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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[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ Now, that unnerves him. His brows draw down, and his hands pull back - not quite a flinch, but close to one. ]

It - You did intend for me to invite him. Didn't you? Did I - ? [ Misunderstand? ]

[coquettish_trees]

I did. [ It comes quickly. ] I do intend it, always. I like him, and he cares for you in a way I trust, and you make one another happy, and I should be miserable if you should ever think to limit yourself on my account.

[ She looks miserable now. ]

I do not know what is wrong with me, that you could say you love me a thousand times and we could wake like this a thousand days and I should fear as if I only understand the moments you look away.

[bouchonne]

But I -

[ He feels as though he's in a skiff at high winds and waves. Not out of control, but bordering on it. ]

But you have Loki. I should think that it is - What is different about my relationship with Bastien?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Her eyes cut away at that, finding out where the gold and emerald of her ring sits on her side table waiting patiently to return to her hand.

Alexandrie is waiting patiently for a return too.

The difference is that Bastien is here and when I do not share your bed I sleep with memory.

But even with Loki months gone she has no fear she is unloved, has been forgotten. How can her heart feel so secure in one pair of hands and so brittle in another?

She shakes her head a little. ]

I do not know. Nothing. It is not about Bastien. I do not know what it is about.

[ How long does it take to go to the kitchens? She shouldn’t have said anything at all, but the idea of dissembling was unconscionable. ]

Tell me I am beautiful and that you miss me when I am gone and that cake is a fine breakfast and then I will smile again and be in good humour and later I will... try to learn what it is that is broken in me.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly, so accustomed to recognizing and manipulating others' feelings when the work calls for it, really is at a loss when it comes to real feelings. He's sitting up in bed now, back slightly hunched. It's all - so difficult, because - it's Bastien, he thinks, who allows him to be with her. She's so bloody dangerous and intense that Bastien's ease provides an opportunity to settle back down again. And her attentions are divided, he knows - she was the first one with divided attentions - and so having Bastien makes him feel like there's someone who won't wander away from him. And -

Well, it was like in that dream, wasn't it? When it was the two of them, when Bastien was an indifferent outsider, they tore at each other. He was careless and miserable; she was spiteful; they drove each other on to greater and greater cruelty. If Bastien had been present and kind as he is in truth, then there'd have been none of that. He'd have defused everything between them.

And it was like in the other dream, as well: she'd always return to the north, and leave him behind. ]

Do I not pay you enough attention?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Now she rustles nervously, unhappily. ]

Why will you not let me say I do not know. I do not want to be on my feet pacing, or frowning, or any such thing when Bastien arrives because then he will think that it is him when it is not. If I knew what it was that makes me need to be reassured constantly that I am—

[ Ah. She looks down, silent for a moment as she fidgets with the cloth of the robe, and then begins softly again. ]

Why did you make me fight so hard, for so long? I was desperate for you to love me, begged of you to love me, and now... perhaps I am afraid you have only acquiesced.

You and Bastien found each other and grew something new and precious together and I am a jagged remnant— I— did you not want— [ finally she looks up, and when she continues it is small and plaintive. ] Why would you not fight for me?

[cozen]

[ There is a polite warning knock first, but no wait for an answer before the door opens.

This is mainly because Bastien has spent the eight flights of stairs preparing himself not to be shy about this. He's invited—not only delivering breakfast to his noble lover and noble lover's noble lover, promise the three sets of cups and silver on the tray—and there's no reason for them to have felt obliged.

It's also a little because he successfully balanced the heavy tray aloft on one hand before he knocked, and he wants to sweep through the door and show off. ]

If you happen to talk to anyone from the kitchen, it is my birthday today,

[ is how he came into the cake. It's accompanied by heaps of the dining hall's standard breakfast fare, all hidden under cloches for warmth. He's entering shoulder-first, and it isn't until the door has been shut behind him with his foot that he pivots to look at their faces. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Shit. ]

Ah.

[ Byerly's face looks a little guilty. Like he's been caught doing something naughty - or, more than that, even, because By usually has no self-consciousness whatsoever about naughtiness. So - what does he say? He can't ignore Bastien - Maker, no - to answer Lexie's question. But if he doesn't answer, Lexie will think he's dodging the question. Which, to be altogether fair, he is - because he has no good answer to it whatsoever. So in a way, this interruption is also beyond welcome.

He wants to stay silent and let Lexie handle the situation. No doubt she'll have the perfect, poised welcome for Bastien. But he knows in his heart that that is not the right thing to do: Bastien is his, and he's responsible in some way for mediating the two of them. Even if he'd really prefer that they both just take care of everything and let him simply lay back and enjoy them, he is responsible.

And so he blurts, the joke strained - ]

Happy birthday.

[ And then, even more strained, he says - ]

We're having a bit of a go of it because I think we were both driven mad by bad dreams.

[coquettish_trees]

[ That's not why.

Or... it's only part of why. It's enough of why that Alexandrie will let it be why. They are both exhausted.

Now that she'd found the edge of this particular hurt, knows where its border lies, she doesn't look agitated anymore; just tired. Particularly so because she is fresh-faced, with none of her usual applied cosmetic artistry. Even so she smiles for Bastien and the cake, and sings for him. ]

Bon anniversaire, nos vœux les plus sincères—

[ It is simple, unornamented, and sounds like she just woke up and her vocal warm-up was having a go of it, but it's a song all the same. ]

I will cut it, you ought not do too much hard labour on your birthday.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s jaunty show-off smile slides into something more subdued, but it doesn’t disappear.

This isn’t what he expected, go-having or not. Alexandrie’s bare face and dressing gown, Byerly’s bare chest above the blankets of the bed he is still thoroughly in. It’s not bad—Bastien’s occasional shyness isn’t prudish, his bouts of jealous nerves never the sort that involve possessive hackle-rising over the thought of anyone seeing anyone else naked. It’s only different. A softer song than he’d been in position for.

And they’ve been having a go.

But he keeps smiling, in a more thoughtful way, and even does a little shoulder shimmy for Alexandrie’s song. ]

Oh, yes, my poor broken back.

[ He still has the tray lofted above his shoulder. He looks around for a table that might be dragged closer, but seeing nothing convenient, slides the tray down onto the bed before her.

He considers offering to leave and come back later, and he doesn’t decide he won’t. Only that he won’t yet. ]

My dreams were strange, too. Maybe someone broke something cursed in the basement again.

[bouchonne]

Maybe.

[ Because it wasn't really glibness that led him to say they're fighting over dreams. He's beginning to suspect that they had the same dream. That plea of Lexie's felt like it came from a place of - of miserably telling a man you loved him, that you betrayed him because you loved him. ]

One in which we were all horrible to one another, and one in which we were all merely miserable?

[coquettish_trees]

[ The very moment the tray slid onto the bed Alexandrie had begun lifting cloches, sorting through the selection with a look of dogged determination.

She stops, one of the domed lids still raised in her hand, and looks at Byerly sharply when he mentions he'd had two, all three of them in both. The look quickly transfers to Bastien as she awaits his answer. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien tilts his head at Byerly in surprise, and his eyes swivel to Alexandrie before he says, slowly, ]

Yes.

[ The same themes? The same dreams? He hopes not. When he was freshly woken and staring into the fire, he spent a moment feeling sorry for himself about a dream where he was nothing to Byerly and to Alexandrie, watching them carry on their wretched drama like he wasn’t there. Then he moved on to feeling other things, like worried about having to live in a swamp if the war doesn’t end soon.

But if they saw something similar, they were nothing to him, too, and he has much more to be sorry for than his own feelings.

He shrugs, though, in a hopeful sort of way. ]

Or, well—I had one where we were horrible to each other, and one where I made a dramatic return from the dead and a lot of people were very happy to see me. That wasn’t so bad.

[ Joking. Of course it was miserable. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly nods very slightly. And he looks to Alexandrie, waiting for her confirmation, the line between his eyebrows back. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ It was bad enough when she had thought them spirits. When she had thought the dreams reflection of her own worries: that she would leave and it would hurt both her and Byerly, that she would be happy and surrounded by love and he would be alone, that for a moment she would be gripped as if she meant everything in the world and then immediately be superseded by Bastien, who had better reason to be loved. That Byerly's sense of honour would always be more important than either of them.

And the other; that every stitch of her truth pulled out of her and examined would never be enough. That knowing she had shattered, knowing she had never ceased to love him even when it was inarguable would always be too little too late. It would never heal anything. Even cooler to each other they would be compatriots, she would beg to no avail, and—

And now? To have been seen? Not spirits at all?

Perhaps the fact that her eyes are wide and she is still holding the cloche is answer enough. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien looks at Byerly's furrowed eyebrows, at Alexandrie's wide eyes, and then at the door beyond them both. ]

It must have been everyone. They would not only pick on us.

[ —is important, but also easier than thinking or talking about the more personal aspects, and if they are both going to sit there in silence, he's going to give himself a break.

He would like to sit down. But the nearest place to sit is the bed, so he settles for unwinding the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck for the trek from his tower to the dining hall tower and up to the top of this one. ]

Skyhold, and the Herald?

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ A nod. ]

And someone calling themselves Fen'Harel - an old elf god, as I understand it - endeavoring to destroy the Veil? Bringing, by this act, death and destruction and all that.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Ah. So that is what the two of them had been looking for.

She places the cover carefully back in its place and busies herself with pouring coffee without looking up. ]

Cannot this Fen'Harel wait until Corypheus is done bringing his death and destruction? It seems rather vulgar to jostle one another so impatiently.

[ Once finished, she will pass each of them a cup— dressed as she knows preferred— only looking up inasmuch is as required to do so. Then, with dainty aplomb, and without bothering to cut it at all, she takes a fork to the cake.

Desperate times, etc. ]

[cozen]

And the Qun.

[ He takes the coffee (black, for him) and holds the cup in his hands to warm them up. ]

They should have to form a—a queue...n.

[ Get it. Queue. Qun. But the he sounds unsure of his own joke, looking between Byerly and Alexandrie again, and feeling suddenly terrible about going easy on himself. ]

I'm sorry. For... for dreaming about abducting you, [ Alexandrie, ] and about threatening to kill you and make sure it wasn't fun, [ Byerly. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly relaxes infinitesimally as they both crack jokes. ]

And I am sorry for threatening you - [ And then, to Alexandrie, his voice softening - ] And I am sorry for - so very much.

[ He accepts the coffee as well (cream in his), pain in his face. ]

I cannot help but feel the deepest disgust, that my mind would even come up with any of that.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Cream and sugar for Alexandrie, given the origin of this particular coffee. She sets down her fork to hold the cup in her hands as Bastien does, wanting the warmth even though her hands are not cold, and looks over at Byerly. ]

I am sorry for how often I have let fear turn me into an animal; that all I have ever done when I am hurt or frightened is lash out cruelly or run. That I ask for things I shall never deserve, [ her gaze flicks over to Bastien, and then down into the cup, ] and that I am jealous of you for deserving them.

I wish I were disgusted, but I am only... I do not know yet.

[ She thumbs along the simple pattern on the cup's side. ]

What does it say of me, do you think, that my most present worries have never been for the world? Should I not be more concerned with this god and the Veil, or Corypheus and whatever the Gates were that caused us to lose this war?

[cozen]

[ Bastien head tilts again, at jealous of you, and in the next moment he lets his puzzlement bleed onto his face instead of keeping it so carefully clear as he would around anyone else—or around Alexandrie, most likely, were she not bare-faced and vulnerable.

He darts a look at Byerly. Whatever they were troubled by before he came in, he hopes it wasn't him. But he doesn't ask; Alexandrie is moving along, to something that he has a better idea what to do with. ]

Well, those are the simpler things to be concerned about, aren't they? They are not in the room with us. We don't have to wonder how to feel about them. Veil up. Gates closed. Easy. [ He brings his coffee up to drink. ] So maybe it says you have courage.

[bouchonne]

No one is kinder or better for being consumed with thoughts of the world rather than thoughts of people in it.

[ He holds put a hand for some cake. No plate needed. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ When Alexandrie looks up from the cup it is confused, unsure, and, of a sudden, bordering on tears.

What had she wanted? To have them agree that she was as selfish as she had felt herself to be, consumed so with only the upheaval of her little world, only the ache of her single heart, and then turn their talk to the near certainty of this new and present threat to them all? She would have understood that, but this? Whom is it who is good that could look kindly upon a creature that would burn her land at the mere thought it could be invaded and then murder to protect the clutched handful of barren soil that remained? To say courage for such a one?


How long?

How long is it she has hated herself?


The hand was reached for cake, but Alexandrie reaches back for it instead; to hold just the tips of his fingers. To set down her cup so she can bow her head and cover her mouth while she searches for composure. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien takes a breath, preparing to say something, and then he looks away and lets the breath out in silence. It’s what he would want. To not feel gawked at.

But then, that might make him look like he’s embarrassed for her. Like it’s indecent. Maybe if he’d kept the tray and had something to arrange, so looking away didn’t mean standing there beside the bed with his head turned toward the wall—because he can’t look at Byerly, he would hate that even more than being gawked at, to feel people exchanging looks over his head—

And he thinks of her in the dream, the distant hazy picture of her furious with him for hiding his tears, and he looks back at her. ]

Tu vas bien, Alexandrie.