Ha. You are different, though. You aggravate people, but you talk to them. You get them to talk to you. He seemed to only want to stand in corners and radiate contempt.
[ There’s a little light contempt on Bastien’s part in the way he says it. He’s been fascinated by other people his whole life—unusually so, he knows, so it’d be unfair to hold everyone to his standard. But anyone who seems entirely incurious is, in his opinion, living life wrong. ]
—but I suppose he was a saboteur, not a spy. Maybe all he needed to know about any of us was how best to kill us.
Even then, it seems like getting to know people would be a better way to go about it. I know I was much less inclined to, oh, give him access to things, being as nasty as he was.
[ He lifts his eyebrows. Then: ]
A paranoid man might think that he came, and was so unpleasant, and caused such destruction, to sow mistrust of either the elves or the Chantry.
[ A nod, and Bastien fills a few more thoughtful seconds by making percussive noises with his mouth and drumming his fingers on Byerly’s torso. Emulating Mado! ]
I suppose a man like Mado might think it was possible. But to hate either group so much he was willing to die, just to make us think badly of them?
[ He shakes his head a little. Not dismissing it as impossible, only overwhelmed by the difficulty of imagining that mindset. ]
Perhaps he did not intend to die. [ And, helpfully: ] I had a great-uncle of some sort during the Occupation who would dress as a Chevalier, cross the border, and terrorize the peasantry. To be fair, I think it was more to get his sadistic jollies than it was to really try to get the Orlesian peasantry to rise up, but...
[ For a moment Bastien’s quiet, about that. Not bothered, precisely. But confronted by how unlikely a thing it is, in the context of history and bloodlines and the whole of the noble class, for Byerly to have turned out the way he did. How fucking weird and wonderful it is that he’s the person Bastien trusts most in the world instead of among those he trusts the least.
He expresses that thought with a firm, probably-cryptic kiss on By’s cheek.
Then, dryly: ] Probably to them it was just another Wednesday.
[ Chevaliers suck. ]
But it is possible. He could have been Tevinter, too—how would we know? How can we ever know, when strangers come?
[ By pulls back to look at Bastien, surprised and pleased to get that sign of affection. What a strange sort of man his paramour is, truly. Upon hearing something dreadful, something that should make him turn cold, he finds something to treasure, instead. And not in the way of the people By used to associate with - not where he finds pleasure in nastiness because it means there's a kindred spirit in there - but because he pushes past the awfulness and sees the good intentions underneath. It's bloody strange, is what it is, and frightening in its way. But it's...nice.
He caresses Bastien's cheek briefly, looking into his eyes with unspoken adoration, before rolling his neck back so he can look at the ceiling once more. ]
Torture them soon as they show up? This place probably still has the equipment packed away somewhere in the cellar.
[ He doesn’t fluster, as a rule. But the gazing and caressing have made him blush—something he’s good enough to fake, when needed, but has never been good enough to prevent—and he’s only looking at Byerly instead of casually away because Byerly has already done it for both of them. ]
I suppose scaring all of the new recruits away on their first day is one way to prevent any new spies.
[ He takes the open opportunity to stroke his fingertips down Byerly’s exposed neck, in a way meant to be more soothing than amorous, even though it can’t actually help. Poor throat. ]
What about hiring all of Flint’s crew as guards? We could put one on every floor.
[ This is an idea just as horrible as automatic torture, he’s fairly sure. ]
The second-worst possible outcome, [ Bastien agrees through a little laugh from the pinch.
He stops, though, hand reaching around to take what’s left of Byerly’s drink away and set it on the floor so there’s nothing to spill when Bastien starts shifting and encouraging Byerly to lie against his chest, trying to make good on his pledge to hold everything but his feet. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Well. ]
If anything, that made me distrust him less. What sort of a spy is so unpleasant? - Yes, I'm aware of the irony of the question.
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[ There’s a little light contempt on Bastien’s part in the way he says it. He’s been fascinated by other people his whole life—unusually so, he knows, so it’d be unfair to hold everyone to his standard. But anyone who seems entirely incurious is, in his opinion, living life wrong. ]
—but I suppose he was a saboteur, not a spy. Maybe all he needed to know about any of us was how best to kill us.
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[ He lifts his eyebrows. Then: ]
A paranoid man might think that he came, and was so unpleasant, and caused such destruction, to sow mistrust of either the elves or the Chantry.
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[ —teasing, of course. He’s also really considering the possibility, turning it around in his head. ]
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I suppose a man like Mado might think it was possible. But to hate either group so much he was willing to die, just to make us think badly of them?
[ He shakes his head a little. Not dismissing it as impossible, only overwhelmed by the difficulty of imagining that mindset. ]
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Perhaps he did not intend to die. [ And, helpfully: ] I had a great-uncle of some sort during the Occupation who would dress as a Chevalier, cross the border, and terrorize the peasantry. To be fair, I think it was more to get his sadistic jollies than it was to really try to get the Orlesian peasantry to rise up, but...
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He expresses that thought with a firm, probably-cryptic kiss on By’s cheek.
Then, dryly: ] Probably to them it was just another Wednesday.
[ Chevaliers suck. ]
But it is possible. He could have been Tevinter, too—how would we know? How can we ever know, when strangers come?
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He caresses Bastien's cheek briefly, looking into his eyes with unspoken adoration, before rolling his neck back so he can look at the ceiling once more. ]
Torture them soon as they show up? This place probably still has the equipment packed away somewhere in the cellar.
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[ He doesn’t fluster, as a rule. But the gazing and caressing have made him blush—something he’s good enough to fake, when needed, but has never been good enough to prevent—and he’s only looking at Byerly instead of casually away because Byerly has already done it for both of them. ]
I suppose scaring all of the new recruits away on their first day is one way to prevent any new spies.
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[ He grins upwards. ]
A hundred percent capture rate. Well done us.
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[ He takes the open opportunity to stroke his fingertips down Byerly’s exposed neck, in a way meant to be more soothing than amorous, even though it can’t actually help. Poor throat. ]
What about hiring all of Flint’s crew as guards? We could put one on every floor.
[ This is an idea just as horrible as automatic torture, he’s fairly sure. ]
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[ You can't just stroke your fingertips down someone's neck and not have it be a little amorous. ]
But it's an intriguing idea. I can tell you, as someone who's regularly menaced by a pirate, it's quite charming.
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When you put it like that, it sounds like it might distract some of us from our work.
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[ A pinch to one of Bastien's love handles. Stop that. ]
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He stops, though, hand reaching around to take what’s left of Byerly’s drink away and set it on the floor so there’s nothing to spill when Bastien starts shifting and encouraging Byerly to lie against his chest, trying to make good on his pledge to hold everything but his feet. ]