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contact part deux
if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message
Good behavior has earned him certain privileges. The right to leave the Gallows if he's dosed with magebane, for example. Plus, there is honestly only so long one can give a shit about this sort of thing, no?
[ A shrug. ]
I don't understand why up here in the North, they imprison people for so long, as though that'd make a bit of difference. Just chop off a fellow's hand and be done with it, eh?
[ A shrug. ]
I don't understand why up here in the North, they imprison people for so long, as though that'd make a bit of difference. Just chop off a fellow's hand and be done with it, eh?
You have been my dearest friend for two years, nearly, darling. And you're my husband. Don't you like to be special?
[ It’s novel, to have the warmth and satisfaction of being flirted with, without the undercurrent of uncertainty. Wondering had its charms, of course. The gamble of it. The dizzying little maybes. Knowing is quiet and sturdy. Odd, to feel like he could lean his weight into something and it might hold.
So Bastien’s smile is subdued and unfocused, when he nudges his cheek back against By’s toes. It makes sense, really, given all the other contradictions—Fereldan and Orlesian, noble and downtrodden, silly dirty playful humor from a mouth that belongs to a haughty portrait over a grand fireplace, his black moods and his self-loathing and his lies and his sweet, earnest, honest heart—that Byerly could put his smelly foot on a man’s face and make him feel treasured. ]
Well, [ Bastien says once he’s had a moment to deal with that, face sharpening with mischief while he slides his hand down Byerly’s leg— ] some trouble, I hope.
So Bastien’s smile is subdued and unfocused, when he nudges his cheek back against By’s toes. It makes sense, really, given all the other contradictions—Fereldan and Orlesian, noble and downtrodden, silly dirty playful humor from a mouth that belongs to a haughty portrait over a grand fireplace, his black moods and his self-loathing and his lies and his sweet, earnest, honest heart—that Byerly could put his smelly foot on a man’s face and make him feel treasured. ]
Well, [ Bastien says once he’s had a moment to deal with that, face sharpening with mischief while he slides his hand down Byerly’s leg— ] some trouble, I hope.
And I love you as well. Quite dearly, I'm afraid.
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Page 10 of 170