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

Comments

[bouchonne]

I could. How much of an exhibitionist are you?

[ A pretty blatant dodge. Not that he won't answer - he just needs a moment. ]

[cozen]

[ He hums and wobbles his head. Middling exhibitionism. ]

But if you make my dick look like a turnip, I might have to send them some corrections.

[bouchonne]

I would never render your dick true to reality. You have my oath.

[ Then - ]

They have been made aware that my judgment, when it comes to certain Orlesians, cannot be fully relied upon.

[cozen]

[ True to reality gets a look of feigned offense that’s marred by laughter, but it’s quiet, and it’s died off by the time Byerly answers for real. ]

Mm. Are they good to you? I mean—do they respect you and value your work and all of that?

[bouchonne]

[ A little huff of laughter. ]

Dearest Bastien, who in their right minds would respect me?

[cozen]

Me, [ primly. ] Is that a no?

[bouchonne]

[ He lets his head drop against Bastien. ]

My talent is undeniable. Even if most people, at most times, want to deny it.

[cozen]

[ When his head drops, an encouraging, scalp-skritching hand goes straight to his hair. ]

So they... [ guessing, like it’s a game ] ... are sometimes exasperated and impatient when they talk to you, but they know you do good work?

[bouchonne]

It's like you've attended our meetings.

[ His voice isn't very bitter, to be fair. A little dry, but their lack of regard isn't a deep wound, evidently. ]

[cozen]

Maybe I was, ooooo.

[ That’s a spooky ooooo, with his petting fingers briefly rerouted to do a spidery sort of crawl on Byerly’s neck. ]

And you told them your judgment was compromised? Not that you were a brilliant bard-tamer who had us eating out of your palm?

[bouchonne]

Maker, no. What if they asked me to try to replicate the success? With Bards a little less soft-hearted than you two?

[cozen]

Say you specialize in a particular breed.

[ Then he settles, comfortable and a touch more serious. ]

I don’t like being a reason anyone might doubt you. That’s all. But I guess there isn’t much of a way around it, given the givens.

[bouchonne]

[ He hums in acknowledgment. It's a sweet sentiment. Rather unexpectedly so - to have Bastien treating his intelligence career like a serious thing. ]

Well, if it makes you feel better, wine also makes people doubt me, and wine treats me much more cruelly than you ever have.

[cozen]

If I start giving you headaches and making you vomit, we do have a problem.

[bouchonne]

Yes, that's a little too kinky for me.

[ Anyway. ]

Thank you.

[cozen]

[ He’s still in the process of huffy laughter about kinkiness when he asks, ]

For not causing hangovers?

[bouchonne]

Aside from giving me that skin-crawling sensation that comes after you consume too much sugar?

Thank you for caring about my scandalous exploits down south.

[cozen]

Oh. [ He needs a moment to decide not to argue with Byerly about whether that's the sort of thing that requires thanks. ] It is my pleasure. Thank you for trusting me enough to allow me to.

—but if your skin is crawling too much I can call your ass bony some more. And I don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but your feet smell like the inside of a boot.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh. He's clearly more comfortable with the razzing than the sentiment. ]

Counterpoint: perhaps boots just smell like the outside of my feet.

[cozen]

All of them, throughout Thedas, perfumed by a league of perverted shoemakers who want to be able to smell your feet everywhere they go.

[bouchonne]

[ HAH. ]

How about you?

[ He twists around - a little surprisingly limber - to maneuver his feet into the vicinity of Bastien's face. ]

Would you like this incredible gift?

[cozen]

[ Bastien grabs him by both ankles before his feet come too close, but only to pull them closer one at a time, contemplating like a sommelier. ]

L’essence du Byerly. [ And some very serious bullshit: ] Do you spend more time on the left foot when you bathe?

[bouchonne]

How dare you.

[ In mock-offense: ]

I am a division head in Riftwatch. I show no partiality.

[cozen]

Really?

[ He lets go of one foot so he can try using his fingernails to tickle the arch of the one he's still holding by the ankle, with an expression akin to a alchemist pouring one experimental liquid into another. ]

None at all?

[bouchonne]

None at all.

[ He twitches just a bit - a slight ticklish reaction. ]

You're just like any other soldier to me.