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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
[See Gabranth, this is why that endlessly grim Magisterial aura gets you into trouble.
Still, without that helmet in place it’s easy to see just how quickly he recoils from the suggestion, his own brow knitting.]
—no.
An absence of leniency. Nothing more. [And look at that, he’s flustered now, his lips twisting into a thin line, his stance shifting slightly like an animal unsettled.]
He cannot be permitted to simply abstain from work that would challenge him.
Still, without that helmet in place it’s easy to see just how quickly he recoils from the suggestion, his own brow knitting.]
—no.
An absence of leniency. Nothing more. [And look at that, he’s flustered now, his lips twisting into a thin line, his stance shifting slightly like an animal unsettled.]
He cannot be permitted to simply abstain from work that would challenge him.
...too much, I fear.
[He glances towards the desk out of the corner of his vision, still half-resting the whole of his weight across his heels, as if frozen by the sight of that visible sincerity where it resides in Byerly's features. It is difficult to gauge how much should be spoken, particularly to a man that Benedict reports directly to, but—
Perhaps given the nature of all that has been wrought, Benedict’s past is already more than transparent.]
[He glances towards the desk out of the corner of his vision, still half-resting the whole of his weight across his heels, as if frozen by the sight of that visible sincerity where it resides in Byerly's features. It is difficult to gauge how much should be spoken, particularly to a man that Benedict reports directly to, but—
Perhaps given the nature of all that has been wrought, Benedict’s past is already more than transparent.]
Ah.
[ He grins as he takes the collar from Bastien, then removes the old collar from Whiskey's neck. She snuffles at it, fascinated by something that smells so much like her, which gives By the opportunity to fasten the new one around her neck. ]
The flowers seem appropriate. She is, after all, more than half Orlesian.
[ He grins as he takes the collar from Bastien, then removes the old collar from Whiskey's neck. She snuffles at it, fascinated by something that smells so much like her, which gives By the opportunity to fasten the new one around her neck. ]
The flowers seem appropriate. She is, after all, more than half Orlesian.
Good.
[ The anxiety releases as she bubbles at him. He doesn't know why he's so damned afraid of it. Just...For the same reason that, after a certain point, an air-bladder explodes. She pours too much into him. He's too mean and meager a man to accept it.
Anyway. ]
I've always wanted a mermaid of my own.
[ The anxiety releases as she bubbles at him. He doesn't know why he's so damned afraid of it. Just...For the same reason that, after a certain point, an air-bladder explodes. She pours too much into him. He's too mean and meager a man to accept it.
Anyway. ]
I've always wanted a mermaid of my own.
Do not mistake it for unkindness.
[Gabranth hardly cuts a softer figure to begin with, and he certainly doesn't now, with the way his brow is quickly threaded throughout with stubborn tension: that bullish determination to make things as he would have them, rather than what they are.
—but then, chasing the steady ease of a slow exhale (carried entirely on the back of Byerly's own candid, unmasked expression), he forces it away. Those pale eyes lower, fixing themselves on some distant, neglected corner of the room yet coated in dust. His voice almost thrumming with a low, subtle sincerity. All pretense gone. All ferocity absent.
If they are both so invested, then there's no need to fight this.]
He suffers. It cannot be unmade without— [The words don't come, or they don't fit right across his tongue, and he's never been good for this, but he does try now.] I would ask nothing of him that I would not give of myself.
So I ask you, with all due sincerity, Lord Rutyer: place faith in him. Treat him as you would a man in need of something to prove, rather than one in need of protection.
[Gabranth hardly cuts a softer figure to begin with, and he certainly doesn't now, with the way his brow is quickly threaded throughout with stubborn tension: that bullish determination to make things as he would have them, rather than what they are.
—but then, chasing the steady ease of a slow exhale (carried entirely on the back of Byerly's own candid, unmasked expression), he forces it away. Those pale eyes lower, fixing themselves on some distant, neglected corner of the room yet coated in dust. His voice almost thrumming with a low, subtle sincerity. All pretense gone. All ferocity absent.
If they are both so invested, then there's no need to fight this.]
He suffers. It cannot be unmade without— [The words don't come, or they don't fit right across his tongue, and he's never been good for this, but he does try now.] I would ask nothing of him that I would not give of myself.
So I ask you, with all due sincerity, Lord Rutyer: place faith in him. Treat him as you would a man in need of something to prove, rather than one in need of protection.
[ His hand comes up in a quelling gesture: ]
Byerly. Or simply Rutyer if you must. Not lord.
[ But: ]
The boy does need protection. There are some - some, even, in the leadership of this organization - who have no love for him and his history of wavering loyalties. They would enjoy him suffering the consequences of taking risks.
Byerly. Or simply Rutyer if you must. Not lord.
[ But: ]
The boy does need protection. There are some - some, even, in the leadership of this organization - who have no love for him and his history of wavering loyalties. They would enjoy him suffering the consequences of taking risks.
Yet he must take them. [The heat that rises along the back of his neck— tightening his posture— is some tangled mix of scolding for his own misstep in falling back on dated compulsions despite having already been warned away from them, and the desperate certainty in this: he has lived that life.
He feels that anguish no less, even now. And it does not diminish.]
He is a boy no longer. Time seeks him out with increasing fervor, and if he is not yet strong enough he will buckle beneath the strain when it lays waste to his protection.
[What use are wards when they wear thin? What use is armor if it holds no strength? A cub sheltered will only ever remain so, and the world is far too cruel to abide its presence for long.]
I swear to you, on my life, I will let no harm befall him.
He feels that anguish no less, even now. And it does not diminish.]
He is a boy no longer. Time seeks him out with increasing fervor, and if he is not yet strong enough he will buckle beneath the strain when it lays waste to his protection.
[What use are wards when they wear thin? What use is armor if it holds no strength? A cub sheltered will only ever remain so, and the world is far too cruel to abide its presence for long.]
I swear to you, on my life, I will let no harm befall him.
Edited 2021-04-22 03:12 (UTC)
Have you?
If you have a bath drawn for me, I will let my hair down and sing in it for you. And splash you coyly. [ She's looking at him coyly now. ] You must needs be careful, though; if you come too close, I shall drag you into the water because I love you.
[ He has a mermaid of his own: a beautiful creature that calls for him and loves like drowning.
She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose, giggles when she leaves a little of the colour of her lips behind. ]
If you have a bath drawn for me, I will let my hair down and sing in it for you. And splash you coyly. [ She's looking at him coyly now. ] You must needs be careful, though; if you come too close, I shall drag you into the water because I love you.
[ He has a mermaid of his own: a beautiful creature that calls for him and loves like drowning.
She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose, giggles when she leaves a little of the colour of her lips behind. ]
[ The collar will be horribly unfashionable in six months at most, but for now, she's stylin'. Bastien rubs one of her silly ears and is beaming at her so much that he doesn't put much effort into deciphering By's meaning. ]
What, have you been feeding her baguettes and cheese for two meals a day? [ He drops his voice to stage-whisper a secret to the dog: ] That is how I became Orlesian.
[ It's only one step back to his bed to root around for the next thing. ]
What, have you been feeding her baguettes and cheese for two meals a day? [ He drops his voice to stage-whisper a secret to the dog: ] That is how I became Orlesian.
[ It's only one step back to his bed to root around for the next thing. ]
Yes.
[Now that they're talking about it, that's it exactly.]
[Now that they're talking about it, that's it exactly.]
Come now, Judge Magister.
[ Byerly's smile is crooked. A brief foray into cynicism - or, more accurately, a return to his usual form in the midst of all this earnestness. ]
You know that you can't make that oath. Harm befalls others no matter how passionately we promise their protection.
[ Byerly's smile is crooked. A brief foray into cynicism - or, more accurately, a return to his usual form in the midst of all this earnestness. ]
You know that you can't make that oath. Harm befalls others no matter how passionately we promise their protection.
Edited (passive-aggressively editing this to bring it to the top of your inbox (and also clarifying something)) 2021-04-25 13:46 (UTC)
Oooh, [ with an extra snooty and stereotypical accent, ] c’est vrai?
[ He is pulling out another colorful floral strip. But this one is satin instead of leather, its flowers embroidered. A cravat like a spring meadow. It doesn’t match the collar exactly, made by a different person from different materials, but it’s close enough for the intention to make man and dog wear matching outfits to be obvious.
Bastien loops it around Byerly’s neck. He looks very pleased with himself. ]
I think we are honor-bound to fight now.
[ He is pulling out another colorful floral strip. But this one is satin instead of leather, its flowers embroidered. A cravat like a spring meadow. It doesn’t match the collar exactly, made by a different person from different materials, but it’s close enough for the intention to make man and dog wear matching outfits to be obvious.
Bastien loops it around Byerly’s neck. He looks very pleased with himself. ]
I think we are honor-bound to fight now.
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