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Uhh, because they are scary?
[ Obviously. He's joking. Half joking. ]
I think it is probably because of the canals in the city. [ Deep, with their edges providing walkways and shelter for vagrants and les gamins—a category he fell into, even though he wasn't an orphan. ] They flood very quickly sometimes. I was never caught in it, or I would probably be afraid of the water instead. But peopled drowned often enough, so when it stormed everyone would start scrambling and panicking. I suppose it rubbed off.
[ Obviously. He's joking. Half joking. ]
I think it is probably because of the canals in the city. [ Deep, with their edges providing walkways and shelter for vagrants and les gamins—a category he fell into, even though he wasn't an orphan. ] They flood very quickly sometimes. I was never caught in it, or I would probably be afraid of the water instead. But peopled drowned often enough, so when it stormed everyone would start scrambling and panicking. I suppose it rubbed off.
That’s not a consideration he expected. Having to turn his thoughts inward, examining his own comfort, is somehow more uncomfortable than just staying in the room having a conversation. Yet, it feels like he’s been pushing aside his own well-being for so long, turning away the consideration of others, that sooner or later he has to either change or break again.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’m all right for now. Usually it’s sleeping here that’s hardest. Some other day it might be better to be somewhere else.”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’m all right for now. Usually it’s sleeping here that’s hardest. Some other day it might be better to be somewhere else.”
"Well I meant, ah," Bastien says, sitting up a little straighter, "if you and I left, right now. To talk somewhere else. I need to go into the city anyway, and we could give the ferryman a piece of this on the way. It is so good, it deserves to be shared."
I had a bag packed.
[ Another secret. Two for the price of one. He scoops up his cards and shoots a smile up at Byerly while he considers them. ]
But I unpacked it. [ Fanning his cards, ] Are you one of those who likes storms? Because they are dramatic?
[ Another secret. Two for the price of one. He scoops up his cards and shoots a smile up at Byerly while he considers them. ]
But I unpacked it. [ Fanning his cards, ] Are you one of those who likes storms? Because they are dramatic?
Bastien might have hesitated. It's not really an enthusiastic endorsement of the idea.
But he really would prefer to leave. He's been privately miserable for the last few days—for reasons he definitely won't be bringing up—and he doesn't quite have the energy reserves necessary for discussing this sort of thing at length, alone in his room, with someone he doesn't know well enough to relax around, staring at each other over sweets. It'll be easier in the open air, in sight of people going about their lives.
So they're going. He smiles with the casual gratitude of someone who's just had their errands made easier and stands up, first to fuss with the pastry and cut off the promised slice for the ferryman.
"It's good that you have your flat."
But he really would prefer to leave. He's been privately miserable for the last few days—for reasons he definitely won't be bringing up—and he doesn't quite have the energy reserves necessary for discussing this sort of thing at length, alone in his room, with someone he doesn't know well enough to relax around, staring at each other over sweets. It'll be easier in the open air, in sight of people going about their lives.
So they're going. He smiles with the casual gratitude of someone who's just had their errands made easier and stands up, first to fuss with the pastry and cut off the promised slice for the ferryman.
"It's good that you have your flat."
[ The walk is one of medium length - this is neither a destination around the corner, nor one that's an overly demanding distance. It's made in a mixture of companionable silence and idle chatter - not long enough to create a remarkable amount of either.
Their destination is a theater, apparently. By leads Bastien around the side, and thumps on the door until a caretaker pushes it open. The caretaker knows Byerly, apparently, greeting him affably and letting them both in. ]
Come on.
[ By leads Bastien in with a cheerful grin over his shoulder. ]
Their destination is a theater, apparently. By leads Bastien around the side, and thumps on the door until a caretaker pushes it open. The caretaker knows Byerly, apparently, greeting him affably and letting them both in. ]
Come on.
[ By leads Bastien in with a cheerful grin over his shoulder. ]
"Oh!" Bastien says, heading out with a grateful little semi-bow for the door opening, with tarte in one hand and the package he needs to deliver ashore in the other. "That's wonderful. I think I knew the two of you were friends, but I suppose I did not realize how close."
It's not the flat that makes him say so. Bastien's never called her Lexie in his life, not even when they were younger. Though Athessa calls her Lexie as well—so maybe that's just Bastien, being Orlesian about it.
It's not the flat that makes him say so. Bastien's never called her Lexie in his life, not even when they were younger. Though Athessa calls her Lexie as well—so maybe that's just Bastien, being Orlesian about it.
It’s not just Bastien. Athessa is just that casual, and it took Colin about two years to be comfortable with calling her that in public, due entirely to her insistence on him treating her just like any other friend. Still, he blushes a bit at being called out.
“I didn’t mean to be improper.”
“I didn’t mean to be improper.”
I respect your urge, but you haven't the hips for Blanche, dear Bastien. I am truly sorry to hear a dream unfulfilled.
[ There are only a few lanterns around illuminating the stage, giving it a rather ghostly feeling. But it's all empty, devoid of any tripping hazards, making it safe to move freely in that dim light - ]
Between shows, at the moment.
[ But the heaviest instruments, the ones that cannot be moved, sit still in the orchestra pit. The harp, the pianoforte - and there, the snare drums. By grins, and hops down, taking his place before them, giving a few experimental thumps. They produce a deep, resonant boom. ]
Prepare yourself for what you want to shout into the thunder.
[ There are only a few lanterns around illuminating the stage, giving it a rather ghostly feeling. But it's all empty, devoid of any tripping hazards, making it safe to move freely in that dim light - ]
Between shows, at the moment.
[ But the heaviest instruments, the ones that cannot be moved, sit still in the orchestra pit. The harp, the pianoforte - and there, the snare drums. By grins, and hops down, taking his place before them, giving a few experimental thumps. They produce a deep, resonant boom. ]
Prepare yourself for what you want to shout into the thunder.
[ Previously busy looking down at his hips on the stage, hands flattening his clothes over them in consideration of their width, Bastien looks up–or looks slightly less down, anyway, at Byerly in the pit below—at the first sound of the drum.
He's never been much for shouting. Playing a role, it's fine; he can be Alardus Bombelles, who shouts when his soup is not the correct temperature, or Guillot the Ferrier, who was once kicked in the head and now shouts every word. For his own sake, though, he's quiet. And between that thunder-evoking booming and the eerie cavern of the theater, shouting seems like it could invite something to come closer, unheard and unseen in the noisy dark.
But it's the sort of nervousness that's just to the left of thrilled. And he trusts Byerly, both in general and specifically not to make a fool of him intentionally, or to only tease him as much as he deserves, no more or less, if he makes one of himself.
So he thinks for a moment, and then he nods, braced and taking a preparatory deep breath. ]
He's never been much for shouting. Playing a role, it's fine; he can be Alardus Bombelles, who shouts when his soup is not the correct temperature, or Guillot the Ferrier, who was once kicked in the head and now shouts every word. For his own sake, though, he's quiet. And between that thunder-evoking booming and the eerie cavern of the theater, shouting seems like it could invite something to come closer, unheard and unseen in the noisy dark.
But it's the sort of nervousness that's just to the left of thrilled. And he trusts Byerly, both in general and specifically not to make a fool of him intentionally, or to only tease him as much as he deserves, no more or less, if he makes one of himself.
So he thinks for a moment, and then he nods, braced and taking a preparatory deep breath. ]
Edited 2020-09-07 04:19 (UTC)
"I didn't think you had been," says Bastien, who didn't mean it as a rebuke at all. Just an observation. He matches Colin's pace—easy, when they're nearly of a height—on the way to the stairs. "The Veil being so thin here, is that something we could do something about, do you think?"
[ It's precisely that quiet, that restraint, that gave By this impulse. Bastien is always so controlled, in his own way. Always so friendly and affable. When pain is shown, it's shown only to a trusted few, and even then the display is quite cautious.
In Byerly's messy, sloppy, excessive opinion, there is something incredibly valuable in - sometimes - being loud and egregious and unrestrained. He's not entirely confident that this'll do it for his friend, but maybe it'll help. Perhaps. Maker, he hopes so.
The drumsticks are raised. And then By brings them down, putting all his strength into it, starting a deafening tattoo that drowns out any and all noise in the theater. Even bellowing would make itself audible only to the person doing the yelling, and even then only faintly. ]
In Byerly's messy, sloppy, excessive opinion, there is something incredibly valuable in - sometimes - being loud and egregious and unrestrained. He's not entirely confident that this'll do it for his friend, but maybe it'll help. Perhaps. Maker, he hopes so.
The drumsticks are raised. And then By brings them down, putting all his strength into it, starting a deafening tattoo that drowns out any and all noise in the theater. Even bellowing would make itself audible only to the person doing the yelling, and even then only faintly. ]
Edited 2020-09-07 14:45 (UTC)
Bastien nods to himself, storing the question for later–it'd be diplomatic! Look, Provisional Viscount, at what good and helpful guests they are!—and moving on.
"Were you able to paint and bake in the Circle? Or are they things you have started more recently?"
"Were you able to paint and bake in the Circle? Or are they things you have started more recently?"
Truthfully, the particular song matters less than the meter for the dances in question. Forgive me - I know it must be awful to say such a thing to a musician. But my designs are entirely to do with the dancing in questions, and I have my eye on one those dreadfully dull slow things where the only point is to turn slowly in a circle, and a saltarello.
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