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]

Hah. So, nothing?

[ He smiles dryly, then shakes his head. ]

I will confess that it has been a bit...difficult, seeing the division all but collapse after my departure from leadership. Not enough to make me wish to go back. But. I cannot help but feel some guilt.

[cozen]

Monarchist.

[ The accusation is fond. ]

You have nothing to feel guilty for. It’s only a little chaotic. And it is not as if you have walked out and taken all of your knowledge and experience with you.

[bouchonne]

Spoken like an anarchist.

[cozen]

If that is the only other option.

[ He pokes his nose over the simmering stew, out of curioisity and hunger both. ]

You don’t miss it at all? Only guilt?

[bouchonne]

My ass is too bony to endure a chair all day.

[ Less facetiously: ]

I miss being able to enforce my will, I think. The anxiety of power is great, but there's a sort of release to it, as well. Knowing that you don't need to convince your subordinates to do anything - just tell them to do it.

[ And: ]

I suppose I also miss having enough money that we don't need to stretch our food budget by making stews in summer.

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs—but it is very hot in here. ]

If the novelty is wearing off, we could eat in the Gallows more often.

[ They’re not banned from the free food. It’s only less convenient, and a little less charming—to him—than chopping and stirring alongside each other in their miraculous little house.

He’ll circle back to the boss thing in a second. ]

[bouchonne]

Absolutely not. Your touch sweetens every dish. This tastes far better than Gallows food.

[cozen]

[ A good answer, which Bastien rewards by biting Byerly on the shoulder and crawling his hands up his sides, affectionately pinching all the way.

Once he's removed his teeth, ]

You did have to convince us, though. We are like your Freemen—we might have gone to another lord.

[bouchonne]

You wouldn’t have.

[cozen]

I would have, if you were a tyrant who mistreated me and didn't listen to what I thought about anything.

[ He smooths the fabric at By's shoulder where he bit it. ]

But you wouldn't have.

[bouchonne]

[ He glances over at Bastien, his face a little wry and a little skeptical. ]

Truly? You wouldn’t have just stuck it out?

[cozen]

Not for love. If you treated me that way I wouldn't have fallen for you in the first place.

[ This alternate reality doesn't deserve much contemplation. It's ridiculous. He extents a single finger to press the tip of By's nose up and give his skeptical expression a bit of a pig snout. ]

Maybe for some other reason, if I had one. Maybe if I were planning to kill you.

[bouchonne]

Hah.

[ He wiggles his face so the tip of his nose moves around on Bastien’s fingertip. ]

I could still go mad at any time. Never forget that. I’d cordially request a cute little assassination then.

[ That’s said lightly, despite the grimness of the sentiment. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien wiggles By's nose back before he drops his hand and shakes his head to register his protest: By isn't going to go mad. Bastien isn't going to kill him if he does. Even if it were somehow the only remaining option—someone else would have to do it.

But By's tone was light, so even as he's shaking his head to establish his disagreement with the premise, he says, ]

How would you like it done?

[bouchonne]

Well, poison, obviously.

[ He lifts a spoon to Bastien's lips as he says this, inviting him to try the soup and approve - or disapprove - of its taste. ]

Any other way would be pure foolishness.

[cozen]

[ A noisy slurp of the broth, a contemplative brow-furrow, and Bastien gives an impressed nod. ]

Maybe more salt? See what you think.

[ And, ]

Would you want to know that it's coming? Or to go to sleep thinking you'll wake up again?

[bouchonne]

Well, I am mad and wicked in this scenario. So you'd better take me by surprise.

[ He tastes, hums, and says: ]

A bit more salt, yes.

[cozen]

Noted.

[ Bastien’s snappy and eager about pulling over their salt dish and sprinkling in a few pinches. There’s more finger-rubbing than necessary. He likes the feeling of the grains—like a little massage for his string-callused fingertips. ]

But you are never going to be wicked. Even if you went mad—even if someday when we are old you lose your faculties, it will the kind where you think your hat is a bird or you forget you put any clothes on before you go to the market.

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles easily. (This is not an easy topic for him. But this terror has been so public - an easy source of torment for any Fereldan who knows anything about his family and wants to get in a jab at Byerly - that he's polished and practiced with seeming comfortable. Even in front of Bastien.) ]

You sound so certain.

[cozen]

I am so certain.

[ It’s his turn now to offer the spoon and a taste of the saltier soup. ]

[bouchonne]

Have you known many madmen? Or dotards, I suppose.

[ He tastes it, then hums his approval. ]

A soup to make a Fereldan freeman weep.

[cozen]

[ Bastien huffs a laugh, shrugging too. ]

Here and there. A few when I was a boy.

[ He lived in the sort of neighborhood where people who couldn’t care for themselves whose families couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them were likely to wind up. But he was a boy; he only saw slivers, and he didn’t always understand them. ]

And the Duc de Val Montaigne, the dead one. We were there for the last few months.

[ Him and Inès and their ulterior motive. ]

Music calmed him down.

[bouchonne]

That makes him sound a bit like a dragon.

[cozen]

If a dragon exhaled dinner plates and books instead of fire.

[ The old man liked to throw things.

But clearly this isn’t really about the old man. Bastien fetches bowls, and he looks back to say, ]

How far back does it go? In your family.

[bouchonne]

Oh, it predates the family.

[ Byerly gets out some little green things to go atop the soup - tender little shoots to add some freshness and crunch. ]

Supposedly, the Alamarri ancestor who fought in the first Exalted March - Igor - killed his wife and children later on. Not all of the children, obviously, given my existence. But a few of them.