed in his mage robes of rich autumnal brocades and soft cream colored silks, Cassius adopts a polite and curving smile.
"I am still a member of the division. I believe that makes me somewhat honor bound to leave my tower every now and again lest the Ambassador or anyone else fall under the false impression that I'm not pulling my own weight. Waging a campaign with a pen is an underappreciated skill, my dear. Besides," with a sideways slide measured by degrees, his smile goes sly. "I do generally try to indulge the requests of striking young women when they're posed directly to me."
He speaks a language she understands well - perhaps even misses, to some extent.
"Here I thought I would merely be an inconvenience, with nothing to offer in return but the pleasure of my company." While she keeps a flexible roster of attitudes when it comes to interacting with the members of Riftwatch, Margaery finds herself easily reverting to a coy pretense with Cassius - something smooth, to match his slippery nature. Thus, her smile is small, secretive, but inviting; a clear indication of her returned interest.
"And my compliments. Waging a campaign with a pen is truly underappreciated, so I must express my admiration for your dedication to it. If we can appeal to minds and hearts with words far before we reach for sticks and metals, I believe the world would be better off for it."
Which isn't far from what she actually believes, but she'd be a fool to believe that Cassius has the interest of others at heart; when someone has a life of luxury, it usually comes equipped with a sad lack of empathy for everyone else. Still, she leans forward, letting a chestnut curl tumble forward and rest gently on her cleavage.
"But perhaps you are simply too wise, too far ahead. My grandmother always said wisdom was a lonely burden to bear, for so many prefer to remain free of the weight. To live and die recklessly as they please."
There is nothing, he thinks, quite so invigorating as sitting across from someone and fencing with compliments while under the full understanding that their use is at least in part a game. He might laugh, then, for the blatant cosetting of his ego; but isn't it preferable to instead smile and observe the fall of that curl?
It would be rude not to, given the attention she's put into it.
"Yes indeed. It's quite the weight on my shoulders." It's a veritable wonder that he isn't a stooping old man, what will all this responsibility crowded about his person.
Cassius' eyes slide back to her face though rather like a boy pleased with having captured a spider, he doesn't seem particularly ashamed about having looked.
"But we've skipped the more interesting question."
It's easy to learn a lot about someone from how their reactions. When Cassius' eyes move back up, Margaery's still smiling faintly, although it's a touch more knowing than before.
His lack of shame - or even the facade of it - is duly noted. No need for painfully naive charades, then, if he's most likely going to see right through it all anyway. She doesn't lean back though, choosing to remain in place so he can admire anytime he'd like; they do have quite the journey ahead.
"Would that be the question of why I came to you?"
A spark of amusement flares in his very green eyes. He's missed a bit of cleverness. It's thin on the ground in the Gallows these days, what with Benevenuta having slithered off to seduce her next Duke or whatever.
The obvious answer is the mere fortune he has of not being a rifter. And as Margaery suspects Cassius already knows this on some level, she swiftly skims past packaging that response into something more palatable and settles upon an earnest, "I knew no one else would command the same amount of respect."
And then her wide eyes flutter just the right amount, lowering to the crescendo of telltale red in her cheeks. It happens so naturally at this point that she almost believes her own shyness. "Although... I must admit when I thought of you, it was difficult to think of anyone else." When she meets his gaze again, it's through her lashes. "I've wanted to find a way to get to know you from the moment I saw you, ser."
The first point stinks just enough like bullshitβhe is a mage temporarily at liberty from his Circle; even now, closer to a full decade removed from the war, fear would be a much more fitting substitute for respectβto take some of the blushing glow off the second. Nevermind that she might be speaking sincerely as a rifter slightly too far removed from the complexities of mage-to-country-magistrate relations; his instinct is to trend toward skepticism.
But to his eye, all that really equates to in this moment is a pretty woman eager to appeal to his vanity and him with no obvious reason for why he shouldn't let her. So this time Cassius actually does laugh. It's a pleasant sound in the little carriage box, and by every indicator genuinely amused.
"My, aren't you the little minx. If you're not careful, I might just take you seriously. And then what will become of this very pleasant conversation?"
There's only the faintest disbelief lining the raise of her eyebrows when he speaks of taking her seriously - she's not sure it's possible for a man like Cassius Black - but the widening of her smile makes it harder to see.
"Perhaps it may become an appropriate prelude to a relationship we might both benefit from, Seneschal."
- of which Margaery is still internally debating over. Seducing a man for his position and influence is something that feels too much like an echo of her own life, without the same pleasurable consequence of being crowned queen. On the other hand, it's startling to realize that her desires are the only true indicators of her actions, and they're typically such hazy, fickle things.
"Whatever it is you're considering, even in the darkest corners of your mind, I'm confident I can deliver."
shifts right to action- if you don't want to bracket i will just roll with whatever you do tbh.
[with the meeting arranged, emet-selch makes his way to the office at the appointed time; anywhere else, he might not do so. might decide to linger along the way or show up entirely too early, as the whim took him, to test the reaction. with a bit of familiarity, he might end up doing so at some point, but-- no, for now he is regrettably trying to leave a decent enough impression while he settles and decides what, precisely, it is that he's doing in this place. there's so little of the framework or power he is used to, after all, to back him up.
and so he has made himself boringly punctual, instead, at least for the time being. his arms are folded behind his back, initially, though he shifts to place one hand over his chest with a slight bow by way of greeting when they meet. it does absolutely nothing to offset his height.]
A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance-- useful as these crystals are, they do make introductions somewhat impersonal.
[not to mention making it just a bit harder to size people up, with only a voice to go by.]
[The Seneschal's office in the central tower is predominantly home to a great collection of shelving and drawers and various papers and scrolls with which to fill those shelves and drawers. In combination with the Gallows' high slits for windows, it might make for an altogether gloomy atmosphere. Perhaps under other guiding hands, it had been.
But Cassius Black can't abide by gloom, and so it seems a not inconsiderable number of lyrium glowlights which were installed along the Gallows stairwells have also made their way here. And there is a fine rug on the floor, and a lovely portrait of a rich late summer landscape rendered all in greens and golds hanging high on one of the walls where he might reflect on it from his desk, and there is a rich looking chaise lounge tucked into a corner with a low table upon which an elegant coffee set lies in wait for coffee or various refreshments, and in general the entire atmosphere of the place has been shifted from one of faintly overwhelmed business to 'Why yes, as a matter of fact I do occasionally do my filing while wearing a luxurious silk robe.'
Not that Cassius is wearing a silk robe at this moment, of course. βNot that kind anyway. These are brocade and the sort which are perfectly usual for a mage to swan about in. He is also evidently hard at work, if the fact that he has continued to write a note during their little introductory exchange has been any indication.]
They do, don't they?
[Here, finally, he withdraws his hand from the pen. In a strange bit of surrealism, the pen continues to write on its ownβdashing off one line after another even as Cassius motions to the chair opposite. Sit. Please, I insist.]
One appreciates the convenience of course, but so long as we're both here in the Gallows then I see no reason why we shouldn't choose to speak directly.
[He takes a moment or two to absorb the decor of the office, certainly not without approval; this is, after all, something that he can appreciate. It isn't his particular taste, he leans more toward the businesslike end himself, but it doesn't quite cross a line into being too much.
There's no surprise at the continued movement of the pen-- a fairly normal thing, by his own standards-- but as he takes a seat, he does offer:]
And I do appreciate the time taken to do so, naturally. [Given that he's made no move to not seem busy (or, conversely, has made one to appear to be.)] I will endeavor not to keep you from your work for too long, but- you were fairly quickly recommended as a source for more detailed questions on this world's magic.
[Cassius does that thing that all good ingenues who grew up to be snake oil peddlers doβhe sets his elbows at the edge of the desk, laces his hands idly together, and balances his chin in the cradle created by his fingers. Meanwhile, the pen scratch-scratch-scratches away, merrily enough albeit at a slightly reduced speed. It takes considerable concentration to write and chatter along at the same time, regardless of how simplistic the import forms he's filling out are.]
Recommended? By the Ambassador, I presume.
[He can't imagine anyone else would put his name forward.]
[Emet-Selch, meanwhile, makes himself comfortable; with an elbow propped on the arm of the chair he's seated in, he relaxes his posture to lean back into it, weight shifted to one side to rest the side of his head against a curled hand.]
Do you? Then I suppose it may come as a small surprise to know that was not the case.
[The pause here is just long enough to be noted at all.]
Warden Adrasteia, actually. She offered to indulge my questioning first, but ultimately suggested I turn to you.
β Well. It's shortly after this conversation that (1) James Holden will appear in his office. The timing isn't quite headed over as soon as Cassius offered, but it's pretty well in that ballpark.
"Seneschal," he says, in a brief lapse of remembering he actually does have manners.
(His mothers would not, as a point of fact, be proud.)
Regardless of what anyone may suspect, there is actually work being accomplished in the office of the Seneschal. In this particular moment, that work consists of writing a sternly worded letter to an official in Ansburg, peppered with a myriad of terse phrases such as, 'I will have no choice but toβ' and 'As you know, our mutual close friend the Revered Mother ofβ' and so on. He is just getting into the swing of things (it sometimes takes a little while to build up to a true cadence of outrage with a pen but once one gets there, it's fairly glorious) when James Holden, suffering waif, appears in the office.
(Which has, for the record, been extensively rearranged since the previous Seneschal's time there. There is a golden and green landscape painting on the wall; a fine little place for sitting; a general sense that one is just as likely to find Cassius with his feet up as otherwise.)
Cassius holds up one fingerβWait, pleaseβand scratches out two further lines on the page. Only then does he set aside the pen.
"Please, James. Let's not stand on formality. You're welcome to call me First Enchanter Black."
The suffering waif himself seems none too impressed by the office, despite its lovely new set-up, nor its inhabitant. He waits before going on at the silent request, eyebrows raised; he had warned he was on his way over, but he hadn't really expected the Seneschal to simply wait for him in idleness, slight surprise as it is to see him actually doing what appears to be paperwork.
Not that he knows enough of (1) Cassius Black to have a strong opinion of him, but. Well. The man does have an ability to land an impression.
"Is there a Second Enchanter Black?" because, look, Cassius doesn't have the monopoly on being hilarious here.
Edited (notice a typo several hours later) 2021-09-28 02:16 (UTC)
There's a particular laugh which is developed by certain people once they have held some measurable iota of influence which manages to be both warming and aggravating. It's pleasant because it's genuine and not simply being polite; it's irritating because there is some unspoken fact of social superiority underpinning it. Isn't it thrilling when a person in a position of (even nominal) power laughs at your jokes?, on the one hand, and Fuck this guy, on the other.
First Enchanter Cassius Black has one of those laughs. Excruciatingly, he must be fully aware of it.
"Fuck, I hope not. Imagine what awful company that man would be," Cassius says, a delightfully flippant self-assessment as he rises from his chair with a thoughtless sweep of autumnal silk and brocade robes.
"But you're not here to talk about me." More's the pity, being the unspoken tail end of that sentence. "I seem to recall you were after something specific. Remind me, did you say how much of it you needed?"
Cassius makes a come here gesture with his hand. It is both for Holden and, evidently, a collection of little flames burning at the wicks of a dozen candles throughout the room for they instantly jump away from their posts and zoom through the air to answer. One candle comes with, upon the wick of which the fire coalesces into a glowing ball. With the ease of a man taking an object from a shelf, Cassius plucks the floating force-mage flashlight out of the air.
It's a little dark in the twisty archival stacks of the office to go traipsing about without a light, you see.
The sound of his laugh grates β and it has more to do with his audience, really, than himself. (Though there's also, you know, that.) Holden was raised on a strong distrust of all and any authority figures; the more aware of their own power, the worse they are. That particular laugh isn't unfamiliar, but therefore necessarily rouses feelings of suspicion more than anything else.
(In other words: more, Fuck this guy, than hey, he thinks I'm funny!)
"How much of it do you have?"
β is not a suggestion that he'd take all of Cassius's coffee stash, though is indicative of the fact that he wouldn't say no if that were on the table. Still, it'll give him a ballpark to start deciding how much he wants from. And he follows, but not without pause at that little display of magic. It's strangely
intimidating isn't the word. But in a life before he'd ever heard of the Gallows, if he'd had to describe what magic would look like, it'd be something like this.
The word might be awe, a little bit, despite himself. And then he shakes off the feeling, heads deeper into the office.
( as much as tsenka is no fan of gallows-living, and has recently made other arrangements for herself - more cramped and more individual than she'd have liked, but it has a tiny terrace she can sit on and smoke so there's that - there are benefits to it. namely, that she could so easily follow the seneschal from her scouting desk to View The Art in his bedroom,
which is also not an unpleasant place to prop herself up against the headboard and rifle around in her discarded clothing for her pipe and something to light it with. )
I don't know what I'd have done with my face, ( conversationally, ) had you in fact wanted to show me a painting.
[Beside her, pleasantly flush in all the places that linger and at best half decent under the shoddy drape of the bed's linens, Cassius gives her a look that's made up of predominantly raised eyebrows. The impressive amount of forehead real estate he has on hand makes for an especially faux looking expression of faux innocence.]
I did show you a painting.
[There is one hanging above the headboard right nowβa dusky depiction of some pastoral creek in late summer, all goods and greens and murky browns. It's one of a modest collection to be found in the narrow room, althoughβno, not particularly relevant to her presence here.
Much like his being on the wrong side of the bed to easily access the side table has little effect on his ability to rummage around in it. A thoughtless gesture (habitual, not requiredβa similar one had helped with taking some article of her clothes off earlier) sends the drawer sliding open. Riftwatch's standard issue lighter plucks itself free and drops into Tsenka's lap.]
( both the answer and the gesture make her laugh, warm, sinking more comfortably into the tangle of bedding and taking her time about lighting her pipe. she tips her head sideways against the headboard to watch him, amusedβ )
Aye, and a nice painting it was, too. Colourful.
( in a brown sort of a way. it's certainly unobjectionable, and of a piece with the rest of the space that she'd paid approximately zero real attention to up to this point. you know, nice. tasteful. cassius black, upon first impression, is a great deal of you know, nice.
the casual telekinesis is a nice touch, for instance. loyalists can't be all bad. )
It's one of Ilbert Dupond's earlier works. I'm pleased to say the Perendale Circle acquired it long before he was as well known as he is today. But that's a dozen years of fighting for youβmakes everyone awfully sentimental for an idyllic landscape.
[From the trend of his eye line, he might be referring to the rise and fall of her breasts. And from the sidelong look he gives Tsenka directly after, he's cheerfully cognizant of his own lack of shame.
Case in point: Cassius makes another little gesture with his hand, but this one has nothing to do with touching the Fade and everything to do with requesting a puff from her pipe.]
( the rise and fall of her breasts is, tsenka would be prepared to argue, of equal artistic merit. superior, even. particularly for an elf of her build, they're certainly nothing to sneeze at. she's fond of the parts of her body that draw the eye more than her scars when she's so casually unclothedβ dark marks of discoloration ringing wrists and ankles, but expanses of soft skin, too. sharp hips and the dip of her belly.
the line of her arm when she drifts it sideways to share the pipe with him. )
I'm sentimental for soft blankets, ( she decides, ) and coffee.
Ah, well, [he says while accepting the pipe, pausing only to puff at it once or twice before its passed back. Cassius doesn't often make a practice of smokingβhe doesn't like what it does to his teethβbut so long as he's indulging in bad habits...
With an exhale of smoke, he continues:]
Don't tell anyone, but I've a stockpile of the latter in one of the storerooms. It was something of a secret between myself and Serah Holden, but I doubt he'll be availing himself of it any time soon. Can't help you with the blankets though. I trade exclusively in scratchy wool.
a letter, simple and plain, in the midst of the Mage Meeting
In return, someone gets the honorable duty of toting a small package back from Cumberland. It contains a plain box of excellent Nevarran smoking tobacco, a small jar of medicinal salve, and a note which reads:
Dear Byerly,
I hope this is sufficient to treat any associated stings.
Sincerest and Warmest Regards, First Enchanter C. Black.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"I must thank you again for agreeing to help me," she says over the tumbles of the carriage they're in, a far cry from all the horseback riding she's grown accustomed to. "The more I go on diplomatic missions, the more I realize exactly why the our division is so necessary."
A few months ago, she wouldn't have considered it to be possible, but Cassius Black looks far more at home in this luxurious transport than she feels, and she doesn't hide the way she studies him with interest. Whether it's because he exudes a certain brand of prestige or the way he keeps himself relatively soft in comparison to everyone else in the Gallows, Cassius feels - familiar. A kindred spirit she can understand far easier than most.
"I know you must have much to do, as such a prominent member in our group. May I ask what motivated you to agree?"
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This, the man himself would insist, is a gross exaggeration of the facts. Does he care to sit astride a horse? No. Does he have any desire to sleep on the ground? Thank you, but absolutely not. Does he crave to escape the dread confines of the Gallows? Well, he may have his complaints with respect to the scenery but otherwiseβhardly. Cassius has always been of the impressions that there is security in a series of sturdy walls, and that everyone else would do well to remember as much. But beyond this, he had little issue with the concept of jaunting off to have a little chat with whoever it is that Riftwatch requires. Would he prefer that conversation be with an especially rich Marquis or an especially pretty widow? Certainly. But he isn't opposed to rubbing elbows with a country magistrate. So all things being equal and without the threat of riding to hinder his ambitions, where is the harm? Besides, he has a pretty woman right here.
(The marital status isn't usually the vital part of such equations anyway.)
Across the carriage from Margaery, comfortably swathed in his mage robes of rich autumnal brocades and soft cream colored silks, Cassius adopts a polite and curving smile.
"I am still a member of the division. I believe that makes me somewhat honor bound to leave my tower every now and again lest the Ambassador or anyone else fall under the false impression that I'm not pulling my own weight. Waging a campaign with a pen is an underappreciated skill, my dear. Besides," with a sideways slide measured by degrees, his smile goes sly. "I do generally try to indulge the requests of striking young women when they're posed directly to me."
no subject
"Here I thought I would merely be an inconvenience, with nothing to offer in return but the pleasure of my company." While she keeps a flexible roster of attitudes when it comes to interacting with the members of Riftwatch, Margaery finds herself easily reverting to a coy pretense with Cassius - something smooth, to match his slippery nature. Thus, her smile is small, secretive, but inviting; a clear indication of her returned interest.
"And my compliments. Waging a campaign with a pen is truly underappreciated, so I must express my admiration for your dedication to it. If we can appeal to minds and hearts with words far before we reach for sticks and metals, I believe the world would be better off for it."
Which isn't far from what she actually believes, but she'd be a fool to believe that Cassius has the interest of others at heart; when someone has a life of luxury, it usually comes equipped with a sad lack of empathy for everyone else. Still, she leans forward, letting a chestnut curl tumble forward and rest gently on her cleavage.
"But perhaps you are simply too wise, too far ahead. My grandmother always said wisdom was a lonely burden to bear, for so many prefer to remain free of the weight. To live and die recklessly as they please."
no subject
It would be rude not to, given the attention she's put into it.
"Yes indeed. It's quite the weight on my shoulders." It's a veritable wonder that he isn't a stooping old man, what will all this responsibility crowded about his person.
Cassius' eyes slide back to her face though rather like a boy pleased with having captured a spider, he doesn't seem particularly ashamed about having looked.
"But we've skipped the more interesting question."
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His lack of shame - or even the facade of it - is duly noted. No need for painfully naive charades, then, if he's most likely going to see right through it all anyway. She doesn't lean back though, choosing to remain in place so he can admire anytime he'd like; they do have quite the journey ahead.
"Would that be the question of why I came to you?"
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"As a matter of fact, yes. That's precisely it."
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And then her wide eyes flutter just the right amount, lowering to the crescendo of telltale red in her cheeks. It happens so naturally at this point that she almost believes her own shyness. "Although... I must admit when I thought of you, it was difficult to think of anyone else." When she meets his gaze again, it's through her lashes. "I've wanted to find a way to get to know you from the moment I saw you, ser."
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But to his eye, all that really equates to in this moment is a pretty woman eager to appeal to his vanity and him with no obvious reason for why he shouldn't let her. So this time Cassius actually does laugh. It's a pleasant sound in the little carriage box, and by every indicator genuinely amused.
"My, aren't you the little minx. If you're not careful, I might just take you seriously. And then what will become of this very pleasant conversation?"
no subject
"Perhaps it may become an appropriate prelude to a relationship we might both benefit from, Seneschal."
- of which Margaery is still internally debating over. Seducing a man for his position and influence is something that feels too much like an echo of her own life, without the same pleasurable consequence of being crowned queen. On the other hand, it's startling to realize that her desires are the only true indicators of her actions, and they're typically such hazy, fickle things.
"Whatever it is you're considering, even in the darkest corners of your mind, I'm confident I can deliver."
shifts right to action- if you don't want to bracket i will just roll with whatever you do tbh.
and so he has made himself boringly punctual, instead, at least for the time being. his arms are folded behind his back, initially, though he shifts to place one hand over his chest with a slight bow by way of greeting when they meet. it does absolutely nothing to offset his height.]
A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance-- useful as these crystals are, they do make introductions somewhat impersonal.
[not to mention making it just a bit harder to size people up, with only a voice to go by.]
no subject
But Cassius Black can't abide by gloom, and so it seems a not inconsiderable number of lyrium glowlights which were installed along the Gallows stairwells have also made their way here. And there is a fine rug on the floor, and a lovely portrait of a rich late summer landscape rendered all in greens and golds hanging high on one of the walls where he might reflect on it from his desk, and there is a rich looking chaise lounge tucked into a corner with a low table upon which an elegant coffee set lies in wait for coffee or various refreshments, and in general the entire atmosphere of the place has been shifted from one of faintly overwhelmed business to 'Why yes, as a matter of fact I do occasionally do my filing while wearing a luxurious silk robe.'
Not that Cassius is wearing a silk robe at this moment, of course. βNot that kind anyway. These are brocade and the sort which are perfectly usual for a mage to swan about in. He is also evidently hard at work, if the fact that he has continued to write a note during their little introductory exchange has been any indication.]
They do, don't they?
[Here, finally, he withdraws his hand from the pen. In a strange bit of surrealism, the pen continues to write on its ownβdashing off one line after another even as Cassius motions to the chair opposite. Sit. Please, I insist.]
One appreciates the convenience of course, but so long as we're both here in the Gallows then I see no reason why we shouldn't choose to speak directly.
no subject
There's no surprise at the continued movement of the pen-- a fairly normal thing, by his own standards-- but as he takes a seat, he does offer:]
And I do appreciate the time taken to do so, naturally. [Given that he's made no move to not seem busy (or, conversely, has made one to appear to be.)] I will endeavor not to keep you from your work for too long, but- you were fairly quickly recommended as a source for more detailed questions on this world's magic.
thanks notifs
Recommended? By the Ambassador, I presume.
[He can't imagine anyone else would put his name forward.]
no subject
Do you? Then I suppose it may come as a small surprise to know that was not the case.
[The pause here is just long enough to be noted at all.]
Warden Adrasteia, actually. She offered to indulge my questioning first, but ultimately suggested I turn to you.
slams in here
"Seneschal," he says, in a brief lapse of remembering he actually does have manners.
(His mothers would not, as a point of fact, be proud.)
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(Which has, for the record, been extensively rearranged since the previous Seneschal's time there. There is a golden and green landscape painting on the wall; a fine little place for sitting; a general sense that one is just as likely to find Cassius with his feet up as otherwise.)
Cassius holds up one fingerβWait, pleaseβand scratches out two further lines on the page. Only then does he set aside the pen.
"Please, James. Let's not stand on formality. You're welcome to call me First Enchanter Black."
He's hilarious, and you're welcome.
no subject
Not that he knows enough of (1) Cassius Black to have a strong opinion of him, but. Well. The man does have an ability to land an impression.
"Is there a Second Enchanter Black?" because, look, Cassius doesn't have the monopoly on being hilarious here.
no subject
First Enchanter Cassius Black has one of those laughs. Excruciatingly, he must be fully aware of it.
"Fuck, I hope not. Imagine what awful company that man would be," Cassius says, a delightfully flippant self-assessment as he rises from his chair with a thoughtless sweep of autumnal silk and brocade robes.
"But you're not here to talk about me." More's the pity, being the unspoken tail end of that sentence. "I seem to recall you were after something specific. Remind me, did you say how much of it you needed?"
Cassius makes a come here gesture with his hand. It is both for Holden and, evidently, a collection of little flames burning at the wicks of a dozen candles throughout the room for they instantly jump away from their posts and zoom through the air to answer. One candle comes with, upon the wick of which the fire coalesces into a glowing ball. With the ease of a man taking an object from a shelf, Cassius plucks the floating force-mage flashlight out of the air.
It's a little dark in the twisty archival stacks of the office to go traipsing about without a light, you see.
no subject
(In other words: more, Fuck this guy, than hey, he thinks I'm funny!)
"How much of it do you have?"
β is not a suggestion that he'd take all of Cassius's coffee stash, though is indicative of the fact that he wouldn't say no if that were on the table. Still, it'll give him a ballpark to start deciding how much he wants from. And he follows, but not without pause at that little display of magic. It's strangely
intimidating isn't the word. But in a life before he'd ever heard of the Gallows, if he'd had to describe what magic would look like, it'd be something like this.
The word might be awe, a little bit, despite himself. And then he shakes off the feeling, heads deeper into the office.
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which is also not an unpleasant place to prop herself up against the headboard and rifle around in her discarded clothing for her pipe and something to light it with. )
I don't know what I'd have done with my face, ( conversationally, ) had you in fact wanted to show me a painting.
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I did show you a painting.
[There is one hanging above the headboard right nowβa dusky depiction of some pastoral creek in late summer, all goods and greens and murky browns. It's one of a modest collection to be found in the narrow room, althoughβno, not particularly relevant to her presence here.
Much like his being on the wrong side of the bed to easily access the side table has little effect on his ability to rummage around in it. A thoughtless gesture (habitual, not requiredβa similar one had helped with taking some article of her clothes off earlier) sends the drawer sliding open. Riftwatch's standard issue lighter plucks itself free and drops into Tsenka's lap.]
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Aye, and a nice painting it was, too. Colourful.
( in a brown sort of a way. it's certainly unobjectionable, and of a piece with the rest of the space that she'd paid approximately zero real attention to up to this point. you know, nice. tasteful. cassius black, upon first impression, is a great deal of you know, nice.
the casual telekinesis is a nice touch, for instance. loyalists can't be all bad. )
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[From the trend of his eye line, he might be referring to the rise and fall of her breasts. And from the sidelong look he gives Tsenka directly after, he's cheerfully cognizant of his own lack of shame.
Case in point: Cassius makes another little gesture with his hand, but this one has nothing to do with touching the Fade and everything to do with requesting a puff from her pipe.]
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the line of her arm when she drifts it sideways to share the pipe with him. )
I'm sentimental for soft blankets, ( she decides, ) and coffee.
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With an exhale of smoke, he continues:]
Don't tell anyone, but I've a stockpile of the latter in one of the storerooms. It was something of a secret between myself and Serah Holden, but I doubt he'll be availing himself of it any time soon. Can't help you with the blankets though. I trade exclusively in scratchy wool.
a letter, simple and plain, in the midst of the Mage Meeting
The fact that you did not give me forewarning of any of this makes you a proper son-of-a-bitch.
With best regards,
Byerly Vlad Rutyer
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