[ closed ]

[latkje]

Who: Byerly (vorrutyer) & Nash (latkje)
What: Magic!
When: After the conclusion of the disease plot.
Where: On the road from Wyver to Olympia.
Warning(s): 504 Gateway Time-out

[ The road from Wyver to Olympia is well-travelled and well-packed, the long stretches of monotony preventing Nash from enjoying the landscape. Travel was supposed to bring variety, he thought, new sights, new sounds— not the same thing, over and over. It was hard to tell how far they'd come, at least in the physical sense. ]

At least we're done with that awful humidity. [ He runs a hand through his hair— short and wavy, it had gotten unruly in the heat. ] I have a northern constitution, if you didn't know. [ And a northern fashion sense, as Harmonian clothes tended toward the dour and conservative. Nash was also in the habit of wearing gloves. He's wearing them now, in fact. ] There are some things I just wasn't made for.

[ That hangs in the air a moment, then he turns to actually look at Byerly. ]

But you wanted to talk about magic.

Comments

[vorrutyer]

That's not exactly an answer, dear maiden. Why does it happen to you? Why you, and not them?

[latkje]

Because I've been marked by fate. [ He says this casually, somewhat dismissively. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ Uh. ]

And what, pray, does that mean?

[latkje]

Oh, right, you're an atheist.

[ A shrug. ]

When I was young, I was given to the priests, who prayed for a day and a night that I, a first son of a first son, might be blessed with long life and shaped for great things.

[ A complete lie, spoken with only the usual hint of sarcasm. ]

[vorrutyer]

Yes, and my father prayed for a full week that I'd stop screwing boys. Didn't make it so.

[latkje]

[ He mouths the word "screwed" and adds a question mark, then pantomimes a twisting gesture with his fingers, looks at them, and then nods. Ah. ]

Well, I am here, and your father is not, so maybe my religion really is the right one.

[ Theologically sound. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly, helpfully, makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger of his left hand, then uses his right hand to mime thrusting in and out. ]

Well, I suppose so. But no priests ever prayed over me, and yet here I am.

[latkje]

So what brought you here? Why you?

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts his eyebrows. ]

I'm a sneak and a liar. People have much use for lying sneaks. But if you're blessed...

[latkje]

Is it really that hard to believe?

[ Okay, the part that he totally made up, maybe. But he didn't make all of it up. ]

[vorrutyer]

Yes. It's completely impossible to believe. Though perhaps that's the atheism talking.

[latkje]

But you believe they woke you up because you're an accomplished liar.

[vorrutyer]

And a sneak. But yes. A liar has quite a lot to offer. [ He gives a graceful little wave of his fingers. ] A liar is a valuable tool in any arsenal. Someone who's chosen by the gods - Well. They're only useful in a world where those gods haven't been consumed by the storm.

[latkje]

Hmmmm. [ "Agnostic" is probably the best word to describe Nash's actual beliefs, but he doesn't believe all the gods were swallowed by the storm. If that were true, he wouldn't be able to cast, would he? ]

Everyone's a liar, Byerly. You would have to be the greatest liar in [ what was it again? ] Barrayar to get yourself summoned on that account.

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts his eyebrows. ]

The liars who are better than me are the ones who arranged their lives to have no weaknesses, dear Nash. [ And then, with a little wave of his hand - ] And frankly, I am the best in my particular milieu.

[latkje]

So you're the best liar that can get leverage over.

[ Yeah, he's familiar with that arithmetic. ]

And your milieu would be... [ An appraising glance. ] High society, gated balls, terrible manners, and all that.

[ A pause as he does the math. ] You're going to infiltrate the Olympian court.

[vorrutyer]

[ By smiles a little thinly - not displeased by Nash's quickness, just a little grim at what lies before him. ]

Aren't you a clever little cabbage. Right on the mark.

[latkje]

[ He waves that off, literally— Byerly wouldn't have said that much if he didn't want Nash to figure it out. ]

Do you think that's what the Nathans want you to do?

[vorrutyer]

They want us to guide the world in a better direction, don't they?

[ By jerks his head dismissively in the direction of some of the other refugees traveling Olympia-wards. ]

I don't think picking trash off the street and planting flowers under windowsills and kissing babies is really going to do all that much. Sweet and charming though their efforts might be. To steer a vessel, one must capture the men and women who captain it.

[latkje]

And they hold your sister and your whole country hostage, so…

[ He stops walking, for a minute, shifting his weight. ]

What exactly is your idea of a better direction?

[vorrutyer]

[ By stops as well, waiting beside Nash, letting him process whatever he's processing. He's quiet a moment in turn after Nash speaks, letting loose a lightly ironic: ]

That's a personal question, isn't it?

[ And then falling silent a moment more. He finally responds: ]

To begin with...ending this conflict between Wyver and Olympia. I cannot see that war is ever a good thing. [ A languid shrug, trying to mitigate what he perceives to be the softness of that sentiment. ] Or that peace is ever a bad one.

[latkje]

You're asking me for my help, right? [ He shakes his head. Not at the question, but at what the question implies: that he has some kind of standards.

Nash wonders if Byerly has ever been to war. He doesn't act like it, but acts are acts… ]

But you're lucky. I don't like fighting.

[ His gaze is fixed on the middle distance. ]

[vorrutyer]

Speaking from experience, fair maid?

[ His smile has returned to lightly mocking. ]

[latkje]

[ He tilts his head. ]

Are you?

[vorrutyer]

[ By watches Nash for a moment, then answers. ]

After a fashion. I was too young to fight in the War of Vordarian's Pretendership, but I remember it. Not my warmest childhood memories.