contact part deux

[bouchonne]

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

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[bouchonne]

Why, I lead a very high-risk lifestyle, you know.

[bouchonne]

So stubborn.

[ It's not a lament, or a criticism. If anything, he says it with a little curl of his lip. But he answers, truly enough: ]

I'd been hit in the head, and so I was being taken away to convalesce when the caravan was attacked. A dracolisk - have you ever seen those things? Nasty creatures - came at us. Tore into me.

[ He runs his fingers meditatively over the ragged old wound just above his hip. What isn't said, of course, is that he'd taken that wound after he'd pushed Gwenaelle aside. That sounds, after all, like heroism, and boasting of that is such a vile thought that it might turn a man's stomach. ]

A very disadvantageous scar. No scar is advantageous, of course, because people will so often ask. But you can't pass this one off to a scuffle over gambling debts. Perhaps I might say that a dog attacked me while I was fleeing from some paramour's jealous husband. [ A smile, a shrug - ] What do you say, when people ask about yours?

[cozen]

[ Bastien serenely smiles and nods at stubborn, and at the explanation, he touches his hand to his own body beneath the water, fingers hooked, approximating Byerly’s scar. Imagining it—the smell, the chaos, the terror. Then being told it was very attractive of him to have gone through it.

He sounds somewhat absent when he answers, ]

That I tripped in the way of someone else’s fight, usually.

[ His focus resharpens and he smiles. ]

Or that I was trying to stop it, if I wanted to sound a little less incompetent.

[bouchonne]

Have you told anyone else the truth?

[ He wants the answer to be yes, and he wants the answer to be no. He has no idea which desire is stronger. ]

[altusimperius]

Risk of being punched, maybe, but executed?

[He is verging on actually concerned.]

[bouchonne]

[ Ah. Byerly holds up a hand - ]

Not because of anything I do in this line of work, lad. Don't worry. You're not at any higher risk than anyone else in Riftwatch.

[altusimperius]

No, it’s—

[Not that that wasn’t a concern, he’s hardly turned the corner to full altruist. How boring that would be.
But Byerly’s phrasing gives him pause.]

...you have another line of work?

[bouchonne]

You think I was able to stay at the cutting edge of fashion without one?

[ His smile is wry and crooked. Well, why the hell not? It's a day for honesty with the boy, it seems. ]

I'm a spy for the Fereldan government. Duties somewhat lightened right now, given the demands of my current role, but still active. I came to Riftwatch to report on them and their movements for the Queen. And before you ask, yes, there is a detailed set of notes on you sitting in an office in Denerim.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict opens his mouth.

He closes it again.

He looks away, staring into the middle distance for a good long moment, and then, having reached some kind of conclusion, looks back.]

...do the other division heads know?

[cozen]

Ines. [ Readily. ] She had to come haul my bleeding ass out of the hedges.

[ Less readily—not because he doesn’t want to admit it to Byerly, specifically, but because he’s always said the name rarely to anyone, every mention a dart between safe hiding places— ]

And Vincent.

[bouchonne]

Of course.

[ An easy shrug, as if the question were more along the lines of do they know that you have an allergy to nuts rather than do they know you're a spy. ]

But it's not a widely-known fact outside that circle. I know that you're likely talking about me day and night, so I wouldn't blame you if you were itching to tell this news to others, but keep it relatively contained.

[ Then, less broadly: ]

You see, perhaps, why I have a certain sympathy towards those with a complicated relationship with their homeland. [ Such as, for example, good old Benedict. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A little twitch at the corners of his eyes meets that name. As Byerly has come to love Bastien more and more, so too has his dislike of Vincent grown. It's close, now, to a full-bore hatred. But one does not speak ill of a dead love. So, instead: ]

They didn't condemn you for it, I hope.

[cozen]

[ He grins. ]

Only for not getting away with it.

[ Those were the days. The simple, amoral days. ]

You know how you want me to tell you when I’m unhappy or if I need something? [ He floats a hand on top of the water. A little boat. ] You have to tell me if I hurt you, too. Or if I don’t take something seriously enough.

[altusimperius]

I— of course. I won’t.

[Its another brick set, whether Byerly knows it or not, and Benedict isn’t about to disturb it.]

...and I do.

[He pauses, contemplating how best to phrase his question.]

Was it a role you chose?

[bouchonne]

[ His response is immediate, bordering on thoughtless. ]

You don't need to worry about that.

[cozen]

[ Instead of skipping straight to yes I do—though he could, it isn’t as if he’ll change his mind—he inclined his head. ]

No?

[bouchonne]

If you're asking whether I spent my life dreaming of becoming a spy, training for the role - no. But if you're asking whether I was coerced into it in some way, or whether I decided to join of my own free will, I did swear the oath because I wanted to. [ A droll smile. ] For better and for worse, the Fereldan intelligence forces are no Antivan Crows.

[bouchonne]

No.

[ Now he hesitates, searching for the right words. ]

I appreciate your lightness. It's probably better to laugh at everything.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict rests his chin in his hand, watching Byerly with a newfound curiosity.]

Does the Fereldan crown have anything against Riftwatch? I mean-- it's not like being a double agent. Is it?

[Like it would be for him, for instance, if he should have ever succeeded in spying for Tevinter.]

[bouchonne]

Quite the opposite.

[ He shakes his head. ]

Our interests are not always completely aligned, but close enough; we're pulling in the same direction. At least until the end of the war. If that were to ever cease being the case, I'd resign my position.

[bouchonne]

The aforementioned paramour.

[cozen]

[ For a moment his old worries—that Byerly likes him because he's breezy and easy, that the day Alexandrie stops being frightening and complicated is the day he's no longer necessary—slide their fingers around his ankles and give a little tug, to see if he can be pulled back under.

But above them, he's lounging on a raft built out of months of feeling cherished, the quiet nights By has let him examine his old wounds even when it hurt, the way he took time and pains on that fraught morning after the dreams to say how I feel about each of you, it doesn't interfere—and that morning a year ago, when Bastien was miserable and ornery (for him) and By was there anyway, even before he was getting laid out of the bargain. The raft has gotten pretty sturdy. Bastien kicks the grasping little worries away with hardly a pause. ]

Maybe. Sometimes. But it would not have to be a big deal. You could say, [ with air sucked through his teeth in pain, and his awful Fereldan accent, ] You sound like my relatives when you talk like that, and I could say, [ with his free hand rising aghast to his forehead, ] Ah, shit! I'm sorry, and then we could have more or less the same conversation we have just had.

[bouchonne]

Impossible. My relatives would never - [ in an imitation of that dreadful accent - ] sound like this. [ A beat. ] Plus they're humorless.

[ But then By reaches out and taps on Bastien's knee. Bastien might have kicked his worries away with hardly a pause, but there was a pause. So. ]

What were you thinking about, just then?

[cozen]

[ Bastien begins to shake his head, an automatic nothing forming in his throat, but he catches himself before he actually lies, like a hypocrite. A hypocrite liar. ]

It was just, ah. One second of—

[ Stumbling, uncharacteristically, because I'm only worth it when it's effortless is a simple-sounding sentence with deep, sprawling, unexcavated roots. He shifts toward a smaller piece. ]

I wanted to wait until Alexandrie came back, before, because I was afraid you were holding onto me because I was safe and easy, and once you saw she would not stab you in the back and roast you over a fire, you would let go. Or if I were ever not safe and easy, then you would... So one second of that. And then a second second [ ha ] of knowing the first second was ridiculous, because you— [ he pushes his forearm just under the top of the water, sending a little wave toward By ] —are so into me.

[bouchonne]

[ By listens to that. His head is cocked very slightly to the side, and he watches Bastien, his face for once quite serious. A quick smile at that joke; it drops away a moment after, as Byerly carefully considers what to say.

What he goes with is: the truth. The truth, said carefully, said gently, trying to avoid sounding cruel, because it is quite easy to sound cruel when you say this: ]

Bastien, my good little cabbage, what gave you the idea that you're easy? That couldn't be further from the truth. You're impossibly tricky.