[ It's all he knew – an occupation, a hobby, a lesson, and shield. Truthfully, it was a pity. Lynette was a real beauty as she moved in that tank. She deserved to be admired.
He offers his napkin and then sits up a bit straighter with his fingers out reached between them. ...A white flag, in a sense. Temporarily. ]
All things considered, it's close to the best outcome. Things return back to their mundane path. I'm sure much is the same here too.
[ There it is – where a cornered cat eases up justttt a little. ]
[ In a sense, the gesture is more unexpected than the initial appearance of the napkin. He looks from the cloth, then to Lyney, then the cloth again, and finally smiles. ]
You'd be right. No news is good news, right?
[ He takes the napkin from between Lyney's fingers, turns it over with some curiosity. No hints as to how he did that. The kid's a pro. ]
[ The only thing Wriothesley would find was red stitching and the scent of some cologne. Musk that was far too mature for someone of his age. Bourbon and driftwood, with a hint of cinder. It's clearly his. ]
So long as another primordial sea seems to burst from your pipes, yeah. Sounds like it's business as usual. You should be so fortunate for having good boys and girls here.
[ Those words were with the same smug groan as Your Grace. ]
[ Lucky thing he's not an inmate anymore, or Wriothesley would have to put his foot down about that tone of his. But in a way it's better to have him smug than angry. Let the kid blow off a little steam--their unfinished business is as resolved as it's probably going to get, after all. ]
They keep busy. [ Simple as that, really. Give people a reasonable task to focus on, get reaasonable rewards in return. In this case, compliance, among other things. He places the handkerchief next to the box from Lynette, folding it in some approximation of neatness. ] Treat people fairly and they'll usually return the favor. It's no different with inmates.
[ A brief pause. ]
Unless you give their twin sister a room to sleep in and some tea with snacks.
[ Get smugness, receive smugness in return. Fair's fair. ]
[ A napkin was just a napkin, he cares little of it in the grand scheme of things. He's already suspiciously eyeing the tea before taking it – letting it rest on those thighs lined with leather garters. Still, cradling the side of the cup softly. ]
There's a thin line between debt and favors.
[ Lynette is 'returning the favor', but here he is thinking he's indebted to some extent for some mercy that kept her safe. Hm, he makes a face right at bringing Lynette up when his mind wanders to her – ]
One she didn't ask for. One you didn't bring me to.
[ He's wrong for it, for speaking about Lynette's trauma like it's his own. In a way, they were soulmates – intimate in the ways where sometimes they couldn't separate their wants. ]
...My sister has faced the cruelties of this world. Things that shape her and I and make me wish to shield her from everyone who could harm her. As composed and respectable as she is, it is to guard and prevent herself from being harmed when I cannot. While she may forgive you, make amends...
[ He scoffs just a little bringing the tea to his lips. ]
I will say this: she will never be your guest again. I will ensure it personally.
[ Protect her... or just keep them out of here? Both are valid. ]
[ "She will never be your guest again." Well, that's only music to his ears--nothing against Lynette, of course, but rather the principle that people ought not live their lives with Wriothesley as common company. If Lyney intends to make sure she never lands herself back in this place, all the better.
Interesting that he designates Lynette as the one who's faced the world's cruelties. Anyone can see the two are practically attached at the hip. Would that not mean, then, that Lyney has also faced his share of indignity? Who protects him when Lynette cannot? Questions he'll hold on to for now. What a tea time this has turned into. Unfitting of an ordinary Earl Grey, that's for certain. ]
You know that I never truly meant her harm, right? [ If they're to truly settle this as best they can, Wriothesley feels he ought to clarify that. ] Nor Freminet. Whether or not you had given me what I asked for, neither would have been in any danger. The only true gamble on my part was whether or not you'd fold.
[ A short, but unintentionally heavy pause. ]
I'm...not one to hurt children.
[ He means to say it as naturally as possible. What can be more natural, anyhow? What should come easier than that? But Wriothesley has faced a few cruelties of his own, and knows the world doesn't always hold itself to common sense. ]
[ What morals and expectations he had prior were all based off that anger, that consuming desire to protect those he holds dear. Father had ensured they were safe, they were taken care of for such a small 'penance'. Loyalty. They all had to work to keep their family close and trusting.
Lyney swallows all his pain. The shame of the things he's had to do, the broken promises lessened with "it's okay" from his siblings – misjudgments based on hope, brashness, and love.
It landed him tranq'd on the floor, after all. ]
I haven't been a boy in a long time. [ Unsaid: his siblings were not children either. He finishes half the tea and sets it forward. ] Everything leading up to this prophecy was delicate. A tightrope to walk and one inch off, everything would be ruined. There was no room for safety nets.
[ It takes a lot to be this transparent and he clicks his tongue to his teeth. ]
I made a vow to Lynette I'd never allow another person to treat her like property, like a lion caged in some circus.
[ Kids never do see themselves as such. It's different for Wriothesley: past a certain point, boys like Lyney start to look more and more like the children they swear they're not, and he suspects Lyney will see it his way once he gets there. No sense arguing it; he wouldn't hear it at that age either.
There's probably no sense in zeroing in on this, either, but he does. Lyney already mentioned the cruelties of the world. But the wording makes it realer, makes it more tangible in Wriothesley's empty hands. ]
"Another" person, huh. [ Did he ever many any such vow to his siblings? He doesn't recall. ] You've been through a lot.
[ And they'll continue to at the hands of the Fatui, so long as that's where their loyalties lie. But there's a lot there that Wriothesley senses he doesn't see, a safety Lyney must deem adequate in exchange for whatever the organization puts him up to. There's a distant, small tangle of feeling in his chest; Meropide had once been his trade-off, too. His better alternative. ]
[ Shaking his head, it's not about him. He deflects it, aimed precise like an arrow. He lounges back, legs crossed and gaze as confident as ever. Comfortable, his body language read. That was good, if it wasn't an act. ]
They have. [ A beat. ] Wouldn't be a Fontanian without a fair share of trouble brewing like a storm.
[ Even joking, friendly as he was, feels... uncomfortable. Like it was okay to let that mask slip just enough for Lyney to breathe. ]
[ Wriothesley looks him over then, the calm countenance, the seamless maneuver into a light joke. The forfeit of what was undoubtedly his own trauma unto others. Whether it's Lyney really letting go or not, Wriothesley can't help interpreting it as protection. He once had to protect himself too. Not through charm--not wit, not color and wonder--but through a number of other ways. Making himself unassuming. Making himself bigger than he was, if unassuming didn't work.
Fontanians have their troubles, and they have their masks, too. ]
Hah.
[ He could pry. But he won't. Let the magician keep his secrets: he hopes, after all, that they never have another opportunity for letting their masks slip again. ]
...I'm afraid I have an appointment due soon. But I'm glad that we talked, Lyney. [ He feels no shame in saying it. Why should he? He'd rather be on good terms with him, or at least the best they can manage. ] Do stay out of trouble, now.
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no subject
He offers his napkin and then sits up a bit straighter with his fingers out reached between them. ...A white flag, in a sense. Temporarily. ]
All things considered, it's close to the best outcome. Things return back to their mundane path. I'm sure much is the same here too.
[ There it is – where a cornered cat eases up justttt a little. ]
no subject
You'd be right. No news is good news, right?
[ He takes the napkin from between Lyney's fingers, turns it over with some curiosity. No hints as to how he did that. The kid's a pro. ]
no subject
So long as another primordial sea seems to burst from your pipes, yeah. Sounds like it's business as usual. You should be so fortunate for having good boys and girls here.
[ Those words were with the same smug groan as Your Grace. ]
no subject
They keep busy. [ Simple as that, really. Give people a reasonable task to focus on, get reaasonable rewards in return. In this case, compliance, among other things. He places the handkerchief next to the box from Lynette, folding it in some approximation of neatness. ] Treat people fairly and they'll usually return the favor. It's no different with inmates.
[ A brief pause. ]
Unless you give their twin sister a room to sleep in and some tea with snacks.
[ Get smugness, receive smugness in return. Fair's fair. ]
no subject
There's a thin line between debt and favors.
[ Lynette is 'returning the favor', but here he is thinking he's indebted to some extent for some mercy that kept her safe. Hm, he makes a face right at bringing Lynette up when his mind wanders to her – ]
One she didn't ask for. One you didn't bring me to.
[ He's wrong for it, for speaking about Lynette's trauma like it's his own. In a way, they were soulmates – intimate in the ways where sometimes they couldn't separate their wants. ]
...My sister has faced the cruelties of this world. Things that shape her and I and make me wish to shield her from everyone who could harm her. As composed and respectable as she is, it is to guard and prevent herself from being harmed when I cannot. While she may forgive you, make amends...
[ He scoffs just a little bringing the tea to his lips. ]
I will say this: she will never be your guest again. I will ensure it personally.
[ Protect her... or just keep them out of here? Both are valid. ]
no subject
Interesting that he designates Lynette as the one who's faced the world's cruelties. Anyone can see the two are practically attached at the hip. Would that not mean, then, that Lyney has also faced his share of indignity? Who protects him when Lynette cannot? Questions he'll hold on to for now. What a tea time this has turned into. Unfitting of an ordinary Earl Grey, that's for certain. ]
You know that I never truly meant her harm, right? [ If they're to truly settle this as best they can, Wriothesley feels he ought to clarify that. ] Nor Freminet. Whether or not you had given me what I asked for, neither would have been in any danger. The only true gamble on my part was whether or not you'd fold.
[ A short, but unintentionally heavy pause. ]
I'm...not one to hurt children.
[ He means to say it as naturally as possible. What can be more natural, anyhow? What should come easier than that? But Wriothesley has faced a few cruelties of his own, and knows the world doesn't always hold itself to common sense. ]
no subject
Lyney swallows all his pain. The shame of the things he's had to do, the broken promises lessened with "it's okay" from his siblings – misjudgments based on hope, brashness, and love.
It landed him tranq'd on the floor, after all. ]
I haven't been a boy in a long time. [ Unsaid: his siblings were not children either. He finishes half the tea and sets it forward. ] Everything leading up to this prophecy was delicate. A tightrope to walk and one inch off, everything would be ruined. There was no room for safety nets.
[ It takes a lot to be this transparent and he clicks his tongue to his teeth. ]
I made a vow to Lynette I'd never allow another person to treat her like property, like a lion caged in some circus.
no subject
There's probably no sense in zeroing in on this, either, but he does. Lyney already mentioned the cruelties of the world. But the wording makes it realer, makes it more tangible in Wriothesley's empty hands. ]
"Another" person, huh. [ Did he ever many any such vow to his siblings? He doesn't recall. ] You've been through a lot.
[ And they'll continue to at the hands of the Fatui, so long as that's where their loyalties lie. But there's a lot there that Wriothesley senses he doesn't see, a safety Lyney must deem adequate in exchange for whatever the organization puts him up to. There's a distant, small tangle of feeling in his chest; Meropide had once been his trade-off, too. His better alternative. ]
no subject
They have. [ A beat. ] Wouldn't be a Fontanian without a fair share of trouble brewing like a storm.
[ Even joking, friendly as he was, feels... uncomfortable. Like it was okay to let that mask slip just enough for Lyney to breathe. ]
...Tea, in your case.
no subject
Fontanians have their troubles, and they have their masks, too. ]
Hah.
[ He could pry. But he won't. Let the magician keep his secrets: he hopes, after all, that they never have another opportunity for letting their masks slip again. ]
...I'm afraid I have an appointment due soon. But I'm glad that we talked, Lyney. [ He feels no shame in saying it. Why should he? He'd rather be on good terms with him, or at least the best they can manage. ] Do stay out of trouble, now.