Of course she wrote to you, idiot. You're firstborn, and now they know where you are. Congratulations on having that honor restored.
[ p r i c k . If he's bitchy enough, will Kostos go away, so he doesn't have to think about the matter of urgency.]
Why would I know what would motivate Aunt Contanze to put ink to parchment. Maybe she's dying and leaving you everything to clear the family name of debt.
[ Conversationally. Still distracted by the mystery. Unfortunately not going away. ]
She says she is willing to come to Kirkwall if necessary, but we need to go to Treviso soon— [ for the thing, which he’s prooobably not springing on Nikos our of nowhere right now, probably ] —so that’s.
[ Convenient. Also terrible. Instead of making a decision, how about: ]
Are you jealous, Nikos? Does being younger make you sad? You can tell me.
Heartbrokenly jealous. [And bitter enough that maybe this was a hit, except like hell he's leaving it there--] Only on paper. In person, I'm taller, and so everyone thinks I'm older anyways. Funny how that works.
But that's fair, since a high blow would go over his head, heh heh.
Heh.
Anyway, he's furious for a second, and on the verge of after the war neither of us will have to worry about that anymore, when Nikos follows up with his question, and Kostos remembers that telling Nikos where he's going or not going and doing or not doing has historically not gone very well.
But he doesn't manage to sound contrite, exactly. More like defensive. ]
[This response is just suspicious enough that Nikos manages to put aside all of the thought of Aunt Stanze and most of the thought of Marisol, and instead narrow his eyes in a look only a sibling (tricked many times into participating in something, done his share of the tricking back) could wear.
Prince Fulgencio [ Barbeta, of the Treviso Barbetas, ] might work with us, but he wants to speak in person, and since we’re.
[ Oligarch-adjacent? ]
Since Marisol is busy. [ With whatever. He’s not yet fully worried about her. She’s invincible. ] We’re the next best tool for implying he can’t fuck us over without someone in Antiva fucking him back. [ He pauses, then adds, with grudging self-deprecation, because he would rather not but maybe it will butter Nikos up a little, if the grudging part doesn’t cancel it out— ] No one wants me making decisions about money alone. For some reason.
[Any other conversation and Nikos would seize on that opportunity like a snake on a mouse, strip all of the meat off it, and use its empty hide as a puppet to perform a cruel puppetshow demonstrating the Incompetancies of Kostos. His response is instead nearly absent, an automatic response to an open target.
This part of this conversation started with reference to the status that Nikos has rejected, and then Marisol--who Nikos is worried about, angry about, torn up like someone took a fucking carving knife to his insides--and then he circles back to Fulgencio, lets the name takes shape in his mind.
His scowl blackens.]
Only when it comes to giving you any kind of financial authority. Prince Fulgencio is a royal prick. Did you know? A bastard among bastards. What is it he's meant to be doing for the Inquisition besides smearing his shit on the doorstep? We're looking for loans among the Barbetas now? We'd do better shilling on the street. At least we'd owe nothing to Fulgencio and his parasites.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-05-13 08:06 pm (UTC)[ p r i c k . If he's bitchy enough, will Kostos go away, so he doesn't have to think about the matter of urgency.]
Why would I know what would motivate Aunt Contanze to put ink to parchment. Maybe she's dying and leaving you everything to clear the family name of debt.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-13 08:36 pm (UTC)[ Conversationally. Still distracted by the mystery. Unfortunately not going away. ]
She says she is willing to come to Kirkwall if necessary, but we need to go to Treviso soon— [ for the thing, which he’s prooobably not springing on Nikos our of nowhere right now, probably ] —so that’s.
[ Convenient. Also terrible. Instead of making a decision, how about: ]
Are you jealous, Nikos? Does being younger make you sad? You can tell me.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-13 09:38 pm (UTC)Heartbrokenly jealous. [And bitter enough that maybe this was a hit, except like hell he's leaving it there--] Only on paper. In person, I'm taller, and so everyone thinks I'm older anyways. Funny how that works.
[EAT IT.]
Who is the we in connection to shithole Treviso?
no subject
Date: 2019-05-13 11:20 pm (UTC)But that's fair, since a high blow would go over his head, heh heh.
Heh.
Anyway, he's furious for a second, and on the verge of after the war neither of us will have to worry about that anymore, when Nikos follows up with his question, and Kostos remembers that telling Nikos where he's going or not going and doing or not doing has historically not gone very well.
But he doesn't manage to sound contrite, exactly. More like defensive. ]
I was going to ask.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-14 03:52 am (UTC)Flatly:]
What.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-14 09:02 pm (UTC)[ Oligarch-adjacent? ]
Since Marisol is busy. [ With whatever. He’s not yet fully worried about her. She’s invincible. ] We’re the next best tool for implying he can’t fuck us over without someone in Antiva fucking him back. [ He pauses, then adds, with grudging self-deprecation, because he would rather not but maybe it will butter Nikos up a little, if the grudging part doesn’t cancel it out— ] No one wants me making decisions about money alone. For some reason.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-15 03:23 am (UTC)[Any other conversation and Nikos would seize on that opportunity like a snake on a mouse, strip all of the meat off it, and use its empty hide as a puppet to perform a cruel puppetshow demonstrating the Incompetancies of Kostos. His response is instead nearly absent, an automatic response to an open target.
This part of this conversation started with reference to the status that Nikos has rejected, and then Marisol--who Nikos is worried about, angry about, torn up like someone took a fucking carving knife to his insides--and then he circles back to Fulgencio, lets the name takes shape in his mind.
His scowl blackens.]
Only when it comes to giving you any kind of financial authority. Prince Fulgencio is a royal prick. Did you know? A bastard among bastards. What is it he's meant to be doing for the Inquisition besides smearing his shit on the doorstep? We're looking for loans among the Barbetas now? We'd do better shilling on the street. At least we'd owe nothing to Fulgencio and his parasites.