Who? No, it--I don't know who that is. This one was a woman. Of course you know all their names already. [As if he hadn't been counting on that. He'd assumed, evidently at least half correctly, that Myr would already be familiar enough with every templar in the place that he could simply list a single trait and his cousin would know precisely who he meant.]
I told her I didn't need help reaching anything, and she practically climbed the damn shelf trying to prove me wrong. Of course, I got blamed when the thing fell over. [This is his version of events, and by the Maker, he's sticking to it.]
Anyway. It doesn't matter. I'm fine, the healing worked, the archivists have finally let me back into the library, and all is right with the world. Well. In a manner of speaking.
They still need stepladders, though. Maybe you can agitate for them. People like you.
Oh. [He sounds both relieved and embarrassed.] Ser Coupe, then. If she was Orlesian. Ser Ashlock's even bigger, if you can believe it. [...He realizes how fond he sounded there for a moment and rapidly clears his throat.] But yes, I'm working on meeting all of them.
[He sits and listens to all the rest of this with an increasingly puzzled frown on his face--why WOULD Ser Coupe do such a thing?--until that last bit slots the pieces into place.] ...If they don't have stepladders, how would you reach anything on the higher shelves?
[It's a leading question.
Absently,] People like you fine when you're not nettling them. But I'll try. Don't know how well my heartfelt appeal will work if it's obvious I won't be looking for any reading material myself.
[That tone of voice is not lost on Vandelin for a second, and his eyebrow arches sharply on the other end of the line, but he lets Myr correct himself without comment. It's just a bit of information to file away for later, with a secret little smirk.
That drops rapidly off his face at the pointed question, for which he does not have an answer that won't incriminate him. Myr knows him too well.]
Exactly.
And that's why they'd listen. [Myr says it so casually, so utterly matter-of-fact about his blindness, but Vandelin can't joke about it. He tries to match that tone, but the words sound half-choked.] They'll know that you're selflessly arguing on behalf of others, even if you can't benefit personally. I...
[His expression on the other end of the line is frozen, even if Myr can't see it via crystal (couldn't see it at all, no matter what, but don't think of that.) Myr has always had the dubious honor of being the one person Vandelin trusts almost as far as he could throw him--but in the scheme of things, that still doesn't say a whole hell of a lot, and he's now reminded why.
His voice, when it returns to him, is every bit as matter-of-fact as Myr's.]
On the other hand, it might not. You don't really have the best win/loss record.
[He shouldn't relish that audible reaction. He shouldn't be thinking fuck you, turnabout is fair play. But he does, because it is, and when he isn't sure Myr hadn't only been playing along to make him lower his guard and slip the knife in all the deeper--
(He's told himself, in moments of clarity, that he needs to set that kind of paranoia aside, but it creeps back in all too easily through every crack it can find.)]
Oh, no, I'm always glad to listen. You take care.
[He shuts the crystal off, and finds that the nails of his other hand have dug nearly hard enough into his palm to draw blood.]
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I told her I didn't need help reaching anything, and she practically climbed the damn shelf trying to prove me wrong. Of course, I got blamed when the thing fell over. [This is his version of events, and by the Maker, he's sticking to it.]
Anyway. It doesn't matter. I'm fine, the healing worked, the archivists have finally let me back into the library, and all is right with the world. Well. In a manner of speaking.
They still need stepladders, though. Maybe you can agitate for them. People like you.
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[He sits and listens to all the rest of this with an increasingly puzzled frown on his face--why WOULD Ser Coupe do such a thing?--until that last bit slots the pieces into place.] ...If they don't have stepladders, how would you reach anything on the higher shelves?
[It's a leading question.
Absently,] People like you fine when you're not nettling them. But I'll try. Don't know how well my heartfelt appeal will work if it's obvious I won't be looking for any reading material myself.
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That drops rapidly off his face at the pointed question, for which he does not have an answer that won't incriminate him. Myr knows him too well.]
Exactly.
And that's why they'd listen. [Myr says it so casually, so utterly matter-of-fact about his blindness, but Vandelin can't joke about it. He tries to match that tone, but the words sound half-choked.] They'll know that you're selflessly arguing on behalf of others, even if you can't benefit personally. I...
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seesnotices what you did there, Van, but elects not to pursue it. He'll take the evasion as a point scored.And maybe go ask the archivists how far up the shelves his cousin managed to climb before toppling them.]
Well, and that's something I've got plenty of practice doing. [He keeps his own tone light.] There's just that extra bit of pathos now. Might work.
[He's being cruel. He knows he's being cruel and a part of him wants desperately to apologize--but why should he when Vandelin still hasn't.]
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His voice, when it returns to him, is every bit as matter-of-fact as Myr's.]
On the other hand, it might not. You don't really have the best win/loss record.
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I believe, [stay calm, stay even, don't let him know how much that hurt, though it's already too late,] I've taken up more than my share of your time.
Have a good afternoon.
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(He's told himself, in moments of clarity, that he needs to set that kind of paranoia aside, but it creeps back in all too easily through every crack it can find.)]
Oh, no, I'm always glad to listen. You take care.
[He shuts the crystal off, and finds that the nails of his other hand have dug nearly hard enough into his palm to draw blood.]