"Wherever we want," a shrug, and he's taking his hands away from the map, the corner curling up from its previously pinned position. Reaching to snag the bottle Seth's been drinking from, taking a swig and making a suitably disgusted expression at the quality before he carries on.
"Could be lip service, but it's also looking likely that they don't have the resources to get more authoritarian if they wanted to. As long as we're not out ripping holes in the sky or otherwise causing wanton mayhem, they don't seem to give a shit."
The in-built incentives of the anchor pain probably helped.
"But," he adds, with a point of the bottle neck. "Liabilities to them, lab rats or collector's items to some other freaks out there."
If not the big bad wanting to get his hands on them himself.
A hand outstretched, silent demand for return of the bottle, while Seth weighs up the information.
"So what the fuck are we supposed to do here?"
Different than how they fit into the equation.
There's such a lack of angle. This is a war that certainly doesn't concern them, without a clear exit point. It leaves them, or maybe just Seth, at loose ends.
There's no denying the scratch that question feels like, somewhere down in the well-worn grooves of how they do things. The grooves he'd been settling into: the intel gathered and spread out for perusal, the rhythm of the back and forth, even the lack of conscious thought in passing the bottle to Seth's waiting hand. But if this was a job, the goal would've been in place before Richard even hit the books. And if it wasn't totally clear, it was Seth who would paint the bullseye.
He's asking instead. It feels like a missed beat, steps of the walk suddenly off rhythm. A fracture that might have landed worse, a few months and a close encounter with hell ago. But that was then, and now they've been dropped in fucking Narnia with no chosen one bullshit to guide the way. What the fuck are they supposed to do?
So Richard's answer isn't immediate. Isn't part of the bounce back, the confidence he'd usually operate with where he knew all the parts and pieces and his place amongst them. Seth asks and he doesn't know. He has to think about it.
"Find a way out." It's what he lands on, after a moment, an almost too-obvious answer. An old answer. Technically, this isn't the first time they've fallen through a looking glass. But they'd had chosen one bullshit last time. In it's absence, there's only the maze.
The urge to pick it apart is strong. Seth swigs from the bottle instead. Doesn't think about how formless out feels. Where's the end point? They'd had an idea of it before. Some goal to hit to break their way out.
Seth doesn't see that here. It's too sprawling. Too many different objectives. Too many different people with conflicting agendas, and a final boss that no one seems to know how to deal with.
"Great," is what he settles on. "Just when we'd wrapped up our part in one circus."
Whatever this outfit is, Seth isn't so sure it's an improvement over their last association.
It's not enough. Richard could feel it as he said it, can see it in Seth's reaction, the long moment watching his brother roll it over in his head and still not find that catch of an idea, a goal. It itches. Has him wanting to head back to the library, hit the books some more. Uncover even some loose evidence of what they need. A path.
But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
The bottle is passed back after only a short swig, Richard more interested in the rhythm of this, the back and forth, than the alcohol itself.
"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
To the tune of this bullshit again. Not magic mirrors specifically, but magic bullshit.
"So how do we figure into this?"
The real question. No one's giving them free room and board, mediocre as it is, for nothing.
no subject
"Could be lip service, but it's also looking likely that they don't have the resources to get more authoritarian if they wanted to. As long as we're not out ripping holes in the sky or otherwise causing wanton mayhem, they don't seem to give a shit."
The in-built incentives of the anchor pain probably helped.
"But," he adds, with a point of the bottle neck. "Liabilities to them, lab rats or collector's items to some other freaks out there."
If not the big bad wanting to get his hands on them himself.
no subject
"So what the fuck are we supposed to do here?"
Different than how they fit into the equation.
There's such a lack of angle. This is a war that certainly doesn't concern them, without a clear exit point. It leaves them, or maybe just Seth, at loose ends.
no subject
He's asking instead. It feels like a missed beat, steps of the walk suddenly off rhythm. A fracture that might have landed worse, a few months and a close encounter with hell ago. But that was then, and now they've been dropped in fucking Narnia with no chosen one bullshit to guide the way. What the fuck are they supposed to do?
So Richard's answer isn't immediate. Isn't part of the bounce back, the confidence he'd usually operate with where he knew all the parts and pieces and his place amongst them. Seth asks and he doesn't know. He has to think about it.
"Find a way out." It's what he lands on, after a moment, an almost too-obvious answer. An old answer. Technically, this isn't the first time they've fallen through a looking glass. But they'd had chosen one bullshit last time. In it's absence, there's only the maze.
"Keep this place from burning down until we do."
no subject
The urge to pick it apart is strong. Seth swigs from the bottle instead. Doesn't think about how formless out feels. Where's the end point? They'd had an idea of it before. Some goal to hit to break their way out.
Seth doesn't see that here. It's too sprawling. Too many different objectives. Too many different people with conflicting agendas, and a final boss that no one seems to know how to deal with.
"Great," is what he settles on. "Just when we'd wrapped up our part in one circus."
Whatever this outfit is, Seth isn't so sure it's an improvement over their last association.
"Anything else we need to keep in mind?"
no subject
But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
Not that they'd ever really let them go rusty.
no subject
But still, he's game enough to return Richie's sarcasm with a wry smile of his own.
"Knife skills, sword skills, whatever the fuck," is shadowed with medieval bullshit. "You think they have dynamite yet?"
no subject
"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."