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. Flutters. ]

I love you.

[ Earnestly said. Not remotely offhand. But then, lightly: ]

We should spit into our palms and shake on it.

[cozen]

On our love?

[ Obviously not. He’s teasing—and a little muffled, because he’s grinning pleased into his fist. ]

Be careful. Where I grew up that was a wedding.

[bouchonne]

Maybe we should ruin this upcoming ceremony that way.

[ He grins in return. ]

Shove Wysteria and her beau out of the way. Declare, this wedding is ours! And then just aggressively spit.

[cozen]

[ Bastien snickers at length before cutting himself off. ]

No, [ he isn’t ruining anything, he isn’t making even clearly outrageous and impossible-for-several-reasons marriage jokes in front of Alexandrie unless she’s included, and most importantly, ] Madame de Cedoux will be there. She can never know that we spit. She can’t know we have saliva at all.

[bouchonne]

[ By laughs, doubly grateful for the hilarious joke and the graceful pivot away from that rather dangerous topic. ]

Oh, come now, she's so little. What's she going to do, fight us? We could take her.

[cozen]

[ With more urgency: ] She can’t know that we fight!

It would be like being naked in front of a Chantry Mother.

[bouchonne]

You say that like you've never been naked in front of a Chantry Mother.

[cozen]

Because I haven’t. Have you?

[bouchonne]

Yes.

[cozen]

When? When you were a little Chantry-school rascal?

[bouchonne]

That's right.

[ Delighted by the retelling: ]

In the middle of class. She took in a breath to begin reciting the Chant, and then there was Little Lord Byerly, tearing through the room and out the window in his altogether.

[cozen]

[ Laughter. ]

That is fantastic. What, were you—dared? overcome with a sudden need to be very free?

[bouchonne]

Dared, of course.

[ A laugh - ]

I didn't even get anything for it. Just pride.

[cozen]

And trouble, I assume.

[bouchonne]

A switch to the buttocks. Yes. Worth it, though.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's sensibilities are not modern enough (and his own behind not unswatted enough) for him to think that's awful. He laughs again.

And then—with no prompting or prodding or particular purpose, a rare thing becoming less rare—he volunteers: ]

I would never have done anything like that. Not around a Mother. The Chantry had breakfast. Sometimes work. So I was a sweet, perfect little suck-up.

Young Byerly might have hated me. [ And more to himself, ] Young Byerly in the Bannorn. Little Byerly in the—it is fun to say. Bannorn. Byerly in the Bannorn. Maybe I will write that song.

[bouchonne]

The dullest ballad imaginable.

[ He laughs, then says - ]

And young Byerly wouldn't have hated young Bastien. He would have adored him. A perfect little target for temptation and corruption? Oh, yes.

[cozen]

He could have tried.

[ As if Bastien had been an incorruptible child. Obviously he wasn't. There's a short trail of bodies to prove it.

But for the joke. ]

Alright, Monsieur le Corrupteur. I am sure you have nothing to do but put your feet up and flirt— [ also extremely and obviously untrue ] —but I have work to do.

[bouchonne]

Hm. I could always order you to keep talking to me.

[cozen]

You think so?

[ Not affronted. A little entertained, and mostly musing, like he’s proposing an experiment with an unpredictable outcome. ]

You should try it and see what happens.

[bouchonne]

Hm-hm.

[ Experimentally: ]

Keep talking to me, Bastien.

[cozen]

[ The very predictable ensuing silence is not quite total. He doesn’t disconnect. But the only sounds are rustling papers, a scratching pen, and a few seconds here and there of Bastien’s usual unfocused, meandering tune-humming. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A pleased cackle. ]

I should have you flogged for insubordination. Happy working, until you're dragged away to the whipping-post.

[cozen]

[ Sing-song: ]

Ohhh noooo.

[ And in a lower whisper, like it’s innuendo, which it isn’t actually: ]

Have lunch with me later and I’ll talk you senseless.

[ Then he disconnects. ]