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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[cozen]

[ A hum. ]

Maybe she wanted you to say you were sorry it hurt her, [ is a casual proposal, with little basis, ] and you would stop—instead of that that is just how we talk. But she might have given you more time.

[ Byerly, in his experience, isn't not someone who says he is sorry to his friends, so much as he is not someone who does it lightly. Bastien will say he is sorry to anyone, for anything, without much thought—maybe because most of the time the sorriness isn't a particularly deep sort. Like little seedlings that have barely grown roots and slip cleanly out of the earth when tugged. Meanwhile Byerly wrenches out fully-grown apology-shrubs that bring up chunks of dirt and stone and other plant's roots along with them. ]

[bouchonne]

But that would be a lie, wouldn't it?

[ For a liar, Byerly has an odd sense of honesty. The thought of being dishonest when it comes to this - Out of the question. He might delude himself, but he won't knowingly deceive others. Not when he cares about them. ]

I likely won't stop. We can't just - be different, like flipping a switch. The way we walk in the world, the way we speak and thing, is habit. Old mabari don't take to new commands.

[cozen]

[ It is an odd thing for a liar. But it's not an odd one for Byerly. ]

You are not a mabari, [ is accompanied by a smile and the obvious, teasing withholding of any similar assurances that he is not old, before he repeats: ] You are a thousand things.

You are gentle and kind and serious, when I need you to be. If something bothers me, you don't joke about it. You listen.

[ He listens to Bastien in a way he does not listen to everyone—even to Alexandrie, Bastien knows, from his experience as an unhappy observer. There's something to chew on there. Some similarity between this and when Alexandrie was sitting on the floor, miserable about being denied the specific comfort she asked for, and he'd said do you want me to manipulate you? because I can—

or something. It has been enough years for even Bastien's memory to fail on the specifics.

In the meantime, while he's trying to chew, he taps the tip of By's nose. ]

It would be awful and exhausting if we had to carry on like that forever, I know—so, alright, we won't invite any people who don't like the teasing to live with us. But that part of you is not a lie.

[bouchonne]

It is - not.

[ He admits that, because Bastien is looking at him so kindly. Even though in this moment he wants nothing more than to bury himself in shit and deny every decent part of himself, he can't. Not to Bastien. ]

But it's when I know that you need it of me. This wasn't - It wasn't anything like that. It was just silliness, from beginning to end, but even so it sparked some flame in her.

[cozen]

The part that I heard, she seemed embarrassed.

[ A questing tone, not one of finality; he doesn't know if that's right, or if that's all of it. Maybe it's a bit of projection, from a man who's thrown handwritten manuscripts out of windows and knocked Towers-age vases off of their pedestals because their owners made him feel stupid or small, but it's easy for him to imagine embarrassment setting someone off. ]

[bouchonne]

[ His brows furrow. ]

I'm not sure if she's capable of embarrassment. I've never seen any sign of such a thing from her before.

[cozen]

Maybe you have now.

[ Rather than smoothing the furrows out, this time, he traces them, preemptively fond of the future wrinkles.

Another moment, and he's finished chewing. ]

I don't think it's lying, Byerly—to behave a little differently for people, if that is what they need.

[bouchonne]

[ He looks up at Bastien, a bit of frustration bubbling through his manner. Accelerated, perhaps, by this talk of embarrassment. Byerly, who's survived by licking boots and abasing himself endlessly, doesn't entirely understand what's so bad about being embarrassed. It's simply a way of life. If someone blew up every time it happened, then how would they make it this far in life?

But, the more relevant topic: ]

It's not that it's a lie. It's that it is who I am. I can't turn it off. Not without knowing that I need to, and it's not like she gives me any signal that's what she needs. She communicates like a cipher.

[cozen]

[ Bastien holds an answer in his mouth: that in his experience her issue has been more than she's exceedingly direct, and if he is understanding the shape of their disagreement correctly then she did tell him, but he—

and then he swallows it, in the face of that bubbling frustration, and resumes hair-stroking, fingers hooked to scratch By's scalp as he goes. ]

Well, if you are not suited to being friends, that is her loss. Sometimes that is how it is, you know? Oil and water. It doesn't mean anything is wrong with the oil or the water—whichever you want to be in this metaphor. I think you should be the water.

And she is not Thedas' definitive authority on what makes a man fun to talk to. [ He tugs a lock of hair. ] I am.

[bouchonne]

[ But he sees that hesitation. He doesn't allow them to move on so quickly: ]

What were you going to say?

[cozen]

[ A smile, for the fact that By can read him so well. For the fact that he has stopped trying not to be read. Even though it leaves him having to say, after all: ]

That you know now. If you want to try again sometime. I don't know that I would, but you— [ another pause, before he compromises with that dreary concept of dutiful love ] —care about her.

She should have told you that first, instead of deciding she was done. Especially when she had been giving as good as she got five minutes before. But your conversations have usually been difficult, you said, and she was embarrassed,

[ with confidence in that fact, only not in whether her response can be attributed to it, ]

so—I don't know.

[bouchonne]

[ Yes. He's quiet a moment, though. And then - ]

I don't know if I can.

[ A breath out. ]

I fought with the other division heads. I know, what else is new. But in a meeting, I provoked Derrica - you know I've had my doubts as to whether or not she's fit for this position, and she quite confirmed that she wasn't - and afterwards, they all but told me to quit because I was so dreadfully offensive. It just - I don't feel like I can change it any more than I can change my gait. Or my accent. When I think about it, yes, but as soon as my attention slips it's gone and I'm back to it.

[cozen]

Well, fuck,

[ has rueful underpinnings, Bastien’s smile small and eyes dimmed with worry. It’s not too cheerful a joke. But a joke nonetheless: ]

Now I really can’t make you run away with me anytime soon, or they will think you are running away from them.

[ He counts two of them as friends, sort of, to varying degrees, which makes it all the more annoying that the four of them collectively seem to manage less camaraderie and generosity with one another than Bastien’s managed with people who had previously quite literally tried to kill him.

—an assessment Byerly is not exempt from, of course, with the provocation. Bastien considers him and his talent for stirring up trouble and puffed-up outrage, which he finds so charming in a tavern—and doubly so in a stuffy ballroom—but likely would not find charming at all if he were trying to hack through it to achieve something. ]

You like attention, [ is frank, and extremely obvious, and nothing Byerly hasn’t said about himself. More of a prompt than a diagnosis. ]

[bouchonne]

[ But Byerly shakes his head very slightly. Then - ]

Well, yes, I do. But not from them. [ Apologetically: ] I know you're very fond of her, but if Yseult never spoke to me again, I would be far from heartbroken. In the rare moments she's not turning her nose up at my ideas, she's staring at me like I'm an idiot. Even a fellow with a predilection for haughty older women gets tired of it after a time.

I like - [ He blows out a breath. ] Getting somewhere. I like action. We were going around and around with Derrica on the Templar question, her being obstructionist and the others tiptoeing around her feelings. And the thought came to me, then, the Chantry mother isn't going to tiptoe around her feelings - and where will we be then? - and so I pushed. And then the others acted as though I were an idiot for treating the girl the way the world will treat her. Like I don't know what I'm doing. But it'll be on my head if she throws a temper tantrum at a visiting dignitary. Flint and Yseult, they can stay off to the side playing with their little toy soldiers, and Stark can retreat back to the lab to beat himself off or whatever he does, but I always have to be managing the tempests.

[cozen]

[ There’s a significant amount of information still missing, like what the Templar question was, and how exactly Byerly pushed. But for now, Bastien is stopping his hair-stroking in favor of producing and lighting one of his little cigarettes. ]

I can see why they would be careful. She has those enormous eyes, [ is not serious, or mostly not serious—he can imagine the wounded and disappointed gaze they’re capable of, and Maker help a weak-willed target— ] and the mages have already established that their assistance with the war might stop in a moment if they don’t have their way.

[ Hyperbole, for the sake of supportive bitching. But not that much. He wasn’t here, when they went on strike, but he certainly heard about it—with admiration, initially, but creeping jealousy can feel a lot like scorn. Anyone else trying the same thing to secure rights for their people would just be sent packing, easily replaced. ]

[bouchonne]

Give me one of those.

[ He holds up his hand, pleading for a cigarette. ]

And it's bloody cowardice. If the elves went on strike, the others would just glower impassively and invite them to leave. If the lower classes agitated against the nobility, they wouldn't give a damn. But they fear the mages. And so they stand back and do nothing, and then piss on me when I do.

[cozen]

[ Bastien gives him the one from his own mouth delivered directly to Byerly's lips with familiarity rather than flirtation before he begins preparing a second one.

Whether it's really cowardice or something more conniving, he couldn't say. Either way, it's not comforting. ]

I've thought before, [ and perhaps said, in passing, ] we ought to just decide what it is we're here for and who is welcome. Officially, I mean. We joined the Inquisition, not Riftwatch, you know? Whole seas of Templars and elves and Andrastian peasants. We separated so we could operate a little more freely and not be party to an Exalted March on civilians. But we never decided to be different in any other particular way. We never said Templars were not welcome—or Chevaliers—or anyone. We've never said we are here to pursue freedom for the mages. Everyone wraps their other interests up inside the goal of stopping Corypheus to smuggle them in. And maybe they are right, you know? Maybe we only win against Corypheus if we have the mages, and maybe we only keep them if we put resources into opposing Circles. We absolutely need the rifters.

I don't know. I know there are benefits to being able to disclaim support of this or that, when we need money from people. If we decide to be controversial Kirkwall might change its mind about letting us use the Gallows. But it could be worth it. Everyone could decide for themselves whether this is the organization they really want to serve, and the people who stay would know they are in the same chapter, at least, if not on the same page.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly exhales smoke through his nostrils in a long stream. ]

What, and commit to something? You know that's not our way.

[ Less facetiously: ] You are right. I think you are. If we at least put it out on the table - you can still want this, but this isn't what we're committed to, and as long as you're here you can't pretend this isn't more important than what you personally want.

And then half the mages would leave, the nasty ones, and I'd get this briar from out of my paw.

[ He's joking. Mostly. ]

[cozen]

[ It’s enough to make Bastien grin, regardless, though he taps By’s chest with his hand—a sign for slow down, ease up. ]

Maybe. Or maybe Riftwatch would decide it is better to have other tenets—the mages and rifters have the numbers, you know—and we would have to decide whether we want to stay.

[ Would he? He’s not sure. He’s not opposed to the mages not returning to the Circles, so much as it has never been on the list of things he would have joined an organization to advocate for. He has his own concerns. ]

If we did, we would at least know what we were getting into. We’d be agreeing to it. So maybe we could all stop trying to maneuver around one another every moment of the day, and the Templars would know they might stop bothering to come here at all. We could offer a, uh—

[ Another grin, and some jostling of Byerly on his lap as he reaches for a half-full ash tray. ]

—a hand-lopping service, for Thedosians who would find the climate unagreeable.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly mimes the agony of a quick, sharp behanding, then subsides with a rueful little sigh. ]

It might be nice to have that release.

[ He's a little pensive. ]

If we are, in truth, the odd men out. If all this fighting is truly futile, and we truly aren't dedicated to defeating Corypheus now, but instead more individual goals. It could free us.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums agreement. Partial agreement. ]

I don’t know if I would go that far. I mean more—like the Inquisition, you know? It is there to defend against Tevinter, but people know what they are joining there. If they don’t want to be among Andrastians or to support the Chantry, they don’t join and try to fight everyone every time something like that comes up. They just don’t go.

We don’t have an identity like that, except weird. We don’t answer to anyone. We aren’t part of anything. We take every troublemaker who doesn’t want to work with the Chantry, but then we never stand for anything that might get us into trouble.

But maybe we don’t have to do that. We could at least try imagining a world where we don’t have to do that. We have all these pirates. And the Circles had all that money— [ thanks to the Formari and an entire fraternity dedicated to increasing their organizational wealth ] —and the Inquisition already promised them they would be entitled to keep it. Maybe they could chip in.

[ He swirls his hand through one of By’s exhaled smoke streams. ]

And it wouldn’t have to all be about the mages. We could see if they’re willing to care about the things we do, too.

[bouchonne]

What, them? Care about us soporati?

[ He reflects that that ironic little joke is unfair. The mages aren't advocating for a Tevinter-style regime. At the end of the day, they could have fled North, and been accepted - treated like kings and queens, anointed with blood. And they are here. Whiny, entitled, self-obsessed, myopic, but here. ]

It would be nice not to have to listen to Orlesian counts snicker about my mother having fucked a dog any more. Or at least not having to smile through it. And we could reduce our budget, if we weren't having to keep up appearances for the respectable few...

[ Hm. ]

[cozen]

It’s something to consider. I can look at the numbers and let you know how much money we would really need to be able to get by with or without the Gallows.

But if you want to float the idea to the others, invite me, hm?

[ To explain it with dimples. And to take the heat if they all think it’s stupid.

He’s quiet for a moment. A long time ago, Byerly said Bastien couldn’t be trusted to stand up to him—that he’d explain away madness, because he liked him too much. And Bastien had to insist he wouldn’t, though maybe he might have, if By hadn’t established that it wasn’t something he would appreciate in the long run.

So. ]

I don’t think you should have provoked her, By.

I hate it, you know, when our own people act like your job is to be an ambassador to them, and you have to flatter and soothe them and coax out their loyalty to an organization they have already voluntarily joined.

[ Except the rifters. But, in a way, not except the rifters. Their anchors might trap them in the city, if they like their hands, but no one is obliged to assist with the work. ]

But that goes for her, too. For everyone. If you want to be able to take off the mask here, with the people who are already supposed to be on our side, she should be able to say what is on her mind with you and show some temper without it meaning she cannot be trusted with an outsider.

[bouchonne]

[ There's hurt in his expression initially, when he looks at Bastien - and his hurt is no doubt a painful thing to look at, his red-rimmed eyes going a little darker still, and then him flinchingly looking towards the door. There's no doubt, indeed, that Bastien holds his heart in his hands, and that the poor paper-thin thing doesn't hold up well to prodding.

But he doesn't run away. Instead he's quiet a moment. And evidently, his thoughts go to the same place as Bastien's - or maybe they've been there already - because what he asks is: ]

Might I be...going mad? You would tell me. If it seemed it. If people disagreed with me, in truth, because I was speaking nonsense.

[cozen]

No,

[ is immediate, and not only because of his wounded look away. He means it. ]

Nothing like that, darling. I only think you might have been wrong.

[ And he’s trying, despite By’s eyes and his own habit of telling people whatever they seem to want to hear, not to roll over about it. ]

Not to be concerned about how she would handle things or to disagree with her on—whatever you were talking about. Templars. But how you did it.