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]

[ By gives a crooked little smile. ]

The same.

[ And then, of all the confidence of someone who's most certainly not changing the subject: ]

You're quite magnificently smooth.

[cozen]

[ Another time, he might grin and run a suave hand through his hair in deliberate misunderstanding. But that other time he wouldn't already be busy looking at By, silent and still and focused while he considers the smile and the parry and the possibilities. Avoiding a traumatic memory, something sincerely horrible. Being bashful about bravery. Feeling not so much flattered as pressured to be that specific kind of brave.

It only lasts a couple seconds, though, and then Bastien smiles and tries not to be a dodgy hypocrite. ]

There was a mage in the house, when I was younger. He was very good at correcting mistakes. You can still sort of tell, if you know where—

[ He looks speculatively at his own torso, which aside from the hair is very smooth, with the pale or dark patches of old wounds invisible without sunlight and a very close look. But then he points toward his hip and thigh, obscured by the water. ]

That one was after he was gone. It's how I found out I was mortal.

Horrible.

[bouchonne]

[ Hypocritically, there's a gleam of interest in By's eye in response to that. He's aware of the hypocrisy, too, and yet even so he acts on it. ]

How did you discover your mortality, then? If you actually did, and you're not just being modest. I'm not convinced.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s eyes narrow above his smile—unfair, the narrowing says, in a very affectionate tone—but he answers. ]

I was stabbed. And I fell off a balcony. And then the wound was infected. But mostly I was stabbed.

[ He flicks at the surface of the water. Not hard enough to land any droplets in Byerly’s face, at this distance, but the suggestion of the intent is there, along with an arch sort of bashfulness. Ten years ago it was a real embarrassment. Now it’s funny. Mostly. ]

By a Chantry Sister.

[bouchonne]

[ Now Byerly is in a terrible dilemma. Is it okay to laugh at that? Is the smile fake, or real? Because that sounds hilarious.

Okay, he's going for it. ]

Mis-pronounced the Chant, did you?

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs and gives it a try: the first two lines of Apotheosis, sweetly sung, with as many sounds as possible twisted the wrong way. ]

—no, [ he cuts himself off with. ] No, I was there to retrieve blackmail on her Revered Mother. Using her to get inside at night. I had it coming. I just prefer not to get what I deserve, you know?

[ A hypothetical question, but after he’s asked it he thinks perhaps Byerly doesn’t know. ]

[bouchonne]

[ By groans. ]

Ugh, your voice is insultingly lovely.

[ Then, a little less melodramatically: ]

So were you using her in a carnal way?

[cozen]

[ Bastien snorts quietly at the compliment, but it’s more laugh than derision, and he doesn’t argue. Even if it’s only love talking—no, especially if it’s only love talking—he’ll take it.

Anyway. ]

Le sens charnel. Yes.

[ It’s relatively new, to feel a little ashamed of himself over it. He watches Byerly—who’s done the same, who tangled and tripped in trying to be sure it bore no resemblance to what he’s doing with Alexandrie. He thinks of what he could try say to make it sound more palatable, if he wanted Byerly to think better of him instead of to know him. Blame the Game. Shift the light and the angles to make twenty-one more child than adult. He didn’t know how else to be. He had to eat. She was older, she reached first— ]

Or, well, [ is what he says instead, ] I am not sure now. The way she turned, she might have known all along. But I believed I was taking advantage while I did it. That is what matters, don’t you think?

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's gaze sharpens with curiosity. ]

Are you ashamed of it?

[ It's hard to tell. His manner is always so playful, even in moments of unhappiness. But he seems like there's some ineffable sort of strain in Bastien's good humor. ]

[cozen]

[ A little shrug that barely stirs the water. ]

It wasn't very kind.

[ Among other things. Another word might serve better. But kind is the word Byerly used—you've remained kind, a hero's labor—and the good opinion it feels like he's jeopardizing. ]

A lot of things weren't.

[bouchonne]

[ By tilts his head in consideration. Not in judgment. Maker, no; he knows that he has absolutely no room to judge anyone, least of all on this matter. He has spent a lifetime engaging in unkindnesses - and not just after he became a spy, either. He survived his early days by seducing and abandoning. Including seducing and abandoning some genuine, kindhearted people who really deserved better. ]

Is there a way to ply the Bard's trade kindly?

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles—genuinely, already buoyed most of the way out of that little dip in his mood, just by the fact that Byerly doesn’t seem unsettled. ]

Maybe as a hobby. Gathering secrets to resolve feuds. Sneaking into parties to make sure everyone was having a good time. Orlais would have to be a very different place for it to be profitable, but it would be fun.

[bouchonne]

I like that.

[ The smile he shoots at Bastien is one of his rare ones - unguarded, genuine. ]

Maybe that can be our post-war occupation.

[cozen]

[ Bastien tucks that smile into his memory for safekeeping, while his own goes a little softer—it’s the post-war, it’s the our. It’s that he’s already decided the next time he is in Val Royeaux he will sell his remaining assets and close his accounts, closing the door for good on Edouard Almary and his suffocating game of pretend. ]

We would be amazing. Hungry, probably, but amazing.

[ He extends his leg again, this time only far enough to put the arch of his foot on By’s kneecap and push it to and fro in a sweeping wobble, like holding hands and swinging arms. ]

Do you like what you do now? [ A little entreating, because he doesn’t think it was his doing, that By agreed to the position, and certainly not his doing that he was offered it. But he did encourage it. ] At all?

[bouchonne]

[ It's a slightly unexpected question, but, well, that's Bastien for you. He clearly has ten thoughts for every individual word he speaks. So By tilts his head very slightly, and leans into the knee-foot sway, and just concentrates on that a moment as he thinks. ]

It comes with its perks.

[ Not a ringing endorsement. He gives a wry little smile and shrugs in acknowledgment of that not-endorsement. ]

I don't think my constitution is well-suited to leadership. I much prefer being told what to do.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's hum sounds close to a purr, and he twitches his eyebrows up once in an abbreviated suggestive wiggle. But that's mostly a thought—a promise—for later. For now: ]

I am sure someone up there would be willing to oblige you, if you told them so.

[ Teasing. ]

[bouchonne]

Mmm.

[ Lips pursed, eyelashes lowered suggestively, wriggling slightly in the water. But then, more seriously: ]

When you doing evil Barding, instead of the virtuous Barding that is in our future - were you able to tell yourself, it's just what someone else wants? Did that help?

[cozen]

The arrow, not the archer. That is what we said. All that makes an arrow good or bad is whether it goes where it is aimed.

But arrows do not choose their archer, so...

[ It isn’t mournful, that last part, or self-loathing. If anything it’s hopeful. He’d rather say he chose wrong than say he didn’t have a choice.

He gives By’s knee a more vigorous little wiggle in parting and puts his foot back down. ]

Is that what you miss?

[bouchonne]

I trusted the hands of my archer.

[ Meanwhile, he holds up his hands, and lets them flop and dangle. ]

I, meanwhile, have weak shoulders and limp wrists and a bit of nearsightedness.

[ Then, letting his hands submerge again - ]

What about you? Do you like it?

[cozen]

I love your limp wrists, [ protectively, ] and I trust your hands, [ to actually begin to answer the question, ] and I am able to go places and talk to people. I haven’t had to kill any of them yet. That’s nice.

[ The number one reason he hasn’t changed divisions since abandoning the hapless tradesman act. Having an excuse to regularly go upstairs and flirt over paperwork is only fourth or fifth. ]

Even being chained to that stupid desk is not so bad now, since Alexandrie is there.

[bouchonne]

Good.

[ And there's something a little fervent and a little vulnerable in that word. Because he doesn't want to have spoiled it between them. He would hate to think that his neediness spoiled it. ]

But yes. No need to deceive any Chantry sisters. And no need to be reminded of your mortality.

[cozen]

[ Things aren’t spoiled. They are a little cracked—but it’s a crack that’s between them, Bastien and Alexandrie, and he isn’t sure it wouldn’t turn into a break if he started whining and inviting Byerly to intervene.

So he smiles, then laughs a little. ]

Except in dreams. Or when there are abominations over for dinner. Or if someone has a tantrum.

[ He can’t quite see Leander’s handiwork through the water, but he looks in its direction. ]

[bouchonne]

[ That look is well understood. By smiles crookedly as he touches his fingers to the wound. ]

Didn't you hear, Bastien? It wasn't a tantrum. He was completely in the right, and I was a monster.

[cozen]

Right, right, of course. That makes sense. The person who is bleeding is usually the one who is to blame.

[ His fingers are turning to raisins, on quick inspection, but he only settles lower into the water. ]

Do you know what happened to him?

[ No one Bastien has heard mention his sudden absence so far seems to have any idea. ]

[bouchonne]

[ By shakes his head. ]

I expect we'll see him across the battlefield before too long. He's a constitution well-suited to the Venatori.

[ But: Byerly does take advantage of that comment to use his toe to poke lightly at Bastien's one proper scar. ]

Are we admitting that perhaps we're not guilty when others attack us?