I'll set it up, if you're up for it now. [Then he can concern himself with invading Russia (always a bad idea) instead of what the runt of the litter is getting up to.]

I am. [And learning geography via game will help distract him from missing his wives and family.] I'll be there shortly.

[One day he will come in smelling like catnip and it will be the end of him.]

[Chartreuse is gonna get you good, Rhade.] I'll have the tea ready.

Spams or assume?

Assumeliness this time? He is holding off a little before more prodding, especially because of bad mood re: Narvin.

Surely. He'll eventually ask about something being wrong.

It probably wasn't too well-hidden, in that Rhade is getting to learn the many layers of tricksy Brax pulls out and--okay, maybe we should spam this. I am such a failure. Binky, you decide.

Drrr uhhhhhh. Well, if you want it contributing to his mental break, Rhade could always accept the "I'm fine," and not pry too deeply. Otherwise he'll hear Brax out for being angry and vicious mean predator if you want to actually do it.

DECISIONS, I ALSO FAIL AT THEM.

[Rhade knocks as he reaches there, noting that tea is being prepared. He's been a bit preoccupied worrying over his friends, and being overly defensive, so at first he's not inclined to notice anything out of the ordinary.]

[Nothing is out of the ordinary, certainly not as he opens the door for Rhade. For a brief moment, there's a piercing, impassive flicker of eyes taking measure of Rhade and then the welcoming smile. But the moment was presented as a signal for Rhade. He is still concerned.]

Good afternoon, Commander. Take a seat and we can lay out the rules.

[He's dressed in his uniform today, a black, formal version of it. Otherwise he seems fine enough. Rhade gives Brax a glanceover of his own, then noting that quick, punctuating smile and returns it.]

This one involves a map, does it not? [He's so woefully unfamiliar with Risk, it's sad. He does take a seat and goes about undoing the clasps on the jacket.] Sometimes it's unsurprising how many of my people choose not to wear sleeves.

A map of the Earth. La Conquête du Monde. Our goal is to try to occupy all territories and so push all other players off the map. [Except that Brax's goal is to see if he can get them into mutual destruction. One day, he'll learn to play games straight.] Should I ask why you've decided to dress this way?

My other uniform is dirty. [He wears the uniforms most often when he's trying to reclaim the feeling of being a valuable soldier. Or to impress people, but in this case it's the former. He thinks about it as he undoes the clasps around his boneblades and flattens them to his arm as he pulls off the jacket.] It's safer to wear sleeves as part of the Argosy services. Magog have a greater difficulty biting through and injecting their genetic material through the fabric. I also think it makes me appear quite presentable.

[He settles back, purses up his lips, and stares down at the board. One day, those subtle warnings might even bother him. As far as he's concerned, the benefits continue to outweigh the risks.]

[He offers a brief grimace at the extremely practical purpose of sleeves, but also adds,] You look quite handsome. [One of the pluses of befriending Brax: he is sincere and unreserved with compliments about appearance, even if he can be very critical in those respects. Rhade's tea, made as he usually takes it, is already there.]

For the opening, we take turns claiming territories. [Now for the single-most important question in any game of Risk:] Which colour do you want?

[A general behavioural note: Braxiatel wants to be more aggressive and violent with his gestures, so he is curbing back on that, measuring each movement down to his fingertips, then glossing it over with his practised smoothness that irons out elements of artificiality. And this is something that he engages in regularly, so the truth is layers deep: you have to look over the glossing to see the precision, then hazard a guess whether or not this is his usual precision or an unusual precision, and then decide what it is supposed to be hiding, because by this level, it is muddled what the precision is meant to be countering.

And all this while Braxiatel is asking Very Important Questions about colours with his usual deadpan irony and filing away every little detail about Rhade's behaviour. He is compiling mental reports and assessing and re-assessing the data, attention that is masked but closer to the surface than usual, possibly because something is wrong with him and he isn't controlling himself as well, but possibly because he wants Rhade to know he is paying attention, this discrete critical assessment being the Irving Braxiatel equivalent to asking if somebody is all right. Of course, there is the possibility that he is making it overt in order to draw Rhade's attention to self-reflection and thus distract him from something wrong on Braxiatel's end, and it could simply be that, as Braxiatel thinks Rhade is intelligent enough, he isn't going to bother to hide something he believes Rhade already knows to be going on.]

[Rhade should definitely pick his favourite colour. It is the simplest set of possibilities that Braxiatel is offering right now.]

Edited 2011-05-14 11:44 am (UTC)

Thank you. [He notices it finally as more of a robotic going through the motions thing, which is an inaccurate assessment but his first interpretation and what Narvin. But he just looks at him quizzically for half a moment and picked up a blue piece.]

Blue. [He normally would have went with red for his color, but blue will work.

He puts it back down, and starts a more thorough examination of the room. Not for anything out of place, but for Chartreuse, because cats are very responsive to their owners moods.] What's wrong? [Asking offhandedly as he does, and not leaving room for, "I'm fine" to be a suitable response.]

[He knows the conversation was turned to block an outright denial. But that won't stop him from pressing back.] Clothes are part of presentation. They are important, vital, even, for immediate social communication. They don't say who you are but who you want people to think you are. A very quick form of speaking. I'll take black, by the way. We can be a bruise on the world. Who are you talking to, and what are you trying to say?

[He sees what Brax did there. He was probably a grand politician in his day. And an actor.

He stops for a moment and thinks. Usually, he attempts to be blunt in his explanations, his recommendations are what contain the veiled suggestions. So he decides to just dance around the subject for a while until he's gathered more information.] I would have asked the cat, but it seems to be curiously absent and it tends not to be a very good conversationalist. [He raises a brow, not disagreeing with being a bruise on the world, but finding it a curious metaphor at the moment.]

Truthfully, I prefer to give the impression of formality, more so now than ever, because the idea of embracing disgusting tribal ideas of dominance rather than civilized mannerisms is more repulsive than ever. But also to appear dutiful, even if it's the original ideals behind the uniform I wear that I keep in mind rather than what it truly represents.

[He gives Braxiatel another once over, before taking a sip of his tea.] The Jaguar Pride is well known for its decadence, and they're inclined to dress and surround themselves with extravagant objects. They're artisans. Actors. Musicians. I admire them greatly. You almost remind me of one, but you have very contradictory reservations. It's difficult to explain, as if you're academically aristocratic. Does it come with a rule sheet? -The game, not your clothing. [That's a straight-faced attempt at humor... even if he wouldn't be surprised if he did.]

[He puts the rule sheet for Risk on the table. It's Braxiatel's calligraphic hand-writing in ink on vellum.] I can lend you a rule sheet for my clothing later. [Possibly a joke. Possibly not.] I do appreciate the fittingness of a traitor presenting a dutiful image: the sort of irony that loops back around to be exactly as it seems once more. Sherry is waiting for her chance to hunt you. She appears convinced that you are her personal prey. [Which is why she has found somewhere very sneaky to hide (probably under the sofa) and is waiting for Rhade to stop paying attention.]

[The game of juggling subjects asks for quick play. Throw in something in the middle, twist, and see the result.] I imagine I would enjoy the Jaguar Pride. There will have been something called the Heletian Empire, evolved out of a troupe of colonist actors, who revere and devote themselves to theatre. The really tragicomic thing about them is that their politics are more poorly staged and less interesting than what I knew back home. Have you ever heard of Henry Irving?

I assume despite the failings of their politicians in exhibition that they were competent in other ways, if they formed an Empire. [He takes another sip of tea.] While you seem especially good at political repartee I suspect that it permits a good amount of frustration to build when you have to wait for opportune moments to vent. It's likely better that you've embraced theatre as well. [Veiled advice and subtle acknowledgement of some sort of frustration.] I'm afraid I've not heard of him. Tell me more. [He takes the rules to look over them, faintly surprised they're hand-written, yet simultaneously not surprised at all.]

I always despised the Coordinator's company and appreciated his presence. If ever I had a very bad day, I knew he would leave me ample opportunity to let the venom out. It is why, I confess, I am not altogether distressed that he is here. [Clearly he is only miffed about the tongue thing because it gets in the way of arguing.] Henry Irving was an actor-manager from England, Earth in what was known as the Victorian period. He did a lot of good work for Shakespearean acting. The actor-manager is a person that more or less vanished from theatre by the end of the following century, replaced by those who were strictly managers. It is the distinction between armies where generals direct from the back and those where generals lead from the front lines. When the Heletian Empire collapses, it is because they were hoist by their own petard. [He puts down his first black piece to claim a bit of Asia.]

[He tilts his head and considers everything that he says, and puts down a piece in Europe.] Unfortunate. Though perhaps more appreciable in a literary sense than growing old and stagnant just to be overrun by another dynasty. [Which makes him look at China.] During that- [Ugh, he didn't want to mention what he'd done. -I wrote Narvin a note. He responded to me in a surprisingly cordial way when things had returned to normal. [Is he concerned Narvin is going to leave?]

I hear it will be a good piece of theatre that topples them. [He puts down some troops in Australia.] I'm rather surprised you wrote to him. Might I ask what you said? [Rhade left the opening. Braxiatel had to take it.]

[He rolled his eyes up.] I apologized for being so competitive. [A Nietzschean apologizing for being competitive.] He asked me later why I had.

[He allows himself a little snort of amusement at that.] And why him? When there must have been a number of others you to whom you showed your competitive side.