"Enchanter Averesch," Derrica supplies. It is still faintly miraculous that there had only been one altercation. Following after, marginally fonder, "Kostos."
Though this hadn't been who she was expecting Laurentius to ask after, if anyone at all.
"I gather there are nearly as many Loyalists in Riftwatch as there are members of the southern Chantry. Barring no better option," he says, making a brief note on that scrap of a page. Kostos Averesch. "He might be a good person to practice whatever we might suggest on."
She might not need someone for the south for her ideas, but she's going to have to figure out a way of convincing them.
This comes easily to him too. It's an inherently simply exchange. Once upon a time, before he made himself unpopular with bespoke heresies, Laurentius Vesperus could be relied on to at least pretend at being well mannered.
"Anyway, I'm not being entirely altruistic. A few Chantry contacts closer to hand might do my own work some good."
With a small thump, he closes the heavy volume on his lap and bends to collect the collection of scrolls from where they've been piled near his heel.
It's a good thing for the preservation of both their afternoons that Derrica stands. At 'I'd like to hear about it', Laurentius glances briskly up and forgets for a moment to stuff the scroll in his hand back under his arm. But no, he has a list of things he means to accomplish before the day is through. Sitting here in this little office explaining the minutiae of translation work is likely to be something of an imposition on actually accomplishing said labor.
He gathers the rest of his things.
"My time is largely my own. I've joined diplomacy"—Is that an outrageous statement, given the blasé way he'd barreled into her office?—"But one hour is as good for answering correspondence as the next, so whenever you prefer to meet should suit me. Regular or not."
He's scraped himself to his feet at some point in all that, and now absently adjusts the arrangement of his things under his arm.
"In the mean time, I'll see if I can't confirm where a few of those scholars are currently based."
"Please do," comes as Derrica rounds the corner of her desk, drifting back to where he had found her. "Let's say any morning you like, once a week. For now."
They have something to actively dissect together. That warrants gathering more regularly, in Derrica's opinion.
And even if there wasn't something to be worked on, it strikes Derrica as productive to grow more familiar with someone who had volunteered himself to work alongside her.
"Thank you, again," is as good as a dismissal, for all its warmth.
And that seems to be that. With a curt nod, Laurentius takes his heavy book and his scrolls and his general impression—intentional or otherwise—of intense, glowering melancholy from the office. There's work to be done. The length of his stride as he goes suggests that he intends to get to some of it directly.
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Though this hadn't been who she was expecting Laurentius to ask after, if anyone at all.
"We are friends. Why?"
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She might not need someone for the south for her ideas, but she's going to have to figure out a way of convincing them.
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The wisdom of the proposition is immediately clear to her, as are the chances of Kostos agreeing to entertain a Tevene cleric on this topic.
"Thank you," is sincere, genuine gratitude weighting the words. "For all of this."
The names. The willingness to entertain her faltering considerations of how the might proceed. For volunteering in the first place.
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This comes easily to him too. It's an inherently simply exchange. Once upon a time, before he made himself unpopular with bespoke heresies, Laurentius Vesperus could be relied on to at least pretend at being well mannered.
"Anyway, I'm not being entirely altruistic. A few Chantry contacts closer to hand might do my own work some good."
With a small thump, he closes the heavy volume on his lap and bends to collect the collection of scrolls from where they've been piled near his heel.
no subject
"I'd like to hear about it, next time."
Sensing the end of this meeting, signaled by the gathering of his items. Derrica stands herself, sheaf of papers in hand.
"It's been only me since I took over the project. I haven't thought of setting a time for regular meetings."
Truthfully, even office hours are a little scattershot. But who needs to volunteer that?
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He gathers the rest of his things.
"My time is largely my own. I've joined diplomacy"—Is that an outrageous statement, given the blasé way he'd barreled into her office?—"But one hour is as good for answering correspondence as the next, so whenever you prefer to meet should suit me. Regular or not."
He's scraped himself to his feet at some point in all that, and now absently adjusts the arrangement of his things under his arm.
"In the mean time, I'll see if I can't confirm where a few of those scholars are currently based."
no subject
They have something to actively dissect together. That warrants gathering more regularly, in Derrica's opinion.
And even if there wasn't something to be worked on, it strikes Derrica as productive to grow more familiar with someone who had volunteered himself to work alongside her.
"Thank you, again," is as good as a dismissal, for all its warmth.
no subject
And that seems to be that. With a curt nod, Laurentius takes his heavy book and his scrolls and his general impression—intentional or otherwise—of intense, glowering melancholy from the office. There's work to be done. The length of his stride as he goes suggests that he intends to get to some of it directly.