ii. audio. after dark. both courts.

[vrykolakas]

[If anything, the Brucolac's voice sounds worse than ever, painfully scratchy and distinctly weary. The reception isn't perfect; he's sitting in the garden of the fortress at Redgate, where the lockets work, but the blood granite is still causing some interference.]

What languages do you speak? And what language would you say I'm speaking right now?

Comments

[vrykolakas]

To something incomprehensible, though it doesn't sound totally unrelated to certain tongues I know. Where is it spoken?

[scramasax]

Virtually all of my continent, in -- in my time; it's -- it was the language of the church. And a scholars' - language.

[vrykolakas]

Ha. A scholar's language, I know those. Dust-tongues where knowledge congeals into convention.

[Wow, okay.

He's not in the finest of moods. His tone is far more weary than it is bitter or contemptuous.]

[scramasax]

[Anthony picks up that that might be the case, hence that he's not more abrupt or defensive in his response.]

I beg your pardon, is it - is it poor use of a language?

[It's not quite clearly inflected as a question; he may not be trying to sound overtly defensive but reasonable cultural pride keeps his own opinion on the matter firm and obvious by default.]

As a - as a key by which knowledge is understood by many? [Again it drops more than lifts.]

[vrykolakas]

Who is not included in the many?

[Slightly less antagonistic; he sounds tired enough that it seems a genuine, if slightly impatient question. Whatever hint of anger is in his tone is somehow distracted, as if aimed at something other than their conversation.]

[scramasax]

[A split-second of internal deer-in-the-headlights blinking at the additional so-to-speak room - opens his mouth, brow twitches thoughtfully, finally starts in, slightly clipping; a bit eager to take the shot, but - ]

Er - few. Those not learned in reading, I should say -- m-my king in his, uh - in his time insisted that all in the empire could. Or were taught.

Latin is an ancient language; I -- was first taught to speak Franconian, but -- to read Latin enabled one to recognize ah - old and -- recent texts... -- Regardless of mother tongue.

[Lays that down a bit, lest that have been excessive running of his mouth for one turn.]

[vrykolakas]

Mmn. Good.

[Subdued. The voice of headache. Though he's using strictly audio, it's not hard to get a mental picture of someone pinching the bridge of their nose. He gives a long sigh.]

I'm an ancient, creaking pessimist. [By way of explanation, perhaps even a form of 'whoops, my bad'.] Some new tricks, old bastards won't learn. [Wryly:] Expecting the best, for instance.

[scramasax]

[A flash of curiosity. Toward multiple counts - the sounds and tone, the change in tune, and what the man had expected.

That tentatively releases to slack, however, toward room to shift it to a polite and closing smile. He did good by the empire with that babble, then, if in a small and not so actively productive way.

That said, tries his luck, shifts a gear, noses ahead...]

-- It doesn't sound as if everything is well, my lord. On -- your side.

[vrykolakas]

On my side?

[Dryly, and a little sharply, as if rousing himself; he doesn't sound angry so much as slightly warning, though he's pleasantly surprised to find Anthony daring to push.]

This whole world is not well, sides be damned.

[He's twisting that, deflecting it away from him personally.]

The Brucolac. I've never been a lord.

[scramasax]

I -- only meant it out of respect. Pardon me - Bruc - [A title?] - Brucolac.

[Swallows, winces at him self, is he pushing his luck - tries rousing up his own voice a tad, not argumentative, but decisive; bothering to provide a correction of title implies he's not being shooed - attempts to rise to some sort of imagined testing.]

It - [Quick clip.] - is difficult for any world to be. It - isn't it.

[Indeed a statement, not a question; probably spoiled the delivery of serious agreement with that last bit.]

[vrykolakas]

Mm. It would require something of its people, which are usually the strongest and most fucking idiotic part of any world's make-up.

But yours, at least, has your scholar's language and your mandatory schooling. And you're proud of it.