[ True to his word, Wriothesley has the letters delivered in the overworld. He also extends a request to the manager of Meropide's mail room: until further notice, anything from the House of Hearth goes to his desk before it reaches its intended correspondent. Not for suspicion, which would be the typical reason for bypassing the usual channels--rather to make sure Lyney gets his mail at all. The agreement had only stipulated that Wriothesley would get the mail delivered safely in exchange for coupons--nothing to say of what might happen to the eventual replies--but he feels some obligation to see to it that Lyney's letters aren't interfered with more than necessary in the usual cycle of prison correspondence.
That being said, there's only so much he can do with the systems in place. The letters back to him still have to go through the mail room for the usual checks--contraband, and the like--before they make it to Wriothesley's desk. And so they're opened by the time they're in Wriothesley's hands.
He's just about due for a meeting when the letters are given to him by a guard, and so he can't have the contents sent along immediately. He means to stow them temporarily in one of his desk drawers until he can have them given to their intended recipient. Which is when it happens.
One of the envelopes--marked "inappropriate"; a designation he'll really have to have the mail room do away with entirely, being that 'inappropriate' does not equal 'dangerous' or 'anyone else's damned business'--is stuffed carelessly, and the contents spill out onto his desk. Wriothesley isn't one to pry, isn't one to read what has nothing to do with him--but he does inadvertently catch some of the wording elegantly penned as he places the paper back into its envelope.
...my brother, your warmth has left us without. Left my bed cold, left my heart frigid.
---
No, it's not about the overflow tank.
Rather, Wriothesley calls Lyney to his office about the letters--not about the contents, which have sat themselves awkwardly in the back of his mind since his slip-up, but rather in making sure that everything got to him in one piece. The pipeline of prison mail is one that often leaves inmates frustrated, embarrassed. Lyney seems at higher risk in his mind, more prone to acting out if anything should interfere with his only current connection to his family, susceptible to the stresses of corresponding in incarceration. Hence his earlier sense of obligation: see to it that Lyney gets all the letters he's entitled to, all in complete form. For the sake of his wellbeing.
He straightens his tie as Lyney sits before him. ]
It's not about that. [ ...He doesn't mean to, but it's hard not to think of the dash of Lynette's letter--possibly Freminet's, but he doubts it on handwriting alone--caught unintentionally. "Left my bed cold"? There are only so many ways to interpret that. ] I entrusted a guard with your mail earlier. Did it find you well?
no subject
That being said, there's only so much he can do with the systems in place. The letters back to him still have to go through the mail room for the usual checks--contraband, and the like--before they make it to Wriothesley's desk. And so they're opened by the time they're in Wriothesley's hands.
He's just about due for a meeting when the letters are given to him by a guard, and so he can't have the contents sent along immediately. He means to stow them temporarily in one of his desk drawers until he can have them given to their intended recipient. Which is when it happens.
One of the envelopes--marked "inappropriate"; a designation he'll really have to have the mail room do away with entirely, being that 'inappropriate' does not equal 'dangerous' or 'anyone else's damned business'--is stuffed carelessly, and the contents spill out onto his desk. Wriothesley isn't one to pry, isn't one to read what has nothing to do with him--but he does inadvertently catch some of the wording elegantly penned as he places the paper back into its envelope.
...my brother, your warmth has left us without. Left my bed cold, left my heart frigid.
No, it's not about the overflow tank.
Rather, Wriothesley calls Lyney to his office about the letters--not about the contents, which have sat themselves awkwardly in the back of his mind since his slip-up, but rather in making sure that everything got to him in one piece. The pipeline of prison mail is one that often leaves inmates frustrated, embarrassed. Lyney seems at higher risk in his mind, more prone to acting out if anything should interfere with his only current connection to his family, susceptible to the stresses of corresponding in incarceration. Hence his earlier sense of obligation: see to it that Lyney gets all the letters he's entitled to, all in complete form. For the sake of his wellbeing.
He straightens his tie as Lyney sits before him. ]
It's not about that. [ ...He doesn't mean to, but it's hard not to think of the dash of Lynette's letter--possibly Freminet's, but he doubts it on handwriting alone--caught unintentionally. "Left my bed cold"? There are only so many ways to interpret that. ] I entrusted a guard with your mail earlier. Did it find you well?