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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[coquettish_trees]

Byerly.

[ It’s chiding, but the same amount as he jokes. ]

But you are right, it is a decision one must make.

[ She turns her face so she can rest her cheek against his head and muses. ]

Sometimes I think choosing to open oneself to care for another... it is the same as choosing who can hurt you— knowing sometimes they will, even if they do not wish to. Hoping they did not wish to. Hoping they will stay and care for you when it happens.

[ Her hand stirs, fingers curling gently into his hair. ]

I have decided to love and sometimes be hurt.

I should miss you, should you decide otherwise.

[bouchonne]

[ He takes a breath. But he also tilts his head into her hand. ]

Perhaps I should be more selective, at least. But I...do find that my heart is often - rather weak.

[coquettish_trees]

It is not.

[ She smiles, and turns her head just enough to kiss his hair again. ]

No, you are like me. Resilient. [ She laughs, silent save for the puffs of air through her nose. ] And you shall be just as cross with me for saying so as I was cross with you, and it shall be just as true. If it were not, you should have given up and stopped choosing people to let in long ago.

[ A little sigh. ]

We wish too much to be loved, I think, to have it be otherwise.

[bouchonne]

I was doing pretty well for a long while there.

[ An unhappy little smile downwards. ]

Until I came here, really. Maybe I can blame you.

[coquettish_trees]

I should have said I was doing well too.

[ Power. Influence. Vengeance. The brittle safety of being feared. She would trade them again. Sooner. ]

I was not. Not in any way that mattered. But you may blame me if you like.

[bouchonne]

What, you think I was indifferent to you?

[coquettish_trees]

I meant before I came here I thought I was... what passed for happy. But—

[ She shakes her head a little. ]

I do not know what I thought you were. I did not think we should ever have crossed paths again, and I did not know what to do when I heard you. How to speak with you in any way but indirectly. To dance around it, to play, to mean everything and say nothing, and the moment we strayed from that we fought.

I could not bear to see you, or to not see you. To touch you, or to not. You traced the line of my throat at Ghislain and I could feel it for weeks when I closed my eyes, but you did not come to me. and when finally I made myself tell you I loved you still you said nothing of your own heart but that you could not give it, I—

I have never felt so lost for so long.

[bouchonne]

[ And he's quiet a moment. Then he confesses: ]

I don't understand it. I'm no prize.

[coquettish_trees]

What is it you think I value?

[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head. ]

Someone who brings you joy, I should think.

[coquettish_trees]

Is that why you keep me?

[bouchonne]

As much as I keep you. [ But: ] Yes.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She was prepared to say something. Something like even though I weep, and rage, and am jealous, and selfish, and bound myself to a man I love and you hate?

But then she doesn’t want to any more, because she feels she has been given something small and bright and lovely, and she wants to hold it instead of trying to give it back. Instead she leans so she can lift his chin with careful fingers and kiss him with a quiet reverence. ]

[bouchonne]

[ He kisses her back, warmly. Though, after a moment, he breaks it off, asking - ]

That was - the right thing to say, then?

[coquettish_trees]

Yes.

[ She touches his nose with her own, and then goes back to resting her head against his. ]

You have always made me laugh, and let me be silly anywhere knowing I shall never be alone in it if you are there. But more than that... every time I wake and I am next to you and you still sleep and I love you and stay there is a kind of peace that is the quietest I have known.

[bouchonne]

[ He doesn't know how to fit it inside him. ]

I really want to make you happy.

[ He just doesn't know how it is that he does it. ]

[coquettish_trees]

Perhaps you will not believe me, but... truly it is enough to hear so.

[ She turns to talk into his hair again. ]

I must be told things, sometimes. I cannot read you as I do others; what I want to be true, what I fear to be true, they are in the way. I cannot trust myself to interpret you aright, and so sometimes you must say what you think you have told me some other way. [ Wryly, in proper homage to the ancient battle of 'how could you not have known': ] Even if you think you have shouted it from the rooftops.

[ A soft sigh through her nose. ]

I wish to make you happy too.

[bouchonne]

[ A small nod, and then a tilt of his head. ]

It's also that...I am...not good at saying the things I'm told to say. You may have picked up on that fact. [ The fact that Byerly is as stubborn as a feral mabari, in his own way.

Then, amending: ] Or, well. Not when I care about what's being said. I'll obviously say whatever I'm ordered to when I'm working someone.

[coquettish_trees]

[ The whuff of air from her nose comes again, but it is laughter rather than sigh.

What a pair they make, almost lovingly designed to drive each other mad. But it is as he said, isn't it? They are still here. There has been so much, so very much, and they are still here. Still care enough to quarrel.

Maybe he is fighting for her, it is simply that they are fighting each other and themselves. ]

Then I shall not tell you what to say or when to say it. Only that it will make me happy to hear whatever it is you wish to say whenever it is you wish to say it.

[bouchonne]

[ A little nod; a breath out. ]

Yes. Being told what to say makes whatever I do say feel like a falsehood. I don't want that.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She nods too. ]

Nor do I. And I do trust you, in that. That you shall not lie to me.

It is because of that trust that when I asked you to tell me those things—that I was beautiful, that you wanted me with you, that you should miss me were I gone—and you said nothing, I believed it meant that if you spoke them you would be lying. And so you did not think them, but were letting me pretend things were other than they were.

[ A kiss for his head, and a voice warm with amusement: ]

I am glad it is only because you are obstinate.

[bouchonne]

[ A little laugh - and it's a genuine one. Then, in his broadest Fereldan accent - ]

We shall stand ever steadfast against the slender, decadent Orlesian redheads coming to conquer our hearts.

[ And then: ]

You are beautiful. I do want you with me.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She smiles, touched, and then curls herself so she can murmur low and honeyed in his ear in her most fluid Orlesian one: ]

There is only one part of you that stands steadfast against Orlesians.

[ A gentle little nip at his ear for punctuation. ]

You let us climb all over you. But I am merciful and shall not tell your queen.

[bouchonne]

[ Mock scandalized: ]

You filthy little minx.

[ And then, with a wry smile: ]

Rest assured that my queen already knows. In my missives - "here is where my judgment is compromised."

[coquettish_trees]

[ She puts her chin on his shoulder and folds her arms around him. Softly: ]

You are so good.

[ Then an energetic kiss for the side of his neck, and a squeeze, and she lets go. ]

They will make you work soon. We have to eat the cake, or Bastien will feel unappreciated.