What do you want you want me to say, Nikos? [ Not that he’ll say it. ] That I personally will convince Skyhold to pull soldiers from the front in Orlais to defend the slaves in Tevinter? Perhaps singlehandedly persuade Thedas to allow the Inquisition to last beyond Corypheus’ defeat so it can oversee social reform.
And if you will not, if you can't bring yourself to act, if you are too cowardly, or too satisfied with where you are, too great to be inconvenienced--then I want you to acknowledge that you are willingly doing nothing, and that you are as good as the Imperium itself. That you are a fucking hypocrite. That you played some part in a rebellion that benefited you, and you are unwilling to lift your hand to help those that are in true need, whose hour could be right fucking now, if only they had help.
I want you to understand what it is that we are condemning these people to, if the Inquisition decides they are not worth the investment.
[ A false start, a stop. He lowers his raised voice about midway back to its usual volume, but not all the way. ]
The mage rebellion failed. Our leader indentured us all to Tevinter because the alternative was to be slaughtered, and the Inquisition only intervened because it needs us for its war. Its interest in us extends exactly that far. We can never risk becoming more trouble than we are worth. That is what I understand.
If you want the same bargain for them, however shitty it is, then find a way to make them worth it.
[New perspectives, new information, and some practical part of Nikos files it all away, to be considered later--later, when he's not carried on by his stupid fucking emotion, strong enough that he fires back, picking up where Kostos left off. Louder, where Kostos has measured his tone.]
You know. You have some-- modicum of understanding, if your situation is as fucking precarious as all that, you know. Mages got their chance because they can demonstrate their practicality. Good. And now they have, mages have staged a strike, to arrange for rights, for negotiation, so you are worth the fucking trouble. Which means now you turn around and help the ones behind you.
[ He doesn’t really mean to sound dismissive, like it isn’t his problem—because it is, and not only because of his job. He has tried. But his one solid idea so far—
Unthinkable, to liberate slaves and then chain them to lyrium, or to create another legend about fearsome, oppressive magic stopped only by heroics of people who look a lot like Templars, whether they wear the uniforms or not. A terrible idea from every angle, except the one that asks what will make an illiterate servant useful enough to outfit.
For lack of any better ideas, he’s thought about the unthinkable. At the moment he’s trying not to, and seething at being lectured by his stupid reckless brother, and smoothing the worry and anger out of his tone out to hide until it’s flat and sharp as glass. ]
What I want isn’t relevant to anything. Find an angle or shut up.
[Nikos, who has never shut up in his life, who is only encouraged by people telling him to shut up, who would especially not shut up when ordered to, and especially not when ordered to by his fucking brother, snarls,]
No. That's denial. That's the fucking lie you tell yourself, so you don't have to feel bad about this shit. You are in a place where you could do something. And you console yourself, by telling yourself that you are powerless, that you are still powerless, that your power is a tenuous thing.
You're fucking kept, and you're a fucking coward, and you're doing it to yourself.
[ —with a burst of furious energy strong enough that he stands abruptly up, alone in his office, and it's a lucky coincidence that the scrape of his chair covers any crackly buzz from the sparks that form under his hand on the desk. It's followed by abrupt silence. On his end, at least. For a few seconds he holds his breath, and when he starts again it's at a deliberate pace.
It's fine. It happens sometimes. If he could have taken a swing instead, it wouldn't have happened now.
Whether Nikos has let him have that silence or filled it, he interrupts: ]
--Because it is convenient to you, because it is easier to live in that denial--
[Of course Nikos did not let him have silence, because that would have involved shutting up. If they were face to face, perhaps it would be different. If they were face to face, someone would pobably have thrown a punch by now.
Kostos does manage to break into Nikos' tirade. And--though it wasn't his goal--he manages to make Nikos laugh, unkindly.]
Paperwork. [The meanest guess.] Meaningless paperwork. You aren't even trying to argue anything I've said. Because it's true. Why did you participate in your rebellion in the first place? I'm asking. Fucking seriously. Why.
You aren’t asking. You’re looking for something to tear apart.
[ If that assumption is correct, it’s only because Kostos does the same thing. Regardless, he doesn’t plan to answer. He wouldn’t fully know how to explain it, anyway.
He’s still breathing on a silent timer. ]
Someone has to do the paperwork. Someone has to consider what can be sold to the people making decisions, and whose lives will be ruined in trade— [ who will be woken up at three in the morning by Templars, and shackled like a Southerner for the first time, and dragged away from the first place where they’d begun to at least consider being happy since they were nine years old, and tossed in with castoffs and criminals and crueler watchmen, all because somebody they barely even knew anymore wanted to change the world—not that this is personal or anything ] —and what people will eat when the fires go out, and—and how the story will sound to the rest of the world when its help is needed afterwards.
I realize that is less exciting to shout about in the streets.
[The two aren't mutually exclusive; he can ask his brother's motivations, seriously, and tear it apart. He chooses instead to save his breath. For a moment, at least.]
I'm not writing a story. I'm not planning the ending. The story will sound like it means something. Because it will. More than paperwork, more than bread, and parchment, and horseshit diplomacy--and more than excuses, than talking about shit that has not yet happened, what has not come to pass. Because the moment it becomes real, it will be more than a story. It will be alive.
But at least now I know what stories you tell yourself.
[ Sarcasm, but it rings a little hollow. Maybe Nikos does have him figured out. Fucking kept, a fucking coward. Maybe.
Even so, for Nell—even if she’d called him the same things, because she has—he’d repeat himself: find a way, find an angle, find him something that he can take upstairs and something that upstairs can take to Skyhold to make them agree that it makes sense, he wants to, he’s asking—
But for Nikos, no. He’ll still repeat himself, but not that part, not this conversation: ]
Don’t do anything stupid.
your mean tag to darras dredged this up too so now i can get the last word thnx
[Right now, if someone asked him what he wants, if he were to be granted a wish, he would have a hard time choosing between eradicating all wealth and inheritance based systems of power that subjugate the lower class and winning this argument with Kostos.
But no. Of course Kostos wants to end it, and win. Things never change. If Kostos were in front of him, right now, Nikos would spit on him. Kick him. Punch him in his stupid fucking face. Put this sending crystal through his eye. Instead--]
Or should I just put you off and say that your concern has been noted. Fuckface. I'll make sure to start telling everyone that I don't know you, and spare you the trouble.
[ —not what he meant, not what he wants, not what he's attempting to say under twenty layers of anger and pride and an assortment of other sins. But this isn't like bickering with Nell over mage freedom and then going for drinks after, or like picking fights with the sea of people he doesn't give even a small damn about, and he does want it to end. So: fine. Fine. Whatever.
The clattering and crash is the sound of the crystal being dropped into a drawer that is subsequently slammed shut. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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All so you can write me off, officially, as a representative of the Inquisition.
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I'm the only one that has ever questioned-- [not complained] --priorities? Outside of your job?
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[ So... no, but he doesn’t usually listen. ]
What do you want you want me to say, Nikos? [ Not that he’ll say it. ] That I personally will convince Skyhold to pull soldiers from the front in Orlais to defend the slaves in Tevinter? Perhaps singlehandedly persuade Thedas to allow the Inquisition to last beyond Corypheus’ defeat so it can oversee social reform.
Sure. Why not. I’ll use my charisma.
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And if you will not, if you can't bring yourself to act, if you are too cowardly, or too satisfied with where you are, too great to be inconvenienced--then I want you to acknowledge that you are willingly doing nothing, and that you are as good as the Imperium itself. That you are a fucking hypocrite. That you played some part in a rebellion that benefited you, and you are unwilling to lift your hand to help those that are in true need, whose hour could be right fucking now, if only they had help.
I want you to understand what it is that we are condemning these people to, if the Inquisition decides they are not worth the investment.
no subject
[ A false start, a stop. He lowers his raised voice about midway back to its usual volume, but not all the way. ]
The mage rebellion failed. Our leader indentured us all to Tevinter because the alternative was to be slaughtered, and the Inquisition only intervened because it needs us for its war. Its interest in us extends exactly that far. We can never risk becoming more trouble than we are worth. That is what I understand.
If you want the same bargain for them, however shitty it is, then find a way to make them worth it.
no subject
[New perspectives, new information, and some practical part of Nikos files it all away, to be considered later--later, when he's not carried on by his stupid fucking emotion, strong enough that he fires back, picking up where Kostos left off. Louder, where Kostos has measured his tone.]
You know. You have some-- modicum of understanding, if your situation is as fucking precarious as all that, you know. Mages got their chance because they can demonstrate their practicality. Good. And now they have, mages have staged a strike, to arrange for rights, for negotiation, so you are worth the fucking trouble. Which means now you turn around and help the ones behind you.
no subject
Unthinkable, to liberate slaves and then chain them to lyrium, or to create another legend about fearsome, oppressive magic stopped only by heroics of people who look a lot like Templars, whether they wear the uniforms or not. A terrible idea from every angle, except the one that asks what will make an illiterate servant useful enough to outfit.
For lack of any better ideas, he’s thought about the unthinkable. At the moment he’s trying not to, and seething at being lectured by his stupid reckless brother, and smoothing the worry and anger out of his tone out to hide until it’s flat and sharp as glass. ]
What I want isn’t relevant to anything. Find an angle or shut up.
no subject
No. That's denial. That's the fucking lie you tell yourself, so you don't have to feel bad about this shit. You are in a place where you could do something. And you console yourself, by telling yourself that you are powerless, that you are still powerless, that your power is a tenuous thing.
You're fucking kept, and you're a fucking coward, and you're doing it to yourself.
no subject
[ —with a burst of furious energy strong enough that he stands abruptly up, alone in his office, and it's a lucky coincidence that the scrape of his chair covers any crackly buzz from the sparks that form under his hand on the desk. It's followed by abrupt silence. On his end, at least. For a few seconds he holds his breath, and when he starts again it's at a deliberate pace.
It's fine. It happens sometimes. If he could have taken a swing instead, it wouldn't have happened now.
Whether Nikos has let him have that silence or filled it, he interrupts: ]
I have work to do.
no subject
[Of course Nikos did not let him have silence, because that would have involved shutting up. If they were face to face, perhaps it would be different. If they were face to face, someone would pobably have thrown a punch by now.
Kostos does manage to break into Nikos' tirade. And--though it wasn't his goal--he manages to make Nikos laugh, unkindly.]
Paperwork. [The meanest guess.] Meaningless paperwork. You aren't even trying to argue anything I've said. Because it's true. Why did you participate in your rebellion in the first place? I'm asking. Fucking seriously. Why.
no subject
[ If that assumption is correct, it’s only because Kostos does the same thing. Regardless, he doesn’t plan to answer. He wouldn’t fully know how to explain it, anyway.
He’s still breathing on a silent timer. ]
Someone has to do the paperwork. Someone has to consider what can be sold to the people making decisions, and whose lives will be ruined in trade— [ who will be woken up at three in the morning by Templars, and shackled like a Southerner for the first time, and dragged away from the first place where they’d begun to at least consider being happy since they were nine years old, and tossed in with castoffs and criminals and crueler watchmen, all because somebody they barely even knew anymore wanted to change the world—not that this is personal or anything ] —and what people will eat when the fires go out, and—and how the story will sound to the rest of the world when its help is needed afterwards.
I realize that is less exciting to shout about in the streets.
no subject
I'm not writing a story. I'm not planning the ending. The story will sound like it means something. Because it will. More than paperwork, more than bread, and parchment, and horseshit diplomacy--and more than excuses, than talking about shit that has not yet happened, what has not come to pass. Because the moment it becomes real, it will be more than a story. It will be alive.
But at least now I know what stories you tell yourself.
no subject
[ Sarcasm, but it rings a little hollow. Maybe Nikos does have him figured out. Fucking kept, a fucking coward. Maybe.
Even so, for Nell—even if she’d called him the same things, because she has—he’d repeat himself: find a way, find an angle, find him something that he can take upstairs and something that upstairs can take to Skyhold to make them agree that it makes sense, he wants to, he’s asking—
But for Nikos, no. He’ll still repeat himself, but not that part, not this conversation: ]
Don’t do anything stupid.
your mean tag to darras dredged this up too so now i can get the last word thnx
[Right now, if someone asked him what he wants, if he were to be granted a wish, he would have a hard time choosing between eradicating all wealth and inheritance based systems of power that subjugate the lower class and winning this argument with Kostos.
But no. Of course Kostos wants to end it, and win. Things never change. If Kostos were in front of him, right now, Nikos would spit on him. Kick him. Punch him in his stupid fucking face. Put this sending crystal through his eye. Instead--]
Or should I just put you off and say that your concern has been noted. Fuckface. I'll make sure to start telling everyone that I don't know you, and spare you the trouble.
the last full sentences how about
[ —not what he meant, not what he wants, not what he's attempting to say under twenty layers of anger and pride and an assortment of other sins. But this isn't like bickering with Nell over mage freedom and then going for drinks after, or like picking fights with the sea of people he doesn't give even a small damn about, and he does want it to end. So: fine. Fine. Whatever.
The clattering and crash is the sound of the crystal being dropped into a drawer that is subsequently slammed shut. ]