lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

Hey-

[ A breath out. ]

I caught a glimpse of what was happening from the gazebo.

I don't know the details, but just know that if you or Lester need anything, I'm a communicator call away.

[Hopefully it's understandable why Arthur's reply might be a bit delayed to her at the moment, but he gets there eventually!]

Hey, Saga. T-thank you, for- this, and- and letting Sheehan know. We should be fine - with the number of witnesses, at least, it doesn't seem like anyone believes I'm the one that's- truly in the wrong, overall.

[And there's something oddly grateful to his voice, despite everything.]

Good. I'm glad to hear it. The offer stands, though. Especially since we're neighbors.

[ Wry. ]

I'm right down the hall if you need a coffee break.

Technically I'm still under house arrest. Not that I care, but I'd rather not undermine John and Xie Lian right now.

[If he has to prove he's the bigger person as an inmate out of spite so be it.]

No one's said anything about visitors, mind you.

You're going to have to tell me how you take your coffee, then.

And how late you're willing to drink it.

Black's fine. I'm in John's room anyway, we can always add to it here. And it's not late if I wasn't going to sleep anyway.

Edited 2024-05-01 22:49 (UTC)

Pretty sure the clock hasn't changed, Arthur. But fine, fine.

I'll be there in a minute.

John lets her in with no issue, and Arthur moves to sit up as Saga enters the conversation-pit-lounge room, adjusting his tie to feel more presentable despite the fact he's still feeling half-naked without his vest and jacket.

(Yes that's a perfectly normal casual outfit for the twenty-first century crowd but it feels weird to him.)

"Hey, Saga."

She walks in in one of her sweaters, the red one her mother knit her, both fists holding a coffee mug. One of them says 'Oh Deer Diner' in a retro design, while the other one just proclaims Saga 'Not the Worst Mom' with a little heart.

She holds out the Oh Deer cup to him.

"Hey Arthur."

At least it being late at night means he's had a chance to settle and recover a bit, so he's less blatantly on edge or visibly exhausted. But the coffee helps, and he gives her a grateful smile.

"Thanks. For this, still, but- also for letting Sheehan know. I, um." He glances again, cradling the mug in his gloved hands. "I'm not going to say I was in the fucking wrong, but. I still reacted... poorly."

"Things don't have to be your fault for you to wish you'd handled it better," she says mildly as she takes a seat not too far from him.

He shifts to face her properly, folding his legs to try and seem more at ease but still stiff across the shoulders.

"Let's just say I'm rather used to things being my own fault. The fact I'm refusing to let Lark get to me on this one says more about how much he's pissed me off than anything else."

She can see that. Though he might notice a small bounce of her eyebrows when he mentions things being 'his own fault'. Hmm.

"I didn't get to see everything, but I'm not terrible with body language. I didn't get the feeling you wanted to engage."

He gives a light scoff, but his tone has a sharp edge now. "He told me outright that I had to earn his respect. So I told him with equal clarity that I had no intention of giving him the time of day. I only swung because he said he was relieved that I got demoted, that the Admiral made a mistake recruiting me in the first place."

"Doubt your former inmate feels that way," she says as she sips at her drink, and it's clear that she's filing away what he's saying to ponder over later. "And I'd guess that they know you a lot better than Mr. Tennant does."

She settles a little more comfortably against the back of the couch.

"As for what he said, he strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't realize that there are two kinds of respect. And I question his judgment if he can't manage the one that includes basic decency and the chance to earn the second one."

He wishes he had a cigarette instead, for the way the low simmer of anger threatens to try and make him shake, but the coffee is at least something else to focus on.

"While I know my own experiences with it hardly measure up to the ones you might have faced in my time," he says, his words carefully measured, "I am still... acutely aware, personally, of the kinds of milestones that would have to achieved to earn the most basic respect from my social betters."

And the word is acidic, derisive in the way only personal experience can be. "I decided long before I moved to America that I was done letting other people's fucking values define mine. And I'm certainly not letting some mutt with outdated concepts of respect tell me anything about how to purport myself."

"I've never had any problems with how you purport yourself, Arthur," she says earnestly, watching his eyes, letting his anger wash over her like water over the shoreline. She can be a stone, let it crash into her; it won't do her any harm.

A little more wry.

"Which says a lot, given 'your time'. Believe me: I'm aware."

She takes another sip of her coffee.

"Have you given any thought to next steps?" The fingers on the hand resting on her leg curl a little. "I'd understand if you hadn't, but I wanted to make an offer."

"My business partner was Asian American," he points out dryly. "If I ever had been inclined, he'd have knocked my fucking head off my shoulders about it and I'd deserve it."

Then he sighs quietly after his next sip.

"I don't know, honestly. I've recused myself from Lark's custody, I've arranged with other wardens to assist me in the interim - and it's not like I'm unaware that I overreacted, but given that it was in response to being provoked I hardly see anything to correct just yet."

Which only raises her estimation more: that he had such a partner, and that he considered him within his rights to knock him around over something like that.

"Less 'correct' and more prevent," she says mildly. "Memory is a funny thing. And it tends to fall in line with power structures, I'm sorry to say."

She sips at her coffee.

"I'd like to write up what happened in the ledger on your entry: as a witness and as someone who's kept quiet about their feelings on the matter. Make sure it stays that way for anyone new who'd be looking to work with you and not just another 'inmate acted out' story."

Edited 2024-05-06 15:31 (UTC)

He does take a second to think about it, hiding behind his mug for a moment as he weighs up the embarrassment of putting it down in writing, versus having no recorded precedent for his biased behaviour in future.

"...by all means," he eventually decides. "I'd much rather it be recorded so that people are aware of the bad blood, rather than confirm Lark's bias against me. It's not like the current witnesses will always be present."

"That's what I was thinking," she admits with some sympathy. She takes another sip of her coffee. "I'll bring the write up by later, a copy of it, anyway. I'm not giving either of you say on what I say, but he gets to see it, so do you. That work for you?"

"It does, yeah." And Saga has well and truly cemented herself as someone he can rely on, with that.

So, he's confident to tell her with a wry amusement, "I believe Mr Leickenbloom was the one who set up something similar in the Speakeasy for the inmates, a sort of warden ledger."

"And have you been having fun taking a look at what's in there?" she can't help but ask.

"Inmates are far less prudent about sharing their opinions in person to need to document them in a ledger, I've noticed by now," he says dryly. "Whereas due to the nature of temporary wardens, documenting that sort of information on ways to help the inmate is good praxis. It's a log of useful information versus a gossip rag."

"That bad, huh?" she shakes her head, sips her coffee, stares out for a moment. ~~A note goes into a folder in a file cabinet.~~

"Then again, prison gossip can tell you a lot. I heard there's a whole speakeasy, as a matter of fact?"

After the Lark Encounter

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