Neutral Ground

[Glenn]

It was just a little less than a year ago that Glenn Burnie decamped upon Kelsaen House with tents and refreshments. Kostroma did not have to go to the Governor. The Governor did not need to go to him. Compromise. Much was said. One deal was made. Others were not made. The representative of the crown stormed out. Six months, he said. The measure of a man.

The measure of a man that was still in power, despite it all.

A very particular situation had changed dramatically over the last few weeks and now other things must be said and other deals must be made, or perhaps not made. Tents would be set up once more. An invitation would be sent forth to the house itself.

Would the man come?

[channe]

Constantine Kostroma is not amused.

But then, things have changed. Constantine Kostroma can afford to remain unamused; see, Glenn Burnie has no control over what will happen when spring comes.

No control at all.

So he arrives with a retinue of three black-clad soldiers, silent behind him, and enters the tent with a flourish of his hand. "Burnie," he'll say to the man, "stoke the damned fire, and I hope to the Bright you have hot cider. Else, you'll get five minutes out of me."

With that, his eyes search around for a chair.

[Glenn]

There is a chair.

There are no little sandwiches.

There is a rather annoyed looking Glenn Burnie staring at Kostroma. His voice contains the most quizzical of tones when he finally chooses to speak. "One would think, Constantine," and yes, they are on a first name basis now. Did the king's agent not know? "that you would be willing to dedicate more time to such a meeting considering the state of the land, whether or not your tantrum-like demand for warm cider was met or not. If you care so little for such things, I'm sure there are other people to whom I can speak." Burel Tassnehof for one.

This was the game they'd be playing then. Again, didn't he know? Still, now then, that was established; time for a peace offering. "There is warm brandy. Somehow I imagine, it will satisfy. Otherwise, we have five minutes. I'll fill it with words. You'll nod in agreement, helpless, having run out of your own declared time, and we'll call it a day. I'm nothing if not flexible, Constantine."

[channe]

"Warm brandy will do." He pauses, waves his hand -- a member of his black-clad retinue steps forward to pour for both himself and the governor. "But don't think for one minute, Glenn --" the emphasis on that word -- "that you're going to change my mind with your own little tantrum. Seriously, man. Don't play power games with me. If you would like me to stroke your ego and your strange desire to be on top, I'll make sure you feel that way, but power games?" He pauses. "They're useless in a case like this."

He pauses. "So. Your concerns?"

[Glenn]

"I have a whole speech about how life isn't chess that I worked out but a few months ago." Burnie speaks idly, wasting the man's time already. He sips at his brandy. He stretches his neck with a noticeable crack. "I decided against using it. On a personal level, it was both my largest joy and my most tangible horror of the very recent past. So we're in agreement, this is not a game. There is an endless list of protocol that you and I are to go through before we meet, when addressing one another, at the special Myrken Wood harvest pig roast which was almost thankfully cancelled this year in light of a more particular horror, if you are wondering why you did not receive your invitation."

So obviously no games, no protocol, warm cider. Not a bad beginning. Burnie would continue with a slight smile. "Concerns. I know your intentions. I know Burel's intentions. Of the two, yours are more immediately troubling." Then, with a mild raise of his hand to halt the conversation and a quick signal to a servant of his own, papers were shuffled and something was unveiled before them. "You'll excuse me, I was wrong. One piece of protocol. A gift. I've been dabbling as of late." The map, quite nice and properly ornate (especially for a dabbling), was of the entire 'kingdom.'

"So, with this in front of us, let's start with your intentions."

[channe]

"My intentions." His mouth presses together in a thin, unamused line. "My intentions. The daughter of my lord the King, a fair and talented ruler, has been summarily ejected by a bloody coup from a man with no claim, birthright or otherwise, to the land she had been granted in full God- and lord-given right. Men have died; you see the hundreds gathering to shiver at Snowstill, pushed away from their own lands. You may not want my help, nor the help of the Mageranks, Burnie, but I do not intend to leave the people of Derry to suffer. That is my intention."

[Glenn]

"My apologies." Ah, here it was. Glenn Burnie, repentant. Apologizing. Obviously he misjudged Kostroma. The heart of the man. The feelings of the man. The care and dedication. The fidelity and sympathy. It was understandable in this dark world of politics and... ah, but that wasn't it at all, was it? Burnie let loose a bemused yawn, chasing it with another hit of the brandy. "Obviously I wasted both our time and your stomach bile by framing my question poorly. Intentions are so flimsy a way to deal with practical matters, after all."

The smile returned, a cool, calm, lazy thing. "What are your plans, then? For we are seeing to those people, putting our resources to their aid even during a lean summer. We Myrkenites know a thing or two about losing our homes, after all. No, no, helping the displaced is well and good, and I will be glad to help you shuffle them to warmer climes if you think your king can do more for them than we can. For now, though, we work with what we have, and I do think they are better off for it."

A clap, pleasant, friendly, smiling. "So then, we pool resources slightly in the name of helping refugees. A wonderful gesture of humanity between staunch friends such as we." Burnie swished the liquid around, his mood changing without the least bit of warning. "And then what?"

[channe]

It's obvious that Kostroma is conflicted.

At heart, he is a good man. A man of morals and breeding; of knowledge and understanding. But he is also a man of war. One does not climb to his position without being quite good at it. And one does not leave Razasan easily, and the associated comforts of court, without a love of what lies beyond in the battlefield.

"We will certainly help relocate those who wish to be taken to new climes in Amasynia." He pauses. "But, to be honest, Burnie -- and we are being honest, aren't we? You do not wish to be coddled or babied. Myrken can stand on its own, as you and your associates are so fond of telling me." A pause. "My plan is to engage Burel Tassnehoff on the field of battle and end his traitorous dealings forever. In the interests of security, we will disband the Aegis. No man should have such power." Another pause; he's introspective at that. "Go ahead and tell the Duke, if you wish. He has to know this is coming."

[Glenn]

"Yes. of course. I'll just go and tell my good friend the Duke that you're coming. That's exactly why I'm here. To protect Burel." That change in Burnie's demeanor? It was not a pleasant change. Sudden, but not the least bit pleasant. No, he looked rather put out. "See here, you ass, Burel can burn. While we're piling people up on the pyre, you can burn as well. My interest is my people. Helping refugees are well and good, but this meeting, here, now, today, at this moment, is to assure you that I am no craven fool about to sell his people down the river for promises of security."

He waved a hand over the map, over Heath, over Thessilane, over Derry, and then? Then over New Dauntless. "Burel is not coming here next. Oh, I believe he's coming somewhere once he regroups, with the thaw, but it'll be either towards Heath, and then your throat, if he thinks you'll mount an offensive against him or to New Dauntless, if he thinks you'll stand back. Armies simply cannot be moved easily, even with the Aegis, through the passes between Derry and Myrken. Moreover, we have problems he wants nothing to do with, the sort that could send disease through his forces and end his campaign in the most unmanly of ways. And all of that is on top of his feelings towards us."

A breath, as he stared down at the map. "Dangerous things will happen here, but of a different sort. Intrigues, assassinations, spying, and sabotage. All of those things you said that I succeed so well at were I part of your prissy royal court. In fact, how I see it is this: the only way a direct war will come to Myrken, something more than a skirmish, friend Constantine, is if you bring it. If you force troops upon us, if you draw Burel in to liberate us. Now, then, you're stuck here, aren't you? It's not where you'd like to be at all. You'd rather be taking the fight to the traitors and all that riveting bollocks. If you do your job here, your proper job, you will secure your king's interests in more practical ways. So again: your intentions, your plans, for I will not see my people bleed for your self-righteous ego."

[channe]

His eyes harden; his jaw locks. Burnie could have made a friend, here.

He has not.

Templing his hands, Constantine Kostroma narrows his eyes and looks straight at Glenn Burnie. "I understand now. All you want to do is sit here and try to convince me that you're better than me. The mess with the tent. The posturing. You're like a peacock with its head in the sand." He puts the half-consumed brandy-glass down and stands. "This is asinine behavior, Burnie. You are a child. You don't wish to partner with me; you wish to have me under your thumb like you have everyone else. Life is hard. Sometimes you don't get everything you want. You complain so much about Trae Kelsa; but it is at Trae Kelsa's sufferance that you manipulated the rules to find yourself in your current position. You think you are smart -- but all you have is because King Chedwry allowed you to have it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mission for which to prepare. We may talk again when you're feeling a little more grown up." He pauses. "Oh. And get rid of this filthy tent. Kelsaen House has a perfectly comfortable atrium."

And without saying anything else -- without even shaking Burnie's hand -- he makes for the tent-flap and the cold outside.

[Glenn]

It was never good to storm out on Burnie. He spoke quickly and without need for much thought. He generally could use that to his advantage, could take the last word and make one into many. "As I see it, one of us is willing to talk. The other is taking his arrogant little ball and going home with it. You said you'd know my measure if I lasted six months. It's been a year. You know nothing of me but what you want to see Kostroma. I, on the other hand, realize now that they sent you here because you weren't capable enough to hold an important post. As I said, I will not see my people suffer for that. I would even see us find common ground and work together, in both our interest and the crown's."

Yes, Glenn Burnie could have made a friend.

Instead, he has thrown the wooden topper of the brandy glass directly at the back of Constantine Kostroma's retreating head.

[channe]

A wooden topper, thrown, which disintegrates in a flash of flame as Kostroma lifts his gloved hand. He doesn't even blink. "Only children throw things in anger." A pause. "It looks like you need me a lot more than I need you."

He smiles. It's awful.

[Glenn]

"Irritation, Constantine." What an awful smile. Burnie's was quite pleasant, really. "Not anger. I would have thrown the glass if I was angry." What he did do, however, was to get you to stop. "Petulance? It might have been that, but don't tell anyone I said so. I have an image here." Then, his voice softening slightly. "You're angry, you want to strike at Burel, to hurt him and quash his ambitions for what he's done, but you're not in a prime position to do so. I understand this. I understand what it feels like to be powerless, especially when," Burnie lifted up his hand, mimicked the little expression that had dissolved the cork, "you are so powerful. If you truly want to do him and his aspirations of grandeur harm, however, you turn around, you come back in, and you speak with me.

"The truth is this. I do not need your action, but would prefer your inaction. As I always would prefer your inaction, except for of course, when I find your mere presence more onerous than your inaction." Truth, and an opening of his arms again, palms facing the sky. "But if you want to hinder Burel and all he stands for, my way is superior to yours, considering your position."

[channe]

And Kostroma considers this. He pauses, and finally moves away from the tent-flap, walking back to the chair. One hand rests on the chair-back, but he does not sit.

"Convince me, then. You have one minute."

[Glenn]

Convince me.

You have one minute.

Burnie just stared at him for, oh, somewhere around ten long seconds. A sixth of his time. Then, finally. "I'm not going to audition for you. Either you understand what I'm saying or you don't. You want to take an army and shove it down Burel's throat. That's not an option for you. Your options are limited and to be brutally honest, they lean away from your obvious skill set. We can attack him economically. We can send spies at him and feed false information to his spies. We can use the refugees here in Myrken to filter dissent back over the Derry border. We can go further than that and appeal to the general self-interest of the common Thesshole population. There's a thousand things that we can do, Connie, even if what YOU can do is limited to next to nothing."

The Governor rises to his feet and heads past Kostroma to the door. "My minute's up. Take your time in deciding. If you refuse, I'll have a chess set sent to you and I'll send a steady stream of teahouse girls for you to teach, gratis. You won't be able to accomplish much else of any use with your time after all."