Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2019-09-06 09:08 pm
[open/catch-all] live, i wanna live inspired
Who: Myr + you! Yes, you. Over there. Stop hiding behind the furniture. (Starters for L + Connor in the comments.)
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th,author reserves the right to update date range at random to fit around the Dorchacht trip. Myr is in dignitary group number 2, so feel free to catch him any time up until the 14th!
Where: Around the City, mostly the Haven and the Coven.
What: ~*training montage*~
Warnings: None as yet; will update if any arise.
i. coven.
Though the invitation for Monsters to sit in on classes at the Coven was made plain from the start, Myr hadn't availed himself of it his first month in Aefenglom. Call it preoccupation with adapting to his new circumstances, call it having the run of a city for the first time in his entire life, call it having a regular job.
Call it anything but wounded, festering anger that he wasn't invited to those classes as a student, because Geardagas had seen fit to strip him of his magic on passage through the mirror.
He can't sulk forever; even early on, he'd acknowledged he would need to learn how magic works here, if no other reason than his own insatiable curiosity would drive him to it. But that acknowledgement hadn't amounted to action until he'd been given two very good bits of evidence, one (the SQUIP) right after another (Dorchacht), that the Witches here couldn't all be trusted to use their power for the common good any more than Tevinter's magisters could. And what does that fucking say for the Libertarians' arguments about mage rule...
In order to beat a Witch, he'd need to know as well as they did how magic worked. And--he couldn't keep weighing their ethics, their reasoning on Thedas' scale; couldn't keep up his reflexive judgment of everything said or done by a member of the Coven if he didn't know how they thought of themselves.
They're not the happiest reasons to finally come learn magic, but they're good enough to make him an occasional fixture in the back of the Coven's classrooms in early Septeril. Maybe he's reached over politely to attract your attention and ask, sotto voce, what an instructor's drawing on the board. Perhaps his newly grown antlers are in the way of you being able to see the board. Or maybe he recognizes your voice out in the hallway and gravitates over to ask, eagerly, what class you're bound for next--because sitting with someone he knows a little is absolutely better than being among total strangers.
ii. haven.i like sticks
An advantage of profoundly disordered sleep is that there's many quiet hours in the night for Myr to do those things he'd rather not people see him doing.
Like sneaking into a deserted park in the Haven after the bells toll three one morning, staff and dagger in-hand.
There's no one here in Aefenglom who knows who he was back home. There's no one to tell him he can't fight, that he's a liability, that he'll never sit his vigil--but all those things have come with him through the mirror, and they cling close as shame and keep him furtive about his combat drills and forms. Furtive, but not unfaithful, because with the trip to Dorchacht looming on the horizon, he needs to be in his best form.
Stripped to the waist and furred up his back in pale white fuzz, he stands out like a wraith among the darkened trees. Live opponents would be better than the invisible ones he constructs for himself from memory, but his staffwork's sharp enough anyhow to almost infer their presence from how the blade slices air.
iii. wildcard.
(( GO WILD. Myr works at one of the Daisy Chain locations as a gardener and might be found literally anywhere inside the Bright Wall if he'sgotten lost exploring. Also prone to napping in some weird places when his awful sleep habits finally catch up with him. Hit me up (Plagueheart#0051 on Discord) if you'd like a starter! ))
When: ~Septeril 2nd to Septeril 18th,
Where: Around the City, mostly the Haven and the Coven.
What: ~*training montage*~
Warnings: None as yet; will update if any arise.
i. coven.
Though the invitation for Monsters to sit in on classes at the Coven was made plain from the start, Myr hadn't availed himself of it his first month in Aefenglom. Call it preoccupation with adapting to his new circumstances, call it having the run of a city for the first time in his entire life, call it having a regular job.
Call it anything but wounded, festering anger that he wasn't invited to those classes as a student, because Geardagas had seen fit to strip him of his magic on passage through the mirror.
He can't sulk forever; even early on, he'd acknowledged he would need to learn how magic works here, if no other reason than his own insatiable curiosity would drive him to it. But that acknowledgement hadn't amounted to action until he'd been given two very good bits of evidence, one (the SQUIP) right after another (Dorchacht), that the Witches here couldn't all be trusted to use their power for the common good any more than Tevinter's magisters could. And what does that fucking say for the Libertarians' arguments about mage rule...
In order to beat a Witch, he'd need to know as well as they did how magic worked. And--he couldn't keep weighing their ethics, their reasoning on Thedas' scale; couldn't keep up his reflexive judgment of everything said or done by a member of the Coven if he didn't know how they thought of themselves.
They're not the happiest reasons to finally come learn magic, but they're good enough to make him an occasional fixture in the back of the Coven's classrooms in early Septeril. Maybe he's reached over politely to attract your attention and ask, sotto voce, what an instructor's drawing on the board. Perhaps his newly grown antlers are in the way of you being able to see the board. Or maybe he recognizes your voice out in the hallway and gravitates over to ask, eagerly, what class you're bound for next--because sitting with someone he knows a little is absolutely better than being among total strangers.
ii. haven.
An advantage of profoundly disordered sleep is that there's many quiet hours in the night for Myr to do those things he'd rather not people see him doing.
Like sneaking into a deserted park in the Haven after the bells toll three one morning, staff and dagger in-hand.
There's no one here in Aefenglom who knows who he was back home. There's no one to tell him he can't fight, that he's a liability, that he'll never sit his vigil--but all those things have come with him through the mirror, and they cling close as shame and keep him furtive about his combat drills and forms. Furtive, but not unfaithful, because with the trip to Dorchacht looming on the horizon, he needs to be in his best form.
Stripped to the waist and furred up his back in pale white fuzz, he stands out like a wraith among the darkened trees. Live opponents would be better than the invisible ones he constructs for himself from memory, but his staffwork's sharp enough anyhow to almost infer their presence from how the blade slices air.
iii. wildcard.
(( GO WILD. Myr works at one of the Daisy Chain locations as a gardener and might be found literally anywhere inside the Bright Wall if he's
no subject
And it's undeniably part of the reason he's so intent on rescuing the younger man from what's, from his view, mortal danger--not merely to Linden's life, for the worse risk is really that that bright light of an intellect will be snuffed out or perverted by whatever the demon plans for it.
He catches the intimation of a compliment in the words; one corner of his mouth curls up in a lopsided smile.] Hard to keep all of the second sort subtle when I've got a dozen of them for every one I do ask,
[Not all because he'd grown up knowing there were questions one couldn't ask directly without drawing untoward attention; the world just rarely held still for the kind of direct and prolonged questioning he'd like to indulge in. People especially rarely held still, afraid to be pinned down on one answer or look deeply at the kind of things he'd pry for--and he entirely understood those reasons, even if he'd like to be, to believe, he could be exactly what he appears to anyone who looked.
He never had been and never could be but damned if he didn't hold it up as an ideal to constantly fall short of.
Another reason hanging around Linden's both refreshing and frustrating; as anyone did, Myr wants to be known but not all the consequences of it.]
Surprised? I strike you as the Bonding sort, then? [The admission of an incorrect assumption is fascinating in that very light.] --But you've put your finger exactly on it; while I'm no stranger to obligations, that's not a commitment I'd ever been at liberty to make. Now that I am, I'd like to do it right--even if I've got to arrange it with someone I've only known for a month.
[Whatever the pressure on them to Bond and have done with, it seems insane, even if it didn't have to be permanent.]
If you see something open, lead on; I'll follow your voice, [he says, to the silent one of Linden's invitations, before tackling the other:] Is trust in the person the same as trusting you've worked out the levers of its heart, and won't make the mistakes others have before you?
That seems a risky gamble, if you were limited only to what you could observe--and what it would tell you--before you Bonded it.
no subject
The suggestion for L to speak so that Myr can follow the sound of his voice is a bold and well-played move. It's very practical and makes a great deal of sense; it also makes it more difficult for L to clam up, given that one typically needs something to talk about in these cases. And, given the topic...]
You do strike me as the Bonding sort... if that's something that existed. We're all advised to find and forge Bonds, aren't we?
[Innocent enough. He moves toward his chosen table as he speaks, careful to pick a clear path where Myr isn't likely to bump or trip against anything. When he speaks again to answer Myr's question, his tone his coy, almost playful.]
If you take the potential consequences of any action far enough, it could be considered a gamble. Just a little further, and it becomes "risky." But there are some risks that some are better suited to taking than others... to frame it in a different way...
[He taps Myr's shoulder to indicate they've arrived, setting his food down on the chosen table. It's good that they're here, because he sounds breathless, feels a little unsteady on his feet. It's amazing how even walking a short distance has utterly drained him once more, and how his stamina seems to fade faster every time he stands and moves, even after a rest.
He pops open the cherry pie, digging into the center until he finds a cherry, pushing it into Myr's hand with no warning. Just the expectation that Myr will accept a sugary, syrupy cherry as an illustrative device.]
Say that you were eating this cherry, and you happened to inhale suddenly at the wrong time and begin choking. Someone could assume the risk of helping you with use of the Heimlich maneuver, which can be life-saving when performed correctly. However, when performed incorrectly, it can actually cause tremendous damage. Would you assume the risk knowing that an experienced doctor was performing the maneuver, or a frightened and panicking child with neither the required height or strength to perform the maneuver effectively?
[He takes his perching seat, serving himself a slice of pie, before adding]
I'm the doctor, in this metaphor. You can keep the cherry.
no subject
It didn't render him ignorant of the harm he'd cause, the premeditated rupture in the lives of those close to the SQUIP. If he could imagine another outcome that somehow neutralized the demon and left its nearest and "dearest" (whatever value that held for the Maker's first children) intact, he'd take it without hesitation. But since such a thing's as vain as wishing for his magic back--
The damage control starts well before the act. While Myr was never talented as a healer, Creation's the magic of bolstering as much as mending, and he can still do that.]
Truly we are, [he replies with a smile, reaching out to feel for the seat across from Linden. Finding it, he slings his staff over the back by its carry-strap and seats himself.] Though there's Mirrorbound enough trying to avail themselves of alternatives; at least I'm not liable to explode if I don't take a Bond.
[Just lose himself entirely, and there's a hideous thought.
He cocks his head--curious, listening--as Linden launches into his explanation, arms crossed before him on the table-- Until suddenly he's presented with a cherry. The expression of brief bewilderment as it's thrust into his hand (where did that come from?) is a sight to behold until he catches on to the object lesson.
Sticky as that object is, once Myr's been given something to fidget with he can't keep himself from it and so rolls the cherry down between thumb and forefinger as Linden talks. The usual smile's crept back on to his face; sure, the lead-in was weird but it got and held his attention. To say nothing of how even the smallest offer of food tugs on his deepest instincts of
herdcommunity.]And Rich is the child, huh? When you put it that way it does seem entirely unconcerning, but I'd posit you a different scenario. Say it's not choking and your maneuver but a disease with a long and ugly course with two ways to treat it: Months of patient nursing and care, building the patient back up from what she's lost, never knowing for a surety whether the next fever's her last--or a spectacular dose of patent medicine, meant to purge the sickness out of her all at once.
That second one invariably kills the patient, but a desperate kid might be forgiven for panicking and thinking the risk reasonable in the face of a lingering death. He doesn't know any better.
The doctor, on the other hand, [he gestures airily with the piece of fruit,] believes he's the one who'll finally make it work. He knows the plague backward and forward; of course he can pull this off where the untrained have failed.
Except the problem's not the disease, it's he's treating her with arsenic. [Linden's cherry is just undercooked enough to give a satisfying pop when Myr bites it in half for emphasis. Chew, swallow. Manners are important!] In that case is the kid really more condemnable here?
no subject
All of it flashes, quickly, behind his eyes, and he regards Myr with something like mystified sympathy, at just the thought of actually considering insanity the preferable option. Perhaps it's not the case? Perhaps it's a veil, drawn over that fear with a deflecting, confident smile?
He leans in a little closer. As with all things, the more complicated it gets, the more it holds L's attention.
He digs into the pie again with his fingertips, pulling out a cherry of his own; as always, eating, for him, is a drawn-out and somewhat maddening process that's almost more playing with his food than actually consuming it.]
In the scenario you posit... it's true that the child is more forgivable for his ignorance, and the doctor is more condemnable for his arrogance. But those are the variables in the equation; the disease is a constant, and so is the method, although... there's some room for speculation on what doses the arsenic is administered in. I'd expect the child to administer a lethal dose all at once, and the supposedly innovative doctor to administer smaller doses that cause different types of damage over longer periods of time. The doctor might believe that it's working for awhile and muddle the side-effects of the treatment and the disease, or go by the adage that it gets "worse before it gets better", and so staying the course is imperative for success even in the face of apparent setbacks.
[He speaks around the cherry he's chewing on, turning to mush against his lips. Manners are important, just... not to him, really.]
I don't think either of them are wrong in this scenario. They've both presumably weighed the risks and benefits in the way that they can understand, given their experiences. Both of them have pure motives, presumably... you didn't mention if the child was dealing with the illness of a family member with judgment clouded by emotion, or if the doctor was using his involvement with the patient as an experiment for his own accolades with his judgment clouded by greed. I'd take those into consideration, if so... but in truth, with the information provided, there's only one way I could condemn the actions of either of them in good conscience.
[Myr can't see that after mushing his cherry up that way and finally eating it, L looks like he's wearing dark red lip stain. He goes for another cherry, eating it in much the same manner.]
If arsenic was known to kill more patients than it saved, and this knowledge was widespread and accessible to both of them and they proceeded in spite of the fact... that would, in fact, go beyond ignorance or arrogance and actually become evil.
no subject
Clawing out his own eyes was preferable to knowing he'd killed someone else like that; it's the known horror.
Though were he forced on the instant to pick between them, knowing his own propensity for irreversible decisions while mad-- He'd certainly not act so sanguine that Monsters had the better lot, for all they could be caught and calmed. (He'd probably not act much at all, overwhelmed by the original trauma in ways he doesn't even know are waiting for him with those encysted memories.)
He finishes his cherry decorously and licks his fingers clean as Linden extends his original analogy. There are any number of good points made there; the methodical examination of case and exception appeals deeply to both Myr's appreciation of a good argument and his need to extend understanding and compassion wherever he could for the choices others made.
So what if it's an analysis delivered by someone who sounds like he's taking that pie apart with his hands? It's a fine piece of work regardless--
And also a little bit of a diversion, as analogies are wont to be when chased to their extremes.
Myr shifts to rest his chin on his interlaced fingers; it eases the pull of the antlers on his head and neck.]
Say, to bring it back round to the case at hand, we're speaking of a people who've got no knowledge of what arsenic is. Some merchant came through selling patent cures and your panicked kid shows up on his heels to tell everyone about the deaths the medicine's caused. The death he brought about, all-unwitting.
I s'pose, following our analogy, the well-learned doctor might suspect this is like other poisons in his kit--it's just a matter of finding the right dose that's the line between a cure and death. He would know there even is such a thing, contrary to the kid's experience that poison only kills.
How long's he allowed to go on with his experiment? Until the patient dies? After? You've laid out how he might forever justify it to himself, if he chooses. [He tips his head a little to one side, considering a moment.]
It's that way with our demons back home, you know--every mage who's got a teacher learns early that there's no dealing with them that doesn't end in possession and death. Yet there's always some who'll try, out of desperation or fear or simple arrogance that they can keep a leash on one rather than ending up worn by it.
no subject
[The phrasing seems to amuse L; not that he isn't taking this seriously. He is, almost absurdly so, in spite of the odd way he's choosing to enjoy his pie while he and Myr discuss it.]
You make it sound like this increasingly specific example is based on actual occurrences. And in truth, it could be, as arsenic has historically been used as both a medicine and a poison. We're privileged to know what's actually effective, at this point in my world's history; acute doses can kill in hours or days, and exposure to small amounts over time can increase the risk of developing illnesses far later. If we accept the premise that every known substance is fatal in high enough dosages, even things that are medicinal or beneficial in the correct ones... then the doctor's reasoning for believing that a beneficial dose of arsenic could exist is sound, logical, and sane.
[L specifically is pretty knowledgable when it comes to poisons in general, considering his profession. But while a part of him does want to show off to Myr, this is not about chemistry or interactions with human cells; arsenic, in this case, could be essentially any mystery substance peddled as a medicine to a public that doesn't understand it.]
It's an uncomfortable truth for many, but knowledge and progress always comes at a cost. For every known cure, there are hundreds if not thousands of failed ones, and for every failure, there's someone who suffered and sacrificed. He's a construct of conjecture, but truly, I do feel that I know this doctor. He has more than a duty to his patient and his reputation; he has a burden and a responsibility to leave the practice of medicine a more complete study so that others can build on his work and save more lives. If this is the man who discovers that no dose of arsenic is safe and beneficial, and he has to kill his patient to prove it definitively... so long as he documents it for posterity, confesses transparently rather than obscuring his data to all including his patient, and sacrifices one life to save many from the same fate... I would consider classifying it as an ethical murder, if such a thing can exist. A noble demon, if you like.
[He's ceased eating for a moment, deep in thought. He nudges it toward Myr, bumping the tin against his elbows, wordlessly but clearly offering more.]
There are those who are willing to sacrifice, or reap known benefits assuming a risk. While the consequences of an acute dose of arsenic and your world's demons are indisputably disastrous at face value, it's only the case if the goal of the doctor begins and ends with saving the life of the patient, or the goal of the mage is to live a long and uncorrupted life. However, if the goal of the doctor is to advance medical understanding and learn the truth about a mystery cure before it's administered to plague sufferers in the next village over... or the goal of the mage is to fill some dire need that would be impossible for them without the help of a demon... the sacrifices make sense, under those circumstances. These thought exercises often assume a baseline of static contentment, when motives are required to make choices. The extremity of the choice relies wholly on the extremity of the motive.
no subject
Myr's got to laugh softly at that, even though he could scarcely articulate why it's struck him as humorous. Something to do with how far they've chased this one off into the woods to edge around what it had originally been an analogy for; but so it often went with the best arguments. It's a good feeling; it feels like home.
Say rather I've got a very vivid imagination, he's intending to say once L's finished speaking, keeping a light and teasing tone about it; a wink toward the idea he's drawing any parallels between this and anything real. Of course he wouldn't be doing such a thing, how absurd.
But any desire he's got to joke that way ebbs little by little as L continues.
This, too--this standing with his toes on the edge of the abyss and contemplating its depths--this also feels like home, though not a part he's proud of. They'd had a game like this in Hasmal, Myr and Van and half-dozen other apprentices who'd been taking rhetoric together one year-- Drawing inspiration from A City Blackened (that weird little hagiographic piece on the Second Sin the Chantry had nearly banned for making the Seven Magisters too sympathetic), they'd take turns arguing for the monstrous and inexcusable, seeing how far logic could stretch beyond the bounds of ethics. Exactly how reasonable could one sound in calling for murder, for sacrilege, for genocide?
Too reasonable, it turned out. Somehow, he suspects this isn't a game to Linden; it's not a mere airy showing of rhetorical proficiency using a gruesome topic as a kind of boast. (Look how hard I worked to overcome your innate disgust!) This is something deeper-seated, and the horror of it invites him in even as his empathy recoils from it.]
An ethical murder, [he echoes, testing the phrase out.] I'd think the instant you began to suspect it was murder rather than a potential cure, justice would demand you stop. Surely there's other ways to assess a poison's efficacy than deliberately killing a patient--using it on animals, say, or looking for court records of where murderers had used it, and how much. Even administering it for executions would be better than violating the relation between a healer and his charges. He may have a certain duty to expand the store of knowledge with what he gains in the course of practice, but claiming that extends to causing harm to his patients without any chance of benefit for them gives him a license for horrors. They're at his mercy merely by the fact of seeking him out for an illness or injury they can't treat themselves--and now you'd grant him leave to use that power to kill them, with their consent?
[This conversation is not doing anything for his appetite, but an offer of food is an offer of food (even if he paid for it). He reaches down to feel out a bit of the pie's crust, breaking it off to nibble on.] Speaking of consent--I'll allow that if the doctor has it and if his patient gave it freely after knowing the treatment might kill her, and he had truthfully exhausted all other options for treatment that might save her life, his research might be ethical--though I mislike what accepting that premise might mean for how doctors think of their patients, if they let the pursuit of knowledge get the better of them.
[Pick, pick, pick. He eats another flake of pie crust.]
But there's no such situation with a demon because once it's taken a mage over, it will do whatever it damn well pleases. And the people hurt by that abomination later can in no way agree to what's going to happen to them. So a mage who chooses that for any reason has chosen to kill everyone the demon murders if it's not stopped; there's no virtue in that choice, even if it seems her desperation and possible gain justify it.
In the end, there are some extremities where we would do better to choose not to act, rather than make the situation irrevocably worse.
["People really do this," someone (not Myr) had said one day. "They really argue themselves into believing evil is the only thing they can do. That's what happened to the Dales. That's why the Black City is closed. The magisters pretended they couldn't choose not to."
The arguments had lost their appeal entirely after that.
Which is a pity to Myr now; if they'd gone on longer, he'd have better support in his quiver for the countervailing position: Evil wasn't the only or necessary choice.
Maker grant I can guide him from this somehow.]
no subject
It's certainly a game, to L; the reality is just that the man takes his games deathly seriously. He lives his life engaged in them, and fully plans to die that way. Of course... if what he suspects is true, he probably would have, shortly after catching his reflection in that guard rail and stepping through a mirror into Aefenglom. He's applied too much force to the pie tin, and it cracks loudly; he wasn't actually aware that his fingertips were twisting at the sticky, flimsy metal.]
People's lives end at the hands of other people all the time, and there's nuance there. It's not always murder... but the end result is still someone dead, at the hands of another. Whether someone stabbed your lover out of jealousy, ran over your child in a terrible accident, or shot a soldier on the opposite side of a war, an individual has died, and it wouldn't have happened if not for the actions of another person. But... there are cases where death is...
[He pales; though Myr can't see it, there's a hollowness that slips into his voice that is highly audible.]
...written. A criminal scheduled for execution will still be executed, even if his assigned executioner doesn't go through with it. If a disease was your executioner, if your choices were for a doctor to take his chances or the reaper taking all, most people would turn a plea into a prayer, and understand it for what it is. The doctor is not an executioner, after all; it's the disease, but a kinder death, or one that offers a chance at life... that's the paradoxical ethical murder, and the tangent you didn't ask for but I felt the need to elaborate upon.
[He supposes that Myr brings that out in him, and is surprised by how little he actually minds. Got me talking; I didn't hate it. Good for you, sincerely.]
To return to the reason the analogy was born... I want to know more about the motivations of the demons, if you'd not mind going into more detail. Are their motivations unique to them, or are they all more or less working toward the same general goal?
no subject
herdCircle and the family. Even if they'd grown strange to him, they'd been his, and now they're not here and he's left to find his way alone through a world stranger than anything he'd prepared for. He's found himself so often surprised, so often wrong-footed in the face of it that anything he can wrap his mind around, engage with, and excel at is precious. Anyone he connected with beyond what his native empathy gave him was doubly dear--And this strange, desperate budding fondness for the man across from him leaves Myr keen-set on Linden's welfare. Those little signs of physical and emotional duress have not escaped his notice, though (and somewhat guiltily) he'd had an excuse to let the conversation go on so long as Linden was eating. The crack of the tortured pie tin--that nearly sends Myr startling out of his skin--announces that to no longer be the case.
He gives Linden's closing argument no less than the attention it's due, even as he's breathing slow and even to steady himself. Then he reaches across the table--Circle mores on public touch be damned--for Linden's fidgeting hand, touching it for a brief moment with the tips of his fingers: peace, be still, you're heard.] In that latter case, I'll concede to you our hypothetical doctor who acts in all hope may not be doing so monstrously, but I'd caution him to not let his own despair at the case lead him astray.
Death's written for all of us, one way or another; we've a duty to fight against a murderer or defend ourselves from an enemy soldier, but the Maker will call us all back to His arms in due time. Struggling against the advance of disease, or age, or the inevitable progression of a catastrophic injury-- [Say true, Myrobalan: Do you wish you'd been left to die of wound-rot?] --past a certain point may end only in a loss of dignity, of peace, bitterly ruining all we'd loved about the dying one.
[Death was frequent and sudden and often inescapable on Thedas, even in the sheltered confines of a Circle. Even Myr's zeal to protect had learned its limits before it shattered his heart entirely.]
As it concerns demons-- If you're done eating, the next thing you need more than me yammering at you another hour is a bath and rest. And I've got no qualms about holding that information hostage against your good behavior. [One corner of his mouth curls up in a smile, then, and he adds,] Though I'd be glad enough to tag along after you to be sure you've taken care of yourself, I suspect even here it might seem improper if I tailed you to the baths, arguing the whole way or no.
no subject
Oh, I...
[He forces an overbright smile. Myr can definitely hear it, even if he can't see it.]
It might be improper, but I wouldn't complain.
[He glances back at the pie tin. The remnants of the far-from-finished pie rather resemble a murder scene.
Comforting, in other words.]
I might stay a bit longer and pick at more of this pie, but... afterwards, I'll do what you're asking me to. You have my word.
[Not worth much ordinarily... but in this case, at least, L is being sincere.]