[Salvio, midway through his reach to grab his ink bottle, fumbles so thoroughly that he knocks the ink bottle over. Against all odds, he knocks it toward himself. A great black bloom of ink spreads over the page that he had been writing, and he jumps to his feet as if scalded, knocks his knees against the bottom of the desk, jars the whole scene as he stumbles back.
And all this before a second word from Commander Captain Flint.
Good thing there's nothing to be concerned over.]
I-- Yes. Sorry. Let me just-- [Fall in a hole and be buried alive--with frantic haste, Salvio grabs for the inky page and folds over the end, trying to contain the blotch.] Um--yes? Cap, um, Commander? How may we assist?
[Fingertips pressed to the inky page to keep it in place, Salvio apprehensively watches the transfer of this packet to the corner of the desk. He looks down at the inky page again. It seems as if it will hold, so he removes the pressure he is placing on it, wipes his fingers on a nearby cloth that he keeps on hand for typically smaller ink spills and stains, and takes the packet from where it has been placed, so that he can look at its contents.]
Not intimately. Um. I mean, personally. It is a professional familiarity only. Very limited, in that capacity, even. What... Um, why-- why him, specifically?
Because he specifically is to have his pay cut and funneled into the Riftwatch clinic's pocket. There is a sum he is expected to pay down. You'll find the details there. If any grief comes from the arrangement, his division's head is to be made aware.
[Flint doesn't pause in speaking to look about the room, though he certainly does it - assessing first the general contents of Salvio's desk, then the state of the office.]
[Salvio is looking very hard at the pages before him, completely blind to anything else. The office that stands around him is disastrous and tidy by turns. A worktable stacked with pages and folios and forms is butted up against a worktable with a spotless surface. Cupboards and bookshelves and drawers line the room, crowding in, all stacked with more pages and forms. Some of the drawers and doors have locks on them. One of the walls is studded with pegs, and a variety of cloaks and coats hang from it, a kind of lost and found. A stick is leaned up against that corner. Or maybe it's a staff. Who can say.
There are other people that work here, presences told by personal affects. Empty clean mugs that weren't clean when they were abandoned. A hat on a chair. Someone's thick work gloves left on a small desk.
Salvio is still staring down at the packet of papers, trying to make sense of what he has just been told. He finishes his movement, his reach for the pages.]
Oh. Yes? Um, wh, [no, what is he doing,] w, um. Leander has a--debt? That is--not exactly a question, only a-- a surprise, he seems--
[Who asked Salvio? He rubs a hand over his face. Maker's breath.]
I understand. Yes. I will-- I will make note of the debt that he owes, and see that it is-- that his stipend is garnished appropriately. And the funds applied elsewhere, for now. When--the debt is paid, will you want a report?
A note will be perfectly adequate. [The last thing he's interested in is another bit of paper to sign and file in relation to this entire charade. And very nearly without pause, he follows with--] Would you not prefer a room with a window?
A note. Yes. I'll, [he's mumbling to himself, scratching out a note to make a note, which he will attach to the form, which will be placed before the pages Flint has just given him, and cataloged, and filed--and then the question abruptly comes, and--] What?
[What? He looks over at the wall.]
A window. I-- No. I don't think I would, no. Windows are--chaotic.
[If there is a slightly baffled shift in the lines of his face - that is certainly a word that can technically, in the very basic grammatical sense, be applied to a window -, then the change is very slight indeed.]
Well. [Sounds like realizing he's put his foot in something he doesn't actually have any desire to get all over his boot despite having steeped there of his own volition.] I’ll leave you to it then.
[Salvio--having first realized that he has said 1) too much and 2) too much in a way that does not necessarily make complete and total sense, and thus revealed some part of himself to a man who mildly terrifies him--is now realizing that it might have been better if he were never born, or at least if he had never made the series of decisions (or lack thereof) that brought him to Kirkwall. He is no longer looking at the wall but is staring sort of through it, confronting this paralyzing void.]
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action;
Seneschal.
no subject
And all this before a second word from Commander Captain Flint.
Good thing there's nothing to be concerned over.]
I-- Yes. Sorry. Let me just-- [Fall in a hole and be buried alive--with frantic haste, Salvio grabs for the inky page and folds over the end, trying to contain the blotch.] Um--yes? Cap, um, Commander? How may we assist?
no subject
You're familiar with Leander, correct?
[There is a packet under his arm. Once the spreading ink is contained, Flint transfers it to some preserved corner of the desk.]
no subject
[Fingertips pressed to the inky page to keep it in place, Salvio apprehensively watches the transfer of this packet to the corner of the desk. He looks down at the inky page again. It seems as if it will hold, so he removes the pressure he is placing on it, wipes his fingers on a nearby cloth that he keeps on hand for typically smaller ink spills and stains, and takes the packet from where it has been placed, so that he can look at its contents.]
Not intimately. Um. I mean, personally. It is a professional familiarity only. Very limited, in that capacity, even. What... Um, why-- why him, specifically?
no subject
[Flint doesn't pause in speaking to look about the room, though he certainly does it - assessing first the general contents of Salvio's desk, then the state of the office.]
no subject
There are other people that work here, presences told by personal affects. Empty clean mugs that weren't clean when they were abandoned. A hat on a chair. Someone's thick work gloves left on a small desk.
Salvio is still staring down at the packet of papers, trying to make sense of what he has just been told. He finishes his movement, his reach for the pages.]
Oh. Yes? Um, wh, [no, what is he doing,] w, um. Leander has a--debt? That is--not exactly a question, only a-- a surprise, he seems--
[Who asked Salvio? He rubs a hand over his face. Maker's breath.]
I understand. Yes. I will-- I will make note of the debt that he owes, and see that it is-- that his stipend is garnished appropriately. And the funds applied elsewhere, for now. When--the debt is paid, will you want a report?
no subject
no subject
[What? He looks over at the wall.]
A window. I-- No. I don't think I would, no. Windows are--chaotic.
no subject
Well. [Sounds like realizing he's put his foot in something he doesn't actually have any desire to get all over his boot despite having steeped there of his own volition.] I’ll leave you to it then.
no subject
Yes. Um. Thank-- Thank you, Commander.
Very good.