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]

Yes.

[ Sentimentally: ]

I’m very proud of you. Of having you in my life.

[cozen]

[ Bastien rubs Byerly's knuckles with his interlaced fingers. ]

You never let me doubt it. I am only teasing.

[ Still pleasant to hear, of course. ]

Although if we are traveling through much of Ferelden—the little villages and places, you know—maybe I will be your Marcher instead of your Orlesian. Depending on how things feel.

[bouchonne]

[ uhh ]

Well, they won’t have met Marchers. So your accent might pass.

[cozen]

Hey,

[ without any real offense. But he says it in a Marcher accent. Keyword being a. There are as many Marcher accents as city-states, and as Bastien continues mimicking this one, he doesn’t sound like his family. Or really like a Kirkwaller. He sounds east and coastal—the accent Yseult taught him. ]

I am much better than I was.

[ And, fine, he does still sound a little Orlesian. But not in a way isolated southern villagers would notice. ]

I could be your manservant, Ben.

[bouchonne]

Absolutely not.

[ Even in play, By remembers well how Bastien feels about taking on the role of a servant. ]

No one would believe that. But I could be your manservant.

[cozen]

[ Good answer. Bastien grins, successfully indulged, and returns to sounding Orlesian. ]

The finest in the world.

[ But as much of a kick as they both might get out of it for a moment—or an evening, privately— ]

Or we could both be traveling musicians who can't afford servants at all.

[bouchonne]

We could be bad musicians. Trade instruments? I take your cello, you take my violin, we see how we do.

[cozen]

If you promise to put some effort into being bad. Otherwise I will be bad and you will be slightly less good.

[bouchonne]

You can play the fiddle! I know you can.

[cozen]

A tiny bit. Not as well as you can play the cello.

[bouchonne]

Well, the cello is just kinder and more forgiving. The fiddle is mercurial.

I wonder if that says something about us.

[cozen]

That I am a little lazy and you love to be punished?

[bouchonne]

Oh, I was thinking we had the souls of our instruments. But that could work as an interpretation, too.

[cozen]

Either.

[bouchonne]

Either.

[ Then: ]

I want you to do whatever makes you feel…fulfilled. At the end of the day. I want you to feel satisfied with your life.

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods, stirring his soup, and takes a few seconds to decide that the appropriate response to that is to stand up, take Byerly by the chin to turn and tilt his head, and give him a kiss that's firm and sure and reasonably lengthy.

When he stops he stays close. Nose to nose. His breath is soup-scented, but at least they have that in common. ]

If I don't get to watch you go grey, I won't be satisfied. So I will have to be careful. For my own sake.

[bouchonne]

I can't wait for you to be toothless.

[ There's a little bit of innuendo in that. Not too much. ]

We'll have to eat all our soups mashed up.

[cozen]

Slurry,

[ whispered seductively, punctuated by shifting his head the inch required to bite the tip of By's nose. Gently. A toothy beep beep, if Thedas had things that went beep beep. ]

You know how the project offices are mostly empty now?