26 - Greva 04 - Carrot and Stick
She turned to Sophae, disregarding entirely the not-so-veiled daggers Clarize’s eyes sent her.
“So, how have you found your position?” Greva asked, adding an air of gentle caring to her rough speech.
For a second, she wasn’t sure Sophae was going to reply with something entirely coherent.
“I’ve…enjoyed it honestly,” Sophae began, after a nervous glance between Clarize and Greva, looking as though she was afraid the very air would ignite around her. “I like it, it is fulfilling, acting as essentially the city's ambassador to passing travelers. I don’t think the port authorities understand why I’m employed, which leads to a bit of a juggling act at times. But my job is essentially just helping people, so I like it,” she ended redundantly.
Greva sat back slightly. The little selkie was happy. That was good, she mused. And then that part of her brain started itching, and she pressed. “How,” Greva intoned, “do you feel about your upward mobility opportunities?” Clarize butted in. “This is ridiculous, Greva. I’ve been calling you the Persecutor for how long now, we’ve been on opposite sides of many a blood soaked field, and now when you’re meeting me peacefully for once, you’re conducting a /fucking job performance review/?!?” her voice rising, as she grew more indignant.
Greva left her gaze on Sophae, and said nothing. The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, and then Clarize tried to sit forward in her chair. Her stone chair. Clarize’s movement was completely arrested, and then when she opened her mouth to protest, nothing came out.
Greva addressed Sophae, her voice lighter than it had been thus far, but it carried a dangerous shiver. “What our mutual acquaintance has just discovered,” she acknowledged, sarcasm ignored as Sophae began to realize Clarize was immobilized, “is something she should have entirely suspected. You see, Gargoyles are all about influence. And a Gargoyle’s nest is where that all begins. If I had to guess, the question she may be thinking in that frozen body of hers is, ‘How did I move my nest?’. The true answer to that is quite complicated I’m afraid, but the short answer is my area of influence has moved, and so with it came my nest.”
As Greva was speaking, two of her assistants entered the room, and with some heavy breathing, removed the chair and Clarize upon it from the room. Sophae was watching this happen, but didn’t move, perhaps for fear of a similar predicament, Greva assumed. Good people were usually easy like that.
“So,” Greva resumed, once again making eye contact with Sophae. “Do you think a bit of a promotion is in order?”
“So, how have you found your position?” Greva asked, adding an air of gentle caring to her rough speech.
For a second, she wasn’t sure Sophae was going to reply with something entirely coherent.
“I’ve…enjoyed it honestly,” Sophae began, after a nervous glance between Clarize and Greva, looking as though she was afraid the very air would ignite around her. “I like it, it is fulfilling, acting as essentially the city's ambassador to passing travelers. I don’t think the port authorities understand why I’m employed, which leads to a bit of a juggling act at times. But my job is essentially just helping people, so I like it,” she ended redundantly.
Greva sat back slightly. The little selkie was happy. That was good, she mused. And then that part of her brain started itching, and she pressed. “How,” Greva intoned, “do you feel about your upward mobility opportunities?” Clarize butted in. “This is ridiculous, Greva. I’ve been calling you the Persecutor for how long now, we’ve been on opposite sides of many a blood soaked field, and now when you’re meeting me peacefully for once, you’re conducting a /fucking job performance review/?!?” her voice rising, as she grew more indignant.
Greva left her gaze on Sophae, and said nothing. The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, and then Clarize tried to sit forward in her chair. Her stone chair. Clarize’s movement was completely arrested, and then when she opened her mouth to protest, nothing came out.
Greva addressed Sophae, her voice lighter than it had been thus far, but it carried a dangerous shiver. “What our mutual acquaintance has just discovered,” she acknowledged, sarcasm ignored as Sophae began to realize Clarize was immobilized, “is something she should have entirely suspected. You see, Gargoyles are all about influence. And a Gargoyle’s nest is where that all begins. If I had to guess, the question she may be thinking in that frozen body of hers is, ‘How did I move my nest?’. The true answer to that is quite complicated I’m afraid, but the short answer is my area of influence has moved, and so with it came my nest.”
As Greva was speaking, two of her assistants entered the room, and with some heavy breathing, removed the chair and Clarize upon it from the room. Sophae was watching this happen, but didn’t move, perhaps for fear of a similar predicament, Greva assumed. Good people were usually easy like that.
“So,” Greva resumed, once again making eye contact with Sophae. “Do you think a bit of a promotion is in order?”
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