![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
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
[There's a familiar face in the dance hall, although it doesn't make itself known until Byerly has been there for some time. When it does, he'll abruptly find himself with an elf at his elbow, made up for the evening (not stage made up) and clearly out doing some dancing herself.]
Ambassadeur, [Fifi greets over the din, with an amiable wiggle of her fingers.]
Ambassadeur, [Fifi greets over the din, with an amiable wiggle of her fingers.]
[ This is an unexpected face, but certainly not an unwelcome one. This is someone who is friendly to him, but who knows nothing of all that's going on and won't look at him with sympathy and care. (Well. Perhaps she doesn't know of it. He wouldn't be altogether shocked to hear that she actually had caught wind; those ears of hers are sharp in more ways than one.) He can hardly think of a more delightful companion, assuming that she's amenable to the idea. ]
Mademoiselle Mariette. [ He steps back enough that he can bow to her, an elegant gesture, his hand to his heart. Then he straightens, and holds out that hand: ] Would you care to dance?
Mademoiselle Mariette. [ He steps back enough that he can bow to her, an elegant gesture, his hand to his heart. Then he straightens, and holds out that hand: ] Would you care to dance?
[In clear appreciation of the gesture, Fifi curtsies deeply and inclines her head in a nod before stepping forward to take his hand.]
It would be my pleasure, Messere, [she says, her lips quirked in a smile despite the overly formal exchange.]
It would be my pleasure, Messere, [she says, her lips quirked in a smile despite the overly formal exchange.]
To follow, [she answers simply, and does so: the dance is a lively one, preventing any real conversation until its completion.
As they step away, she tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, smiling breathlessly.]
It’s Madame, actually, [she says after a moment, without rancor, as she makes her way toward the bar.] I was married, for a time.
As they step away, she tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, smiling breathlessly.]
It’s Madame, actually, [she says after a moment, without rancor, as she makes her way toward the bar.] I was married, for a time.
Merci. [She smiles sincerely, but there’s a hesitance to it as they take their drinks.]
Empress Celene, [she says drily,] or Duke Gaspard. Or both, depending on how you look at it.
[A table opens up, and she slips into one of the chairs, holding the other for Byerly.]
My husband was killed in the War of the Lions. Conscripted, [she adds gently,] he was no soldier. An accountant.
Empress Celene, [she says drily,] or Duke Gaspard. Or both, depending on how you look at it.
[A table opens up, and she slips into one of the chairs, holding the other for Byerly.]
My husband was killed in the War of the Lions. Conscripted, [she adds gently,] he was no soldier. An accountant.
[She sips at her wine.]
A few years, though he courted me for longer.
[A fond smile crosses her features, though she drops her gaze, limiting the view of what might be going on behind her eyes.]
Madame Fournier died with him, I'm afraid. His family never acknowledged me.
[She blinks, her glance briefly fluttering back to Byerly,]
Humans. [you know how it goes.]
A few years, though he courted me for longer.
[A fond smile crosses her features, though she drops her gaze, limiting the view of what might be going on behind her eyes.]
Madame Fournier died with him, I'm afraid. His family never acknowledged me.
[She blinks, her glance briefly fluttering back to Byerly,]
Humans. [you know how it goes.]
Oui.
[She traces the rim of her wine glass with her finger.]
My Jacques. There are so few people in this world who you can look at, and you can say... this one is good. He had a good heart. I have never known anyone like him.
[Her brow creases faintly, betraying the briefest flash of pain.]
He had no business going to war.
[She traces the rim of her wine glass with her finger.]
My Jacques. There are so few people in this world who you can look at, and you can say... this one is good. He had a good heart. I have never known anyone like him.
[Her brow creases faintly, betraying the briefest flash of pain.]
He had no business going to war.
Edited 2023-03-26 03:39 (UTC)
[ Byerly thinks of that dream they all had - the dream of a miserable future. He thinks of Bastien, dead for many years in that reality. He remembers the pain having been sharp, even years later. ]
And all because powerful people saw men as no more than toy soldiers to play with and crush. I am sorry, Madame Fournier.
And all because powerful people saw men as no more than toy soldiers to play with and crush. I am sorry, Madame Fournier.
[She looks faintly surprised to be called that, even if it was she who just disclosed the title's significance. The smile returns to her face, softer.]
So it goes, [she replies, shrugging one shoulder, the mask of stillness returning.]
Shall we dance again?
So it goes, [she replies, shrugging one shoulder, the mask of stillness returning.]
Shall we dance again?
Edited 2023-03-26 21:20 (UTC)
Of course.
[ He holds out his hand to her. When she takes it, he'll lead her once again to the dance floor - this one a slightly more sedate sort of waltz. One of the moves for more daring pairs is for one partner to lift the other high in the air - he considers Fifi (quite small and light), but then thinks of himself, and decides: he'd throw his back out. So he sticks to the saner, both-feet-on-the-floor approach, and leaves the acrobatics to the young ones. ]
[ He holds out his hand to her. When she takes it, he'll lead her once again to the dance floor - this one a slightly more sedate sort of waltz. One of the moves for more daring pairs is for one partner to lift the other high in the air - he considers Fifi (quite small and light), but then thinks of himself, and decides: he'd throw his back out. So he sticks to the saner, both-feet-on-the-floor approach, and leaves the acrobatics to the young ones. ]
[Following his gaze, Fifi’s smile is playful, her quiet urging equally so:]
Try it. All the hard work is mine.
[Rather than give him the chance to say no, she positions herself, guiding his arms.]
Besides, I trust you. You haven’t had a drop to drink.
[Her glance back at him offers the most fleeting of winks— of course she knows, she’s the one who straightens his bottles.]
Try it. All the hard work is mine.
[Rather than give him the chance to say no, she positions herself, guiding his arms.]
Besides, I trust you. You haven’t had a drop to drink.
[Her glance back at him offers the most fleeting of winks— of course she knows, she’s the one who straightens his bottles.]
Trust me, [is chided with a giggle, and she gives a little jump right on cue.
True to what she said, Fifi holds herself aloft and executes the flourish herself with trained elegance, relying on Byerly only as a flag relies on its pole.
When she lands and returns to the waltzing position, she raises her eyebrows at him. See?]
True to what she said, Fifi holds herself aloft and executes the flourish herself with trained elegance, relying on Byerly only as a flag relies on its pole.
When she lands and returns to the waltzing position, she raises her eyebrows at him. See?]
"Oh, no," he replies swiftly, with a shake of his head. "It's better here." Simple, delivered as though it's the most reasonable and complete argument against Byerly's other suggestions available. Incontestable. "And you're still working too, yes?"
Earnestly, looking at Byerly expectantly. That's why he was here, of course. Not for any other matter, such as the aborted attempt on the liquor cabinet, or a need for solitude.
Earnestly, looking at Byerly expectantly. That's why he was here, of course. Not for any other matter, such as the aborted attempt on the liquor cabinet, or a need for solitude.
[ The thought of everyone in wimples earns a grin—not a laugh, because Bastien's not quite that relaxed yet. When they're alone, he'll tell Byerly more about how he met Yseult: the chaos and harm that he was trying to cause, for a few hundred pieces of gold, and that she was trying to stop. Whoever she works or has worked for, he's as confident as an Orlesian can ever be that it's no one who would want Corypheus to win, and he's never seen any evidence she has any goal other than that.
Of course, Fitcher slipped through. And Gideon.
The grin reduces to a more serious smile. ]
If you're prepared to follow through on it.
[ If you mean it, he might have said, if he were not Orlesian and/or a bard. But those are two different things, and only one of them actually matters. ]
Of course, Fitcher slipped through. And Gideon.
The grin reduces to a more serious smile. ]
If you're prepared to follow through on it.
[ If you mean it, he might have said, if he were not Orlesian and/or a bard. But those are two different things, and only one of them actually matters. ]
What can he say to that? No, fuck off, I'm here to get away from the pieces of shit who cling to my feet - But in addition to being witless and nasty, di Jaconissa simply doesn't deserve that. He's a sweet and earnest lad; snapping at him would feel akin to smacking a puppy.
So he tries to let his fury and misery go. "Yes," he replies. "Of course." This at least sounds a bit less miserable as he reassembles the pieces of his mask and pulls himself together. "But just because I work too much doesn't mean that you should do the same."
And he crosses over to his desk, and he sits, and he unlocks the top drawer and pulls out some of his outstanding correspondence.
So he tries to let his fury and misery go. "Yes," he replies. "Of course." This at least sounds a bit less miserable as he reassembles the pieces of his mask and pulls himself together. "But just because I work too much doesn't mean that you should do the same."
And he crosses over to his desk, and he sits, and he unlocks the top drawer and pulls out some of his outstanding correspondence.
Good, [Benedict remarks primly, regarding looking like a witch, but he carefully withholds any commentary about the apology. He had suggested it in the first place, but leaning too hard on it would be an odd look, considering who he is.]
[ For a few seconds Bastien has no counter to that—after every awful thing he's done to keep his own, to not be someone who scrapes shit off of anyone's boots for a living, he can hardly say it doesn't matter. ]
You have a lot of things you should be proud of.
[ But isn't, always, the way Bastien thinks he ought to be. Losing one of the few things he is proud of would be a shame. ]
And you can handle this in a way that you can be proud of later. Don't scramble. Keep your head. Listen to people when they talk, don't move too quickly to answer. If you're impatient or you want to show your misery, [ whether through tears or pettiness, ] save it and bring it to me afterwards. They see less of you than I do, but you can make sure what they do see is dignified.
You have a lot of things you should be proud of.
[ But isn't, always, the way Bastien thinks he ought to be. Losing one of the few things he is proud of would be a shame. ]
And you can handle this in a way that you can be proud of later. Don't scramble. Keep your head. Listen to people when they talk, don't move too quickly to answer. If you're impatient or you want to show your misery, [ whether through tears or pettiness, ] save it and bring it to me afterwards. They see less of you than I do, but you can make sure what they do see is dignified.
[ Bastien is still for a moment—the absence of any other demonstration of a little swell of frustration—before he swirls his water and takes a drink. ]
Suppose they do not want their boots licked.
[ A little faith. ]
Suppose they want to know they can count on you not to provoke people during meetings just because you have gotten bored with the topic.
Suppose they do not want their boots licked.
[ A little faith. ]
Suppose they want to know they can count on you not to provoke people during meetings just because you have gotten bored with the topic.
Page 146 of 170
- «
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- 138
- 139
- 140
- 141
- 142
- 143
- 144
- 145
- 146
- 147
- 148
- 149
- 150
- 151
- 152
- 153
- 154
- 155
- 156
- 157
- 158
- 159
- 160
- 161
- 162
- 163
- 164
- 165
- 166
- 167
- 168
- 169
- 170
- »
Page 146 of 170