I speak from experience when I say you would not wish it to be.
[There's wryness in it, that voice from inside his grim-wrought helm. Perhaps he's used to it by now, the way Byerly seeks to shift topic with abrupt ease.]
Another Judge Magister sought power by infusing himself with a single fleck of that stone, and I have been told little was left to speak of in the aftermath. It is volatile, that magick. And it chooses whom it favors.
[There's a noise that catches in the back of his throat there, just barely audible. Something perhaps to do with the burns he'd left Jone with upon their first meeting— kindled temper being what it is.
He dislikes the memory of it, and discards it the moment it arises.]
There is a difference. You seek trouble as a bird to its prey, though your heart is a far softer thing than your talons.
Hesitantly, I might add. I venture that at the very least your working relationship is meaningful to him.
[ She reaches to tug affectionately at his collar, pauses, and then slides from her seat so she can lean down to kiss him; a slow and steady press that is warm, for closeness rather than passion, the length of a single deep and even breath. Hello. I missed you. When she pulls back she has another lighter brush of a kiss for his forehead, and then she sits again with a soft smile that edges on shyness. ]
I brought you something. I hope you will forgive it being more puzzle than present.
Make no mistake, Judge Magister, my heart is a withered and deadened little thing. But a fellow can be hard-hearted and still have a sense of duty. Sharp talons, but jesses and a hood; that's all. I'm flattered by your generous assessment, though.
[ A small shrug. Then: ]
But don't dismiss the importance of diplomatic training, good fellow. Wordplay and swordplay must both be learned.
[ Byerly's voice is mostly flat. But this is Bastien, and so he lets a bit of his bitterness creep in, rather than guarding completely. Then, what Bastien said creeps into his awareness - ]
[That same terrible tightness has returned to his guts, reminiscent of when he faced the anger of Gabranth himself. His groveling is, at least, sincere: there’s an element of knowing he’s got to endure it and come out the other side, rather than wriggle out now and have to pay the piper later.]
Page 55 of 170