SPPM snippet 2e: Vincent and Gabriev.
Oct. 12th, 2006 02:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreThe ideas for these attempts to flesh out SPPM characters are in a file labeled "June projects." Ha! Maybe I should wait longer.
. . .
Though he answered the summons promptly, Vincent was left cooling his heels in the sitting room adjacent to Gabriev's office for most of the afternoon, or so it felt to him. He'd come straight from the library with a copy of the new Grassland map under one arm, but studying that and making notes to compare with his superior's only occupied an hour at best. Then he knew everything one could know about the area from a paper covered in scribbly lines, and there was nothing left to gain from spending more time on it until he had someone else's input. He left the map on a chair with his tote and got up to look over the room.
It was grunt work, what they had him doing downstairs - fetching maps, making copies of them, discussing his work with the interns. If the job he had now was what he labored for at Soledt for four years, the time wasn't worth it. Abel was already up north slapping rebels around with the provincial army, and Erica was at the southern border serving under another bishop, looking around for an excuse to take another stab at Highland. And Vincent, what was /he/ doing? Paperwork. Errands to the library. He may as well pour Ledt's coffee, for all the man had him doing, scurrying around like a first-year student.
He'd already made up his mind to drench Ledt in coffee if he ever demanded Vincent do that; he'd take the dismissal and make his father find another job for him. It wasn't as if they needed the money.
The waiting room was exactly twenty paces by thirty-two, not including the niche by the window that functioned as a seat, nor the space behind the counter at the back corner, which he could only assume was meant for preparing tea or some other kind of refreshment. Of course, it was empty now except for a set of Hilda's third-best china stacked in the cupboard. The chairs looked softer than they were, upholstered in flowery silk with a cream background, with their wooden frames carved to resemble feet and paws. They were rather grotesque, and standing was more comfortable than sitting on hard wood. They might as well be cushioned with tatami.
Maybe he should've counted himself lucky; there was a real waiting room a few doors down the hall, which wasn't nearly as well-appointed as this. He counted as family. Even a bishop couldn't leave an unwanted brother-in-law to languish in a waiting room with lesser peons - he'd thought. That might have been a little more fun.
The door on the left - the one he assumed led to the office - opened, and the same aide that had showed him into this room bowed and said, "The bishop will see you now, if you will please follow me."
Vincent followed with a tight smile and finally left the sitting room behind, grabbing his bag and the map on his way out. Another corridor stood between him and the office; it was dark, lit from the end by a lamp on a desk he guessed belonged to the man leading him. Gabriev's office, when they entered, was only lit a smidgen better, with the drapes all drawn and tied, and two oil lamps shined in fluted crystal sconces above the desk, suspended from the ceiling on bronze chains. It drenched the bishop in a pool of light where his silver hair gleamed almost gold again, but the rest of the office felt as if it was in shadow.
"My lord," the aide said by way of greeting, standing stiffly at attention. "Your brother is here to see you."
Vincent's eyelid twitched. He bowed when Gabriev looked up, bending his neck just enough to imply he respected the man. "Bishop."
"Ah, good evening. Brother."
There might've been a sneer to accompany that greeting, but Vincent found himself greeted with a polite smile when he straightened. The aide left them with a murmured formality he didn't pay any attention to.
"I apologize for the delay," Gabriev continued, motioning for Vincent to take a seat. "Business with my collegues lasted a while longer than I thought it would when I sent my message."
"Of course. I understand." He sat down, resting his bag on the floor near the desk, and leaning the map beside it. The chair was notably more comfortable than what he'd found in the sitting room, though he still didn't relax. Instead he leaned back stiffly and folded his hands on his lap. "May I ask why you summoned me?"
Gabriev leaned back with a sigh and he, it seemed had no trouble making himself comfortable. It was his office, of course. "I have a task for you beyond the southern border. Would you be interested in leaving the Temple for an extended period of time?"
He'd give his job for a chance to get out of the wretched capitol, but that was no secret. Vincent watched the bishop closely, searching his eyes for sign that he knew this, and saw nothing but the reflection of the twin lamps hanging above. He knew a thing or two about bishops and their politics, and would be a fool to think he'd been summoned at random. Indeed, with the restrictions laid on his shoulders and Belinda's, he shouldn't be receiving such an offer. "Does Father know about this?"
"He will if you accept." The older man returned his gaze steadily, one finger tapping the surface of the desk. His ring of office glinted. "This is an important mission. He has no right to oppose me on this matter."
Oh, Father would have something to say about that. He almost said so, but swallowed the impulse. "And what is this important mission you want to give me? Why me?"
"Several of my collegues were dissatisfied with the loss of our territory in the Grasslands that resulted from Sasarai's alliance with the locals." Gabriev did sneer then, but the expression was brief. "We cannot afford to retake that territory at this time, but there has been some thought to resuming the campaign in Highland."
Vincent snorted. "You're not serious. It's worthless territory, isn't it? There's nothing stopping them from doing the same thing to us this time around if we march down there."
"Oh?" The bishop lofted an eyebrow. "What did they do to us last time that was so devastating?"
"We all know what the uprising in Westgold was about," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "And we both know it could happen again somewhere else."
"All the more reason to keep our loyal citizens busy," the older man said. "They'll make fine soldiers, and an equally fine reward will await them if they cooperate. However." Gabriev straightened and pushed a leather folio to Vincent's side of the desk. "Your mission will not involve marching to war. You will simply pave the way. Other agents will be remitted to your service for the duration of this assignment."
Vincent checked his immediate instinct to take the folder, clenching his hands again in his lap. Taking it would imply acceptance. "And?"
"The instructions are written in detail within." Though the bishop's expression didn't change, the air felt chill between them. "In short, you are to travel to Two River and Tinto, and sow unrest between the two. How you do this is not our concern, as long as your intentions remain secret. I trust your training has prepared you for such a task - now is your chance to prove it."
"I see." Vincent wrenched his eyes away and glanced at the folio. The light trying to seep in beneath the curtains ahd completely disappeared, and the room felt darker and smaller, though he was seated within the circle of light cast by the lamps.
The mission didn't sound terribly dangerous, as long as he covered his own trail. Though his family was important, Vincent knew he was unremarkable as an individal in the public eye, and he doubted a backward place like Dunan would understand his father's importance anyway. But someone on their side had a brain and the will to use it, and he wasn't positive he was a match for that just yet.
"It would take a while," Vincent said, glancing up again at his superior. "I don't know anything about them, except for what I read during the last campaign. I'd have to spend a lot of time in both places to feel out their politics before I could even start to formulate a plan." How would the good bishop explain that to Father? he wondered. Did the Hecht patriarch have the power to skin Gabriev? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"We're prepared to wait. As you said, we aren't quite ready to go to war again just yet."
"Bishop Corell is having trouble with Koalinda, isn't he?" Vincent relented and took the folio, fingering the edge thoughtfully. "And Westgold is practically still burning. Those problems won't disappear any time soon."
"No, they won't," Gabriev said. "The council will have no problem waiting on your success."
How convenient. Vincent nodded slowly, and bent down to stuff the folio into his bag. "I want to think about it first. I'll read up on it and give you my decision next week. There's still something I need to finish for Ledt."
"Acceptable."
It had better be, Vincent thought to himself. Whose skin was on the line where this mission was concerned? Maybe Gabriev's, but rank was a great shield, as the saying went. Anger directed at Gabriev might be redirected to Vincent, if this didn't go their way. "I guess you'll take care of my father in the meantime?"
The older man snorted. "Of course."
"You knew it would be a problem when you called me, didn't you?" Vincent picked up his belongings and stood. "I'll let you know. Brother."
Turning his back on the man was difficult, but he did it with his usual flair and stalked out of the office. He could feel Gabriev's eyes boring into his back the whole time. A flimsy door was no match for that. Vincent didn't relax until he was downstairs and striding down the main corridor of the temple, where he could be sure nobody was watching him. Though it was late, the hall was crowded and noisy, and he had no trouble blending in.
He would say yes. It was just a matter of figuring out what conditions he wanted to lay down to sweeten the bargain. There was more going on than what Gabriev told him, and he wanted to know more before he threw his lot in with the man.
Brother. Stephen would turn in his grave.
. . .
Like the other, this was inspired by a bit of Vince's character profile. The idea was that Gabriev would play on his pride, but something else came out of it instead.
. . .
Though he answered the summons promptly, Vincent was left cooling his heels in the sitting room adjacent to Gabriev's office for most of the afternoon, or so it felt to him. He'd come straight from the library with a copy of the new Grassland map under one arm, but studying that and making notes to compare with his superior's only occupied an hour at best. Then he knew everything one could know about the area from a paper covered in scribbly lines, and there was nothing left to gain from spending more time on it until he had someone else's input. He left the map on a chair with his tote and got up to look over the room.
It was grunt work, what they had him doing downstairs - fetching maps, making copies of them, discussing his work with the interns. If the job he had now was what he labored for at Soledt for four years, the time wasn't worth it. Abel was already up north slapping rebels around with the provincial army, and Erica was at the southern border serving under another bishop, looking around for an excuse to take another stab at Highland. And Vincent, what was /he/ doing? Paperwork. Errands to the library. He may as well pour Ledt's coffee, for all the man had him doing, scurrying around like a first-year student.
He'd already made up his mind to drench Ledt in coffee if he ever demanded Vincent do that; he'd take the dismissal and make his father find another job for him. It wasn't as if they needed the money.
The waiting room was exactly twenty paces by thirty-two, not including the niche by the window that functioned as a seat, nor the space behind the counter at the back corner, which he could only assume was meant for preparing tea or some other kind of refreshment. Of course, it was empty now except for a set of Hilda's third-best china stacked in the cupboard. The chairs looked softer than they were, upholstered in flowery silk with a cream background, with their wooden frames carved to resemble feet and paws. They were rather grotesque, and standing was more comfortable than sitting on hard wood. They might as well be cushioned with tatami.
Maybe he should've counted himself lucky; there was a real waiting room a few doors down the hall, which wasn't nearly as well-appointed as this. He counted as family. Even a bishop couldn't leave an unwanted brother-in-law to languish in a waiting room with lesser peons - he'd thought. That might have been a little more fun.
The door on the left - the one he assumed led to the office - opened, and the same aide that had showed him into this room bowed and said, "The bishop will see you now, if you will please follow me."
Vincent followed with a tight smile and finally left the sitting room behind, grabbing his bag and the map on his way out. Another corridor stood between him and the office; it was dark, lit from the end by a lamp on a desk he guessed belonged to the man leading him. Gabriev's office, when they entered, was only lit a smidgen better, with the drapes all drawn and tied, and two oil lamps shined in fluted crystal sconces above the desk, suspended from the ceiling on bronze chains. It drenched the bishop in a pool of light where his silver hair gleamed almost gold again, but the rest of the office felt as if it was in shadow.
"My lord," the aide said by way of greeting, standing stiffly at attention. "Your brother is here to see you."
Vincent's eyelid twitched. He bowed when Gabriev looked up, bending his neck just enough to imply he respected the man. "Bishop."
"Ah, good evening. Brother."
There might've been a sneer to accompany that greeting, but Vincent found himself greeted with a polite smile when he straightened. The aide left them with a murmured formality he didn't pay any attention to.
"I apologize for the delay," Gabriev continued, motioning for Vincent to take a seat. "Business with my collegues lasted a while longer than I thought it would when I sent my message."
"Of course. I understand." He sat down, resting his bag on the floor near the desk, and leaning the map beside it. The chair was notably more comfortable than what he'd found in the sitting room, though he still didn't relax. Instead he leaned back stiffly and folded his hands on his lap. "May I ask why you summoned me?"
Gabriev leaned back with a sigh and he, it seemed had no trouble making himself comfortable. It was his office, of course. "I have a task for you beyond the southern border. Would you be interested in leaving the Temple for an extended period of time?"
He'd give his job for a chance to get out of the wretched capitol, but that was no secret. Vincent watched the bishop closely, searching his eyes for sign that he knew this, and saw nothing but the reflection of the twin lamps hanging above. He knew a thing or two about bishops and their politics, and would be a fool to think he'd been summoned at random. Indeed, with the restrictions laid on his shoulders and Belinda's, he shouldn't be receiving such an offer. "Does Father know about this?"
"He will if you accept." The older man returned his gaze steadily, one finger tapping the surface of the desk. His ring of office glinted. "This is an important mission. He has no right to oppose me on this matter."
Oh, Father would have something to say about that. He almost said so, but swallowed the impulse. "And what is this important mission you want to give me? Why me?"
"Several of my collegues were dissatisfied with the loss of our territory in the Grasslands that resulted from Sasarai's alliance with the locals." Gabriev did sneer then, but the expression was brief. "We cannot afford to retake that territory at this time, but there has been some thought to resuming the campaign in Highland."
Vincent snorted. "You're not serious. It's worthless territory, isn't it? There's nothing stopping them from doing the same thing to us this time around if we march down there."
"Oh?" The bishop lofted an eyebrow. "What did they do to us last time that was so devastating?"
"We all know what the uprising in Westgold was about," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "And we both know it could happen again somewhere else."
"All the more reason to keep our loyal citizens busy," the older man said. "They'll make fine soldiers, and an equally fine reward will await them if they cooperate. However." Gabriev straightened and pushed a leather folio to Vincent's side of the desk. "Your mission will not involve marching to war. You will simply pave the way. Other agents will be remitted to your service for the duration of this assignment."
Vincent checked his immediate instinct to take the folder, clenching his hands again in his lap. Taking it would imply acceptance. "And?"
"The instructions are written in detail within." Though the bishop's expression didn't change, the air felt chill between them. "In short, you are to travel to Two River and Tinto, and sow unrest between the two. How you do this is not our concern, as long as your intentions remain secret. I trust your training has prepared you for such a task - now is your chance to prove it."
"I see." Vincent wrenched his eyes away and glanced at the folio. The light trying to seep in beneath the curtains ahd completely disappeared, and the room felt darker and smaller, though he was seated within the circle of light cast by the lamps.
The mission didn't sound terribly dangerous, as long as he covered his own trail. Though his family was important, Vincent knew he was unremarkable as an individal in the public eye, and he doubted a backward place like Dunan would understand his father's importance anyway. But someone on their side had a brain and the will to use it, and he wasn't positive he was a match for that just yet.
"It would take a while," Vincent said, glancing up again at his superior. "I don't know anything about them, except for what I read during the last campaign. I'd have to spend a lot of time in both places to feel out their politics before I could even start to formulate a plan." How would the good bishop explain that to Father? he wondered. Did the Hecht patriarch have the power to skin Gabriev? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"We're prepared to wait. As you said, we aren't quite ready to go to war again just yet."
"Bishop Corell is having trouble with Koalinda, isn't he?" Vincent relented and took the folio, fingering the edge thoughtfully. "And Westgold is practically still burning. Those problems won't disappear any time soon."
"No, they won't," Gabriev said. "The council will have no problem waiting on your success."
How convenient. Vincent nodded slowly, and bent down to stuff the folio into his bag. "I want to think about it first. I'll read up on it and give you my decision next week. There's still something I need to finish for Ledt."
"Acceptable."
It had better be, Vincent thought to himself. Whose skin was on the line where this mission was concerned? Maybe Gabriev's, but rank was a great shield, as the saying went. Anger directed at Gabriev might be redirected to Vincent, if this didn't go their way. "I guess you'll take care of my father in the meantime?"
The older man snorted. "Of course."
"You knew it would be a problem when you called me, didn't you?" Vincent picked up his belongings and stood. "I'll let you know. Brother."
Turning his back on the man was difficult, but he did it with his usual flair and stalked out of the office. He could feel Gabriev's eyes boring into his back the whole time. A flimsy door was no match for that. Vincent didn't relax until he was downstairs and striding down the main corridor of the temple, where he could be sure nobody was watching him. Though it was late, the hall was crowded and noisy, and he had no trouble blending in.
He would say yes. It was just a matter of figuring out what conditions he wanted to lay down to sweeten the bargain. There was more going on than what Gabriev told him, and he wanted to know more before he threw his lot in with the man.
Brother. Stephen would turn in his grave.
. . .
Like the other, this was inspired by a bit of Vince's character profile. The idea was that Gabriev would play on his pride, but something else came out of it instead.
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Date: 2006-10-12 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 09:09 am (UTC)