[Huh. Somehow, this question is actually worse than the interrogation of his motives as a Templar; he leans back a little bit, scrubbing a hand down his face in anticipation of Unpleasantness.]
There was some, ah, confusion about the nature of our relationship, if I recall.
[He recalls better than he claims, on account of he's still confused about it.]
[ An instinct for weakness means that Marcus can tell that this is a soft spot, available for clawing. But there is something so distinctively inoffensive about Barrow that this desire to watch a Templar squirm has lost, just a little, of its edge. The doubt that this man is truly a co-conspirator, despite Templar, despite Fitcher.
Still, here we are. He turns his hand, a prompt. ]
[It occurs to Barrow that he might actually prefer to be back on that Venatori rack, getting all his joints re-fucked and his mind magicked to the Void and back, than to be here sharing his personal romantic failures with a man who visibly hates him. Maybe this is punishment for some cosmic sin that he hadn't even factored in, like cracking an egg on his sister's head when they were children, or for taking Fitcher to a restaurant he was confident was authentic Antivan and having to watch the light in her eyes die as he bumbled his way through a plate of perfectly serviceable spagetty, or however you call it--]
I may have perceived interest that wasn't there.
[One hand is curled awkwardly over his mouth, his posture having slouched somewhat since this leg of the conversation began.]
[ Marcus lets that answer just hang there for a second, before he places pen back to paper. Little scratching sounds in the silence as he spells out the words perceived interest, ink sinking into parchment. ]
What was your last conversation with her, before now?
[Having to think on this is a welcome respite from the current conversation, and Barrow falls silent for a long enough pause that, for a moment, it may seem like he's not going to answer. But eventually he stirs, his brow knit as he recalls.]
We played cards. Someone was getting married and most of Riftwatch had gone off for it.
[He idly runs one finger along his stubbled chin, his gaze distant.]
[ To his credit, Marcus is only patient while Barrow falls silent, watching him across the desk and awaiting whatever interesting thing will be spoken. His brow twitches at what he gets, and he notes it down.
Hardly the picture of an accomplice, and even in all his ready paranoia, it's hard to think that Barrow is capable of painting this picture deliberately.
Still. There are so few people he can ask. He continues. ]
Before or after the incident with Felix Naegle? The Abomination we slew,
[ in case Barrow has forgotten his name. Marcus is sure he has not forgotten participating in its slaying. Marcus did not, remembering that odd, holy resolve cast from Barrow's epicentre. How his skin crawled. ]
[ There's another short silence, Marcus writing something down, but the silence persists afterwards. Minor frustration, and while it isn't out of affection for Barrow that Marcus doesn't direct it at him, it's kept mostly contained. Increasingly more certain he's not going to get anything he's looking for.
So it's with a hint of that frustration when he asks, ]
Did she ever say anything to you? Of the rebellion, or of the Chantry, the Order. Of mages.
[Being on the older side as far as Templars go, and still very much taking the lyrium, Barrow is well aware that his memory isn't what it possibly should be even at his age; all the same, he tries, his eyes going distant for a long moment as he considers the question. At a certain point, he furrows his brow, tilting his head slightly as a memory surfaces.]
That dream we all had, where everything was different. We were in the Frostbacks, he and I were having a chat-- he got killed. Shot through the face from behind.
[He shudders slightly, in spite of himself. He's seen plenty of people die, and gruesomely at that, but the suddenness of it sticks with him.]
She appeared, not long after. With her crossbow. It was just a dream, but. [He shrugs one shoulder.]
[ There are minor tensions that form as soon as Barrow says the word 'dream', but otherwise focused forward. A stillness and silence as he listens that speaks to processing something complicated
before he dutifully sets this down onto his page. ]
And did she say anything to you then? Or on waking?
[ —asked while he writes elaborations, that simmer of frustration from before now gone. ]
For this next part, a small tell, then, from Marcus while he writes, a subtle tic at his jaw and barest shake of his head that can only translate as: this bitch.
Another two seconds of pen scratches, before he says, ]
[ Marcus looks down at his notes, evaluating them, mouth tightening in the corner with some amount of dissatisfaction, but to what specifically— ]
Aye, [ setting pen aside, and pages to dry. ]
But, [ the kind of intrusive qualifier spoken by a man who has in the past managed children desperate to also escape whatever lesson he's been imparting, and being made to sit still a little longer ] if there is more you can think of, with Fitcher, anything that seems suspicion now to you, I'd have you bring it to me.
[Having been one such child once upon a time, Barrow casts an anxious glance back toward Marcus as he hefts out of his chair, but offers a solemn nod that communicates his understanding. He certainly has no intention of seeking out Enchanter Rowntree for any reason after today, so it's for the best that he doesn't have more information to give anyway.]
Righto, [he grunts, making his way toward the door. Time to go drink away whatever the fuck that was.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-08-04 12:05 pm (UTC)[ almost tonelessly, but his focus on Barrow is needle-sharp. ]
When did you fall out of touch?
reanimates
Date: 2022-08-08 09:47 pm (UTC)Her-- [he begins to say, but trails off, struggling to comprehend.] I-- suppose about... I don't know, a year or so ago?
...what has she done?
welcome
Date: 2022-08-08 11:50 pm (UTC)[ —probably. Probably he wasn't at liberty to say much at all, but he sounds confident. ]
What happened a year or so ago?
Re: welcome
Date: 2022-08-09 09:57 pm (UTC)There was some, ah, confusion about the nature of our relationship, if I recall.
[He recalls better than he claims, on account of he's still confused about it.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-10 02:21 am (UTC)Still, here we are. He turns his hand, a prompt. ]
In short?
no subject
Date: 2022-08-10 10:21 pm (UTC)I may have perceived interest that wasn't there.
[One hand is curled awkwardly over his mouth, his posture having slouched somewhat since this leg of the conversation began.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-10 10:42 pm (UTC)What was your last conversation with her, before now?
no subject
Date: 2022-08-10 10:49 pm (UTC)We played cards. Someone was getting married and most of Riftwatch had gone off for it.
[He idly runs one finger along his stubbled chin, his gaze distant.]
She told me her first name.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 10:09 am (UTC)Hardly the picture of an accomplice, and even in all his ready paranoia, it's hard to think that Barrow is capable of painting this picture deliberately.
Still. There are so few people he can ask. He continues. ]
Did she know of your history, as a Templar?
no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 06:36 pm (UTC)Ah... yes. I believe I did mention it to her. [Like a stupid oaf.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-16 07:36 am (UTC)[ in case Barrow has forgotten his name. Marcus is sure he has not forgotten participating in its slaying. Marcus did not, remembering that odd, holy resolve cast from Barrow's epicentre. How his skin crawled. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-16 05:48 pm (UTC)I'm afraid I don't recall. The timing of it, I mean. There was a lot going on, around then.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 10:33 am (UTC)So it's with a hint of that frustration when he asks, ]
Did she ever say anything to you? Of the rebellion, or of the Chantry, the Order. Of mages.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 08:28 pm (UTC)At a certain point, he furrows his brow, tilting his head slightly as a memory surfaces.]
Do you remember Leander?
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 09:23 pm (UTC)[He scratches his head, thinking back.]
That dream we all had, where everything was different. We were in the Frostbacks, he and I were having a chat-- he got killed. Shot through the face from behind.
[He shudders slightly, in spite of himself. He's seen plenty of people die, and gruesomely at that, but the suddenness of it sticks with him.]
She appeared, not long after. With her crossbow. It was just a dream, but. [He shrugs one shoulder.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 09:37 pm (UTC)before he dutifully sets this down onto his page. ]
And did she say anything to you then? Or on waking?
[ —asked while he writes elaborations, that simmer of frustration from before now gone. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 09:59 pm (UTC)[He looks a bit disturbed by the resurfacing of the memory,]
...in the dream, she'd said I made a good distraction.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 10:14 pm (UTC)For this next part, a small tell, then, from Marcus while he writes, a subtle tic at his jaw and barest shake of his head that can only translate as: this bitch.
Another two seconds of pen scratches, before he says, ]
Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 10:19 pm (UTC)That everything, then?
[Freedom. He can taste it.]
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 10:27 pm (UTC)Aye, [ setting pen aside, and pages to dry. ]
But, [ the kind of intrusive qualifier spoken by a man who has in the past managed children desperate to also escape whatever lesson he's been imparting, and being made to sit still a little longer ] if there is more you can think of, with Fitcher, anything that seems suspicion now to you, I'd have you bring it to me.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-23 10:32 pm (UTC)Righto, [he grunts, making his way toward the door. Time to go drink away whatever the fuck that was.]