[ That derisive dismissal of the cruel name earns another smile from Maia - impulsive at first, and then mellowing a little, as Geralt praises him for not acting like a tyrant. It is something that often occupies Maia's mind - how not to be a tyrant. How to master himself, so that he does not indulge any spiteful or vicious impulses he might have.
He is, after all, the son of a spiteful and vicious man, and was raised by one, as well. There are times when he is all too aware of what Setheris would do in his place. But though he cannot stop himself from realizing just how many mean and ruthless actions he could take, against those who hinder and belittle him, he can stop himself from following through. ]
Our secretary has said they should call us Edrehasivar the Obstinate instead, and in sooth, we think he cuts closer to the truth.
[ Hard to miss, the way Maia's smile widens again, a little lopsided now, and how his voice changes when he speaks about his secretary; it is a bit warmer, a bit fonder. Half-Tongue was a name whispered behind his back amongst people who hated him. Obstinate was said to his face, only in private where no one else could hear them, by someone who..... did not hate him.
It has only been a few days, but Maia misses him horribly. ]
We suppose we shouldn't be surprised. It is among our duties to hold audiences, and to listen to petitioners from commoners and courtiers alike. Underneath all the- rhetoric and wheedling, so often they were matters of such utter ridiculousness.
[ He doesn't blame Geralt, for not allowing ghosts to possess him for such frivolous last wishes, or for mocking the dead, when their concerns are so trivial. Maia even laughs, himself, about the sommelier. ]
Truly, there is some comfort in that. To know that the dead are- are every bit as infuriatingly, wonderfully absurd as the living.
[ Their food arrives, and Maia says a quick thank you to the woman carrying it, who smiles, briefly, perfunctorily. Perhaps another would have found it rude, but Maia finds it delightful. He is still reveling in it - being treated just like anybody else. Just another customer, amidst and endless stream. ]
There are those, in my world, who can communicate with the dead. Not with restless spirits, precisely. It is... different. They are called Witnesses for the Dead. If they are allowed to- see and touch the bodies, and if someone whose blood calls to the spirits - relatives, or loved ones - are present, they can... commune. Receive impressions of the dead's final moments.
[ Not exactly the most appealing topic, while eating, but Maia is too hungry to be put off by it - and he is starting to expect that Geralt, who has seen and lived through so much, has a strong stomach. ]
no subject
He is, after all, the son of a spiteful and vicious man, and was raised by one, as well. There are times when he is all too aware of what Setheris would do in his place. But though he cannot stop himself from realizing just how many mean and ruthless actions he could take, against those who hinder and belittle him, he can stop himself from following through. ]
Our secretary has said they should call us Edrehasivar the Obstinate instead, and in sooth, we think he cuts closer to the truth.
[ Hard to miss, the way Maia's smile widens again, a little lopsided now, and how his voice changes when he speaks about his secretary; it is a bit warmer, a bit fonder. Half-Tongue was a name whispered behind his back amongst people who hated him. Obstinate was said to his face, only in private where no one else could hear them, by someone who..... did not hate him.
It has only been a few days, but Maia misses him horribly. ]
We suppose we shouldn't be surprised. It is among our duties to hold audiences, and to listen to petitioners from commoners and courtiers alike. Underneath all the- rhetoric and wheedling, so often they were matters of such utter ridiculousness.
[ He doesn't blame Geralt, for not allowing ghosts to possess him for such frivolous last wishes, or for mocking the dead, when their concerns are so trivial. Maia even laughs, himself, about the sommelier. ]
Truly, there is some comfort in that. To know that the dead are- are every bit as infuriatingly, wonderfully absurd as the living.
[ Their food arrives, and Maia says a quick thank you to the woman carrying it, who smiles, briefly, perfunctorily. Perhaps another would have found it rude, but Maia finds it delightful. He is still reveling in it - being treated just like anybody else. Just another customer, amidst and endless stream. ]
There are those, in my world, who can communicate with the dead. Not with restless spirits, precisely. It is... different. They are called Witnesses for the Dead. If they are allowed to- see and touch the bodies, and if someone whose blood calls to the spirits - relatives, or loved ones - are present, they can... commune. Receive impressions of the dead's final moments.
[ Not exactly the most appealing topic, while eating, but Maia is too hungry to be put off by it - and he is starting to expect that Geralt, who has seen and lived through so much, has a strong stomach. ]