[ If Bastien hadn't been forewarned about the first part—if he hadn't been asked to come be friendly specifically because of the first part—he might have more trouble controlling his face.
But he was forewarned. So when Tav says I'm a murderer, he's already lifting his eyebrows and his chin, preparing to give a little nod and say that he knows. And it's a simple enough thing to keep his pleasant smile unaffected by the second part, since it's already in place. ]
Oh.
[ The smile twitches. Not because it wants to turn into a terrified frown. More because he's about to say something stupid, and he isn't very much trying to hide the fact that he's only teasing before he nods. ]
[Tav is watching Bastien closely for any sign of fear or contempt. He wouldn't blame Bastien for leaving. Tav, then, remembers that Bastien already knows, in a way and the twitch of Bastien's smile draws Tav back into himself.
Like my Uncle Herle.
Tav physically curls into himself and shakes his head. He should've remembered the most important rule from the Captain: discretion. What if he's told another writer?
[ Bastien stays seated. But he leans forward, trying to get a better look at the expression on Tav’s ducked face.
This is the worst he has miscalculated an attempt to put someone at ease about something in quite a while. ]
I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. It’s only—
[ He doesn’t really have the cultural frame of reference necessary to explain what this is like: like if little men in UFOs came down from space, over and over, and every now and then one of them mentioned they were a god among their own people. Interesting, sure, but in the scope of everything else, not really revelatory. ]
—it’s alright. I’m not scared. That’s all I meant.
You don't need to lie. [Tav keeps drawing away, pushing in his seat. His brows are furrowed, not in embarrassment, but a heavy sense of uselessness, worthlessness even. He's ready to run, if allowed the chance.]
[ Bastien tilts his head, bewilderment seeping into his expression as he tries to follow the connection between those two things. The connection between his joke and this reaction. ]
[Tav tries to control the shame he'd felt when the Captain had informed him that 'Louis' had been a writer, someone to dramatize the lives of those in the Riftwatch. He'd talked with him like a friend and his secret was out to however many people. The Captain had advised discretion and here Tav had broken that rule again.]
You're one of those writers from before, aren't you.
[Nevermind that he still isn't sleeping well, not even with a lock on his door.]
[ He stirs his stew, considering this accusation for a second before he continues. ]
I'm Bastien. I am in the Diplomacy division. I have worked for Riftwatch for—for as long as it has been here. You could call me a founding member, but I won't insist. That would be pretentious.
The writers were only here for the week. They are gone.
[Tav steps back, but pauses to blink for a moment. So Bastien isn't one of those writers, then. Is he truly so unafraid of him that he's willing to make jokes about his condition? Sure, his companions has been light-hearted about the issue, but only Astarion seemed to have the heart to joke about killing Alfira or the possibility of any of them dying a horrible death.
Sucking in a breath, Tav nods and leans on the back of his chair. I am... deeply sorry. I had a bad experience with them. I thought... [Well, he doesn't think he needs to explain just how bad.]
Bastien. [He wraps his mouth around the name again as he raises his eyes to place the face with the name.] I can only offer my deepest apologies for my reaction.
[Tav nods, trying to force himself to relax again. He's likely blown any potential friendship with Bastien by overreacting to a joke and accusing him to be something he isn't.]
I'm not very good at diplomacy, in case that wasn't obvious. Atrocious, really.
[ The pleasant smile is beginning to creep back onto his face, but only a little at a time—a slow return of confidence now that Tav isn’t actively recoiling and preparing to run away. ]
You are not alone. That is why we have a separate division for it instead of making everyone do their own talking.
That's not a bad idea. Maybe something like—"I have a condition that causes violent episodes, leadership is aware—" they are aware, right? "—and I'm taking precautions, but I wanted everyone to know in case you see me acting strangely—"
[ He cocks his head. ]
Do you act strangely? Aside from the murder. Would someone be able to tell you weren't yourself before the murder started?
Cosima believes so as well. [Tav nods efficiently.] Though I believe her words were something about being locked in with a caged wolf.
[A sigh. He’s allowing himself this pity party, even if it’s brief.] I’d’ve said monster so I suppose it’s a step up.
[As for the question,] I do get a warning of sorts. Ten to fifteen minutes. I start to sweat, become nauseous, feels like I’m about to either crawl out of my skin or pass out or both. Hasn’t happened in a while, which makes me nervous.
[ At the mention of goring and eye removal, Bastien pauses his collection of vegetables for a new spoonful of his meal and rests both hands instead, one on the table, one on his knee beneath it. But he doesn't look overly disturbed. ]
Twice. Alright.
[ Whether it was one month or three seems slightly important, given that information. An episode every two weeks and an episode every six weeks are very different things. But he suspects pressing for a more exact timeline won't do much good. ]
[Tav considers both events, before remembering his butler requiring the death of Isobel or someone he loved. He pales when he realizes the connection. His father had been testing him this entire journey, to prepare him for a fight with Orin.
His entire journey led back to Gortash and his role as the Chosen of Bhaal. Tav blows out a breath and shakes his head.]
The second one happened because I didn’t kill an innocent my father wanted me to kill.
[ Bastien nods, processing that. Twice in one to three months, but once as punishment for something specific—so perhaps not something on a regular timer after all. No one has ever brought their gods with them through a rift. ]
I'm sorry. I can't imagine lacking control like that. It sounds awful.
[Tav nods, trying to remember more details about the instructions from Fel. Kill Isobel and earn a reward from his father. But that didn’t make any sense. Isobel was the daughter of Kethric , another of the Chosen Three.
None of it makes sense to him, but looking across the table at Bastien, he tries to not think too much harder about it.]
I don’t know how to break free of his hold. And I feel like a monster, waiting to spring free of his chains.
But he is not here. Or if he is, he is not a god. We have our own.
[ Which Bastien may not fully believe in, given on the day, but the point stands. They've had rifters arrive claiming to be gods themselves, not only the children of them, and at the end of the day they were only rifters with powers, like all the rest. Even if this murder god followed Tav through the rift, he wouldn't be the same. ]
So we will figure something out. Or we won't, [ he admits, ] and you will stay in the Gallows for the rest of your life so we can watch you. But we will not let you hurt anyone. We can't afford to.
[Tav nods, fighting the urge to bury his hands in his hair. He would love to fo out into the wilderness, experience nature to the fullest, but there is no way he can do that safely.
Instead he must be shackled like the monster he is.] Whatever it takes to keep others safe.
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But he was forewarned. So when Tav says I'm a murderer, he's already lifting his eyebrows and his chin, preparing to give a little nod and say that he knows. And it's a simple enough thing to keep his pleasant smile unaffected by the second part, since it's already in place. ]
Oh.
[ The smile twitches. Not because it wants to turn into a terrified frown. More because he's about to say something stupid, and he isn't very much trying to hide the fact that he's only teasing before he nods. ]
Just like my uncle Herle.
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Like my Uncle Herle.
Tav physically curls into himself and shakes his head. He should've remembered the most important rule from the Captain: discretion. What if he's told another writer?
He pushes up from the table, head ducked.]
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[ Bastien stays seated. But he leans forward, trying to get a better look at the expression on Tav’s ducked face.
This is the worst he has miscalculated an attempt to put someone at ease about something in quite a while. ]
I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. It’s only—
[ He doesn’t really have the cultural frame of reference necessary to explain what this is like: like if little men in UFOs came down from space, over and over, and every now and then one of them mentioned they were a god among their own people. Interesting, sure, but in the scope of everything else, not really revelatory. ]
—it’s alright. I’m not scared. That’s all I meant.
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I'll be next to gossip about, won't I.
[Still backing away.]
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What?
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You're one of those writers from before, aren't you.
[Nevermind that he still isn't sleeping well, not even with a lock on his door.]
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[ He stirs his stew, considering this accusation for a second before he continues. ]
I'm Bastien. I am in the Diplomacy division. I have worked for Riftwatch for—for as long as it has been here. You could call me a founding member, but I won't insist. That would be pretentious.
The writers were only here for the week. They are gone.
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Sucking in a breath, Tav nods and leans on the back of his chair. I am... deeply sorry. I had a bad experience with them. I thought... [Well, he doesn't think he needs to explain just how bad.]
Bastien. [He wraps his mouth around the name again as he raises his eyes to place the face with the name.] I can only offer my deepest apologies for my reaction.
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It's nothing. You're alright. Although,
[ his arm dropping to fold on the table so he can brace against it while leaning forward, voice dropping to a conspiring volume, ]
I would ask who you are talking to before the confessions. Next time. That is my professional advice as a professional diplomacy uh— diplomat.
[ That's the word. ]
But we can call this one a practice run.
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I'm not very good at diplomacy, in case that wasn't obvious. Atrocious, really.
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[ The pleasant smile is beginning to creep back onto his face, but only a little at a time—a slow return of confidence now that Tav isn’t actively recoiling and preparing to run away. ]
You are not alone. That is why we have a separate division for it instead of making everyone do their own talking.
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[A small smile.] I was recommended to talk to someone in diplomacy to find a way to phrase a statement to my fellow Gallows-mates.
[The smile drains away.] So they know the danger they live beside.
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[ He cocks his head. ]
Do you act strangely? Aside from the murder. Would someone be able to tell you weren't yourself before the murder started?
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[A sigh. He’s allowing himself this pity party, even if it’s brief.] I’d’ve said monster so I suppose it’s a step up.
[As for the question,] I do get a warning of sorts. Ten to fifteen minutes. I start to sweat, become nauseous, feels like I’m about to either crawl out of my skin or pass out or both. Hasn’t happened in a while, which makes me nervous.
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Right. But I mean, say it is already happening. Would someone know from looking at you that they need to get away?
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I… I don’t know. I hope so.
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[ He eats a mouthful of stew, chewing the chewy bits thoughtfully, and swallows. ]
How many times has it happened, that you can remember? In your one to three months.
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The first time I remembered nothing at all. I went to sleep and woke up sweating and covered in blood.
[Picking at one of the cracks on the table,] Alfira. She didn’t deserve… I gored her, pulled out her eyes…
[He shudders, keeping his gaze set on the table.] I didn’t hide from it. The only person who could have done it was me.
The second time I had a warning. The… sweating and alll of that, but I still had to wake Gale up, get him to tie me up.
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Twice. Alright.
[ Whether it was one month or three seems slightly important, given that information. An episode every two weeks and an episode every six weeks are very different things. But he suspects pressing for a more exact timeline won't do much good. ]
And it was random? Out of nowhere?
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His entire journey led back to Gortash and his role as the Chosen of Bhaal. Tav blows out a breath and shakes his head.]
The second one happened because I didn’t kill an innocent my father wanted me to kill.
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I'm sorry. I can't imagine lacking control like that. It sounds awful.
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None of it makes sense to him, but looking across the table at Bastien, he tries to not think too much harder about it.]
I don’t know how to break free of his hold. And I feel like a monster, waiting to spring free of his chains.
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[ again. ]
But he is not here. Or if he is, he is not a god. We have our own.
[ Which Bastien may not fully believe in, given on the day, but the point stands. They've had rifters arrive claiming to be gods themselves, not only the children of them, and at the end of the day they were only rifters with powers, like all the rest. Even if this murder god followed Tav through the rift, he wouldn't be the same. ]
So we will figure something out. Or we won't, [ he admits, ] and you will stay in the Gallows for the rest of your life so we can watch you. But we will not let you hurt anyone. We can't afford to.
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Instead he must be shackled like the monster he is.] Whatever it takes to keep others safe.
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[ Having acquired a safe distance from the appetite-ruining talk about gore and missing eyes, now, he resumes eating his stew. ]
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