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

[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.

[cozen]

The most charming and beautiful ones escaped.

[ And the best cooks. Bastien sweeps up both bowls into his hands and carries them to the table, because carrying them means he gets to decide where they sit: next to each other, not across, and facing their window and its smudgy watercolor view of the street. ]

And does it affect everyone? To a one?

[bouchonne]

Of course not. The suspense of not knowing is what makes it so exciting.

[ By follows with their little wooden spoons and settles down. He bumps Bastien's shoulder with his own as he sits. ]

And sometimes it's hard to know what's madness and what's simply people behaving badly because the reputation for madness gives them license.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums, smiling and fleetingly amused. ]

Shamelessness works just as well.

[ He angles his knee to rest against By's beneath the table. ]

What are the signs? The early ones. Are there any?

[bouchonne]

[ He hesitates slightly. The confession is a bit embarrassed. ]

Truthfully, I...don't quite know. I've never actually seen someone go mad before.

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods, matter of fact. Nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s looking out the window.

He blows on and swallows a spoonful of the soup. Makes a murmuring sound of approval. Thinks. ]

We should find out.

[ He looks at By, now. ]

We could start with your good cousin. Or your sister. Anyone. And if they don’t have answers, we can start working our way to the rotten core until we find them.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ It's a slightly noncommittal noise. He fidgets just a bit with his spoon and looks out the window. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien sets his spoon in his bowl, freeing himself to twist a few inches in By’s direction and plant his elbow on the table to hold his head in one hand and continue to look at him, attentive and patient. Mostly patient. He also reaches over to fidget with the shell of By’s ear in a way that’s intended to be mostly affectionate but also a little annoying, just for a moment, before it segues into fingertips petting the short hair near his neck. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Bastien's a real bastard, not filling the silence. By laughs to himself - shortly, quietly - not at the topic, but at how good at this Bastien is. ]

It's gross hypocrisy, to say the least. I just feel a bit of anxiety around - oh, you know - what happens if I have those signs.

[cozen]

[ The laugh makes him smile, and the explanation doesn't make him stop. It only subdues a bit. He keeps looking at him. Hand on his neck, fingers stroking his hair. ]

That's a good question.

[ Time is already coming for them, with grey hairs and little wrinkles and misbehaving joints. And time can have them—their bodies, eventually their minds, finally their breath. That's alright. But it can't have By's heart. Bastien's made his mind up about that. ]

What does happen?

[bouchonne]

I suppose -

[ What does happen? By swallows his first, grim, self-sacrificing response, knowing it'll be roundly rejected by Bastien. ]

Well, it robs me of my ability to ignore it, I suppose. Which would be - distracting, to say the least.

[cozen]

It would be, yeah.

[ He lets go of By's neck, but only to relocate to By's thigh. (His legs are too long; his knee would be awkward for Bastien to reach.) ]

Worrying about it has to be a little distracting too, though, right? Wondering if this is the first thing, or this—and if we knew, we could do something.

[bouchonne]

Find a hag who could cast a spell, or release the curse upon me and my line...

[ At least he can joke. ]

[cozen]

Maybe.

[ Why not? ]

Or something smaller. Something we can do to help anchor you to what is true and what you believe—who you are. Find ways to help you keep hold of it.

Or something bigger. We brought you back from the dead, By.

[bouchonne]

You did.

[ He smiles wistfully. It is true. ]

All right. Maybe.