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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"He does talk a lot," Q says as he marks his place in his book and folds it away. There's no need to ask 'who' is doing the talking, especially if it's Rachette coming to him. "And while he doesn't often say much in all the speech, it's not meaningless. It's not wholly empty."

With a thoughtful hum, Q gestures that she's welcome to sit and talk. Or walk and vent. Or whatever she's in the mood to do.

She'll take the walking and venting option, though she gives a quick nod of appreciation. The not-mage Q is understanding, maybe because they're both so...so much smarter than she is. It's possible they both look down on her. (Figuratively. They obviously do literally.)

But she won't regret her choice to come here. She's doing what's right, what she can.

"Then he could do us all a favor and say the meaningful things. It's all..." Obfuscation. Not a common word in her vocabulary. If it's there at all. "It's all hiding behind playing at being weird and smart. How am I supposed to tell what's useful and what's him just being--him?"

Q opens his mouth to answer, and then the words seem to stick in his throat. What can he say? What should he say? What is his to give away to this stranger? Silva is not and never has been one of his, but he is here on this ship because of his agents.

"You were chosen to be a Warden and you've read his file." Surely that means she has a fighting chance. "I..., ah, I am sorry, but I can't tell you how to untangle him."

Won't tell her, more precisely.

"It spoke the words at me," is her way of agreeing that she read his file. "Read", anyway; everyone be thankful for text-to-speech capabilities. (People have offered to teach her. She's stubborn, but isn't stupid enough to refuse.)

The politics, such as they are, she could do without. Oh, she'll deal with it, if she must, but the tragedy, the flaws, the evil is much more personal. That part, the crux of the matter, the driving force behind what he did, that she can understand.

But him, that's what she has a harder time understanding.

"You know him." Not an accusation, just simple stated fact. "You must have suggestions. I want to help him, and he...has a way about him. Like he wants it but isn't sure he wants it. And then he gets all chatty."

Yes, he's tried flirting with her. No, it didn't work.

"Being blunt about it all seems to disinterest him. Like it has to be a game. But it's not a game; it's his life we're talking about."

"I am glad, if that's the right word, I am glad that you want to help him and I think that's ..." He stalls out at this point and pushing his glasses up, pinches the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes, he looks as if he's making some sort of terrible, painful decision.

When he speaks again, the words are bitten off as if they're too bitter to say: "I do know him, and that's the trouble. This is no game, but I will not speak about anyone involved with my employers. Please, please, speak with another warden."

She doesn't snap at the way he sounds patronizing, but it's a near thing. Her stance changes, wider, solid, drawing herself up. Like she's going to give a speech. Or knock his lights out.

But she does neither. It is her job to deal with it, for better or worse. Involved with his employers. Maybe it's just some secretive matter. The matter of spies and bards. Leliana might be proud. And then tease Rachette for her bluntness.

"He doesn't feel the same way. He'll talk about anyone and anything." Maybe just a touch of accusation. "If you can help, I don't know why that's so hard for you. Or do you hate him that much you want him to fail?"

"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."

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