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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
[ To an outsider it might look like Bastien has a sixth sense for when Byerly's had a rough day or three, the way he shows up now with his cello, snacks, and a steaming mug of something to share. But actually it is just that he does this frequently. Doing it tonight is even intended selfishly: the weather has been gray and miserable, the sort that normally threatens to make him feel weighed down by everything, and this will cheer him up.
So the particular angles and expressions he observes in Byerly when he slips through the door were not, in fact, expected. But he doesn't pause. He only locks the door behind him when he might otherwise have left it open—who wouldn't want to hear them play, or perhaps even come in to say hello and maybe join in—and approaches with less determinedly cheerful breeziness than he might have otherwise. ]
Bonsoir, mon étoile.
[ The snacks he's brought are a plate of various cheese cuts and crusty bread carried in from a Fereldan establishment in Lowtown. Despite his best attempts at shielding them, the downpour of rain outside has left them a little damp on top. He sets the plate on the desk, and he entertains a two-second fantasy of setting it on fire. ]
So the particular angles and expressions he observes in Byerly when he slips through the door were not, in fact, expected. But he doesn't pause. He only locks the door behind him when he might otherwise have left it open—who wouldn't want to hear them play, or perhaps even come in to say hello and maybe join in—and approaches with less determinedly cheerful breeziness than he might have otherwise. ]
Bonsoir, mon étoile.
[ The snacks he's brought are a plate of various cheese cuts and crusty bread carried in from a Fereldan establishment in Lowtown. Despite his best attempts at shielding them, the downpour of rain outside has left them a little damp on top. He sets the plate on the desk, and he entertains a two-second fantasy of setting it on fire. ]
The Ambassador, most days, enters whistling. Even when things are bad, he walks into the office with an obvious (feigned?) joie de vivre, projecting some sort of ultimate confidence in all circumstances, greeting people with self-assured cheer.
Not today, though. Perhaps it's because something has happened, or perhaps it is because Byerly thinks he's alone, having not searched the room thoroughly enough. Today, he comes in with a smile that drops away almost immediately, giving way to a hand dragged through his hair, and eyes pressed shut. He closes the door behind him, leans against it a moment, the muscles in his jaw flexing -
And then he goes to the liquor cabinet. He strides towards it in a great burst, but slows as he draws near, steps progressively getting shorter, his manner getting more hesitant. When he reaches it, he lays a hand atop it and stands there several long moments, like he's having some conversation with it. Then his hand goes and opens it, and he reaches down slowly to pull out a decanter -
And then maybe Josias makes some sound, or maybe it's simply that some half-glimpsed thing twigs something in his mind. He shoves the decanter back and turns around and sees Josias, and then he curses outright, and then he stares, and then he smooths down his mustache.
"You," he says, "scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?"
Not today, though. Perhaps it's because something has happened, or perhaps it is because Byerly thinks he's alone, having not searched the room thoroughly enough. Today, he comes in with a smile that drops away almost immediately, giving way to a hand dragged through his hair, and eyes pressed shut. He closes the door behind him, leans against it a moment, the muscles in his jaw flexing -
And then he goes to the liquor cabinet. He strides towards it in a great burst, but slows as he draws near, steps progressively getting shorter, his manner getting more hesitant. When he reaches it, he lays a hand atop it and stands there several long moments, like he's having some conversation with it. Then his hand goes and opens it, and he reaches down slowly to pull out a decanter -
And then maybe Josias makes some sound, or maybe it's simply that some half-glimpsed thing twigs something in his mind. He shoves the decanter back and turns around and sees Josias, and then he curses outright, and then he stares, and then he smooths down his mustache.
"You," he says, "scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?"
Bonsoir, mon ciel.
[ It's not hard to see that Byerly is having a miserable time of it. The kindness of that cheese and bread doesn't make him smile, as it normally would; instead it makes him press his eyes shut and breathe out slowly. Sometimes a caress hurts when your skin is raw, after all. ]
If it is not inappropriate, my dear Bastien, and you do not hate the idea, may I lay my head in your lap and have you stroke my hair?
[ The formality is a joke, of course, but it's a joke delivered in a distant sort of voice. ]
[ It's not hard to see that Byerly is having a miserable time of it. The kindness of that cheese and bread doesn't make him smile, as it normally would; instead it makes him press his eyes shut and breathe out slowly. Sometimes a caress hurts when your skin is raw, after all. ]
If it is not inappropriate, my dear Bastien, and you do not hate the idea, may I lay my head in your lap and have you stroke my hair?
[ The formality is a joke, of course, but it's a joke delivered in a distant sort of voice. ]
[ It's not his immediate instinct to joke back, when By looks so miserable. His immediate instinct—indulged in—is to touch him, a hand grazing over his shoulder and up to give his ear lobe a little tug.
But for the sake of not jostling him about too much with affection, when he sounds like that, Bastien musters up an equally formal, ]
I suppose, if it stays between us, and if I can clear my schedule—
[ A long pause. ]
—ah. Cleared. D'accord.
[ He holds a hand out to pull him up and lead him. The bed in the adjacent room is now an option, and maybe better suited to By's long legs, but he chooses the couch all the same. It's where By kissed him, the first time he was the one to start it. Where he said of course I love you. The desk he might light on fire someday, but Bastien's very fond of the couch. ]
But for the sake of not jostling him about too much with affection, when he sounds like that, Bastien musters up an equally formal, ]
I suppose, if it stays between us, and if I can clear my schedule—
[ A long pause. ]
—ah. Cleared. D'accord.
[ He holds a hand out to pull him up and lead him. The bed in the adjacent room is now an option, and maybe better suited to By's long legs, but he chooses the couch all the same. It's where By kissed him, the first time he was the one to start it. Where he said of course I love you. The desk he might light on fire someday, but Bastien's very fond of the couch. ]
[ He settles down with a rather doggish sigh, snuggling his head into that beloved lap, dangling his knees over the arm of the couch. One hand comes up to stroke at Bastien's arm. Once he's situated, he murmurs: ]
My thanks for your prompt response.
[ Then: ]
I hate these people, Bastien.
My thanks for your prompt response.
[ Then: ]
I hate these people, Bastien.
[ The sigh, the snuggling, the dangling legs, the arm-petting, and the joking formality all prompt a subdued little smile. Precious even when he's miserable. ]
All of them?
[ Clearly not. It's only a prompt, as Bastien sets into the serious business of stroking his hair. ]
All of them?
[ Clearly not. It's only a prompt, as Bastien sets into the serious business of stroking his hair. ]
I still don't really know.
[ Eyes closed, By smiles bitterly. ]
She hates the way I talk. Apparently. Everything I say causes her pain. We were just talking about work, and - that apparently was agonizing for her. So she shut off her crystal rather than hear me speak any longer.
[ Eyes closed, By smiles bitterly. ]
She hates the way I talk. Apparently. Everything I say causes her pain. We were just talking about work, and - that apparently was agonizing for her. So she shut off her crystal rather than hear me speak any longer.
[ Bastien does not know Gwenäelle very well, but he admires her work ethic, and he took an interest in the fact that she did seem to like Byerly and be a friend to him when those can be few. One good enough to spend a great deal of time on his Satinalia gift and to include Bastien to some extent as well. With a few seconds' thought he might see the pattern in her tendency to be a bit of an asshole—her actual opinions, unvarnished, all the time—and understand how she might struggle with By's very different sort of thing.
But first, out of instinctive defense of the person in this equation who he loves, he says: ]
That is awfully sensitive for someone who can be so fucking rude.
But first, out of instinctive defense of the person in this equation who he loves, he says: ]
That is awfully sensitive for someone who can be so fucking rude.
[ Byerly lets out a sharper breath - not a laugh, but something adjacent. He's too unhappy to laugh - tears are forming in the corners of his eyes even as he gives that not-a-laugh - but still, there's that grateful huff of air. ]
I suppose that was - also something like what I was thinking. She's so sharp-tongued. And we've spoken with each other, and shared hard honesty, that this - I was just shooting my mouth off, and suddenly she's saying that every word of mine hurts her.
I suppose that was - also something like what I was thinking. She's so sharp-tongued. And we've spoken with each other, and shared hard honesty, that this - I was just shooting my mouth off, and suddenly she's saying that every word of mine hurts her.
[yes, that is a bit obvious, isn't it.
With a distracted air, like he's looking intently at something while whispering hurriedly to Byerly:]
I... someone came with me to my room, and I thought-- I thought he wanted, [well you know] but he um, didn't, and I noticed almost too late, and he's,
[a heavy pause. Then, faintly,]
...well I think he's dead,
With a distracted air, like he's looking intently at something while whispering hurriedly to Byerly:]
I... someone came with me to my room, and I thought-- I thought he wanted, [well you know] but he um, didn't, and I noticed almost too late, and he's,
[a heavy pause. Then, faintly,]
...well I think he's dead,
I’m not sure, [in a breathless whisper,] I think it’s just me.
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