The blonde quat made a truly pitiable sight, bent over upon his knees with his pretty head resting against the filthy, wet streets, looking like a monk in prayer in the throes of unrequited love's agony. The sight was very nearly laughable...had Iago not been quite so aggrieved with Roderigo's puerile dramatics, he might have thanked the man for the distraction...
But then... Could not Roderigo's pain be used to the advantage? Was that not your foremost intent, to fob off assurances of his chances with Desdemona to him in exchange for his aid and discretion? Have you become so weak in the mind, that you have lost sight of your aim? The lieutenancy. The Florentine. THE MOOR. Penance, I say! Have you forgotten that?
Ah, God, would it not leave him at peace? He had not the patience nor the will to heed this now (Is not this the moment most opportune, when you have been even now brought so low by those you have most reason to hate?!)...in faith, Roderigo still wept upon the ground, as much in agony as he had ever been...! ...Though his contempt for the sniveling boy was felt in accordance by all parts of him, disparity notwithstanding.
Forcibly, he blocked the demon's insidious hiss from his mind, and bent to grip Roderigo's soft shoulder and haul him to his feet, rolling his eyes in exasperation (and thinly veiled disgust) as the younger man stared at him agape.
"Peace, Roderigo!" he exclaimed, making a sizable effort to sound the least bit contrite. "I meant you no slight...besides, are you not determined in your cause to woo the girl?" The very thought was risible...to say nothing of perturbing. "Will you truly stand to allow one well-placed barb to deter you from your goal?" He said such only to give Roderigo incentive to leave him, of course; he could only hope to assure himself of that. He thought not of destroying the Moor at that moment...not consciously, at least...