These monthly check-ins are often perfunctory: lists of little notes that have been too minor to bother passing on in the interim, maybe half dozen questions, some highly token small talk. This has less to do with a lack of interest—no, Flint has never given that impression—, and everything to do with a certain confidence that if there were more important things to discuss then neither of them would have waited until a standing appointment to address them.
There are members of Riftwatch which require some strict measure of oversight. Evidently, Flint doesn't count Julius among their number.
But this particular meeting has suffered from one delay or another, be it either all the work done leading up to the trip to Rialto, the trip itself, or everything which had required ordering upon their return. This time, Flint arrives in the Sashamiri office with a stack of papers and an absurdly heavy tome under one arm. The latter thumps satisfactorily as its set on the desk.
"I trust we've all recovered from our time in Antiva."
He, for one, is no longer sporting the spectacular bruise on his face that he'd worn for much of the latter half of their stay in Rialto.
Whether Julius was officially released from bed rest before they left Antiva or, in the leaving, no one kept track of the fact he should be on bedrest when they returned to Kirkwall is a distinction without a difference. He's back at work and giving no indication he shouldn't be.
His meetings with Flint are always well organized on both sides, which Julius appreciates. But it does leave him surprised when they take an unexpected turn, and the mildest indication of it briefly shows on his face before vanishing again.
"As far as I'm aware," he says, mildly of the non-question Flint used to open. "I've even heard we're unlikely to have to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders for Crows, which is an unexpected piece of good news." Certainly by Riftwatch standards, only a few rogue assassins and not an entire phalanx of them counts as a positive development.
He doesn't immediately ask about the book, trusting Flint will get to it in his own time.
"Let's hope any Crows who followed us back to Kirkwall have heard the same."
Surely there must be at least one, says his sidelong look and the droll slant of his brow. But why waste the day congratulating one another on a major victory when one can contemplate the knife's edge of disaster elsewhere? Flint, ever the optimist, finds the marked page in the heavy book and peels the tome open.
('His own time' reliably translates to 'Imminently' even in unusual circumstances such as this one.)
The spread in question is a two page map the regions along the Antiva-Starkhaven border.
"What are your thoughts on the Gates?" he asks while dividing the stack of papers he's brought with him. There are a few delicate sheets of onion skin paper to separate from the pages of reporting.
He considers the question. "I think we have a lot of data and very little idea what it collectively means, unless there's anything classified I'm not privy to," he says, frank, after a moment. "In my project in particular, I'm concerned about the ability to detect energy connected with the taint, but we need more context before I'm willing to say how to address that concern."
One sheet of the delicate onion skinned paper are laid on the open map and aligned with some landmark there as Julius speaks. A few simple pencil marks on it indicate a particular region just inside the border of Starkhaven.
Flint's low answering hum is acknowledgement and assent both. For a brief moment, he seems to carry that—the need for more context—like a coin in the palm of his hand, studying the map like a table upon which that bet must be placed. When he raises the point of his attention to Julius—
Arch looks and sardonic smiles are the stock and trade of the Forces' commander. Today, Julius's question is rewarded with a rare conspiratorial gleam in Flint's very blue eye.
"Two members of Forces stumbled across a group of Venatori doing some kind of survey work here," he says, taking great pains to reorient the heavy map book so that it and the onion skin paper both face in Julius's direction. Though here is obvious even without the directional adjustment.
"They were looking for something. If the Tevinter invasion of the Marches at all mirrors their purpose for being in Orlais, then I wondered whether we might catch up with one or two of them and ask after their expert opinions."
It's intriguing news, and he studies the map with new interest. It isn't uncomplicated news, but he hasn't gotten that since ... he isn't sure he's ever gotten uncomplicated news, in fact.
"An interesting idea. Where the Forces members seen, or were the Venatori agents to busy with their work to spot them?" It isn't meant to impugn the nameless agents, so much as it's an acknowledgement that Forces isn't Scouting, and patrols aren't always meant to be stealthy, especially when the word stumbled is used.
"As far as I understand it, the latter," similarly has no trace of defensiveness to it. Forces isn't Scouting; that fact that they seem to have both spotted the Ventori and then, having chosen not to pick a fight, slipped away unseen might be classified as one of Andraste's more minor miracles.
"That is convenient. If you'd like, I could draw up a list of a few Sashamiri project personnel who might supplement any of your choices from Forces." It seems worth striking while the iron is hot, and he'd as soon get his hands on any information they can.
"If you would. A primer on the broad strokes of what the Venatori might be looking for wouldn't be amiss either," he says, moving to fold shut the heavy book. They're rewarded with a distinctly satisfying thump for the trouble.
"If it comes to asking questions in the field, it would be best if everyone knows which ones are most worth asking."
Maker forbid he assume anyone will have been reading the mountains of publicly available reports.
"I wish I had more to give them, but I'll draw up notes for a briefing." Something occurs to him, and he adds: "If we have any agents who can read Tevene, it might be worth putting them near the top of the list. What they're looking for will be more or less irrelevant if they can't read the notes they find."
"Fenris," is a name promptly produced. Somewhere, a number of Forces division members who are under the impression that their Commander doesn't know their name much less their abilities feel a cold chill wash over them.
"He was one of the two who found the Venatori in the first place, and is likely capable."
"Excellent." Julius makes a note. "He's in Sashamiri as well, I know him a little. Ellis may also be worth sending; solid organizational skills, a griffon rider. I'll make a list of a few other names for your review."
Ellis is reliable, he thinks but doesn't say. Instead, his agreement takes some broader slant—nodding as he collects the closer chart book from Julius' desk and returns it under his arm.
"I suppose I don't have to tell you that it would be preferable everyone on that list know how to handle a weapon."
No, that's so self evident that it might pass for a kind of humor even without the brief slanting pull of his mouth to underscore it.
"Griffons,"—this much is serious, spurred by the mention of Ellis' expertise—"May prove useful in this. I'll see that whatever roster is pulled supports that."
Just a bit wry, of his first point: "Yes, I don't imagine this will be a mission well suited to Serah Niehaus. But I take your point. I'll get you that list of names within the day. It wouldn't do to waste this sort of opportunity." He doesn't think they're likely to get many windfalls like this one.
There's a kind of pleasure in this that's specific to a very particular kind of predator—the mongoose who chooses to wrestles snakes, the dog who chases wolves, or maybe thirty men stuffed into a single mast sailing boat looking to claw up the side of a merchant cargo ship. How dangerous the prospect; how doable. It sparks a rare kind of enthusiasm so visible in Flint that it naturally begs the question, How fucking dull must he find his other work?
Indeed there's a split second where it seems as if he means to linger there in Julius' company in an effort to find some further point to turn over for the simple satisfaction of it. The moment he thinks better of it and resolves otherwise is just as blatantly written as that sly good humor has been.
"Should anything else occur to you while arranging it, include some note."
Good talk, says his curt nod. Flint moves to dismiss himself promptly thereafter.
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post-antiva, pre-bad vacation;
There are members of Riftwatch which require some strict measure of oversight. Evidently, Flint doesn't count Julius among their number.
But this particular meeting has suffered from one delay or another, be it either all the work done leading up to the trip to Rialto, the trip itself, or everything which had required ordering upon their return. This time, Flint arrives in the Sashamiri office with a stack of papers and an absurdly heavy tome under one arm. The latter thumps satisfactorily as its set on the desk.
"I trust we've all recovered from our time in Antiva."
He, for one, is no longer sporting the spectacular bruise on his face that he'd worn for much of the latter half of their stay in Rialto.
no subject
His meetings with Flint are always well organized on both sides, which Julius appreciates. But it does leave him surprised when they take an unexpected turn, and the mildest indication of it briefly shows on his face before vanishing again.
"As far as I'm aware," he says, mildly of the non-question Flint used to open. "I've even heard we're unlikely to have to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders for Crows, which is an unexpected piece of good news." Certainly by Riftwatch standards, only a few rogue assassins and not an entire phalanx of them counts as a positive development.
He doesn't immediately ask about the book, trusting Flint will get to it in his own time.
no subject
Surely there must be at least one, says his sidelong look and the droll slant of his brow. But why waste the day congratulating one another on a major victory when one can contemplate the knife's edge of disaster elsewhere? Flint, ever the optimist, finds the marked page in the heavy book and peels the tome open.
('His own time' reliably translates to 'Imminently' even in unusual circumstances such as this one.)
The spread in question is a two page map the regions along the Antiva-Starkhaven border.
"What are your thoughts on the Gates?" he asks while dividing the stack of papers he's brought with him. There are a few delicate sheets of onion skin paper to separate from the pages of reporting.
no subject
no subject
Flint's low answering hum is acknowledgement and assent both. For a brief moment, he seems to carry that—the need for more context—like a coin in the palm of his hand, studying the map like a table upon which that bet must be placed. When he raises the point of his attention to Julius—
"I think I may have a way of providing that."
no subject
"What way in particular?"
no subject
"Two members of Forces stumbled across a group of Venatori doing some kind of survey work here," he says, taking great pains to reorient the heavy map book so that it and the onion skin paper both face in Julius's direction. Though here is obvious even without the directional adjustment.
"They were looking for something. If the Tevinter invasion of the Marches at all mirrors their purpose for being in Orlais, then I wondered whether we might catch up with one or two of them and ask after their expert opinions."
no subject
"An interesting idea. Where the Forces members seen, or were the Venatori agents to busy with their work to spot them?" It isn't meant to impugn the nameless agents, so much as it's an acknowledgement that Forces isn't Scouting, and patrols aren't always meant to be stealthy, especially when the word stumbled is used.
no subject
no subject
no subject
"If it comes to asking questions in the field, it would be best if everyone knows which ones are most worth asking."
Maker forbid he assume anyone will have been reading the mountains of publicly available reports.
no subject
no subject
"He was one of the two who found the Venatori in the first place, and is likely capable."
no subject
no subject
"I suppose I don't have to tell you that it would be preferable everyone on that list know how to handle a weapon."
No, that's so self evident that it might pass for a kind of humor even without the brief slanting pull of his mouth to underscore it.
"Griffons,"—this much is serious, spurred by the mention of Ellis' expertise—"May prove useful in this. I'll see that whatever roster is pulled supports that."
no subject
no subject
Indeed there's a split second where it seems as if he means to linger there in Julius' company in an effort to find some further point to turn over for the simple satisfaction of it. The moment he thinks better of it and resolves otherwise is just as blatantly written as that sly good humor has been.
"Should anything else occur to you while arranging it, include some note."
Good talk, says his curt nod. Flint moves to dismiss himself promptly thereafter.