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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[cozen]

Wake—ah, te voilà, mon prince.

[ And Bastien goes on merrily in Orlesian, since that is the mode that Byerly's sleep-sludgy brain is in. The thoughtfulness of the language choice is somewhat countered by his caffeinated speed. ]

I have a made a grave mistake. Percy caught me this morning in the market, and he said he was thinking of calling off his Wicked Grace games, because for the third week in a row only two people had come—and of course no one comes, after the way he has behaved. But he looked so sad. In the moment I thought, you know, maybe he has learned his lesson? Maybe it will be different? —anyway, I promised we would come tonight. But I forgot until he walked away, [ on account of the sleep deprivation; he doesn't usually forget these things, ] we also said we would have dinner with Lady Azaïs and her Antivan friends, and that is important for the war or whatever. And we have to go play at the Rusted Anchor tonight, because Geraldine says it is the last night those Vashoth mercenaries will be in Kirkwall. That would leave us only an hour or so for Percy, and I think that will break him. I think he will cry.

My proposal is, we set his house on fire.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's only awake enough to tune in halfway through, so he doesn't fully follow the story. But one thing's for certain: if Bastien is proposing setting someone's house on fire, that house deserves to burn. So, yawning, still in Orlesian: ]

Is it made of wood, or of stone? His house. Just so we know what supplies to bring.

[cozen]

[ Yes, good assessment, this is 100% a fantastic and rational plan. ]

Stone. But we don't need it to burn down. I don't think it would be possible to completely destroy it without risking the neighbors' houses, too. We only need to damage it enough for him to cancel his game.

[bouchonne]

[ He hums. Alternatively: ]

There's a store in the harbor that sells crickets for feed. For small animals. We could go and buy out his stock and let them loose in Percy's parlor.

[cozen]

Disgusting. And genius! How could we—I suppose I could hide my cello somewhere and put the crickets in the case. You will have to help me clean it afterwards, though.

[bouchonne]

[ He's awake enough to cackle. ]

Brilliant. We'll give it a good scrubbing after. - What are we doing this evening?

[cozen]

Having dinner with Lady Azaïs and her Antivans—

[ His dire emergency solved, more or less, Bastien resumes eating his café breakfast and drinking his fourth cup of coffee, with all the pauses that requires. ]

—showing up for Percy's Wicked Grace game to say hello and unleash the crickets, going to the Rusted Anchor to play and flirt with Vashoth mercenaries. They are going to let us feel their muscles tonight. I sense it in my bones.

[bouchonne]

[ Right! The Vashoth. Oh, that's so excellent. Innocently: ]

I mean, there's a reason you and I both decided to become professional masseurs in addition to being musicians, right?

[cozen]

[ Laughter gurgles around his mouthful of coffee. ]

Of course. There is no dream we will not follow—this one all the way to the Hunterhorn Mountains, to learn the art from Gisla Léger herself, in her secret mountain spring spa.

[bouchonne]

Yes, yes, precisely!

[ Delighted: ]

We should bring massage oils. Just in case. - Oof -

[ That is the sound of Whiskey, noticing that Byerly is awake, jumping into the bed and licking him right in the face. ]

[cozen]

Definitely, but—

[ Whiskey!!! ]

Good morning, beautiful girl! Give your papa an extra kiss for me. On the nose. In the nose. I will bring you a sausage.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly sputters a little bit, then manages to extricate his face enough to say - ]

I think she's starting to understand you. She did lick in my nose.

[cozen]

[ He rests his cheek on his fist over his little table and grins into his coffee. He loves them so much. ]

Of course she can understand me. She is the smartest dog in the world. Even cleverer than the mabari—she pretends not to understand, most of the time, so no one makes her go into battle. If mabari were really smart they would do the same thing.

[bouchonne]

[ A delighted laugh. ]

You know, I think you might have something there. [ In cooing Orlesian - because Byerly usually speaks to Whiskey in his mother tongue - ] Are you smarter than a mabari? Are you? Yes, yes, and you have the wrinkliest face -

[ Then lots of kissy noises. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien turns his mouth into his fist to laugh against his knuckles. ]

Maker, you're cute.

[ He can imagine it perfectly: By's bedhead, Whiskey's wriggling. ]

I'll bring you a sausage, too. Or... it is not too late, they still have some pain au chocolat.

[bouchonne]

Mmmmm.

[ Clear that it's the pain au chocolat that catches his fancy. There's the sound of a luxurious stretch. But he does say: ]

I could go out and meet you. You don't have to bring it to me.

[ Because he does still remember that incident with Bastien bringing him and Lexie breakfast, and the whole mess that had resulted. By will certainly let Bastien bring him things, of course - has, often - but he never wants to seem like he's taking it for granted. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien's answering hum is warm—aware of how respectful it is, if not the deliberate thoughtfulness behind it. Of course, he's grown to rather like fetching breakfast in bed. It's an excuse to linger that much longer in affectionate dishevelment before going off to have their souls crushed by their desks and coworkers. But Bastien remembers that incident, too, and his response has been to peacefully cede the entire territory of Byerly's bedroom to Alexandrie.

(Not that it's all selflessness at play. He likes the sense of privacy; he likes having control of the space; he likes the bed he sleeps in all the time smelling like By; he likes not needing to check anyone else's schedule to know where he's sleeping; he likes not even beginning to get attached to Byerly's bedroom, to begin to feel at home there, at the risk of feeling banished to some colder, lonelier place for half the week.)

So breakfast in bed is out of the question on this particular morning anyway.

Fortunately, getting By out of the Gallows altogether is just as good. Maybe better. ]

Come meet me at the docks? It will probably take me as long to get there as you.

[bouchonne]

[ It's early for By to be getting out of bed, admittedly - but, well, Bastien seems to be in such a chipper mood, and it's so charming, that By would sooner lose a full night's sleep than lose this. So he hums in agreement, though warns him - ]

I won't shave. Or dress nice. Don't plan for us to go any place reputable.

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a quietly satisfied noise that his café neighbors might think is meant for the last bites of his pastry. He loves Byerly neatly groomed and dressed to the nines—obviously—but this he looks forward to, too. Novelty! ]

We have never been anywhere reputable, my love. Everywhere we go becomes disreputable the moment we arrive.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh, and then a smacky little sound as he kisses the crystal in place of Bastien's beloved lips.

And then he has to get ready - drag himself out of bed, wash his face, so on - and so there's no time for talking. As a result, Byerly is actually on time at the docks - looking, as promised, a little disordered, a little unshaven, a little sleep-rumpled, yawning against the sea air. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien should probably feel guilty for waking him up early on a day he'll also be kept out late. There are a few minutes on the long walk down the Hightown steps where he does feel guilty. But it's sunny and not yet too hot, especially with the breeze off the water, and he has had two chocolate croissants and four cups of coffee, and when he comes around the corner and sees By looking smudgy and stubbly and gorgeous on the dingy pier there isn't room for anything in his heart but joy. ]

Salut.

[ From a distance, but he closes it shortly. He's more shy about PDA out in the streets—where any spy and/or burly man with something to prove could be watching, and also it's sort of rude—than he is in either the Gallows or within the walls of their various haunts, but that just means the kiss he plants on By's cheek from his tip-toes is quick and could be arguably, Orlesian-ly platonic. ]

I brought four of the pain au chocolat and, [ checking the basket hanging from his arm, ] some other things. But no coffee, and you look like you could use some.

[bouchonne]

[ By laughs, and teases: ]

I could just inhale some off of your breath.

[ Bastien is absolutely redolent with coffee-breath. An answer, By fancies, as to why he's so incredibly peppy this morning.

Some other things catches By's attention, and he cranes his neck, trying to peer inside the basket, fully anticipating that he won't be allowed to in the name of a Surprise. ]

[cozen]

[ As predicted, Bastien cuts short his forceful coffee-scented exhale in favor of turning to protect the basket's contents from view. Though, ]

Nothing exciting. No puppies.

[ He will never in his life manage to bring Byerly a basket of anything better than a hound puppy. Maybe as good, when they someday get her a sibling, but never better.

He starts walking, headed deeper into the city from the shoreline. No fancy bakeries or Orlesian-run cafés, here, but someone will be selling coffee for the sailors.

There is also coffee in the Gallows. But they spend so much time there, surrounded by walls and eerily empty spaces, and here the street is teeming with people and activity and the mountains and Hightown are rising dramatically ahead of them. ]

You know, I realized on the way down, we do not have to do the crickets to Percy. You could go to dinner with the Antivans— [ unquestionably Byerly's role, in this party-splitting idea; he's the Ambassador ] —and I could go to his game and be there long enough not to offend him.

But I kind of want to do the crickets. He deserves it.

[bouchonne]

Hold on.

[ Byerly sounds positively horrified by this suggestion. ]

Leave you alone to Percy? Without a single person who understands bard-sign who'll know when you're saying this is so vapid? No. I'd lose you to madness. You'd come back to me a broken man.

[ He bumps his shoulder against Bastien's. Not bard-sign, but the translation is clear nonetheless: And I want to be with you. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien sways when bumped, away and then back into By’s shoulder in answer. He doesn’t try to hide the relief. ]

I would. The mere sight of mahogany would send me into— [ a half-suppressed curling smile in anticipation of his own joke ] —mah-agony.

And he is more tolerable when you are there, if you can believe it. That is his best behavior. I think he likes you.