[ He doesn't sound overly sorry that it isn't; he knows he doesn't owe Byerly a real apology for failing. He's only sorry for himself and his ruined plan. ]
I was going to bring you coffee and wake you up and make sure you had a very nice morning.
[ He doesn't bother adding an eyebrow waggle, because his tone is plenty, and also because he's turning and stepping away to rifle through the crates and piles of things that have yet to be put away until he comes up with a blanket. ]
[ comes not in Bastien's normal voice, but in one that's both mournfully slow and feminine, with his best attempt at a Fereldan accent. (Whiskey was born in Tantervale, but of course she would have her Papa's accent by now.) ]
There are so many new smells and noises here, but your feet were the same, and when I woke I only had to go down one flight of stairs to attend to my business.
[ While Bastien answers for the dog, he sits on the hearth behind and to the side of Byerly, careful not to block the radiating warmth from the fire. He's in reach of the kettle this way, and close enough to wriggle his toes under Byerly's blanket-wrapped butt to steal a little warmth himself. ]
[ Byerly grins and lifts Whiskey's drooping cheeks, drawing them upwards into a doggy smile. ]
Hmm, I don't know. I'm afraid you'll get fat. We may need to cut down on the bacon you eat.
[ In spite of seeming to ignore Bastien in favor of 'conversation' with Whiskey, he does scoot backwards a bit to sit more thoroughly on Bastien's feet. ]
[ Whiskey obliges Bastien's ventriloquism by giving Byerly a more attentive look at the word bacon. The thunk of her tail signifies that this is a hopeful head raise, not a bothered one, but her droopy face is so inherently sad that she looks a little heartbroken all the same.
(Bastien wiggles his toes gratefully beneath Byerly.) ]
I will run laps. I will walk to Antiva and Orlais with you. Anything but my bacon.
[ Bastien snorts and laughs. The laugh lasts longer, as he droops forward to kiss the whorl of hair on top of By's head, now with the added benefit of huffing hot laughing breaths onto his scalp. Whiskey is busy answering him big broad swipes of her tongue, which gives Bastien the opportunity to say, ]
Horrible,
[ in his own very Orlesian voice. 'orreeble.
Behind him, the kettle begins to bubble audibly, not quite fully boiling. He does what he can without getting up, but ultimately he has to, to assemble the coffee. He says, ] Bacon-alia, [ to himself as he goes, still tickled.
Less under-his-breath: ]
We should do something nice today. Your first day of freedom. No one will blame us if we don't go in to the Gallows at all.
[ When he makes to pass a hot mug into Byerly's hands, finally, he works in a bit of not-really-hidden sleight of hand to also pass a ring onto the tip of By's finger, where it hands loosely in need of being pulled all the way down. It's a fox, as requested, etched into the face of a silver signet ring.
Having ruined his own opportunity to romantically slide it on while naked and cozy, Bastien's gone full anti-fuss; his only comment on the matter is a particularly pleased smile as he settles down to sit on the ground beside By with coffee of his own. ]
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no subject
[ He doesn't sound overly sorry that it isn't; he knows he doesn't owe Byerly a real apology for failing. He's only sorry for himself and his ruined plan. ]
I was going to bring you coffee and wake you up and make sure you had a very nice morning.
[ He doesn't bother adding an eyebrow waggle, because his tone is plenty, and also because he's turning and stepping away to rifle through the crates and piles of things that have yet to be put away until he comes up with a blanket. ]
no subject
[ There's no eyebrow waggle in return. Just sickening sincerity. And, when Bastien comes up with a blanket: ]
Oh, you gorgeous thing. [ He wraps himself up, and then plops himself down right on the ground to give Whiskey a great embrace. ] How did you sleep?
no subject
[ comes not in Bastien's normal voice, but in one that's both mournfully slow and feminine, with his best attempt at a Fereldan accent. (Whiskey was born in Tantervale, but of course she would have her Papa's accent by now.) ]
There are so many new smells and noises here, but your feet were the same, and when I woke I only had to go down one flight of stairs to attend to my business.
[ While Bastien answers for the dog, he sits on the hearth behind and to the side of Byerly, careful not to block the radiating warmth from the fire. He's in reach of the kettle this way, and close enough to wriggle his toes under Byerly's blanket-wrapped butt to steal a little warmth himself. ]
no subject
[ Byerly grins and lifts Whiskey's drooping cheeks, drawing them upwards into a doggy smile. ]
Hmm, I don't know. I'm afraid you'll get fat. We may need to cut down on the bacon you eat.
[ In spite of seeming to ignore Bastien in favor of 'conversation' with Whiskey, he does scoot backwards a bit to sit more thoroughly on Bastien's feet. ]
no subject
[ Whiskey obliges Bastien's ventriloquism by giving Byerly a more attentive look at the word bacon. The thunk of her tail signifies that this is a hopeful head raise, not a bothered one, but her droopy face is so inherently sad that she looks a little heartbroken all the same.
(Bastien wiggles his toes gratefully beneath Byerly.) ]
I will run laps. I will walk to Antiva and Orlais with you. Anything but my bacon.
no subject
[ He gathers up her heavy, droopy head and showers loud kisses all over her nose and ears. ]
I would never. Your life will be a proper bacon-alia at all times.
[ He wiggles his butt a little bit in a bit of pride over his terrible pun. ]
no subject
Horrible,
[ in his own very Orlesian voice. 'orreeble.
Behind him, the kettle begins to bubble audibly, not quite fully boiling. He does what he can without getting up, but ultimately he has to, to assemble the coffee. He says, ] Bacon-alia, [ to himself as he goes, still tickled.
Less under-his-breath: ]
We should do something nice today. Your first day of freedom. No one will blame us if we don't go in to the Gallows at all.
[ When he makes to pass a hot mug into Byerly's hands, finally, he works in a bit of not-really-hidden sleight of hand to also pass a ring onto the tip of By's finger, where it hands loosely in need of being pulled all the way down. It's a fox, as requested, etched into the face of a silver signet ring.
Having ruined his own opportunity to romantically slide it on while naked and cozy, Bastien's gone full anti-fuss; his only comment on the matter is a particularly pleased smile as he settles down to sit on the ground beside By with coffee of his own. ]