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Did he?
(No. Ellis is not a spy, his recent six-month jaunt notwithstanding. It had never occurred to him that there might be a use beyond what he had said once to Wysteria: a ballroom, keeping the names of high society in order.)
But Bastien hadn't posed it as a question, and Ellis' reaction is limited solely to a minor furrow of his brows, there and gone without any accompanying clarification. The conclusion he's drawn is left as is. Just like the accompanying barb is taken in stride, registering without shifting the impassive expression on his face.
"It isn't something that can be given away," is very steady, unwavering as Ellis sweeps ring and chain into his palm.
(No. Ellis is not a spy, his recent six-month jaunt notwithstanding. It had never occurred to him that there might be a use beyond what he had said once to Wysteria: a ballroom, keeping the names of high society in order.)
But Bastien hadn't posed it as a question, and Ellis' reaction is limited solely to a minor furrow of his brows, there and gone without any accompanying clarification. The conclusion he's drawn is left as is. Just like the accompanying barb is taken in stride, registering without shifting the impassive expression on his face.
"It isn't something that can be given away," is very steady, unwavering as Ellis sweeps ring and chain into his palm.
“Sure,” Bastien says, with mild and uninterested agreeableness, the same way a hungry fellow might want to breeze past commentary on the taste of bread he can’t have. Ellis isn’t going to tell him why it matters. He is—or he was, before correcting Ellis’ impression of him today—good for holding and delivering things. Alright.
(Maybe he is digging up stones to patch the holes in his friend-repelling wall before Ellis goes off again. Maybe.)
Really, it’s a relief to have it done. The ring’s in Ellis’s hand. The rope from his internal tug-o-war lies slack. If the enchantment could help them or couldn’t, if Yseult is going to be cross, if that stone winds up pointing in a direction he’d rather it not, it’s out of his control now. Dealing with things is much easier than deciding them.
His attention goes back to his work, drawing one paper close to his nose to evaluate the penstroke of an O. “Bonne journée,” comes at a distracted delay, with a strained smile, but that’s not as bad a sign as a big fake one would have been.
(Maybe he is digging up stones to patch the holes in his friend-repelling wall before Ellis goes off again. Maybe.)
Really, it’s a relief to have it done. The ring’s in Ellis’s hand. The rope from his internal tug-o-war lies slack. If the enchantment could help them or couldn’t, if Yseult is going to be cross, if that stone winds up pointing in a direction he’d rather it not, it’s out of his control now. Dealing with things is much easier than deciding them.
His attention goes back to his work, drawing one paper close to his nose to evaluate the penstroke of an O. “Bonne journée,” comes at a distracted delay, with a strained smile, but that’s not as bad a sign as a big fake one would have been.
Ellis parses this for what it is too: a dismissal.
There is some other order of events where Bastien might have said something different, and Ellis might have given something up in the wake of it. Where he might have tread closer to the shape of a true thing, one Bastien has already skirted towards before.
But everything is harder now. (Being here is difficult, however Ellis makes it look otherwise.) And the flow of Bastien's response is a closed door. Ellis doesn't know how to pry at it. He doesn't know if he wants to.
It's been a long time since's it's been in his nature to press a point, to argue in his own defense rather than simply letting go of a thing.
So he settles on "Aye," as a rejoinder, turning on his heel to make for the door.
There is some other order of events where Bastien might have said something different, and Ellis might have given something up in the wake of it. Where he might have tread closer to the shape of a true thing, one Bastien has already skirted towards before.
But everything is harder now. (Being here is difficult, however Ellis makes it look otherwise.) And the flow of Bastien's response is a closed door. Ellis doesn't know how to pry at it. He doesn't know if he wants to.
It's been a long time since's it's been in his nature to press a point, to argue in his own defense rather than simply letting go of a thing.
So he settles on "Aye," as a rejoinder, turning on his heel to make for the door.
Bastien doesn’t watch him go. He examines the letter in his hands until he’s alone, and then he stares at a fixed spot on that letter. Ten seconds of nebulous bad feeling. What an asshole mixed with what’s wrong with me. I should apologize and he can fuck off in equal measure. What did Ellis expect. What did Bastien expect. A bit of wonder: the gulf between not really friends and really not friends feels unexpectedly wide.
He puts the letter down. The next one he lifts—Magota Batteux, what an unfortunate name—has the most promise of any so far. Matching loops and angles. Could be her. Look at those As against these triangles. And he’d turn traitor, too, if he’d grown up being called, inevitably, Maggot-a.
He will think more about Ellis later, probably, when he’s run out of things he has a better idea what to do about.
He puts the letter down. The next one he lifts—Magota Batteux, what an unfortunate name—has the most promise of any so far. Matching loops and angles. Could be her. Look at those As against these triangles. And he’d turn traitor, too, if he’d grown up being called, inevitably, Maggot-a.
He will think more about Ellis later, probably, when he’s run out of things he has a better idea what to do about.
[Sometime in off-hours, perhaps when Bastien can be caught in the dining area or the hallway, he is approached by a furtive-looking Benedict.]
Bastien? Do you... mind if I ask you something?
[He glances around, doing the worst job imaginable of hiding his wariness.]
In confidence.
Bastien? Do you... mind if I ask you something?
[He glances around, doing the worst job imaginable of hiding his wariness.]
In confidence.
[ Bastien glances around, too, smiling around the eyes like perhaps this is a game they are playing together, being sneaky—but only for a moment, out of reflexive playfulness. His face settles down into something more serious right away. ]
Of course.
[ He leaves his book open on the table and his spoon in his hand, but he scoots over on his dining hall bench in invitation for Benedict to sit. ]
Of course.
[ He leaves his book open on the table and his spoon in his hand, but he scoots over on his dining hall bench in invitation for Benedict to sit. ]
[Hunching forward to close the distance between them, Benedict rests his elbows on his knees, his hands fidgeting between them as he speaks in a low voice.]
Has-- do you know if something's been going on with Byerly?
Has-- do you know if something's been going on with Byerly?
I'm sure there is.
[ Said lightly; he's joking. ]
He's a complicated man. There are a dozen things going on with him at all times.
[ Joking, but not dismissive or uninterested. Over the course of those sentences a furrow has appeared between Bastien's eyebrows. ]
Is something wrong?
[ Said lightly; he's joking. ]
He's a complicated man. There are a dozen things going on with him at all times.
[ Joking, but not dismissive or uninterested. Over the course of those sentences a furrow has appeared between Bastien's eyebrows. ]
Is something wrong?
[Well, that tracks, but all the same,]
...no.
[Bastien not knowing has the same outcome as Bastien knowing and not letting on, and it seems foolish to show one's hand by being vulnerable all over him.
But at the same time, Bastien will certainly talk to Byerly, and there's no reason to make the latter think that Benedict can't be trusted and is trying to ferret out details about his personal life.]
He seems a bit more...
[he hesitates a long while, choosing his words careful,]
...reactive. Today.
...no.
[Bastien not knowing has the same outcome as Bastien knowing and not letting on, and it seems foolish to show one's hand by being vulnerable all over him.
But at the same time, Bastien will certainly talk to Byerly, and there's no reason to make the latter think that Benedict can't be trusted and is trying to ferret out details about his personal life.]
He seems a bit more...
[he hesitates a long while, choosing his words careful,]
...reactive. Today.
[ Benedict is speaking slowly enough that Bastien decides it's safe to have a spoonful of his soup, but then there are fewer words than he thought there would be, so he has to swallow it quickly. ]
You mean temperamental?
[ He says it very fondly. ]
Or only dramatic?
You mean temperamental?
[ He says it very fondly. ]
Or only dramatic?
[More inclined to pick at me over small things, is what he wants to say, but,]
temperamental. Sure. Irritable.
temperamental. Sure. Irritable.
Maybe the Mad... About His Handsome Concubine.
Or Byerly the Perverted in the Very Best and Most Admirable Ways. Were every man so innovative in bed, there would be no more wars. Everyone would be too happy all of the time.
And the Sinister... No, I cannot make that one work.
[ Bastien has to sit on one of his knees, to be close enough to Byerly's height to hug him one-armed into his chest and shoulder, so that's what he does. ]
Anyway, they will mostly call you Byerly the Dramatic but Gentle. They will tell their children: every day when his advisors began bickering, he would look at them and ask, Do I need to hire an executioner? Is that what it takes to get things done around here? But he never did hire one, the softie.
Or Byerly the Perverted in the Very Best and Most Admirable Ways. Were every man so innovative in bed, there would be no more wars. Everyone would be too happy all of the time.
And the Sinister... No, I cannot make that one work.
[ Bastien has to sit on one of his knees, to be close enough to Byerly's height to hug him one-armed into his chest and shoulder, so that's what he does. ]
Anyway, they will mostly call you Byerly the Dramatic but Gentle. They will tell their children: every day when his advisors began bickering, he would look at them and ask, Do I need to hire an executioner? Is that what it takes to get things done around here? But he never did hire one, the softie.
[ Bastien hums.
None of them are sleeping as well as they'd like. There's that. There's the preparation for the visit to Antiva—a diplomatic visit, falling more squarely on By's shoulders than their various battles and jungle hikes. The general existence of Loki. The fact that in the midst of all of this, as far as Bastien knows, he's been trying very hard not to drink so much, or perhaps at all.
Gross romantic plans begin hatching. (Benedict will be spared knowing anything about them. He's welcome.) ]
I suppose you have already tried asking him?
None of them are sleeping as well as they'd like. There's that. There's the preparation for the visit to Antiva—a diplomatic visit, falling more squarely on By's shoulders than their various battles and jungle hikes. The general existence of Loki. The fact that in the midst of all of this, as far as Bastien knows, he's been trying very hard not to drink so much, or perhaps at all.
Gross romantic plans begin hatching. (Benedict will be spared knowing anything about them. He's welcome.) ]
I suppose you have already tried asking him?
[A weak, ironic laugh, then:]
are you joking?
are you joking?
Euh... no?
[ The befuddlement isn't entirely genuine. He knows Byerly has a soft spot for him that's even softer than his typical soft spots, and Bastien could get away with more fussing and prying than Benedict could ever dream to.
But still. ]
I don't mean bursting in on him like, [ in a poor approximation of Benedict's accent, ] What the fuck is wrong with you, Rutyer—
Though, you know, the cursing part might be good.
[ The befuddlement isn't entirely genuine. He knows Byerly has a soft spot for him that's even softer than his typical soft spots, and Bastien could get away with more fussing and prying than Benedict could ever dream to.
But still. ]
I don't mean bursting in on him like, [ in a poor approximation of Benedict's accent, ] What the fuck is wrong with you, Rutyer—
Though, you know, the cursing part might be good.
[The fact that Benedict smiles is a testament to Bastien’s wit, but the impression doesn’t entirely dispel his nerves.]
I don’t know. I, ahh… doubt it would go over well, with or without the cursing.
[He’s rethinking the decision to discuss it.]
But… it’s all right. Never mind.
I don’t know. I, ahh… doubt it would go over well, with or without the cursing.
[He’s rethinking the decision to discuss it.]
But… it’s all right. Never mind.
No, it's just,
[telling Bastien what happened opens himself up to more of it later, if it should get out that he brought it up at all.
He knows Byerly isn't a monster, at least when Byerly isn't actively trying to be a monster, which... to be fair, he does sometimes.]
It can be a bit, um... confusing, sometimes. To know what he wants.
[He smirks uneasily.] I'll think I know, and then I'll be completely wrong.
[telling Bastien what happened opens himself up to more of it later, if it should get out that he brought it up at all.
He knows Byerly isn't a monster, at least when Byerly isn't actively trying to be a monster, which... to be fair, he does sometimes.]
It can be a bit, um... confusing, sometimes. To know what he wants.
[He smirks uneasily.] I'll think I know, and then I'll be completely wrong.
[ Bastien frowns a little, sympathetic but—well. It’s not a problem he’s ever had himself, even before they were so close. He’s easygoing and unflappable, he takes everything By says in good faith and understands his jokes, and he rather likes a streak of moodiness in a man.
So it’s a bit difficult to try to figure out a source other than ambient stress or a solution other than deal with it, based on these vague summaries. But if Benedict only wanted to complain and have someone tell him he’s right, what a capricious monster, he wouldn’t have picked Bastien to talk to, surely. ]
What is it you thought he wanted?
So it’s a bit difficult to try to figure out a source other than ambient stress or a solution other than deal with it, based on these vague summaries. But if Benedict only wanted to complain and have someone tell him he’s right, what a capricious monster, he wouldn’t have picked Bastien to talk to, surely. ]
What is it you thought he wanted?
I...
[He has to either say it or not, and that's taking a leap of faith that this won't come back to bite him in the arse tomorrow. But if he backs off now, it'll look even more like he's just stirring the pot, and that could be even worse.]
...I've been careful not to remind him unduly that I'm a mage. It seems to upset him. And. Well. Others. [No need to rehash that whole situation,]
But the other day, he got on me about not being a better mage. He'd sort of... reversed his opinion, to catch me on the other side of the correction.
And that was it, really, but that he had to catch me on it, he couldn't just say what he meant. So I'll go through a whole conversation thinking I'm giving him what he wants, and it turns out it's the opposite. And he's just trying to trip me up.
[He folds his hands anxiously, looking anywhere but at Bastien, who currently holds the power of the universe.]
...he only really does it when he's upset about something else, I think. The subject itself doesn't really matter. ...I should get better at magic.
[He has to either say it or not, and that's taking a leap of faith that this won't come back to bite him in the arse tomorrow. But if he backs off now, it'll look even more like he's just stirring the pot, and that could be even worse.]
...I've been careful not to remind him unduly that I'm a mage. It seems to upset him. And. Well. Others. [No need to rehash that whole situation,]
But the other day, he got on me about not being a better mage. He'd sort of... reversed his opinion, to catch me on the other side of the correction.
And that was it, really, but that he had to catch me on it, he couldn't just say what he meant. So I'll go through a whole conversation thinking I'm giving him what he wants, and it turns out it's the opposite. And he's just trying to trip me up.
[He folds his hands anxiously, looking anywhere but at Bastien, who currently holds the power of the universe.]
...he only really does it when he's upset about something else, I think. The subject itself doesn't really matter. ...I should get better at magic.
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