contact.

[bouchonne]

crystal my shit up here

Comments

[heirring]

[Her hand stings from the strike. She turns her face from him, glaring hard at the smithy's great kiln burning orange and hastily scrubbing her eyes with her other hand.]

No. I don't think so.

[bouchonne]

Then why did you?

[heirring]

It doesn't matter.

[She shakes out her hands. Reaches up and begins to repin her hair.]

[bouchonne]

You cannot say unkind things about how little I care for your opinions and then refuse to give your opinions. It's quite unfair.

[heirring]

[She looks back to him then, expression flattening. All the red has drained away, and she drops her hands from her hair.]

No. I didn't enjoy it.

[It's like selecting an answer at random from out of a hat.]

[bouchonne]

Then why did you do it?

[heirring]

[A moment's muteness suggests she doesn't have an answer. Not one that satisfies, anyway.]

You weren't listening. It seemed like the best way to get your attention.

[bouchonne]

I was listening.

[heirring]

Then-- [Then what?] Then you do a poor job of demonstrating it.

[bouchonne]

Perhaps you've done a poor job of speaking.

[heirring]

Naturally. I'm not surprised to hear it.

[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head, and brushes his hair from his eyes, and actually allows himself to admit: ]

Miss Poppell, I do not understand what is going through your head right now.

[heirring]

[Which is it's own kind of infuriating, stinging under the skin. The answer can't be that she doesn't either. It would be unforgivable. She lapses into lame silence again, a wheel finding a rut, and grinds along in it for some seconds. At last:]

I don't appreciate being treated like a pincushion. Or like I am being silly any time I try to show you even the smallest kindness.

[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head, eyebrows drawing together. But at least they're getting somewhere. ]

Perhaps that is the trouble, dear girl. I haven't been treating you as a pincushion. Maker preserve me, you know when I'm insulting you. Honestly, I believe I'm offended, that you think that I'd be so mild while causing offense.

[heirring]

If you know that I know then-- [what a nightmare of a verbal hoop to clamber through. She starts over, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Would that the ground just open up beneath her.] If you can tell so easily when I'm insulted, then why in god's name keep digging? If you know that I'm not as quick, then it is very cruel to-- to leverage that and then pretend I'm being-- sensitive. Or that I am reacting in any way that is unexpected.

[bouchonne]

Whoever said you weren't quick?

[heirring]

[If there's a question she was ready for, it isn't that one. It draws her up short. Then has her frowning harder, pink finding her face.]

--And that. That's infuriating. How you pluck out the most obvious part of whatever I say and act like you're seeing the sky for the first time.

[bouchonne]

[ An eyebrow arches. ]

And what is so offensive about that?

[heirring]

[She balks. The cross of her arms somehow constricts tighter about her. This is a stupid thing to be discussing. It was foolishness itself to say anything at all - to bring him here, to confess anything. How will this next be levered against her? No one here cares for any part of you; he'd made that much crystal clear. If you are to survive, you must make yourself very useful and be whip smart and agile.

You are a viper, Miss Poppell.

It doesn't sound like something she wants to be.

I wouldn't worry about being perceived as too ambitious, someone had once told her. You would have to catch up with anyone else first for it to matter.]

Because it is designed to make me question what I've just said. As if whatever it was wasn't quite right. If there is something in particular you want said, you should be clear with your correction.

[bouchonne]

[ He's silent a moment, studying her - eyebrow still pointedly arched - perfectly inscrutable. Finally, slowly, he lets a breath out through his nose. ]

Must everything - [ He asks with the barest hint of exasperation - ] have some meaning? Am I never permitted to say something merely because I am amused by saying it, and from the hope that you might be amused as well?

[heirring]

[She studies him right back, expression pinched and as guarded as is possible while simultaneously all but shrieking 'On Guard.' A beat, in which she clearly expects-- something. Then, when whatever it is doesn't simply magically coalesce:]

It isn't like that. It's never to amuse, it's always to say something about how half witted or useless or foul tempered I am.

[She sounds like a petulant child, she thinks. Something about the thought makes her sharpen harder, the cooling irritation and frustration going immediately jagged again. Why is she just standing here? Be done with it, you silly girl.

Wysteria uncrosses her arms with a jerk.]

It's too warm in here.

[bouchonne]

[ He waves aside that transparent request to be excused. ]

I have never called you half-witted or useless. [ No comment on foul-tempered. ] I am a famous wit, Miss Poppell. It is only the witless that insult someone by claiming something untrue.

[heirring]

Oh, really Mr Rutyer. What do you take me for? Either I know when you are insulting me or I do not. It cannot be both. --And whichever it is, it is of no consequence to me.

[She begins to move away then, veering for the doorway. Let him stay here and sweat through his shirt if he likes.]

[bouchonne]

And either I am as soft and secretly nurturing as you accused me of being earlier, or I am a beast of a man. I cannot be both.

[ He ought to just let her stumble away. He oughtn't go after her. Yet he finds himself pushing off the edge of the table and walking after her. ]

[heirring]

I didn't-- [she does not round on him] I said you were practical. You can be that and a beast quite easily.