[ ...Right, the coupons. Not that he'd forgotten, or anything--he meant it when he said he'd extend Lyney's sentence in the event that he failed--but he had been doing his best to put the bulk of that tiff out of his mind until now. And more or less succeeding.
He looks the boy over, then takes the coupons from him. He's at the point where he can more or less eyeball these things. Either it's the right amount, or Lyney has pulled off a hell of a trick. ]
I'm glad you did. Guess I'm headed to the surface tomorrow.
[ It was proof of his efforts – the way he presents far less in the grand scheme of things. The numbers and then some, that's what decides whether Lyney was good for his word. ]
Tomorrow. [ He repeats. Good. ...That's not too bad. He warned them not to expect frequent communication but – oh, it broke his heart to set that standard. The thought of Freminet and Lynette receiving his letters when their world feels a little more vulnerable was enough fuel. ] Thank you. For holding up your end.
[ He'll have the mail delivered first thing. In terms of time-sensitivity, the mail room probably wouldn't have been terribly slower than Wriothesley's personal attentions. But even he can admit the staff of Meropide are imperfect at times. Outbound mail goes missing sometimes. "Missing", other times. Read by prying eyes. He does his best to correct that behavior when it comes to his attention, but at the end of the day, he only has two eyes and ears.
Placing the coupons in a desk drawer, he looks Lyney over again. Quite the departure from his usual fare. ]
[ There's a tug at the bottom of his shirt, hoisting it up to wipe at his own face. It's awfully simple, more function than fashion. It was almost... unsuitable. Lyney had spent the past five years tailoring his image and expectations with the crowd. His adoring public wouldn't look twice at him like this, just as they ignored orphans begging for scraps. ]
This place doesn't run itself. You made that clear. [ He sighs a bit. ] ...No one else can enter into the main pipe in the hub. The latch is corroded, flimsy. It'll keep bursting the diverter.
[ He knows a few things about tinkering, but nothing like Freminet. ]
[ Maybe it's just his youthful metabolism, but one look at Lyney's exposed midriff and Wriothesley's wondering if the kid has been dodging the coupon cafeteria. Was Wriothesley ever that small? He doubts it. By Lyney's age he had nearly reached his current height, although he wasn't built then the way he is now. No surprise that Lyney was the only one who could fit in the pipe; he's tiny, bird-boned.
...If there have been any incidents, they haven't reached his eyes or ears. But he does hope this doesn't work to Lyney's disadvantage--that is to say, that his build hasn't given him any...trouble in this place. It's not right, but it can be that way sometimes. He's seen things--mostly before he took his post. Concern pinches his brow for just a moment, then fades fast. ]
Good thing you were here, then. [ A little more unfocused than he means for. Diverter...right. ]
[ He didn't mind the grime and dirt, it's that sweat... he hates how his bangs stick to his face. It feels nasty. Under that shirt was limited muscle definition – a slight curve inward from waist trainers and corsets, from suits too tight in an attempt to maintain his own figure. Something blurring the line only enough for him to imitate Lynette during shows when they switch.
Today, Lyney proved himself to be useful in one way – but who knows if certain seeds were planted. ]
The guy in charge of maintenance says it goes down about every few weeks for a bit. Now they know why. [ The problem is deeper, that's why. ] One less problem.
[ He's not terribly worried about the pipe, even if Lyney is the only inmate who can get into it. The whole discussion has turned into a spoken iteration of that paragraph from earlier. Not absorbing anything--but wondering, wondering if Lyney would tell him if anyone gave him a hard time. ]
So everything's alright, then? Not with the pipe. [ Or the diverter. Or the...he clears his throat lightly. ] With work. Here.
[ It was Wriothesley's time to overthink, it seems. Lyney wasn't opposed to helping – besides snooping around in his first stint here... he still did his job. ]
Here. [ He parrots, looking around. ] Was it not enough coupons?
[ That's where his mind goes – immediately, as if he let Wriothesley down. ]
No, it's enough. [ He's gone and made this kind of awkward, he realizes, but there's no walking it back now. ] ...I mean here. In the Fortress. Everything's fine?
[ What is this, honestly? Why is the sight of some kid's skinny waist making him...? Worried, he admits privately. He's worried. And that takes him right back to the uncomfortable waters tread in their argument before: that maybe there's a dimension of personal investment in this, a shade of concern he might not have for other inmates. There are no favors in Meropide, he had told Lyney. There are no favorites, either. He's firm on that.
...He's asked others the same thing. How they're faring. This is no different, he tells himself. What's different is that the two of them have clashed in ways that Wriothesley typically doesn't with his prisoners. And that's why Lyney might hold back if something were to happen. It's his job to patch that over--to let the boy know he can be an ally as much as an adversary. That things can be fixed here, so long as Wriothesley is given the opportunity to do so. ]
I didn't know I was qualified to give a performance review.
[ Wriothesley did set the standard, swore the Fortress runs in ways he's proud of, at least. That order matters, that a system was in place. Lyney doesn't fight against it and when he stands before His Grace, he doesn't feel small or angry. Not right now. A sense of satisfaction stems from his earlier job, but to deliver to Wriothesley was the ultimate payback, right?
It means his words and conviction were true.
That assumptions fall flat and Lyney lives for those moments.
For no one to be right about him. ]
The beds are uncomfortable, the rattle of the pipes at night a bit much, and your inmates don't knock on the bathroom door before trying to rattle it open.
[ That's...well. It's said frankly enough that Wriothesley has no reason to suspect otherwise. Lyney is nothing if not skilled at potraying an illusion, but Wriothesley knows plain speaking when he hears it, and this is exactly that. He's overthinking things. This was silly. He thrums his fingers against the book laid out before him, shuts the cover without marking his place. Avoids Lyney's eyes. ]
And if it wasn't fine?
[ And now he's squandered a perfect out from this ridiculous line of discussion. He's tired. That's what he's decided: he's very, very tired, and that's why he's not making sense right now, picturing problems where there aren't any. Creating them by his own hand, even. ]
[ The language changes, a dynamic with a slight shift. Lyney's trained himself to be that observant... to be able to see things no others can. Smiles or rolling eyes in the back of a darkened theater, items missing from their place.
That's why he kicks himself for being so stupid during their performance that lead them to trial.
Wriothesley fishes for something he isn't expecting to catch. Maybe he's been at this for a while with the other intimates, Lyney isn't for certain. ...He recognizes the fatigue in his eyes. ]
I assume we'd sit with your tea and you'd want me to tell you, right? So the Duke's shortcomings aren't on display?
[ It's not a sharp prod, no. He catches his tongue between his teeth and one eye shuts. ...A joke. It was a joke. ]
I won't be a snitch, if that's what you think, but... I'm not foolish enough to suffer more than I am.
[ No use hiding it, then. He scratches the back of his neck, thoughtful. Lyney seems to see what he's getting at now--that he'd really like him to speak up if anything should go wrong, even with their misgivings, ones that only seem to multiply with every encounter. And he says he'd do it. That part, not as plain-spoken as his earlier complaints--but he says he would, and Wriothesley would like to believe it.
But he is wrong about one thing. ]
It's nothing to do with my shortcomings. If I'm made aware of a problem, it's my job as Administrator to fix it. [ He's a little more in his depth now. At ease. ] ...Other than that, you're exactly right. We'd sit and you'd tell me over tea.
[ One more thing: ]
And if you pull another face at me, I'll raise the number of coupons necessary for your mail errands by half.
[ The gentle corrections paints a picture clearer than Lyney imagined. He cares less about reputation and more about function. ...Interesting. For someone like him, so revered... it's going to make him stew on why. The mention of tea has him snarl a lip up but – he stops abruptly. ]
E-Eh?! That's my normal face! You can't raise the rates because of a cute mug like this!
The Fortress of Meropide is an autonomous entity. I can do as I please. Be a good boy and I won't.
[ ...That's better. His prior sense of unease dissolves. Lyney isn't being harassed by anyone, and he'll tell him if it should come to that. Their interactions haven't formed the barrier he might have imagined. And he's made it crystal clear what happens when you sass the Duke. It's for his own good, but Wriothesley can't picture himself being able to convince Lyney of that--and besides, it's his turn to do a little teasing. ]
[ He can, that's the part that sucks. There's no escaping that. This was his domain. When he's goaded to be good – a good boy – it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and for a brief second, his stomach tightens. ]
Always for you, Your Grace.
[ Two can play that game. The boy turns, off towards the exit with a dismissive hand. There's nothing else to say, is there? May as well not linger... should go shower. ]
330. Don't forget.
[ He pantomimes closing a book, not even looking back to see if Wriothesley pieced the two together. ]
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no subject
He looks the boy over, then takes the coupons from him. He's at the point where he can more or less eyeball these things. Either it's the right amount, or Lyney has pulled off a hell of a trick. ]
I'm glad you did. Guess I'm headed to the surface tomorrow.
no subject
Tomorrow. [ He repeats. Good. ...That's not too bad. He warned them not to expect frequent communication but – oh, it broke his heart to set that standard. The thought of Freminet and Lynette receiving his letters when their world feels a little more vulnerable was enough fuel. ] Thank you. For holding up your end.
no subject
[ He'll have the mail delivered first thing. In terms of time-sensitivity, the mail room probably wouldn't have been terribly slower than Wriothesley's personal attentions. But even he can admit the staff of Meropide are imperfect at times. Outbound mail goes missing sometimes. "Missing", other times. Read by prying eyes. He does his best to correct that behavior when it comes to his attention, but at the end of the day, he only has two eyes and ears.
Placing the coupons in a desk drawer, he looks Lyney over again. Quite the departure from his usual fare. ]
You've been keeping busy.
no subject
This place doesn't run itself. You made that clear. [ He sighs a bit. ] ...No one else can enter into the main pipe in the hub. The latch is corroded, flimsy. It'll keep bursting the diverter.
[ He knows a few things about tinkering, but nothing like Freminet. ]
no subject
...If there have been any incidents, they haven't reached his eyes or ears. But he does hope this doesn't work to Lyney's disadvantage--that is to say, that his build hasn't given him any...trouble in this place. It's not right, but it can be that way sometimes. He's seen things--mostly before he took his post. Concern pinches his brow for just a moment, then fades fast. ]
Good thing you were here, then. [ A little more unfocused than he means for. Diverter...right. ]
no subject
Today, Lyney proved himself to be useful in one way – but who knows if certain seeds were planted. ]
The guy in charge of maintenance says it goes down about every few weeks for a bit. Now they know why. [ The problem is deeper, that's why. ] One less problem.
no subject
So everything's alright, then? Not with the pipe. [ Or the diverter. Or the...he clears his throat lightly. ] With work. Here.
no subject
Here. [ He parrots, looking around. ] Was it not enough coupons?
[ That's where his mind goes – immediately, as if he let Wriothesley down. ]
I did five extra hours and –
no subject
[ What is this, honestly? Why is the sight of some kid's skinny waist making him...? Worried, he admits privately. He's worried. And that takes him right back to the uncomfortable waters tread in their argument before: that maybe there's a dimension of personal investment in this, a shade of concern he might not have for other inmates. There are no favors in Meropide, he had told Lyney. There are no favorites, either. He's firm on that.
...He's asked others the same thing. How they're faring. This is no different, he tells himself. What's different is that the two of them have clashed in ways that Wriothesley typically doesn't with his prisoners. And that's why Lyney might hold back if something were to happen. It's his job to patch that over--to let the boy know he can be an ally as much as an adversary. That things can be fixed here, so long as Wriothesley is given the opportunity to do so. ]
no subject
[ Wriothesley did set the standard, swore the Fortress runs in ways he's proud of, at least. That order matters, that a system was in place. Lyney doesn't fight against it and when he stands before His Grace, he doesn't feel small or angry. Not right now. A sense of satisfaction stems from his earlier job, but to deliver to Wriothesley was the ultimate payback, right?
It means his words and conviction were true.
That assumptions fall flat and Lyney lives for those moments.
For no one to be right about him. ]
The beds are uncomfortable, the rattle of the pipes at night a bit much, and your inmates don't knock on the bathroom door before trying to rattle it open.
[ Valid complaints but – ]
Everything is as expected. It's fine.
no subject
And if it wasn't fine?
[ And now he's squandered a perfect out from this ridiculous line of discussion. He's tired. That's what he's decided: he's very, very tired, and that's why he's not making sense right now, picturing problems where there aren't any. Creating them by his own hand, even. ]
no subject
That's why he kicks himself for being so stupid during their performance that lead them to trial.
Wriothesley fishes for something he isn't expecting to catch. Maybe he's been at this for a while with the other intimates, Lyney isn't for certain. ...He recognizes the fatigue in his eyes. ]
I assume we'd sit with your tea and you'd want me to tell you, right? So the Duke's shortcomings aren't on display?
[ It's not a sharp prod, no. He catches his tongue between his teeth and one eye shuts. ...A joke. It was a joke. ]
I won't be a snitch, if that's what you think, but... I'm not foolish enough to suffer more than I am.
[ Without Lynette, unsaid. ]
no subject
But he is wrong about one thing. ]
It's nothing to do with my shortcomings. If I'm made aware of a problem, it's my job as Administrator to fix it. [ He's a little more in his depth now. At ease. ] ...Other than that, you're exactly right. We'd sit and you'd tell me over tea.
[ One more thing: ]
And if you pull another face at me, I'll raise the number of coupons necessary for your mail errands by half.
no subject
E-Eh?! That's my normal face! You can't raise the rates because of a cute mug like this!
[ He's exaggerating but... not wrong. ]
no subject
[ ...That's better. His prior sense of unease dissolves. Lyney isn't being harassed by anyone, and he'll tell him if it should come to that. Their interactions haven't formed the barrier he might have imagined. And he's made it crystal clear what happens when you sass the Duke. It's for his own good, but Wriothesley can't picture himself being able to convince Lyney of that--and besides, it's his turn to do a little teasing. ]
no subject
Always for you, Your Grace.
[ Two can play that game. The boy turns, off towards the exit with a dismissive hand. There's nothing else to say, is there? May as well not linger... should go shower. ]
330. Don't forget.
[ He pantomimes closing a book, not even looking back to see if Wriothesley pieced the two together. ]