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[footholds]

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[altusimperius]

[In the dining hall at some point after their initial meeting, Nicola is presumably minding his own business when he is accosted by a familiar face. Benedict, holding his tray, plunks it down across from the newcomer and sits on the bench to accompany it, his expression closed and lofty.]

Hello, [he says primly, with the air of a child being made to apologize,] welcome to Riftwatch.

[footholds]

[ Nicola's own business consists of a plate of food, a single letter from Antiva, and a book he has been carrying to the dining hall every day since he arrived like a shield against looking like he needs anyone to take pity on him.

At least this doesn't smell anything like pity. His glance up from the letter is brief. ]

Thank you.

[altusimperius]

I suppose I don't need to tell you my name, [Benedict continues irritably,] as you clearly already know it. But I'm Riftwatch's Personnel Officer and I have-- I came to see how you're settling in.

[if this is a joke it's a bad one]

[footholds]

[ Nicola nevertheless stares at him for a beat as if expecting him to laugh — expecting bad jokes to be entirely within his wheelhouse — before taking a long drink from his cup of water to half-cover for it. ]

It is everything I dreamed of.

[altusimperius]

Great. Well. [he looks at his writing board, with an odd little flush coming to his cheeks-- don't stare at him-- and makes a note.]

Other than Byerly, do you have any designs on killing any current members in the future?

[footholds]

[ A faint snort. ]

He must be a terrible swordsman.

[altusimperius]

[Abruptly flustered,]

no— that’s not what I— he isn’t!

[footholds]

[ :) ]

No? You seemed so immediately certain he was doomed.

[altusimperius]

I just--

[fuck u]

...I care about him a lot.

[And you're in trouble for making him admit this,]

And if he died. If you killed him. [His mouth twitches in a scowl,] I'd have to kill you, I think.

[this sounds less like a threat and more like a plea. don't make me do extra work]

[footholds]

[ Nicola cocks an eyebrow, considering that threat — ]

It's charming hypocrisy, at least.

[ — and then returns his gaze and part of his attention to his food. ]

The only way I would have killed him is if he tripped onto my sword.

[altusimperius]

[The callout yields a little scowl, though there's a flash of intrigue when Nicola drops that little nugget.]

--so you're a terrible swordsman?

[The question isn't as catty as he's capable of: it bears the tone of trying to figure things out, rather than land a blow.]

[footholds]

Something like that,

[ is dismissive, first, his next bite of food on its way to his mouth. But on second thought he pauses and lowers it and explains himself — because the tone wasn't so bad, and the face is not so bad either, and it isn't as if any of this is a secret. Only not the kind of thing he's used to having to explain. ]

My family does not care about revenge for Chiaro Matelizi, Lady rest him. They care about being crossed without consequence. For one of their own to come here and work alongside the man makes the matter unavoidable. That it is me challenging him is something of an insult in itself — the gesture would be enough for them. I did want to make him sweat a little, I will admit that, but he could have asked for first blood or disarming. And he could have won. My pride is disposable.

Now? We will see. Maybe they will send him a kind Crow.

[altusimperius]

..oh.

[It's almost possible to see Benedict's beat-by-beat processing of this information as he watches Nicola silently, his brows drawn and his mouth set in a thin line. Family honor... the gesture would be enough? First blood? Disposable pride? The Crows.]

You could've said so, [he decides faintly, squaring his shoulders. If a Crow does arrive, he'll share responsibility for it.]

I don't suppose we can... [his mouth twitches reluctantly, and he's suddenly having trouble meeting the newcomer's eyes,] ...change our minds?

[footholds]

[ For what it's worth, Nicola laughs like he genuinely thinks Benedict is being funny on purpose, and when he glances up and catches the expression on his face, the laugh promptly dies. ]

[altusimperius]

[Benedict's imploring look becomes a grimace. He flushes a little again, pressing a finger to his temple. Oh dear.]

[footholds]

[ Indeed.

Nicola sighs and puts his fork down. ]

Keep me out of trouble with the Ambassador, and I will write to them to say he is so honorable he has decided to defy the rules. Maybe they haven’t hired anyone yet.

[altusimperius]

[Hope springs eternal. Benedict straightens a bit, nodding, the relief visible in how his face relaxes.]

I can do that.

[This has taken a very unique turn from where it began.]

As long as you... try to stay out of trouble with the Ambassador.

[He is cautiously hopeful, but people are nothing if not unpredictable.]

[footholds]

I did come here to help,

[ is a little dry, bordering on almost wounded. He has been taking his work very seriously! It's not his fault the Diplomacy Division is so well-stocked with murderers and the sons of suspicious Vints. ]

Would you like to tell him we are back on, or should I?

[altusimperius]

[A little sigh through his teeth, and Benedict decides:]

I will.

[Byerly has a big mouth and can make bad situations worse. This needs to not be one of them.]

[footholds]

Very good.

[ He rests his hand on his book and drums his fingers on it, once apiece in a quick roll. ]

Anything else, Officer?

[altusimperius]

[It would be a shame to forget anything now. Benedict looks at his notes, brow furrowed, then tentatively returns his gaze to Nicola:]

Do you need anything?

[it is his job to ask, as silly as this feels]

[footholds]

[ Nicola raises his eyebrows.

Nicola does not ask for information about Artemaeus's family and their dealings in Antiva.

He says, ]

Tavern recommendations?

[altusimperius]

[The oversight is appreciated. Benedict is taken a bit off guard by the question, but recovers.]

Nice or seedy?

[it's a serious question]

[footholds]

[ It's possible that his mouth twitches smileward. Briefly. ]

One of each, how about.

[altusimperius]

One of each.

[Pleased for the opportunity despite how this all started, Benedict describes first an upper class bar in Hightown that’s best for canapés and trend watching, then a dockside bar best known for drinks so stiff a single shot will knock you flat.

He leaves out that the second venue is his favorite for finding unhealthy hookups.]

[footholds]

[ Nicola listens with the air of someone who would be taking notes, if he had anything on hand to be taking them with, and answers the end of these descriptions with a nod. ]

Thank you. I'll have a look. Maybe I will see you there.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict opens his mouth as if to question if he'd even want to, but decides not to ruin the moment. Instead, he nods.]

Maybe you will.

[MAYBE HE WILL]

backdated to playgate; action

[catathymic]

The problem with offering to write to his mother for assistance with countering the slanderous rumours spread by the horrible play is that Connor now has to write his mother. A daunting enough prospect on its own without the additional pressure he's placed himself under, but with the Ambassador's approval he can't not do it, now, much as he's regretting having spoken up at all. It's taken hours of work—hours of staring at blank parchment, unwilling to waste something so currently precious to any errors—but he's got... well, it's a serviceable letter, probably. Not an insult to his mother, at least, and straightforward in its request.

Connor sits back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his aching eyes. At the very least, it's a good first draft. Hopefully good enough to send immediately, but he's not about to do that without a second pair of eyes. Who else is left still in the diplomacy office, who can he ask to give it a read—

"Signore Levati," he holds the parchment out in Nicola's direction, still seated, "do you have a moment to look over this letter?"