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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post-dream wakeup~ (co-starring Bastien later)

[coquettish_trees]

[ When Alexandrie wakes it is sudden, and for a moment she doesn't know where she is, or when. But the light becomes familiar, the curtains, the pattern of the blankets, the warmth of the skin she's curled against. She tilts her head quickly, to look. Both eyes. No grey (maybe one or two.) He holds her like he wants to keep her close, and she is pressed to his side like she cannot be close enough.

Dreams, all dreams.

The breath she draws feels like the first in a long time.

Things linger— images, the anger, sorrow, fear, joy, and love that belongs to them— but the Veil is drawing over them quickly, and it is like feeling through layers of fabric. Not as sharp, not as real. Still, there are so many, and she presses her face into Byerly's neck to block out the morning until it stops spinning. ]

[bouchonne]

[ It was, then -

Just a dream.

A strange one, to be certain. The sort of dream he imagines one might be sent if there's a Fade spirit intent on making one change one's ways. It had felt as though it lasted a month - the two of them, each lasting a month - and his memories are far clearer and more vivid than any dream he'd ever had before. And maker, but he feels beyond exhausted, like he'd walked every one of those miles to Skyhold. For a moment, he hopes that he never goes to sleep again, because he cannot deal with the weariness that would result.

But just a dream.

He cracks his eyes open slowly. They're sore and aching. He feels like shivering, like he was woken up in the middle of the night rather than having slept well past dawn. ]

Good morning.

[ He tries to make it come out as his customary purr, the flirtatious little way he always tries to greet her. Instead, it sounds rather cracked and weak. Ah, well. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ She smiles fondly and kisses where her face is pressed as if it had been the purr, then stretches with a rather inelegant groan through her nose, which is subsequently wrinkled, and collapses back into her previous place. ]

Is it? I slept wretchedly.

[bouchonne]

The same. But no morning is wretched with you here.

[ He thinks of her crying wildly, hysterically at him. He thinks of the evils he did her - twice over, in two separate lives. Dreadful. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ That will get him a pleased hum and a search for his hand so she can lace their fingers and stroke her thumb along his, a movement that turns idle as she rolls the dreams around in her mind and frowns a little. Settles herself even more securely against his shoulder.

Here. Warm. Real. Loves her.

Absently: ]

I dreamed we were being beastly to each other.

[bouchonne]

I did too.

[ A brief laugh. ]

I knew not to trust a Nevarran wine. We shouldn't have drunk it last night.

[coquettish_trees]

[ A quiet little laugh through her nose for that. ]

I will clear my cellar of it into the harbour if this is to be the result.

[ She frees her hand from his briefly to take up a lock of her hair and tickle his nose with the end of it, tilting her head up to look at him with mirthful curiosity. ]

What was yours?

[bouchonne]

Dreams of a life not lived.

[ He wrinkles his nose elaborately, scrunching his whole face up as she tickles him. ]

And yours?

[coquettish_trees]

[ She smiles brightly, delighted by how much of his face he manages to scrunch. ]

Moi aussi. I dreamed I had never left Val Royeaux at all and then I tried to have you killed.

[ A final little tickle for his nose, and then she lets the hair fall, stretches her neck to kiss his cheek, and tucks her head back at his shoulder. ]

I should make apology save that you wreaked terrible vengeance on me, so we are even.

[bouchonne]

[ That's - Hm. ]

Strange coincidence. Mine was similar. I suppose we did see that play last month with the lady who tries to kill her former lover.

[coquettish_trees]

Ah, mais tu es mon amant actuel.

[ Now she purrs and turns her face so she can nibble at his collarbone. ]

I think Bastien abducted me. Shall I make him bring me coffee and cake for breakfast to make up for it? I am magnanimous and shall share.

[ She purses her lips slightly, a little frown as she remembers. Hints of this, moments of that. Staring into a chest of cloth and furs, the two of them crying over an old tune. ]

But then I also dreamed he had died, so perhaps he is even too.

[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ A little line appears between his brows. But...This is something he does not want to consider too deeply - not quite yet - and so he smooths his face, and smiles, and says - ]

I think that seems like a charming idea. Breakfast together? The three of us?

[coquettish_trees]

Only if we may stay in and have it in bed. I am too exhausted to be beautiful.

[ The idea of launching into her morning preparation is indeed distinctly unappealing, so it's both true and fishing for compliments.

(Bastien's not seen her unready before. It's a rather large show of trust, but then... she has been trying to build a purposeful welcome bit by bit.)

Assuming Byerly will agree, she stretches again— more luxuriously this time— and then slides from the delightful warmth to fetch a dressing gown with a little squeak as the winter air touches her bareness. ]

[bouchonne]

As am I.

[ Best not to underestimate the care Byerly takes to present a very deliberate face to the world as well. The weight of expectation on him might be lower, to be sure, but that doesn't mean he doesn't also take advantage of cosmetics to make himself comely.

So he fishes out his crystal. ]

Bastien, my dear -

[cozen]

[ There's a considerable pause, equal to the length of time it takes Bastien to snap out of his lost-in-throught staring into the fireplace (over which he is also slow-roasting his toes), and notice his crystal glowing on the bedside table, and skip his poor bare feet across the stone floor to retrieve it.

But after that: ]

Byerly, mon cher la lève-tôt.

[ He's aiming for perky morning person with a touch of archness on the domestic endearment, but the effect is dampened somewhat by his morning-gunky, first-words-of-the-day hoarseness. ]

[bouchonne]

I might be coming in for the night. You can't be certain.

[ It is possible, with him. ]

My handsome lad, would you join us in breaking our fast? This is a dreadful question, because it would involve you coming here and also stopping by the kitchens on the way to bring the breakfast with you. But I'll be extra charming to make up for it.

[cozen]

[ It's a kind of trust, that Bastien's hesitation while ehe decides whether that is something he's willing to do is left bare. If his guard were further up he'd hide it behind a joke, or knock something over so he could hiss about it, or begin a syllable and then have a cough.

Instead it's just a silence. But not a long one. ]

Triple charm, or I throw the breakfast out the window.

Any particular requests?

[bouchonne]

A kiss?

[ He sneaks a glance over at Lexie, just checking to make sure that she doesn't bristle or - worse - flinch at that flirtation. But he heard that hesitation. By wants to provide some warmth. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie, now plush and warm in the quilted white velvet of her winter robe, is halfway through braiding her hair over her shoulder.

It’s neither a bristle nor a flinch. It is simply that she continues on as if she’d heard nothing at all. Which, of course, she had, because: ]

And cake.

[ It is a friendly chime, although she doesn’t look over.

See? says the “and”, kisses are fine. (And see? says the way she watches her hands in the mirror, I am trying.) ]

[bouchonne]

And cake.

[ He repeats that into the crystal, and strains to hear Bastien's reaction on the other end. ]

[cozen]

[ The response is a laugh. All air, all through his nose, but still a laugh. That’s a good start toward triple charm, from both of them. ]

All right.

[ All right; he will shake off the clingy ghostly hands of his bad dreams, and get dressed, and find cake, and come upstairs, and knuckle through the way he feels like a guest—better than an intruder, but not within his rights to help himself to the larder or put his feet on the furniture—whenever he enters a space Alexandrie and Byerly are already together in, because they are very charming and he is feeling unsettled and he would like to see them. ]

I will be there in a little while.

[coquettish_trees]

[ The braid is finished, slowly and carefully, while Alexandrie thinks in the quiet after Bastien's voice is gone. The curl of her hair will hold it together enough for her to find the old-new ribbon Byerly had given her and make it fast.

She is always ready enough to introduce the thought. To suggest or encourage or otherwise make known that Bastien is welcome, rather than accepted or endured. That she knows he is loved, and wanted, and sometimes needed, and this is fine. As an abstract idea it is fine, and then when it shares the space with her suddenly it is not, no matter how firmly she tells herself it is. Suddenly it is an uneasy fearful thing; every stitch of intimacy between the two men is made with thread pulled from her cloth and she is alone again, always half a moment away from being, of a sudden, discarded.

It is still the same. Made a little duller by the years, but still the very same. The little voice wild with terror that shrieks Run! Run before it happens! It will kill you if it comes from him.

And what had he done? What had Byerly ever done to warrant her fear? Nothing. Nothing, and still the moment he turns away for a second there is the voice with Now, it is now, we were right. We have always been right.

She ties the ribbon into a careful little bow, and sits on the edge of the bed, and when she speaks it is soft but clear. ]

Loving you makes me fearful. You have never given me reason, but I have always been afraid.

[ She looks over her shoulder at him with a sad little smile. ]

I am sorry for it.

[bouchonne]

[ In the silence, he'd laid himself back down in bed, and closed his eyes to mere slits, and watched her as though asleep as she tended to her curls. He hadn't been able to suppress his thoughts, either. And his thoughts had trended in the same direction. He'd thought of his vision of himself if he'd never come to Riftwatch: impossibly careless with her and with Bastien both. Utterly indifferent to their needs, to their desires - perfectly willing to throw them both to the dogs. And for nothing more than duty.

And his dream of the future - perhaps that was a bit less harsh, in truth. But it was the same thing there, was it not? He remembers - Lexie come down from the north, Bastien improbably returned from death, and what does he do? He goes off on some mission. He leaves them behind.

Is that what he's like? Is he so rough to them? So indifferent?

When she comes, he half expects condemnation from her. That apology is a surprise. He takes a moment to even comprehend what she's apologizing for before opening his eyes fully and saying, with practical bluntness - ]

I hardly think a close association with Rolant counted as nothing.

[coquettish_trees]

[ A little shoulder lift is the response. ]

For then, perhaps, although I knew well enough how he treated you. I believed you hated him as much as I, had only borne him for the sake of necessity. I was not thinking of that, when I fled.

[ She turns, pulling her legs up so she can sit and face him. ]

And what of now? Sometimes I cannot even hear you banter charmingly upon the crystal without feeling of a sudden as if it means I am— [ Am what? ] —unnecessary. That it should do you little injury, were I gone.

And that now you have him, it should do you none at all.

[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ Now, that unnerves him. His brows draw down, and his hands pull back - not quite a flinch, but close to one. ]

It - You did intend for me to invite him. Didn't you? Did I - ? [ Misunderstand? ]