Listening to Horst's pleasant voice, Bagoas (the reservedly amiable, enigmatic courtier that he is emulating at present) can't help but marvel not only at the length with which Horst Cabal speaks, but the insights he lays out in the air between them. At last, thinks Bagoas, there is someone here who truly speaks my tongue. Finally, someone who seems to hold an intimate understanding of how he views the world and its inhabitants. So long has he gone without this touch of intrigue that he finds himself positively smitten. The compliment (sharpest knives indeed) sinks in, takes hold, and behind his pleasant smile, Bagoas' mind dances with ideas of how to repay it properly.
There is a Persian proverb that says one learns courtesy from the discourteous. It does not explicitly extend its validity to other contexts, but it does make intimations: learn the wisdom of sobriety from a drunken fool; grace from those sadly lacking.
However, he is not at all sure what he may possibly learn from this. If one knows not what to make of a situation, perhaps it is best not to find oneself in it. Were Johannes Cabal a woman, Bagoas would suspect him of deliberately spilling the drink; as he is not, Bagoas doesn't know what to make of it, other than having outstayed his welcome.
Horst's clothes ruined, Bagoas' hopes of intrigue-making squandered, he finds momentary respite in helping the barkeep mop up the mess. "There is no need for apology," he tells the fairer-coloured of the brothers (and, indirectly, the dark-haired one as well). "Too much of a good thing often renders a man loose-limbed and more besides," he adds, sparing a thought to his late King and Master, to whom strong wine often proved too tempting.
To Horst, "In retrospect, I fear I've made an error of judgement: my timing is unforgivable, but perhaps my departure can go a ways in redeeming myself in your eyes. If you would excuse me."
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There is a Persian proverb that says one learns courtesy from the discourteous. It does not explicitly extend its validity to other contexts, but it does make intimations: learn the wisdom of sobriety from a drunken fool; grace from those sadly lacking.
However, he is not at all sure what he may possibly learn from this. If one knows not what to make of a situation, perhaps it is best not to find oneself in it. Were Johannes Cabal a woman, Bagoas would suspect him of deliberately spilling the drink; as he is not, Bagoas doesn't know what to make of it, other than having outstayed his welcome.
Horst's clothes ruined, Bagoas' hopes of intrigue-making squandered, he finds momentary respite in helping the barkeep mop up the mess. "There is no need for apology," he tells the fairer-coloured of the brothers (and, indirectly, the dark-haired one as well). "Too much of a good thing often renders a man loose-limbed and more besides," he adds, sparing a thought to his late King and Master, to whom strong wine often proved too tempting.
To Horst, "In retrospect, I fear I've made an error of judgement: my timing is unforgivable, but perhaps my departure can go a ways in redeeming myself in your eyes. If you would excuse me."