oedipusrat | TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

[several months after this initial interaction]

Rachette doesn't kick in the door. She's not a barbarian. But the door is definitely opened in a manner that is heavier and harder than strictly necessary. Being The Warden was pain enough; being a warden is...irritating.

"He talks too much."

That's a possibly very petty thing to complain to the mage (who has explained to her that he is not a mage, but she remains not entirely convinced of this) about his...companion? Compatriot? Person from his same world. But talking to her inmate, a man who seems to prefer the name Silva to any of the other potential names he could be going by, is as frustrating as talking to Sten sometimes. Roundabout. Never to the point. Why does nobody ever just say what they mean?

The dwarf huffs and blows a few strands of silver hair from her face. "He uses too many words in strange ways. Would it kill him to just talk like a normal person instead of blathering on? Before I kill him."

She won't. That's not what she's here for, and he hasn't given enough reason to make her want to. But by the Stone and all of the Ancestors, he makes her job so difficult. Fighting a mob of darkspawn sometimes seems preferable.

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"No!" The response comes out and it's clearly a matter of instinct. While he remains unbothered by her stands, Q is started by his own vehemence. "I don't want him to fail, far from it. I...look, do you truly believe that it would be good for him, for you, for the whole mess, if I betrayed what little trust might one day exist between Silva and myself?"

"He can speak as much or little as he chooses, but it doesn't change the fact I will not speak about him." Cautiously, he licks his lips and considers the matter. "It's not because he's owed that from me, because he's not. This is simply my stance on anyone that was or is a part of Six."

It's surprising from him, though her mouth forms a little 'oh'. "It's a matter of trust."

Maybe she should have seen that coming, given that trust is a complicated matter to these people. Betrayal even more so. "It would feel like a betrayal to talk about him and give me an edge. I have to earn it myself, because otherwise he'll know you said something." Makes sense. Better for her to suss out the various ins and outs on her own.

In a way, that's helpful. Even if still frustrating.

"Then I'll only complain about his behavior to you and not ask for advice."

Q doesn't bother to hide his relief. He would've kept to his stance no matter what, but it's good that she understands where he's coming from.

"And for that, you're welcome to complain as much as you like. I'm used to it." There's something almost painful in its familiarity about this moment. He misses Britain. He misses Q-Branch. He almost misses complaining about the madness that are the Double-0s. ~~He misses the madness and the danger of his job as a handler.~~

"I may not look it, but I am a fair listener."

"And I'll try to be a better one. I could listen to your inmate frustrations, too, even if I can't be of much help either. Suppose you'll have to earn yours just as well." Magic! It's weird!

Her stance finally relaxes. "This jobs takes a lot of patience. It's not always the easiest thing."

"No, it's not, but the trade was worth it." It's just as simple as that. "And mine is generally repulsed by me. So that's its own special sort of trouble, but I'm used to it."

"It's partly because I don't have magic in the way he does, but I think it's almost more about class. And my presumed lack thereof." Q's accent is a nice, crisp BBC British, but that may not have always been his accent. "I work for a living and it's appalling. Shameful, I dare say."

He's probably joking.

"Eugh. Rich people." She'd much rather steal from them. They're not gonna miss it, right? "No offense, but you don't act like you're lower class. But what do I know about rich people? They're a mystery."

Okay, she ended up with a fair bit of gold on her adventures and from trading and selling equipment but that's not the same thing by a long shot.

It's not an easy conversation, not overly friendly, but then again, Q isn't particularly chummy with anyone. He's aware that he could make an effort and change, that he's no longer a true member of Six and he has the option to be someone else.

He does not take that step.

And time passes.

"Dearest darling little Scrabble tile."

Oh, this ought to be good. Silva's in good spirits, but honestly, it's rare for him to interact with Q and not at least appear in good spirits. The barge's little pit stops are...entertaining. Some of them make him feel young again. And some make him feel so very old.

He rolls his shoulders like working out a knot and unfurls himself on the nearest seat. Or the nearest surface that could conceivably work as a seat. Stretches out his legs, hands relaxed on his lap. Leaned back, but watching Q.

"You may be in it too long and too deep to smell the stench any longer, but tell me, are you aware of how full of shit your inmate is?"

Silva is not wrong, per se; however, Q is sure that it doesn't behoove his role as warden to literally shit-talk his charge. He ought to keep walking along the deck, just pass Silva on by and continue towards the library, but...

"Did you have a run in with Mr Malfoy?" He stalls and seems willing to talk. Q doesn't relax, but he doesn't appear as if he's about to bolt or fidget.

"We chat, on occasion. We have chatted quite recently, in fact, and I have to say--you could do better. His case," Silva blows out a little air through his lips, gives an impetuous wave of a hand, "this is not so difficult, from what I can understand of it. Maybe, in time, you can teach him the merits of humility? Ah, or would that be telling."

"It would, I'm afraid." He's certainly not going to deny that's the case, but Q has a gut feeling that there might be more to it than just a dash of humility. "I don't know how much I'll have to do with it, but I do think he'll graduate in time and hopefully be returned to his family."

A pause.

"Are you doing well?"

"No one day is ever boring." So, yes, that probably means well. "My warden, she's very tenacious. I like her, full of fire and spirit! Much smarter than she thinks she is, but ay, I am no teacher. I think, perhaps, you like her, too? As much as you can like anyone."

As much as he can like anyone that isn't James.

He scoots aside just a hair and solidly thunks his hand down on the space beside him, tapping a few times. "Come, sit, sit. Or would you have me join you instead, as though I could say no?"

"As much as I'm able, I do like her, yes." That he might not be able to like anyone hurts, but it's a little injury and he isn't too put off. "And she has a good heart."

Which may be either praise or condemnation, but it's hard to tell with him.

Q looks down the rest of the deck, off into the strangeness that they pass through, and then he nods. A small, faint motion of acknowledgement before he sits beside Silva.

He doesn't turn this into a big deal. He doesn't even watch but out the corner of his eye, or make any sly commentary. Q has chosen of his own doing to be here, and that is...enough.

"Do you suppose we would be better matched to one another? I do, I do like her, she is very streetsmart and wary, but she is out of her depth with me, I think. And Lucius, I allow him to think what he will of me, else he would steer very clear of me and my opinions." That he doesn't chase the wizard off by being loudly opinionated is perhaps telling in its own right. "He is rude about you. I may ask Miss Brosca yet to be allowed something for...fun. What color would he least like his hair to be? We will see what his magic does to dye."

He's joking!

Maybe.

"I am not the Admiral, but I think that you and her are a good match. If you had someone who loved wordplay as much, you'd both end up trapped in ever-tightening mazes of ideas." Q is quite sure that if they were matched, that's what would happen. Riddles within riddles and layers upon layers, none of which would help either of them.

"And I am quite used to people being rude about me and in Mr Malfoy's case, directly to my face. If he comes up with a novel insult, then I'll be impressed and I'll get you the box of palest robin's egg myself."

You see? He's helping. This is what Q helping looks like.

"Then perhaps I may egg him on myself so he has an original thought in his head. Just for that alone."

Still. Someone is being rude about Q. That is unfortunate.

"I wonder if that's more you've said about him in that alone than you've mentioned about me."

And Q knows just how little he's said about Malfoy. It's nothing that couldn't be learned by anyone onboard who has watched them interact.

"I wondered if she'd come to you about that. Your warden wasn't too pleased when I refused to talk about you, to give her an 'edge'." His refusal wasn't any great sacrifice, but it felt important.

"Oh, she said nothing of the sort. Which, in a way, is very telling. No one seems to know much of me save what I let them know, despite having a prickly source of information right here. And if you had given her that edge? Would I not be, hm, better adjusted for her renewed efforts?"

He watches carefully.

Should he deny it? It would feel better if he did. Telling this particular truth seems to cut a little too close to the bone.

"I will tell you what I told her: you are not one of mine, nor were you ever, but I do not talk about anyone that I have or could've worked with. If she wants her efforts to succeed, they must be on your mutual terms and as a result of her actions."

"I do not disagree with you." Fetch the smelling salts. "I was never one of yours. A rival? Hm? Fleet of fingers, sharp of wit, playing the digital chess board? But not one of yours."

He tilts his head, gives a thoughtful hum.

"Secret Keeper."

"In as much as I can."

Does he need to say that he chose to be a secret keeper for his own sake and not Silva's? Probably not.

"And, for what little it's worth, I am not your warden, nor do I wish to be, but I would like to ...if you want to talk to, at, or with someone who has an idea of what our world was like, I am fairly easy to find."

Did that hurt? It looked as if it might've hurt.

"You would like to...?" Of course he latches onto that unfinished statement instantly, immediately. Turns his body just so. Knocks their knees together. Leans, just so, into Q's space.

"Would you like me to seek you out, deliberately? Would you like to help drag me out of my own head, eh? Would you like to commiserate about home, about the prices of London flats, about dreary rain, about, hm, work?"

Q closes his eyes and takes a deep steadying breath. He does not move away or push Silva back, but his words are as icy cool with all the professionalism he can muster. "I would like to make the offer. And I have."

"If you would like those things, I will not dismiss you out of hand." A pause. "....except perhaps not housing prices."

A laugh, then. Too loud right next to Q, rippling down the hall. A hand claps Q's shoulder.

"Barely getting by as it is on a government paycheck, aha, you're starting to sound like an American, my friend. You need to relax, do you know? Relax, let loose, do things for yourself. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate you making it all about me and what I want, but this is about you as much as it is me."

He pointedly does not jump at the touch. It's not you, Silva, it's nearly everyone. Excepting a handful of Double0s that are utterly oblivious when it comes to personal space and preference.

"Is it? In what possible way is it about me?"

He gestures, vaguely waving away that question. It's not important. Not really.

"And I do relax. In my own way. I've never been a particularly loud or demonstrative person. Becoming one would not be very relaxing."

TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

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