Faramir doesn't believe the darkness will endure. (without_glory) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-03-04 23:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | boromir, faramir |
Who: Boromir & Faramir
What: Coffee, bro-talk, politicks, mentioning the valar net and epic childhood toy!battle scenarios, and Boromir being Boromir. Awesome. <3
When: Recently!
Where: a local vardabucks starbucks.
Rating: Low.
Status: Complete!
It wasn’t really a campaign stop, but Boromir had an eye for good photo ops, and buying a disabled veteran a meal and having a conversation while they ate was actually a really good photo op (and a nice thing to do, but if he admitted that Faramir wouldn’t let him live it down).
He did feel a bit better about himself, helping the man buy a suit for interviews before sending him on his way. Look. He wasn’t entirely without empathy.
“Don’t even say it, brother.”
"Say what? That I knew there was some good left in your right-wing, conservative soul?" Faramir innocently inquired, albeit with a knowing smile. He knew Boromir was capable of empathy, past all of his raging bravado. He was merely having fun, of the poking a bear with a stick variety. "It was the right thing to do. Now you only have to do that for every other disabled veteran in need of a job in this district. I'll get you a list."
“Quiet,” Boromir said, though his tone was good natured. “That would bankrupt us and you know it. But it’s better than just handing out money that they can spend on things to forget rather than help themselves.” Bootstraps and all that, but that didn’t work if they had no bootstraps to begin with.
"True, but it would be the nice thing to do, helping like you did just then. You'll also feel better about yourself, afterward." He checked the time. "I think we might have time to grab some coffee, if you want. I wouldn't advise being seen drinking at this hour. It's still too early and everyone around you is capable of taking a photo on their phone."
Otherwise, it would be all over the internet like wildfire, that he had some sort of drinking problem.
“A man can’t even enjoy a beer anymore,” he grumbled. “The liberal media just pounces on any chance they get to run your name through the mud.” The use of the word liberal was completely unnecessary and entirely to get his brother’s goat. “But a coffee sounds good. With cream and sugar and maybe a little hazelnut.”
His brother's goat was actually out in it's pasture, lazily chewing grass and thistle, not bothered in the least.
"That's actually a misconception," was the gently spoken reply. "It's more based in corporate control over infotainment, or what will get the most viewers and therefore advertising dollars. Since a more 'liberal' point of view being depicted on the news gains more viewers? I'll let you do the math for a comparison of the demographics you're up against. That, and Fox News is like Tea Party central. They're practically serving finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off, on the air, for anyone gullible enough to believe what Bill O'Reilly and company are feeding them. That doesn't mean getting elected is impossible, since you do have some good points in your political platform. But it is, what it is."
He nodded over at a nearby Starbucks, which was pretty much like a holy shrine for Faramir. When he walked in, they cranked up the espresso machine and rolled out the i.v. so he could mainline his coffee, like a pro.
"I'm sure they can make you a nice hazelnut latte, Boromir." Nevermind that it sounded girly, since it was pretty much what he just said he wanted.
“Coffee. With cream and sugar and hazelnut,” Boromir corrected, squinting at his brother’s back like it was somehow responsible for the national debt. “And O’Reilly has some good points, I’ll have you know.”
Actually, no, because Faramir would have to point that the national debt would still be, in part, a largely Republican left over.
"That is precisely what a hazelnut latte is," a very unfettered Faramir suggested, as he was walking toward his shrine, his holy land, his precious. "O'Reilly is a paid mouthpiece for Rupert Murdoch’s corporate agenda, as much as the liberal media you condemn. I love you anyway, brother, despite your conservative finger pointing."
He loved his father too, even if it wasn't reciprocated. He considered his father to be incredibly intelligent, his brother to be highly motivated, and himself to be profoundly well read. They were each good at their own things, even if they couldn't often see eye to eye.
And that was what Faramir was thinking to himself as he opened the door to the Starbucks, not even looking back to see if Boromir was following.92% of the national debt is from Reagan and both Bushes but don't tell Boromir that
"Corporate agenda," Boromir snorted, and rolled his eyes. "The only one finger pointing here is you, dear brother."
At least it was a Starbucks. Good old american business, and not some French crap.Faramir might tell him that, but he'd never do it in a mean way. More like a gently informative sort of way.
"I believe it was you trying to bait me into a confrontation. That's based on the keyword phrases you started with, those being liberal media and your saying Bill O'Reilly has some good points," Faramir patiently pointed out, while waiting in line to order. "You do tend to get finger pointy, followed by finger jabby, and followed by a volume increase as a heated debate ensues." He looked over to Boromir with a smile. "We don't debate all that often. We have discussions."
Starbucks which imported beans from all over the world and had french coffee presses on display. Look, it says so on the sign, on the shelf right next to them. The sign is there like it is spiting Boromir and his hatred of cheese eating surrender monkeys, and the maker of french fries...which Boromir probably believes should be called 'patriot fries.' Sigh.
Boromir looked at his brother like he was going to start bellowing at any moment, but it didn’t come. Instead he stuffed his hands in his pockets and ignored any signs that there might be. After all, any smart businessman knew to do whatever they needed for quality product. The profits still stayed in America!
He pounded his fist on the counter and made his order!
To which Faramir stood by his brother's side and mouthed the words 'hazelnut latte' to the employees, so that they knew. And it was apparent that his brother was one of those 'Merica! types of people, deep down inside his Walker, Texas Ranger watching heart.
"I'll buy. And I'd like a venti double mocha macchiato with an additional shot of espresso," Faramir said, without banging on the countertop at all. And then he left a tip in the tip jar, before even finding out the total. "Please."
Whatever that was. Boromir made a grumpy face and eyed the tip jar like it was blasphemy, then bored a hole into his brother’s head before marching over to wait for the drink to be made. “What are your plans for this weekend?”
Faramir was used to the grumpy face. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He walked over and folded his arms over his chest, looking like he was thinking before answering. Not because he had anything to hide, but because he was going through a mental checklist of what needed to be done. That mental checklist ended with the shrug of one shoulder.
"I don't have any plans," he admitted. "Nothing other than reviewing some of the coursework that I had planned out. Did you want to go camping, like you suggested before?"
“Too cold,” he said. “But I don’t have any plans either. After the past week I thought it prudent to reduce the workload on my staff so that they could be with their families.” Oh the week after was going to be amazingly busy….
"Afraid of roughing it?" Faramir asked, surprised his brother wasn't up for the challenge. And maybe wanting to see if Boromir's eye got a twitch in it, while he waited to hear other possibilities for things to do. Before it he forgot, he also had to admit before it was too late, "That was thoughtful of you? I'm sure they'll appreciate it in the long run, and that it will improve workplace morale."
Boromir’s eye indeed twitched and he shot a look at Faramir as if daring him to go walk off a short dock. “One of my aids suggested I try out Paintball. And you’re going to try it with me.”
Faramir smiled back at Boromir and then looked a little surprised. "Paintball? Well, that might be fun. Alright. Are we shooting at one another or are we shooting at at others, while teamed up together?"
These were very important questions to consider, because strategy!
“Together, of course.” He clapped his brother hard on the back. “Why would I want anyone else at my back, besides my genius brother?”
"I don't know about the genius title," was the all too modest reply, once he was no longer in danger of toppling over. Boromir didn't know his own strength sometimes. "But I really can't think of anyone else I would rather paintball people with. They don't stand a chance against us."
At least this sounded like constructive trouble to get into, rather than the destructive type.
“Your IQ is well in the genius range,” Boromir pointed out, far too proudly. “We will need to compensate for the incompetence of our teammates.” He had absolutely no hope that they’d be placed with people who knew what they were doing.
"And you will have a tactical advantage that is greater than mine," Faramir countered. "It's not only your training in the military, but simply the way you've always tackled things in your way. So where I'll be thinking things over, you will probably be filling them full of paint pellets."
Faramir was actually looking forward to his brother's bellowing. It was somehow strangely comforting, even though Faramir had to lob a few apologetic looks in the recipient's direction, now and then.
With his drink in hand, he motioned toward a nearby set of chairs, in case his brother wanted to sit down. He might not want to, though, and Faramir was fully prepared to be drinking his coffee on the go. No one could accuse Boromir of being lazy or enjoying sitting still for very long.
“You will follow orders, brother. You follow them well but more importantly you know how to adapt to situations. With your plan and my prowess, we’ll rule over that battlefield!”
Faramir laughed and nodded, confident that was true. He did listen, and he even had his own good ideas on what might be the best course of action. It was his brother's confidence that often kept him afloat, or from second guessing. Often, it seemed that Boromir was the only one listening to what he had to say. To fend off an incoming pep talk, he even held up one hand like he was letting him know it wasn't necessary.
"You know I am not so confident, but I also trust you. I'm sure it will be a success, but let's try not to lose too many of our teammates in the process. Even if they're...not as well versed in such things, as you are."
That was the nice and polite way of agreeing that they probably will suck. Without actually saying that. Since that’s mean spirited.
Boromir often felt that Faramir’s words were unheeded, and his ideas ignored. More than once he’d wondered if they could have one moment of peace between themselves, because their father always seemed to know just when to come and crush their little parties.
“I can count on one hand the number I’ve lost under my direct command.” The number had gone up when he’d risen in rank. Even with one star he’d had to send men into difficult situations and he couldn’t be there to lead them at the front of the pack which grated on him. “It’s paintball, do not let yourself be so morose.”
Honestly, the fact that Faramir just laughed was probably enough to raise the hackles on Denethor, wherever he was. Their father had some sort of radar that set him on destroy all the happy. He wasn't going to win any father of the year awards or anything, but Faramir admirably put up with it. At least externally, he did. Internally was sometimes a different matter. Regardless, Faramir considered it to be a family issue, and therefore one that was private and a fully bearable burden.
"Oh? That's confidence inspiring. So if there's six of us, then you might be the only one coming back," he joked, poking fun at himself as well. He did have a mildly morose streak now and then, but Boromir was very good at dragging him out of it.
Sometimes Boromir had words with his father. They never did anything more than piss the younger man off. Even with his own ambition he’d grown up constantly trying to showcase his brother’s abilities. But if Denethor noticed, he never said a thing. Or if he said a thing, it was to be critical, because apparently nothing Faramir did was ever good enough.
“No man left behind. Or woman I suppose.”
And at some point, Faramir had simply stopped bothering with it. He would rather Boromir didn't frustrate himself by trying to point those things out to Denethor. Being stubborn dictated that even trying to protest was going to be a fruitless effort, so Faramir simply let it be. At least being ignored for the most part meant that it was quiet when they were growing up. And quiet was always better than criticism.
In response to Boromir's last comment, Faramir gently attempted to make a slight correction, "Both genders are equally capable of being violent and dangerous. 'No one left behind' might be more fitting."
“I’ve seen my share of women in combat,” he reminded Faramir. “I’m not as backwards as you like to pretend I am. Anyone willing to lift a weapon in defense of our fine country is welcome to.” More than welcome to, really. Boromir had zero respect for people that liked to complain but weren’t willing to put their bodies where their mouths were.
"...I know," Faramir said with a sigh. "Sorry. But you might want to mind your wording? Or every female team member is going to shoot you when you tack on 'women', and then you'll get told off. And bellowing might happen. From you, not from them."
“What?! What’s wrong with saying ‘Men and Women?!’” Boromir opened his mouth, and the bellowing poured forth. “Don’t make me come off as some kind of asshole just because of my choice of words! I’ll use the words I want to use!”
And there was the bellowing. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together the moment the first WUT came bellowing out of Boromir's mouth. Once the protesting was over - using his best example of a library voice - Faramir attempted to reason, "It's might be viewed as somewhat separatist, when you add 'women' on as an afterthought. Followed by ‘I suppose’."
Boromir poked his brother in the chest once, then twice, then a third time. “That was not my intent.” Poke, poke poke.
"I know, but sometimes you aren’t careful before you say things. I don't want anyone to take offense where they shouldn't, and where I know you don’t intend it. That's why I pointed it out."
Speaking of pointing? Faramir looked down at the pokey finger poking his chest and then up at his brother's face. It was the 'really?' stare. Of the 'really? really really??' variety.
For emphasis, Boromir poked his brother once more, then retrieved his latte coffee. He made a big show of taking a long, American sip, and then let out a contented sigh.
Faramir's eyelids were sagging at half-mast during that last poke. He knew too well that it was part of Boromir's need to get the last word in, even though this was a case of getting the last gesture in. It was a good thing that the latte had been sitting there for so long, because if he tried to pull off that big, long American sip when it was immediately finished? He probably would have burned his mouth and then been cursing, unintelligibly.
Since it seemed as though Boromir felt better, Faramir suddenly asked, "Do you ever feel strange running as a conservatively minded independent, in an area that seems to be a bit.......odd?"
That was the nice way of saying that. Soon, he would be tempted to say it was bat shit insane, but that is neither here or now.
Real men don’t drink iced coffee.
“What do you mean? Orange County has always been more conservative than this god-forsaken state as a whole. It hasn’t changed that much,” Boromir replied, his brow furrowing as he looked at his brother over his cup.
They do if it's hot outside and they want coffee at the same time. No one in their right mind wants to drink hot coffee during a heatwave. That would be unreasonable.
"Maybe I meant," Faramir attempted to clarify, "not that your target demographic is wrong, but that the area seems a little off. There's been some instances that required staying indoors or public service warnings. I suppose I found the air quality warning somewhat disconcerting. It probably isn't a big deal."
Then, as an idea and a suggestion, "Maybe you can use that to your advantage, big brother? Talk about getting more federal funds allocated for disaster relief or environmental concerns."
Boromir was certainly in his right mind and coffee was meant to be drunk hot. He was a coffee purist that way. With his hazelnut creamer. Shut up.
Well if people hadn’t tried to defund volcano monitoring that wouldn’t be a problem.
“That’s not a bad idea. California pays a disproportionate amount into the federal government, and with the spate of disasters lately we certainly deserve something back!” And there it was. A clap on Faramir’s back that resounded through the starbucks. “You’re a genius!”
Lucky for Faramir, he had taken to guzzling down his coffee with the idea of ordering a second one. So when Boromir's hand met his back, he only had to fumble with a cup that was half full, instead of entirely full. He managed not to spill the precious contents or drop the cup.
"Well?" Faramir coughed out the word, trying to get his voice back in order again. "Thank you for the compliment. And that may work to your benefit? It does seem like this area is very active with those sorts of warnings and advisories, about weather or other things. Sometimes, I feel a little superstitious about it all. I suppose that I might think about it too much, or I've read too much fiction. I'm likely reading into something that really isn't there, or is being perceived out of worry or perhaps stress...."
He knew that he shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. It might sound crazy. Faramir realized he had let his voice trail off and smiled sheepishly at Boromir, finishing with, "Nevermind. Natural disasters happen all of the time, anyway. It's normal."
Boromir was already writing the letters he’d need to write in his head, so that he could bark them to his far too flirty sextratary. “You read too much, brother.” He said it good naturedly, and careful to keep any sting out of his voice.
"Yes, that’s true. I guess my imagination gets away from me, sometimes." Faramir took his brother’s response as a friendly confirmation, not as a condemnation born out of ridicule. He smiled and nodded, setting his worries aside for the time being. They had no place here and it was nothing more than a childhood filled full of fairy tales, prophecies, and myths. Tales that had no place or use in modern times.
He finished the rest of his coffee and was going to order another, before Boromir wanted to get going. It was best to stock up, so his blood to coffee ratio didn't become unbalanced.
“Your imagination was always an interesting thing. You’re so lucky father never caught you with that barbie,” Boromir said, teasingly. Perhaps one to go as well wasn’t a bad idea. With an appropriately secure lid!
"There is nothing wrong with having a barbie at that age," Faramir pointed out, because it's a healthy thing to let children expand and explore gender roles through toys. "I let her drive the tank. Even if she couldn't fit inside it, she could at least sit on top and yell out orders to the rest of the troops...even if some of them were smurfs and transformers."
And that is how Faramir played army.
"We did have some epic battles," Boromir admitted. "And you were doing so well until I unleashed my dinosaurs."
Faramir let out a long sigh as he ordered a triple shot mocha, to make sure his blood cells were floating on just the right amount of too much coffee.
"The dinosaurs were your trump card. I should have known to expect you would have something capable of mass damage up the sleeves of your superman t-shirt."
“Dear brother, never underestimate the velocisquad.” He grinned fondly, the memory one of his happier ones.
"Not after you killed Barbie and took out half of my smurfs," bemoaned Faramir, like that was a loss he never quite recovered from. In fact, he probably sat there for a good five minutes, trying to find the holes in his regiments that allowed that tragedy to transpire. "The transformers weathered the assault well enough to survive with some minor damage after I protested...but I still learned to fear the velocisquad after that."
“I never did have to bring in the T-Rex,” Boromir mused. He’d held Ol’ Rexie in reserve, in case Faramir managed to launch a counter assault. Safely hidden from view behind the couch fortress.
"I still had one counterattack left available, but I didn't want to waste them during an inopportune time." Faramir had some voltron lions behind the china cabinet, but he didn't have the full set and didn't want to reveal their presence too soon, either. "I like chess, but it was honestly a lot funner when we had everything arranged by rank and file, not to mention specialized forces."
Playing war was serious business when they were younger. Very. Serious. Business.
“Remember the charge of the ponies?” Boromir asked. He’d stolen some toy ponies from the neighboring girl and repainted them into apocalyptic nightmares, armored and with Gi-Joes riding them.
"How could I forget?" They were as impressive as the GI Joe ninjas he had repainted to match the curtains, and tied them up there so they blended in perfectly. Only they were apocalyptic nightmares, so Faramir had to grudgingly admit that they were more artistic to inspire fear, and also that Boromir had made good use of all the GI Joes at his disposal, rather than just the sneaky ones. "They managed to crash through my pickupsticks barricade. I spent a lot of time on that, too."
“I lost half the ponies,” he admitted. “and three quarters of my infantry. It taught me a valuable lesson in appropriate use of resources.” And when to throw men into bad situations.
"I warned you about the barricade after you hit it and the tar and pitch-filled ditches that my soldiers could light on fire," Faramir said, sympathetically. He did feel bad, because all the effort Boromir had put into something actually artistic, even if it was gruesome to behold. "You had really nice ambience though, especially with the fanfare. And I'll remind you, that I still lost a lot of my spear men in the rush."
“That fire was brilliant,” Boromir said, wistfully. “Even if it did set off the fire alarms.”
"I knew I shouldn't have substituted some of the more flammable cleansers from the maid's supplies," Faramir said, with equal wistfulness. That was one perfectly good oriental rug, ruined. "After the battle the day before, you left me no choice. I was running out of options."
“We were grounded for a month. It was a cold war after that point,” he replied. “With guerrilla attacks in the night. But that last battle, the one we settled in the pool between our fleets….”
"Is that the one where we sunk eachother's battleships?" Faramir asked, with a squint as he tried to recall the outcome of that one, particular battle. “I think you sunk mine first, and so the victory was yours.”
“Yet you managed to ram your little submersible into mine and sink them both!” He sounded proud of that. He hadn’t even known Faramir had snuck the sub into the pool!
"That's right," replied Faramir, with a sudden grin. "I remember that, now. You still had the better boats and you were a little angry at first. Then you helped me get the sub back, because that was the deep end of the pool. I wasn't really supposed to be over on that side."
“I very nearly drowned!” Boromir let out a great laugh, startling a nearby patron.
"I wanted to use the pool net," he pointed out, at a much more reasonable volume. "You said you didn't need it."
“I didn’t! I said I nearly drowned, not that I drowned!” Boromir boomed, startling a second patron to his left.
It was probably a good idea to leave, since they had their second drinks in hand. Faramir didn't shush his brother, only started to move toward the exit while talking. It was like he was leading an angry bull back to the pasture it belonged in, which was outside.
"I know, you didn't," Faramir confirmed, somehow without sounding patronizing about it. "And a good thing you didn't, because think of how much trouble would have happened if you had."
“Father would have blamed you.” Boromir made a face. It was a nasty, annoyed looking face. He folded his arms stubbornly as he was led outside.
"That isn't out of the norm and you know it," was the all too knowing reply. Faramir took a sip off his coffee and then sighed, contentedly. There was also an undercurrent of sadness to it, as well. One which he meant to divert attention from by saying, "Have you ever gone on that social network for Orange County? That might be another way to up your visibility."
Sure, it might be dangerous letting Boromir on a social network. It also might be brilliant for publicity and to get in touch with potential voters. A more personal touch, compared to always having everything prepared beforehand. Faramir thought that his brother was a good person and others would see it was true too.
“I try to avoid social networking after that disaster with the twitters,” Boromir replied, shaking his head. It was best to avoid such nonsense and let the younger set handle those strange and annoying things.
"I think it's Twitter. In the singular form, not the plural one. Look, Boromir? You can't avoid it forever, when your opponents use it to your advantage. It would be a strategic mistake not to use something that's free and at your disposal." Faramir smiled over at his brother. "It's also good practice for live debates, if you have to mind what you say before you say it. I can monitor what's going on and give you pointers in private to help, if things start to go really, really poorly."
Otherwise, he wouldn't step in. He felt Boromir was capable on his own anyway, and didn't require any guidance. He would help if need arose and was fine with sitting back and letting Boromir soak up the limelight, where he belonged.
The problem with the Twitters was it was too easy to say things quickly, just like in person. “I DON’T NEED DEBATE HELP! It’s what I’m best at and I certainly need no practice!” He jutted his jaw out.
"Like anything else, it's practice that keeps one's skills sharp," Faramir explained, his tone mild despite his brother's temper ramping up a notch. "At least think it over some more, before hastily saying no."
Boromir’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll consider it then.”
"That's all one can ask, is that you consider it. Is there anywhere else you would like to go?"
“I’ve dawdled enough. I should get back to work,” he replied, still looking like he’d swallowed a lemon.
Faramir tried not to laugh. He was successful. It took a stiff upper lip and a clenched jaw, but he was successful.
"Yes, we shouldn't waste any more time," he finally told his brother, fully serious sounding. "If you need any further help, I'm offering. Otherwise, I'll go home and start sorting through this week's course planning."
“I’ll ask you if I need something,” Boromir said through gritted teeth. His wall of patience had collapsed.
"Don't be angry," Faramir whispered, looking apologetic. "I only thought I'd offer. I know you're capable of handling it all on your own? Even so, I'm happy to help shoulder some of the burden, if I'm able to."
Some of the edge came off and Boromir clapped his arm around his brother. “All right. I am being ungrateful, tis wrong of me.”
"Tisn't." Faramir smiled again, at ease. "You always watched too many movies with knights in them. It's becoming permanently ingrained into you. I suppose that's fair, since my own head is full of stories that are nonsensical and outdated."
“Nonsensical describes you to a tee,” Boromir said. “And I love that about you.”
Without protesting that description, Faramir patted one hand on his big brother's back and said, "And I love you. In fact, I always feel very lucky to have such a noble and protective older brother like you. However, if we keep up the warm sentiments in public, people might suspect we really love one another and turn it into a news story."
Faramir might find that funny even if he very much had to set that story straight (pun intended). Boromir might not find it amusing, however.
“The Onion ran an article on that once,” Boromir reminded him. “Lets not give them any more ideas.”
Faramir had a blank expression on his face, like he hadn't been aware of that article, even on something like The Onion.
"Why didn't you tell me, before now?" he asked, but he wasn't the least bit angry. Only surprised.
“I didn’t think it was relevant and you once told me not to give them the air they need to bluster.” Though Faramir might have been talking about Boromir having too much air to bluster, then. Boromir of course didn’t think so.
"I didn't mean you should deprive them entirely of air?" It was said with a laugh, because Faramir did remember his words all too well. He knew that, in his family's line of work, news agencies and outlets could be used in constructive ways. It wasn't all doom and gloom, and negative publicity. "The Onion isn't meant to be taken seriously, as it is. You're right, in that capacity. Blatantly irrelevant."
"Keep an eye out brother. Perhaps one day there'll be an article we can use to make my opponents look like buffoons." More likely the Republican. Boromir had to bleed votes from both sides. Thread the needle.
He hated sewing.
Had Faramir known that his brother was thinking of threading needles and how much he hated sewing, he would have imagined Boromir not having the patience for it and stabbing a piece of cloth repeatedly with a needle that wouldn't stay threaded, before throwing it down and announcing that sewing was idiotic and only idiots did it and he was not an idiot. So there.
He did not know this. Instead, he nodded in agreement. "I'll watch and see if there's anything, since some still follow the ideology that any publicity is good publicity, even if it is of the bad variety."
That was exactly how it happened every time he'd had to sew his socks while out in the field. "I knew hiring you on was a good idea." Not that he paid him.
It wasn't hard to imagine. And Faramir wasn't hurting for money. He did alright for himself. He probably would be thrown whatever else Boromir didn't get in a will, but he wasn't concerned about that either. In his mind, one shouldn't have to pay their own family, for their help.
Faramir merely smiled and shrugged a little, saying, "With any luck, you won't come to regret that decision. I won't give anyone any excuse for that to happen, though."