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]

"When I get angry, I get revenge," he mutters, and then amends, "or something like it." Which is not entirely true, he must acknowledge - there are, after all, different types of anger, not all of which are the sorts that lead to vengeance - and maybe in the past, he has been angry with her. Yes. Just -

"What do you think you'd have done to make me angry, precisely?"

[sulahnan]

"I dunno. But you clammed up when you saw my arm was in a sling. And when I got this—" She traces the scar on her cheek with her thumb.

[bouchonne]

His lips tighten, and his eyes turn away.

"Well, I'm not angry."

[sulahnan]

"You're doing it again."

At least his assurances that he's not angry are some small comfort, if not enough to take away the sense that she's done something wrong. But what? It's not like she purposefully gets hurt. It's not like she tries to get hurt. And she survived every scrap she's gotten into so far, so...

(Maybe there is something to her getting hurt being the only excuse she has to see a certain healer, but in this instance it doesn't apply. Colin's the one who healed her shoulder.)

[bouchonne]

"I'm not doing anything."

If anything, her pressing is winding him up even more. The signs of his discomfort become more and more obvious with each moment.

"I'm not angry. Anger would be an idiotic reaction to your situation."

[sulahnan]

He is doing something. He's doing a bang-up impression of a stone wall.

"Then what is this? This whole...I'm gonna make my mouth a flat line and stop engaging thing? You're making me feel like I've done something wrong."

[bouchonne]

There's a tiny twitch in his cheek, like a single muscle gaining sentience and rising up in rebellion.

"Have you done something wrong?"

[sulahnan]

"Plenty," she insists with the insistence of one insisting the opposite. "But none of it anything you'd disapprove of!"

And, needing an example, she points at the bottle of mead. It explains everything to her, and nothing to him, as he doesn't know its provenance.

[bouchonne]

His brows draw down. He looks to the bottle, then back up at Athessa, and spreads his hands in a gesture that says what, I don't get it.

[sulahnan]

Ah. Right. That actually didn't explain anything at all, did it? Like a withering plant her pointing finger curls until her hand is in a loose fist and she taps the heel of it on her knee.

"...Well. I hardly own a distillery, do I? So how else would I make mead if not...ya know. Via a little wrongness?"

[bouchonne]

Ah. She made this? Well, it's of decent enough quality for that.

"There's no sin in brewing. If there were, then every farmer in Thedas would be accursed."

[sulahnan]

Rather bluntly: "I broke into Wysteria's house to make it."

[bouchonne]

Oh. Well. A shrug.

"She hoards her resources. Good they're being used."

[sulahnan]

Her fluttering wave is both a dismissal and an agreement. Anyway.

"That's not the point."

[bouchonne]

"The point is - what? You want to be scolded for doing something illegal?"

[sulahnan]

"No! Augh!"

Athessa lets her head fall against the back of the chair with a soft paff of her curls hitting the upholstery, eyes imploring the ceiling for patience, or a better vocabulary with which she might actually say something that he'll understand.

"The point is," she tells the rafters. She takes a breath, lets it go. And another, before she continues. "That it hurts. To be shut out when I'm already hurt. And I wasn't keeping secrets or not trusting you or whatever you might've thought when I said I didn't want to talk about it."

[bouchonne]

Any looseness or good humor that had emerged when they'd started inching away from this subject evaporates again. The tension returns to his face; his hands thread together, long fingers twisting themselves nearly into knots.

"I'm not - Shutting you out. There's nothing to be shut out of." Then - "I apologize for pressing you, before. I was wrong to do so."

[sulahnan]

It strikes her as a bit sad that apologies have been so few and far between that, much like love, she never learned how to deal with them. A dozen different responses make it no further than the back of her throat before she presses her lips into a tight line — a perfunctory facsimile of a smile — and nods once.

Rather than let the silence stretch out uncomfortably long, Athessa leans forward and nudges her glass in Byerly's direction. Pour, please.

[bouchonne]

By lets out a breath. Leans forward and pours. Then sits back and takes up his own glass, drinks deep.

Finally - "You haven't done anything wrong. I'm the one who does things wrong. You're fine."

[sulahnan]

Athessa scoffs with the glass halfway to her lips.

"Please. You don't have a monopoly on doing things wrong." The mead isn't exactly how her grandmother made it, but it's pretty close. Considering she didn't have a recipe to work from, it's a win in her book.

[bouchonne]

Fine. A little gesture of his hand.

"In this, I mean."

[sulahnan]

A non-committal hmm sound.

"How is it?" She asks, looking up from her drink to raise her brows at Byerly. "I'm guessing this is one of those things that gets better with age, and this batch is only a couple months old, but..."

[bouchonne]

"A bit sweet," he answers bluntly. "You should let the primary fermentation go longer to get a dryer brew. Few off flavors, though, which is the primary issue with most meads."

And then another sip.

[sulahnan]

Athessa takes note, nodding, then... confusion.

"Dryer," she repeats. Squints slightly.

[bouchonne]

"Less sweet."