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[ This knock is more decisive than the one that heralded Alexandrie the last time she happened by. She matches it, buttoned as she is into a dress far simpler and sturdier than her regular flouncy affairs, hair in a simple pinned up braid.
The smile is buttoned a little sturdier as well. ]
Monsieur l'imprimerie. I thought it only fair that this time I should leave the country.
The smile is buttoned a little sturdier as well. ]
Monsieur l'imprimerie. I thought it only fair that this time I should leave the country.
[ Solemnly: ] At least two.
[ a pregnant pause, and then: ] Weeks.
But truly, however long it takes me to complete both my business and a painting of the Rialto Bay, which I have been told I must go and see. [ Her smile returns, small and impish. ] A small one, or it shall be a decade.
[ a pregnant pause, and then: ] Weeks.
But truly, however long it takes me to complete both my business and a painting of the Rialto Bay, which I have been told I must go and see. [ Her smile returns, small and impish. ] A small one, or it shall be a decade.
As small as you can stand, [ he says as his snickering laugh at her feint dies out. ] And then you must come straight back, because—
[ He steps back into the room, sweeping a hand out toward the second bed on the generally-unused side. Normally it is empty. Now it is occupied by a cello case. ]
[ He steps back into the room, sweeping a hand out toward the second bed on the generally-unused side. Normally it is empty. Now it is occupied by a cello case. ]
[ She hadn't intended to stay— at least, not longer than it would take to say I am going, and I am sorry, and take care of him— but the pause and illustrative sweep of Bastien's hand is dramatic enough that not looking would be rendered unforgivable injury, and so she comes to the doorway and leans obediently to see.
The resultant delight is unfeigned. Alexandrie claps her hands together with a glad cry, and her smile is wide and brilliant when she looks back at him. ]
Tu l'as trouvé! Le violoncelle aventureux!
The resultant delight is unfeigned. Alexandrie claps her hands together with a glad cry, and her smile is wide and brilliant when she looks back at him. ]
Tu l'as trouvé! Le violoncelle aventureux!
The very one.
[ He doesn’t retreat any further into the room. Of course he would step aside if she wanted to come in—never mind the shirtsleeves, the bare feet, the mild disarray. But absent that desire, Bastien is happy enough to keep Alexandrie in the hallway, where he hasn’t been staring at the ceiling and thinking about Byerly’s terrible jungle breath. ]
When you come back I will tell you the story—not before—and we will play. So you must not be gone any longer than necessary.
But not any shorter than necessary, either. The story is not that exciting.
[ He doesn’t retreat any further into the room. Of course he would step aside if she wanted to come in—never mind the shirtsleeves, the bare feet, the mild disarray. But absent that desire, Bastien is happy enough to keep Alexandrie in the hallway, where he hasn’t been staring at the ceiling and thinking about Byerly’s terrible jungle breath. ]
When you come back I will tell you the story—not before—and we will play. So you must not be gone any longer than necessary.
But not any shorter than necessary, either. The story is not that exciting.
You must think of a terribly exciting version and promise to tell me that one then, or I shall never be enticed home and stay there forever. [ She tilts an imaginary glass in her hand, lifting it slightly in a toast. ] Wine on the beach into eternity. Souffrance extrême.
But no, the music would be enough.
[ A moment, and then she looks apologetic. ]
I am forever ruining things, it seems. Now I have done it with falsehood and honesty. [ She laughs, small and soft and rueful. ] Such endless talent I have.
[ more softly: ] I do not need to ask, for I know you will, but I should like to hear you say you shall take care of him in any case.
But no, the music would be enough.
[ A moment, and then she looks apologetic. ]
I am forever ruining things, it seems. Now I have done it with falsehood and honesty. [ She laughs, small and soft and rueful. ] Such endless talent I have.
[ more softly: ] I do not need to ask, for I know you will, but I should like to hear you say you shall take care of him in any case.
[ To say it feels like an intrusion is not quite right. To say he resents it is entirely wrong. But there’s still, in his chest, a protective curl—a hand around something fragile in a jostling crowd, or a writer over an early draft before it’s ready for anyone else’s scrutiny.
On his face there’s only a smile, faint and sympathetic. ]
As well as I can.
[ A piece of your soul, carved off of you, out in the world and vulnerable to hurt—that’s what Byerly said it meant to love someone. ]
You know, I don’t think anything is ever ruined. [ A little hyperbolic, but he’s that sort of creature. ] Nothing is the end of the world except the end of the world. Everything else is repaired or becomes something new.
But I know it does not feel that way from the middle of it.
[ He holds a hand out for hers. ]
On his face there’s only a smile, faint and sympathetic. ]
As well as I can.
[ A piece of your soul, carved off of you, out in the world and vulnerable to hurt—that’s what Byerly said it meant to love someone. ]
You know, I don’t think anything is ever ruined. [ A little hyperbolic, but he’s that sort of creature. ] Nothing is the end of the world except the end of the world. Everything else is repaired or becomes something new.
But I know it does not feel that way from the middle of it.
[ He holds a hand out for hers. ]
No. [ Agreement. ] In the middle of it is the feeling of wishing desperately to be the needle and thread, and finding myself only ever what makes the rents such repair is needed for.
[ This to the floor: ] All last night I have spent in telling myself that my travel now is kindness, a space to breathe so I do not choke him like a clinging vine. And all night I have replied with unstinting venom that all I do is leave.
[ Finally she reaches to take the offered hand, although it is with a lady's light genteel touch rather than a clasp, looking back up at him as she does. ]
You have been always close, when you are together. Will you tell me?
[ A breath, and a pained smile. ]
If he is happier, when I am gone.
[ This to the floor: ] All last night I have spent in telling myself that my travel now is kindness, a space to breathe so I do not choke him like a clinging vine. And all night I have replied with unstinting venom that all I do is leave.
[ Finally she reaches to take the offered hand, although it is with a lady's light genteel touch rather than a clasp, looking back up at him as she does. ]
You have been always close, when you are together. Will you tell me?
[ A breath, and a pained smile. ]
If he is happier, when I am gone.
Ah, to say both at once — très difficile. This must explain the Kirkwall accent.
[ There’s a space between seconds when her late, light hold on his hand feels like being put in his place. But he has a knack for knowing when things aren’t about him, maybe even takes it to a fault sometimes, so the feeling can’t settle and disappears the next moment. She’s hurt. She’s doing a hard thing because she believes it’s right for someone else, and she’s holding herself together.
He curls his hand to squeeze hers tighter for the both of them.
He could say yes. It’d be an easy promise to make and break as necessary, without witnesses or fallout. ]
I can’t promise.
[ Her mask is, if not off, at least askew, and he knows she has the strength to have avoided that. So: a return favor, however much saying this matters to me is an Orlesian invitation to destroy it. ]
It means a lot to me to have his trust, you know. [ And Byerly is already cross with Athessa for meddling. ] But I’ll do what I can for both of you.
He curls his hand to squeeze hers tighter for the both of them.
He could say yes. It’d be an easy promise to make and break as necessary, without witnesses or fallout. ]
I can’t promise.
[ Her mask is, if not off, at least askew, and he knows she has the strength to have avoided that. So: a return favor, however much saying this matters to me is an Orlesian invitation to destroy it. ]
It means a lot to me to have his trust, you know. [ And Byerly is already cross with Athessa for meddling. ] But I’ll do what I can for both of you.
[ The squeeze of his hand around hers is the very contact she had been trying to avoid. Closeness means warmth and warmth means kindness and her body's response to kindness when she hurts like this is tears, and more than anything she had not wanted tears.
Tears beg for pity. Little matter if that pity is for her pain or for her weakness or for someone else for needing to bear such a woman as she, so fragile that the closeness of a hand-press begins to crumble her.
Athessa had bought them, but it is different between women. Bastien is a man, and a Bard, and had said "all the happiness he would have if it were our choice" with a kind of gentleness that had tasted different and sent her to think into the darkness of her bedroom later, carding her fingers through memories to see if she could find other bits like it.
And so Bastien cannot see them now. He is become a piece on the board whose placement and movement she doesn't know, and he cannot see her tears. Not when she does not know whether or not he has his own.
(On the outside it just looks like smoothing. A body less ragged so that things like clasped hands and friendship and sympathy can't snag upon it. She tilts her head and smiles and squeezes back.) ]
May I take word to anyone in Antiva City for you?
Tears beg for pity. Little matter if that pity is for her pain or for her weakness or for someone else for needing to bear such a woman as she, so fragile that the closeness of a hand-press begins to crumble her.
Athessa had bought them, but it is different between women. Bastien is a man, and a Bard, and had said "all the happiness he would have if it were our choice" with a kind of gentleness that had tasted different and sent her to think into the darkness of her bedroom later, carding her fingers through memories to see if she could find other bits like it.
And so Bastien cannot see them now. He is become a piece on the board whose placement and movement she doesn't know, and he cannot see her tears. Not when she does not know whether or not he has his own.
(On the outside it just looks like smoothing. A body less ragged so that things like clasped hands and friendship and sympathy can't snag upon it. She tilts her head and smiles and squeezes back.) ]
May I take word to anyone in Antiva City for you?
No, no. I don’t know anyone there. I’ve never been.
[ He considered it once, not long ago. Sitting on the steps, not long after Vincent’s execution. Bastien said, I was in love with him for a long time. Where does someone go to escape that? Antiva? And Byerly said, Well, Antiva is where I went. After Alexandrie.
She gathers into herself, and he lets go of her hand, accepting his place—not beneath her, but at a remove. ]
But you may bring me back a song, if you have time to look for one. One the people are singing.
[ He considered it once, not long ago. Sitting on the steps, not long after Vincent’s execution. Bastien said, I was in love with him for a long time. Where does someone go to escape that? Antiva? And Byerly said, Well, Antiva is where I went. After Alexandrie.
She gathers into herself, and he lets go of her hand, accepting his place—not beneath her, but at a remove. ]
But you may bring me back a song, if you have time to look for one. One the people are singing.
[ He lets go, and she pulls hers back to her waist to join with her other; relaxing back to softness once it's there. Separated, it can be genuine again when she says ]
I will bring you two, [ with a little smile. ]
One they sing for joy, and one for sorrow.
I will bring you two, [ with a little smile. ]
One they sing for joy, and one for sorrow.
Edited (i can't read) 2020-08-30 23:05 (UTC)
[ Apropos of nothing what so ever.... ]
Hey. You should tell Byerly he's a nice person.
Hey. You should tell Byerly he's a nice person.
Yeah, unless we got another Byerly hangin' around. And if we do, fuck that guy, he's Second-erly, I'm only investing in one Fereldan noble at a time.
Better a cell in Val Royeaux, than a palace in the Imperium —
[ dismissively route (orlesian, obviously). it's a fair question; he continues, more contemplative: ]
— You know. But a Circle isn't a cell, and I'd not seen the city until a year past. I might ask whether you miss the Marshes.
[ as an urban, uh, "printer" ]
[ dismissively route (orlesian, obviously). it's a fair question; he continues, more contemplative: ]
— You know. But a Circle isn't a cell, and I'd not seen the city until a year past. I might ask whether you miss the Marshes.
[ as an urban, uh, "printer" ]
Right? Fuckin' nobility, man.
Anyway, it's not the doing nice shit, it's more like he's just a nice, good person who doesn't think he is.
Anyway, it's not the doing nice shit, it's more like he's just a nice, good person who doesn't think he is.
[huh. ]
Okay, fair, but also I maaaaaay have been doing that already.
Okay, fair, but also I maaaaaay have been doing that already.
[ He laughs a little. ]
Me, too. I don’t think it does any harm, either. It’s just, ah... You know, if someone told me I was the best cellist in the world, I would think they were full of shit. Even if they told me every day and seemed to really mean it.
Me, too. I don’t think it does any harm, either. It’s just, ah... You know, if someone told me I was the best cellist in the world, I would think they were full of shit. Even if they told me every day and seemed to really mean it.
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