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]

I prefer whatever gets you back to me sooner.

[ He reaches out and traces a fingertip along one of her curls. There's an awkwardness in him, of course - there always is while saying sweet nothings to Lexie, specifically. Or sweet somethings. That's the problem, of course; he can't say nothings to her. It'd be easier if he could. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ The second problem of sweet somethings is that they make her soften. Make her quieter, make her look at him with luminous eyes when she reaches up to touch the back of his hand with fingertips as light as his.

It might be easier if she hid it, but she won’t and so there is an awkwardness in her— a kind of held-breath hesitance, knowing sometimes she is a thing that can burn.

A moment, and then effervescent again: ]

Then next time I will track road dirt and deck scum all over your fine rug, and let my hair look as if the wind and I have only just had an energetic tumble.

[bouchonne]

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.

[coquettish_trees]

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. ]

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles, equal parts bemused and amused. ]

What's so funny?

[coquettish_trees]

With your colouring I should paint my lips a darker red if I am to leave it all over you, I think.

[ That look she’s wearing belongs more to leaving lip prints all over him than sitting sweetly on the corner of his desk. She’ll tuck it away too—for later, should he want it—and return to a lighter smile. ]

Say you have nothing else planned for the evening, and that I might have it all?

[ Little eyelash flutter: s’il te plaît? ]

[bouchonne]

You're in luck. Such as it is.

[ He rubs slightly at his nose, and his fingertips come away pink. He understands her giggles now. ]

If my assistant were capable of guile, I'd think he cleared my schedule deliberately for this very purpose.

[coquettish_trees]

He is capable of assisting guile.

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.

[bouchonne]

A puzzle is a present.

[ He starts to tug her into his lap, then pauses as he realizes - ]

Do you need to get it?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie hums a denial as she finishes the movement herself, settling comfortably against him once there. She pulls at a chain around her neck, fishing an unfamiliar pendant from her bodice and laying it on her palm to show to him.

It’s gold. Old, with a few marks on it not part of the filigree pattern, but polished and well cared for— and more than a pendant, it seems, for when she thumbs a little almost imperceptible catch it swings open to reveal a miniature painting of a couple, in the other half an engraving:

As certain as the stars above:
Though life may cease, yet never love.
E’en when the Maker’s arms I’ve known
True rest I’ll find in yours alone.

CE
ABG

She offers it out for him to look further. ]

I found it amongst the jewelry in the smuggler’s den Gigi and I went to raid in Antiva.

[ A quiet breath. ]

I do not know if they live, or if it passed to another, but... someone is missing this dearly. I thought perhaps you might enjoy to put our heads and skills together and play at being good to restore it.

[ She’s looking up now, smiling tentatively as she looks at his face to see what she can read there. ]

Bastien too, if he likes.

[bouchonne]

[ Oh. Oh. By takes it, an intent sort of curiosity and interest in his eye. This is a Byerly who's a little harder to find, nowadays. Back in the day, when he was young, everything captured his interest - men and women and music and art and conversation and mischief and passion and secrets and everything - but in his older, cynical days, curiosity comes slower and more guarded. A mystery, though...A mystery puts the brightness back in his eye. ]

With the age of it, I doubt these lovers are still alive. What do you think?

[coquettish_trees]

Je ne sais pas! The moment after I understood what it was, I shut it immediately and tucked it away.

[ It puts wings in her heart to see the bright clarity of his interest. His eyes are always beautiful, always; but like this... there is no-one in the world who would not fall in love. ]

I wanted to think with you.

[ She leans her head against his so she can peer at it from as similar an angle as she can. ]

If it was made for this purpose— the inscription original, the painting of an age with it— I think you are right to doubt. We have not yet ruled out the possibility of it being an heirloom locket with a newer inscription, however.

[ He'll feel the spread of her smile where her cheek is pressed. ]

Have you a magnifying glass?

[bouchonne]

Ah - yes, I do.

[ He goes to his desk drawer and pulls one forth. An item that was purchased purely because handwriting can be so dreadfully small - certainly not in deference to aging eyes.

He trains it on the portrait. ]

Are those Antivan fashions?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Obediently she looks— ]

Y-es? Not modern ones, but there is too much colour for Nevarra or Tevinter. Too much volume in the dress for Rivain, I think, but not enough for Orlais unless perhaps she was more moderate than most. Or maybe she is an more immoderate Fereldan than most?

[ Affectionately said, from her position in the lap of a Fereldan more immoderate than most. ]

[bouchonne]

Ha.

[ He gives her a squeeze of appreciation. ]

No, she needs to look far more louche to be a properly immoderate Fereldan. And the hairstyle looks more Northern - [ He taps lightly with his fingernail. ] It's pinned up, atop the head. Southern women wear their hair loose or pinned low.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She hums acknowledgement. ]

So we shall say she is Antivan—or at the very least making a home there. Enough to be so represented.

And her beloved? [ A quirk of eyebrow, a click of her tongue. ] He would be almost stylish now, were the top of his trunk hose shorter and more voluminous.

[ She nudges him gently with her cheek. ]

You cut a fine figure, mon coeur. I do not suppose such sartorial concern means you recall offhand the last time that was en vogue?

[bouchonne]

How dare you even ask that.

[ He nibbles on that cheek in revenge. ]

That looks - hm. Actually, I think that was reasonably stylish when I was in Antiva.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She squeaks in mock-protest, immediately giggling afterwards.

And then she is settling back into him with a little more weight, remembering the conversation she’d had with Bastien before she’d left. ]

When was that?

[ The sound of how it feels to need to ask is in her voice. ]

[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ He clears his throat. ]

After I left Orlais.

[ He tries to keep the grimace out of his voice. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ Maybe it will be easier to begin like this. Close, but in a way such that she does not have to see his face, nor he hers, looking at the story of some other lovers in her hand.

Softly: ]

We have not spoken of it, what happened after. After you left that night, or the days and years that followed.

I know bits and pieces, but so few from you. Even fewer that did not come with some amusing story attached. I think I have been afraid to ask. To hear. But— I would like to. When you would like to tell me.

[ A breath, self-steadying. ]

If you would like to tell me.

[bouchonne]

[ He's quiet a moment. He doesn't want to ruin this. And he doesn't want this to become...something for her to use against herself. A source of guilt and misery. ]

It is not - charming. It is not delightful. For the most part.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows it will break her heart.

How long has it been breaking his? ]

We are neither of us as we were.

[ She does not draw back to look at him, only angles her head into his a little more. ]

I want to love you as you are, and... this is a part of you as you are. I do not need it to be charming.

[bouchonne]

[ It's at least easier like this. None of her looking at him with her limpid eyes, her beautiful eyes, no need to see them fill with tears or recriminations or self-loathing or whatever she'd end up feeling. No need to see her face press into lines of pain. Just her back against him, his arm around her waist, resting on her thigh. ]

I made mistakes.

[ His voice is low. Quiet. ]

I - was in desperate poverty. I'd thought that making my way to Antiva would be easy as making my way to Orlais had been, but I overestimated my friendships. They'd had their sport, after all, and so what use was I then?

[ He clears his throat. ]

I thought I had the most phenomenal luck when a particular lady picked me out and helped me. Took me as a lover. I loved her immensely. But she - Well, her only desire was to make use of me, as well.

[ His hand smooths across her knee. He hopes she stops him. Why would she want to hear this? Maker, he doesn't want to tell it. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ She doesn't want to hear it, and she does. Needs to, maybe.

Alexandrie lowers the locket slowly, lets it hang again around her neck so she can reach to hold the hand that smooths across her knee as she listens. ]

[bouchonne]

[ The silence, though, makes him lose his nerve. He gives a short laugh, says - ]

What a dreadful topic.