[ Medea's lips twitch in some self-directed amusement. A point for Psyche — would that her earlier letters had been so thorough. Although Medea herself isn't immune to the allure of a challenge. ]
A shrewd guess. She said she preferred to keep your confidences. Is she simple for you to understand?
[ Not a question she's in any urgency to have answered. For a rarity, they have time. And in a sense the subject is mere personal curiosity now. She takes her sip and offers the glass back to Waltaquin, trade for trade. ]
So you make a puppet of them? Is there consciousness, or merely the husk of a body? In either case the utility is clear enough. You would be the envy of more than one king, I think.
Here and there. [Waltaquin lets the non-answer sit there a moment the length of time it takes her to drink and to contemplate the depths of the liquid.] If I understood her entirely, I'd have thrown her out right away.
[For all that they're the words of a detached a cruel person, a child who breaks toys and throws them away for being broken, it's said with a tone of fond attachment. Perhaps at the start, she'd thought Psyche less than she really was. It had changed quickly enough. Psyche does have her way.]
The soul must still linger so they can be called... But I don't really think of it that way. They are under my command. Just bones and tissue sucked dry of ought else. [Just meat. Her mind quivers a little but stays standing.] Even kings fear this kind of sorcery.
What about you? [She holds the glass out to be taken rather than sliding it along this time.] To your envy?
[ Medea laughs, sharp and unfeigned, as though the sound has been startled out of her. ] Ah... I begin to understand why she called you "honest."
[ An almost comical assessment, but not without basis. The corner of her mouth lifts in wry acknowledgment of the contrast, and of Waltaquin's tone. She reaches for the glass again, allowing her fingers to barely brush Waltaquin's in curiosity. ]
Are you asking my personal opinion? Or what it would be, as empress? Because I would find my reign rather shameful if it continued to produce such a volume of corpses for one such as you to make use of.
[The unrehearsed nature of the laugh in turn forces a little smile out of Waltaquin. It's the same as she saw in that memory: a sharp edge that has been honed but not polished. This is the sort of response she craves the most.]
I wonder just how much one is forced to adhere to the other. [Surely more than once Medea has sacrificed her own beliefs for the sake of what she wants. As far as Waltaquin is concerned, that simply won't do. She wants to hear the other side of it, too, what that predator would say out of instinct. Her fingers twitch at the hand-off. For a moment, it seems as if she might brush the backs of her knuckles further down Medea's hand and forearm, but she doesn't.]
A firm hand releases few strays. [There are plenty of corpses still ahead on Medea's road, she thinks, even if not at the end of it.] So you think you'd be bored of me after you had what you wanted? That is, assuming you had need for my talents in the first place.
[ Ah, so she can make that sort of expression as well. Medea watches with some interest, shifting her hold on the glass enough for the metal of the ring to clink delicately against it. ] And what would you infer, from your impression of me? I'm curious to hear as well.
[ And further curious if it would differ from her own answer, which would have been excruciatingly clear to her once. No matter. She has no intention of becoming the sort of person who doesn't understand herself. She gives a thoughtful little hum as she takes a sip, carefully moderate. It would be embarrassing to misjudge Psyche's smaller stature. ]
Oh, I suspect you would find your own ways of holding my interest. False modesty doesn't suit you. [ A need, hm... just for that, Medea takes a second sip before setting the glass down, not yet releasing it. ] I should ask the same in turn. You don't think my interests would conflict with your pursuit of your research?
[Waltaquin laughs, moving her hand in front of her mouth in polite observation. The sound is true though the movements themselves are a story: She is accustomed to the coquetry of dealing with the nobility and respects Medea enough to not play those games at the moment. False modesty certainly doesn't suit her.]
It's my impression that both are true to yourself in some capacity. One would die without the other. [That doesn't mean she has to be happy about it - about the Medea who would put fetters on herself to obtain what she wished. And yet Medea is now holding her glass hostage. She must be pressing on something. Waltaquin lowers her hand, a small pout replacing her mirth. That's hers to see returned, now.]
Well, any research is improved with the support of a wealthy patron. I imagine a conqueror is glad for the support of an ally they do not publicly name, and a tyrant is glad for a specter they can accuse. And your shame would presuppose that all nations are not already built on a veritable foundation of bones. [Meat and blood and screams and corpses as the soil and the stone...]
You're correct. [ As if she's offering a reward for the little game they're playing, she releases her hold on the glass and withdraws her hand slightly. ] My ambition is my own. If I did not desire the role, I would remake it to fit my liking.
[ Therefore, the constraints of being empress are ones she inherently accepts. The choices she makes in that capacity are to support her own vision of it.
She arches an eyebrow slightly as she contemplates Waltaquin's pout and their progress through the contents of the glass. She has no intention of becoming fussy now, nor of questioning the effects on the sedatives she's aware Waltaquin must still be taking. It's simply one more piece of information she's gathering. ]
I cherish no illusions about the nature of a nation, let alone an empire. There will be more deaths before I'm finished. And after, certainly. But it would be inconvenient for me if they were carelessly chosen. [ "Careless" is not how she would describe Waltaquin. Neither is "easy to control," however. Which should be stifling her smile, but... ] You would make it more difficult to play another card I've gone through some pains to obtain. How much of an asset do you believe yourself to be, Waltaquin Redditch?
Hehe... hahahaha! [Her laugh cuts through the night, as harsh and disruptive as the warping noises that cascade over the entire archipelago. The reflection of that bigger, deeper, darker sea is there, just beneath it - restrained, perhaps, or just a part of her now.]
If you have to ask when you might easily ascertain elsewhere, how do you think that bodes? I can't believe you'd expect me to sell myself to you. [Least of all because Medea wouldn't buy what she made so easy. Though even in her response, it should be easy to get a sense of her own opinion of herself. Waltaquin would much rather be given approval than cajole it. In testament to this, she doesn't reach for the glass right away even though Medea's relinquished her hold on it.]
We'll have to see. What's this other card of yours? Regardless of the value of the move, shouldn't you chase any opportunity to have fun playing it? [Part of this game, too, is the shared knowledge that they really might never meet again. Each time could be the last. It really doesn't matter if they desire differently. Isn't that absurdly frustrating?]
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no subject
A shrewd guess. She said she preferred to keep your confidences. Is she simple for you to understand?
[ Not a question she's in any urgency to have answered. For a rarity, they have time. And in a sense the subject is mere personal curiosity now. She takes her sip and offers the glass back to Waltaquin, trade for trade. ]
So you make a puppet of them? Is there consciousness, or merely the husk of a body? In either case the utility is clear enough. You would be the envy of more than one king, I think.
no subject
[For all that they're the words of a detached a cruel person, a child who breaks toys and throws them away for being broken, it's said with a tone of fond attachment. Perhaps at the start, she'd thought Psyche less than she really was. It had changed quickly enough. Psyche does have her way.]
The soul must still linger so they can be called... But I don't really think of it that way. They are under my command. Just bones and tissue sucked dry of ought else. [Just meat. Her mind quivers a little but stays standing.] Even kings fear this kind of sorcery.
What about you? [She holds the glass out to be taken rather than sliding it along this time.] To your envy?
no subject
[ An almost comical assessment, but not without basis. The corner of her mouth lifts in wry acknowledgment of the contrast, and of Waltaquin's tone. She reaches for the glass again, allowing her fingers to barely brush Waltaquin's in curiosity. ]
Are you asking my personal opinion? Or what it would be, as empress? Because I would find my reign rather shameful if it continued to produce such a volume of corpses for one such as you to make use of.
no subject
I wonder just how much one is forced to adhere to the other. [Surely more than once Medea has sacrificed her own beliefs for the sake of what she wants. As far as Waltaquin is concerned, that simply won't do. She wants to hear the other side of it, too, what that predator would say out of instinct. Her fingers twitch at the hand-off. For a moment, it seems as if she might brush the backs of her knuckles further down Medea's hand and forearm, but she doesn't.]
A firm hand releases few strays. [There are plenty of corpses still ahead on Medea's road, she thinks, even if not at the end of it.] So you think you'd be bored of me after you had what you wanted? That is, assuming you had need for my talents in the first place.
no subject
[ And further curious if it would differ from her own answer, which would have been excruciatingly clear to her once. No matter. She has no intention of becoming the sort of person who doesn't understand herself. She gives a thoughtful little hum as she takes a sip, carefully moderate. It would be embarrassing to misjudge Psyche's smaller stature. ]
Oh, I suspect you would find your own ways of holding my interest. False modesty doesn't suit you. [ A need, hm... just for that, Medea takes a second sip before setting the glass down, not yet releasing it. ] I should ask the same in turn. You don't think my interests would conflict with your pursuit of your research?
no subject
It's my impression that both are true to yourself in some capacity. One would die without the other. [That doesn't mean she has to be happy about it - about the Medea who would put fetters on herself to obtain what she wished. And yet Medea is now holding her glass hostage. She must be pressing on something. Waltaquin lowers her hand, a small pout replacing her mirth. That's hers to see returned, now.]
Well, any research is improved with the support of a wealthy patron. I imagine a conqueror is glad for the support of an ally they do not publicly name, and a tyrant is glad for a specter they can accuse. And your shame would presuppose that all nations are not already built on a veritable foundation of bones. [Meat and blood and screams and corpses as the soil and the stone...]
no subject
[ Therefore, the constraints of being empress are ones she inherently accepts. The choices she makes in that capacity are to support her own vision of it.
She arches an eyebrow slightly as she contemplates Waltaquin's pout and their progress through the contents of the glass. She has no intention of becoming fussy now, nor of questioning the effects on the sedatives she's aware Waltaquin must still be taking. It's simply one more piece of information she's gathering. ]
I cherish no illusions about the nature of a nation, let alone an empire. There will be more deaths before I'm finished. And after, certainly. But it would be inconvenient for me if they were carelessly chosen. [ "Careless" is not how she would describe Waltaquin. Neither is "easy to control," however. Which should be stifling her smile, but... ] You would make it more difficult to play another card I've gone through some pains to obtain. How much of an asset do you believe yourself to be, Waltaquin Redditch?
no subject
If you have to ask when you might easily ascertain elsewhere, how do you think that bodes? I can't believe you'd expect me to sell myself to you. [Least of all because Medea wouldn't buy what she made so easy. Though even in her response, it should be easy to get a sense of her own opinion of herself. Waltaquin would much rather be given approval than cajole it. In testament to this, she doesn't reach for the glass right away even though Medea's relinquished her hold on it.]
We'll have to see. What's this other card of yours? Regardless of the value of the move, shouldn't you chase any opportunity to have fun playing it? [Part of this game, too, is the shared knowledge that they really might never meet again. Each time could be the last. It really doesn't matter if they desire differently. Isn't that absurdly frustrating?]