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

post dream.

[hornswoggle]

I thought I'd stop in to get a look at you, [ is the greeting John offers, just over the threshold of the Diplomacy office. ] Make certain you woke without the eyepatch.

[bouchonne]

I miss it.

[ Byerly's manner is winsome. ]

I looked so damned dashing. Almost as handsomely scruffy as you.

[ And he gestures to a chair with a small gesture - if Silver's just breezing by, he can ignore, but if he's staying longer, he can take it as an invitation. ]

[hornswoggle]

If you take to wearing one in public no one would be the wiser as to whether or not it's needed.

[ The invitation is taken; door closed behind him, seat claimed in the course of his reply. There is some minor pause while John arranges his crutch, slanting across one thigh. ]

Flattery aside, how has the day found you?

[bouchonne]

Dreadfully tired.

[ His lip curls up wryly. He rises as Silver sits and goes to his sidetable; his hand hovers over a carafe of tea, and then a bottle of brandy, waiting for the tilt of the man's head that will indicate which beverage is preferred. ]

It felt as though we slept a month, yet without a single rejuvenating benefit.

[hornswoggle]

Oh, don't say that. The memory of you in that eyepatch will be very fortifying for me going forward.

[ Then, smoothly— ]

Pour a generous splash of that into my tea cup, if you would.

[ It's that kind of morning. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A wry smile. It is that kind of morning. ]

How's your captain's mood? I can't imagine he was well pleased waking up from that dream. [ Well. ] From either dream.

[hornswoggle]

Did any of us wake up pleased from that dream?

[ A sidestep as much as an honest question. Whichever the dream, the end note had struck a particular chord. ]

The trappings aside, I'd like your impression of the Herald and all the warnings imparted.

[bouchonne]

Damned confusing. I really have no head for all this spirit business.

[ But the confusion is more theatrical than real. Less archly: ]

I suppose the first question is whether it was real, or something false.

[hornswoggle]

I don't know enough about spirits to judge one way or another, [ John admits, because it costs him nothing to offer such a truth to Byerly. ] Did you ever see her before? The Herald?

[bouchonne]

No.

[ A little amused curl of his lip. ]

The Rutyers are, I believe, distantly connected to the Trevelyan tree by a few stray twigs, but certainly no relation close enough to justify a visit in life. And in death - Well, I have not been interesting enough to merit a visit by her vaunted spirit.

Yourself?

[hornswoggle]

[ A low whistle in answer, before he tips the teacup and shakes his head. ]

Nothing but stories. And never in a dream.

[ But to the point— ]

All that to say, do you think we should heed the warning?

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug. ]

Perhaps not heed, per se. I don't think ghosts, spirits, et cetera, can really be trusted. But whether it's a trap or a gift, it's worth finding out which.

[hornswoggle]

Something to foist onto the Research Division, I assume?

[ But in the same breath— ]

Wysteria Poppell and that Rifter, Stevens, are collecting accounts. It occurred to me we might want to look into some of the locations and see whether or not there's anything worth cultivating.

[bouchonne]

[ Hm. A slightly lifted eyebrow. ]

Do you have any inspiration as to what we might cultivate?

[hornswoggle]

Caches, safe houses. The things we kept lamenting the absence of, and might be useful regardless of if we ever slip into such dire straits.

[ Which of course they're hoping to avoid. ]

[bouchonne]

Hm. Certainly which people are more sympathetic to us than we thought. Or less so.

[hornswoggle]

Well, that's less easily navigated than shoring up our defenses in easy to conceal places.