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

[elegiaque]

( she makes a vague downward gesture— )

It's nice by the garden when it's late. I had a lamp.

( and a convenient overhang to sit underneath not to get rained on, and hardie, tolerant of her recently unhinged whims. )

I lost track of time.

[bouchonne]

I didn't know you were so keen on embroidery.

[elegiaque]

I literally made you a jacket for last Satinalia,

( though in retrospect, she's not sure byerly actually knew she made that rather than simply purchased the pieces, and the reconsideration shows as plainly on her face as most things tend to. )

I've always—I made Aura Hardie a little purse out of a scene I made, with Yngvi and Gunnar standing on each other's shoulders dressed in a bearskin to fight her brother. Anyway, everyone always needs shirts.

[bouchonne]

[ Well. ]

Except some qunari.

[elegiaque]

I'd need more fabric.

( challenge accepted!!! she could make a shirt a qunari would want to wear, she's very talented. )

[bouchonne]

You'd need three leather straps and a codpiece.

[elegiaque]

That's not exactly difficult to put my hands on.

[bouchonne]

A giant codpiece. You have little hands.

[elegiaque]

We don't employ giants to make siege engines, either, just sufficiently ambitious artificers.

[bouchonne]

Yes, but the artificers don't actually assemble the devices.

[elegiaque]

No, we get smiths like dwarves to do the hard parts. Or Lord Luthor, ( a dwarven-trained markham noble, whose name she recently lent to provost stark to make connections in orzammar, ) who's not that much bigger than I am.

[bouchonne]

Is that your secret, then? Your diminutive size?

[elegiaque]

( she glances automatically down at herself, which is not particularly illuminating, and blankly back up at him: )

I don't think no one's noticed.

[bouchonne]

I'm asking if that's the secret to your success. I'm not asking if it's a secret that you're short.

[elegiaque]

This is exactly why no one would look for me in the diplomacy office.

( it's funny because it's true. )

[bouchonne]

Or at least they would overlook you.

[elegiaque]

That's got nothing to do with me, that's what happens to anyone standing next to you.

( this is not a criticism of his outfits, it is an observation from a woman currently wearing an admittedly fine but aggressively neutral beige gown. )

[bouchonne]

[ With blatant self-admiration: ]

I am beautifully tall.

[elegiaque]

You and half this post. If we lose the war, we can always console ourselves that we looked very pretty trying.

( there was a six foot six opening there and there was a hesitation before she didn't take it. )

[bouchonne]

[ A heavy sigh. ]

Well, thank the Maker you're here to keep me from feeling special or interesting in any way.

[elegiaque]

My lord took all the charm in the family with him at Ghislain, you'll have to take it up with him if there's an afterlife.

( you could ask why she's like this, but the answer probably does have something to do with emery at the end of the day. )

[bouchonne]

[ He sighs even more heavily. ]

Charm is not a gift. It's a muscle. A skill one develops, like archery or magic. Charmlessness isn't a curse; it's a sign of indolence.

[elegiaque]

( her face does several things, as she manages — incredibly — not to snap her first reaction back at him. eventually, pinning her needle back into flint's shirt, )

This was a stupid idea, I'm going to — there's plenty of empty rooms, I'm just going to go find one for the night. I can write Lexie a note or something, you look busy.

( she clicks her tongue and hardie lumbers to his feet, albeit somewhat reluctantly. whiskey's good company. )

[bouchonne]

[ With a shake of his head - ]

Maker's breath, why did you call me?

[elegiaque]

( in the moment, it had made perfect sense — byerly would not ask her questions about things she doesn't know how to answer, would not treat her with kid glove kindness that scrapes excruciatingly against raw skin, but she's so terrible at talking to him. she drifts away for a bit and forgets how frustrated she gets, remembers only: )

I only argue with people that I care about.

( but byerly is quite charming, mostly, with people who aren't gwenaëlle. and they argue every time she talks to him. and possibly, assuming that they were doing it for the same reason made about as much sense as all the other things that have gone so brilliantly for her lately.

she pulls a face, aggrieved, conscious of her own tendency to melodrama; tired of herself, tired of being suspicious of every soft place she could land and reaching for things that only make it worse instead. and then, not even committing to that. what the fuck is she doing.

if she doesn't look directly at him, he won't notice her eyes are wet, probably. )

I don't think that's actually true of everyone else? ( except she sort of did think that. except she has really struggled to learn the lesson that it is not obvious, and she isn't speaking the same language as everyone she speaks to, and the things she thinks she's communicating are half the time not what anyone else is ever hearing. )