Frankly, he wasn’t much liking his chances of finding cooperative allies here at all. They were all so caught up in the sticky tangle-webs of useless things; the two most recent intruders seemed to have been running from what Vincent perceived as absolutely nothing at all, which did not bode well for their courage under fire. The dollmaker seemed to misinterpret his desire for privacy in speaking, and he sincerely hoped he would not be forced to repeat himself in the company of everyone present. The woman, the dangerous one, he supposed she would be of assistance, but hers was a type with which he was at least somewhat familiar, and the chances of getting her to do anything without proper incentive were low. What ‘proper incentive’ might be was something he had yet to decide.
He registered that Chandra was asking him a question, and mulled over his answer for a moment. She was, he thought, possibly backing him into a corner. It would be rude to countermand her invitation to all, he knew that. Fortunately for him, he also didn’t really care. “The fainthearted, or feeble of mind, I can do without. Anyone else is welcome to hear it.” He wasn’t as risk-averse as he should be perhaps. They were here, they knew something was going on; he might as well put the whole thing out there for them to hear and see what happened. The worst case scenario would be one in which both the Kana woman and the man called Leo decided to attack him, but the chance of that was low, if her wary glance in his direction was any indication.
Vincent might be atrocious in social settings, but he could read a look like that.
When she made to take his coat, he blinked hazy purple eyes at her and shook his head, a hint of perplexity infusing the motion. “You are not a servant.” The statement was plain and unadorned, but the confusion was perhaps a little deeper than it indicated. What might have looked like a rebuke was instead a half-question. Why would a warrior behave as something else? For that was clearly what she was, and this odd domestic bit of behavior struck him oddly. Aware on some level that this was an inadequate expression, he continued. “I will keep mine.”
Indeed, he did not remove his coat when they filed into the kitchen, nor did he sit or take tea or anything of that nature. He was out-of-place here, and he felt it even more acutely now than he did when it was simply himself and Chandra in her home. He waited patiently as he was able while everyone settled themselves wherever they would and got comfortable, though he fairly radiated a kind of honed tension. It was not fear or nervousness, but something else, a little more attenuated. Caution, perhaps, or wariness. He had been raised to always be so in the company of others.
Eventually, things died down and everyone looked as well-placed as they were going to be. He took the opportunity to clear his throat and waited until the deaf man was turned so as to be able to see him before he spoke. He did not wish to repeat anything. “I don’t have a name, but Vincent Weylin is what I am called. I was, for a very short time, King of New Penn, and I intend to be so once again. When first I ascended, I made the mistake of leaving loose ends; people loyal to the old king that I thought could be brought around to be loyal to their people instead. I was wrong, and I paid for my mistake.” His hand itched to rub at the covered spot on the base of his neck where his scar began, but he refrained.
“I doubt most people are satisfied with the way the world is now. If you are, you’re free to continue that way, but with or without you, I will succeed. It- changing this place into something better- is what I was made to do, and so it is what I will do. I do not expect to succeed the same way I did last time; it is unlikely the general will agree to face me in single combat with the throne at stake. Therefore, I need allies.” For all the gravity of his words, his tone was still cool, modulated, and entirely unruffled. He shrugged, a gesture he’d picked up a few years ago, and glanced over the faces of those assembled.
“Not all of you fight. That’s fine. Fighting is not the only useful thing to do. It is what I do. I will not make a case for the necessity of what it, only its inevitability.” The necessity spoke for itself, and either they would accept that the world needed to change or they would not. The evidence was right I front of their faces, and if they refused to see it, that wasn’t his problem.
That was already considerably more words than the recalcitrant young man averaged in a day, and so he fell silent, having said what needed to be said. What they did was entirely their business, and he was already prepared for a number of possible reactions, particularly the violent kind.
He registered that Chandra was asking him a question, and mulled over his answer for a moment. She was, he thought, possibly backing him into a corner. It would be rude to countermand her invitation to all, he knew that. Fortunately for him, he also didn’t really care. “The fainthearted, or feeble of mind, I can do without. Anyone else is welcome to hear it.” He wasn’t as risk-averse as he should be perhaps. They were here, they knew something was going on; he might as well put the whole thing out there for them to hear and see what happened. The worst case scenario would be one in which both the Kana woman and the man called Leo decided to attack him, but the chance of that was low, if her wary glance in his direction was any indication.
Vincent might be atrocious in social settings, but he could read a look like that.
When she made to take his coat, he blinked hazy purple eyes at her and shook his head, a hint of perplexity infusing the motion. “You are not a servant.” The statement was plain and unadorned, but the confusion was perhaps a little deeper than it indicated. What might have looked like a rebuke was instead a half-question. Why would a warrior behave as something else? For that was clearly what she was, and this odd domestic bit of behavior struck him oddly. Aware on some level that this was an inadequate expression, he continued. “I will keep mine.”
Indeed, he did not remove his coat when they filed into the kitchen, nor did he sit or take tea or anything of that nature. He was out-of-place here, and he felt it even more acutely now than he did when it was simply himself and Chandra in her home. He waited patiently as he was able while everyone settled themselves wherever they would and got comfortable, though he fairly radiated a kind of honed tension. It was not fear or nervousness, but something else, a little more attenuated. Caution, perhaps, or wariness. He had been raised to always be so in the company of others.
Eventually, things died down and everyone looked as well-placed as they were going to be. He took the opportunity to clear his throat and waited until the deaf man was turned so as to be able to see him before he spoke. He did not wish to repeat anything. “I don’t have a name, but Vincent Weylin is what I am called. I was, for a very short time, King of New Penn, and I intend to be so once again. When first I ascended, I made the mistake of leaving loose ends; people loyal to the old king that I thought could be brought around to be loyal to their people instead. I was wrong, and I paid for my mistake.” His hand itched to rub at the covered spot on the base of his neck where his scar began, but he refrained.
“I doubt most people are satisfied with the way the world is now. If you are, you’re free to continue that way, but with or without you, I will succeed. It- changing this place into something better- is what I was made to do, and so it is what I will do. I do not expect to succeed the same way I did last time; it is unlikely the general will agree to face me in single combat with the throne at stake. Therefore, I need allies.” For all the gravity of his words, his tone was still cool, modulated, and entirely unruffled. He shrugged, a gesture he’d picked up a few years ago, and glanced over the faces of those assembled.
“Not all of you fight. That’s fine. Fighting is not the only useful thing to do. It is what I do. I will not make a case for the necessity of what it, only its inevitability.” The necessity spoke for itself, and either they would accept that the world needed to change or they would not. The evidence was right I front of their faces, and if they refused to see it, that wasn’t his problem.
That was already considerably more words than the recalcitrant young man averaged in a day, and so he fell silent, having said what needed to be said. What they did was entirely their business, and he was already prepared for a number of possible reactions, particularly the violent kind.