![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[ Bastien’s smile turns gentler, though no less pleased. ]
Then everyone is a hedonist. Not because everyone loves the way you do—some people are more pleased by other things. But a man who suffers to satisfy some hunger for meaning or glory is still choosing the route that makes his heart gladder. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.
And you are sweet and kind and soft because what makes you happy is for the people you love to be happy, and to keep the innocent from suffering, and to roll your dog’s ears up like cigarettes.
Then everyone is a hedonist. Not because everyone loves the way you do—some people are more pleased by other things. But a man who suffers to satisfy some hunger for meaning or glory is still choosing the route that makes his heart gladder. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.
And you are sweet and kind and soft because what makes you happy is for the people you love to be happy, and to keep the innocent from suffering, and to roll your dog’s ears up like cigarettes.
[ He squirms his leg. He could choose not to squirm, of course, and with nearly anyone else he would be choosing to squirm, to seem to be the sort of person who’s ticklish. But at the moment, with Byerly—an organic response, slipping through an opened door. ]
Obviously.
[ The pinching hand is caught and raised, for Bastien to examine By’s fine joints and long fingers and lovely nails. They’re the sort of hands wealthy Orlesians pay a lot of money for people with pumice stones and oils and tiny scissors to try to reproduce. And who could blame them? Gorgeous. ]
But if you ever do scratch me, I will know it is an accident, and it will be alright.
Obviously.
[ The pinching hand is caught and raised, for Bastien to examine By’s fine joints and long fingers and lovely nails. They’re the sort of hands wealthy Orlesians pay a lot of money for people with pumice stones and oils and tiny scissors to try to reproduce. And who could blame them? Gorgeous. ]
But if you ever do scratch me, I will know it is an accident, and it will be alright.
Apologies if,
[is it gauche to assume he offended someone?]
...if I missed the mark. I assumed we were playing.
[is it gauche to assume he offended someone?]
...if I missed the mark. I assumed we were playing.
Edited 2022-04-20 04:35 (UTC)
Oh! We were.
[ Were they? Maybe it ruffled his feathers a little, maybe Benedict had the misfortune of chiming in after Bastien had already used up so much of his resistance to taking things personally on not caring that Wysteria called him old—
But it’s fine now. It’s been like three whole minutes. He’s over it. ]
Sweet of you to apologize, though.
[ Were they? Maybe it ruffled his feathers a little, maybe Benedict had the misfortune of chiming in after Bastien had already used up so much of his resistance to taking things personally on not caring that Wysteria called him old—
But it’s fine now. It’s been like three whole minutes. He’s over it. ]
Sweet of you to apologize, though.
Just. Making sure.
[Weird how being around non-monstrous people for a while makes one care what they think, how they feel.]
...it was really for Byerly anyway. [Said with a dry fondness; he doesn't want to actually hurt him, either.]
[Weird how being around non-monstrous people for a while makes one care what they think, how they feel.]
...it was really for Byerly anyway. [Said with a dry fondness; he doesn't want to actually hurt him, either.]
[ Bastien laughs. ]
I would fight you on his behalf, but anyone who does not realize how handsome he is is clearly touched in the head. So I can only pity you. A life without appreciating true beauty... Bleak.
—but my mustache is better than his, right? If you had to pick a mustache to like.
I would fight you on his behalf, but anyone who does not realize how handsome he is is clearly touched in the head. So I can only pity you. A life without appreciating true beauty... Bleak.
—but my mustache is better than his, right? If you had to pick a mustache to like.
[Dodging the question is the only way to answer.]
It's more robust, [Benedict offers. His smirk is audible.] It's committed to being a mustache.
It's more robust, [Benedict offers. His smirk is audible.] It's committed to being a mustache.
[ It’s a few days after their last talk of family, of all of Bastien’s siblings, that Byerly comes to Bastien with a letter in his hand. It is, when By holds it out to Bastien, addressed simply to Byerly Rutyer - because, while a finely-educated lady would know that even her brother should be addressed as Ambassador in this sort of correspondence, Nadine wasn’t raised finely. She wasn’t given a true lady’s education. It shows in her hand, too: it’s a little uneven, a little wobbly, not the fine calligraphy of a high lady (or a high lady’s scribe).
By’s face is subdued when he presents the letter. But he doesn’t look unhappy. It seems, rather, more like he’s waiting to react until Bastien has confirmed the information contained within. ]
By’s face is subdued when he presents the letter. But he doesn’t look unhappy. It seems, rather, more like he’s waiting to react until Bastien has confirmed the information contained within. ]
[ He has caught Bastien in the back room of the Jeshavis office, where there's a table for the project's never-held meetings and cabinets for the files and supplies. His desk has been overtaken by one avenue of effort; the conference table is being overtaken by several others, so Bastien roves between chairs as he roves between tasks. In this chair he's not so much sitting as standing beside it, with one knee bent and resting in the seat.
At the sight of Byerly and his reserved expression, his face moves swiftly from smile to quiet curiosity. A request from Lord Loys Brassard for information about the Antivans' plans is set aside in favor of Byerly's letter. Bastien reads the first sentence, enough to know it's personal, and skips to the valediction to confirm the sender. The name makes him stand up from his chair entirely. Half excitement, half the need to wrap his arm around By's waist and hitch him in close while he goes back to read the middle. ]
At the sight of Byerly and his reserved expression, his face moves swiftly from smile to quiet curiosity. A request from Lord Loys Brassard for information about the Antivans' plans is set aside in favor of Byerly's letter. Bastien reads the first sentence, enough to know it's personal, and skips to the valediction to confirm the sender. The name makes him stand up from his chair entirely. Half excitement, half the need to wrap his arm around By's waist and hitch him in close while he goes back to read the middle. ]
[ There's a stiffness to it, to be sure. In Byerly's best dreams about how this would go, he'd envisioned an almost impossible generosity - an enthusiastic, joyous flood of words, as if not a day had passed between then and now, as if she were still the sweetly loving girl she had been. It's certainly not that. But nor is it the cold rebuff he'd feared. Instead, it's - ]
My dearest brother,
I was very pleased to receive a letter from you. I was even more pleased to hear that you are doing so well. I am not surprised to hear that the Riftwatch admires you so much. I am sure you serve in this war both loyally and bravely. I am also glad to hear that you have such excellent companions who treat you well. I hope that you shall tell me much more of them and how you met one another.
I fear that there is no such excitement here. Or perhaps I am pleased to report as such. The war reaches here only in small ways. We have little sugar due to a lack of trade. As Elia's name-day was last month, and she was forced to have a tart made with treacle instead of sugar, the household is in some great disorder.
[ She talks a bit more here about her family. About her daughter, Elia, and her son, John. Her husband, a merchant named Thomas, who trades primarily in fabrics - linens and wools, good practical things. She talks about the garden she's sowing. It's all very surface-level, reporting rather than sharing. Rather akin to what would tell a very distant relation. But it's written warmly enough.
Finally, she concludes: ]
But perhaps you already know much of this. Gossip seems to flow northwards far more easily than it flows south. I pray you will respond with more - I should like to hear of your adventures.
Your sister,
Nadine.
My dearest brother,
I was very pleased to receive a letter from you. I was even more pleased to hear that you are doing so well. I am not surprised to hear that the Riftwatch admires you so much. I am sure you serve in this war both loyally and bravely. I am also glad to hear that you have such excellent companions who treat you well. I hope that you shall tell me much more of them and how you met one another.
I fear that there is no such excitement here. Or perhaps I am pleased to report as such. The war reaches here only in small ways. We have little sugar due to a lack of trade. As Elia's name-day was last month, and she was forced to have a tart made with treacle instead of sugar, the household is in some great disorder.
[ She talks a bit more here about her family. About her daughter, Elia, and her son, John. Her husband, a merchant named Thomas, who trades primarily in fabrics - linens and wools, good practical things. She talks about the garden she's sowing. It's all very surface-level, reporting rather than sharing. Rather akin to what would tell a very distant relation. But it's written warmly enough.
Finally, she concludes: ]
But perhaps you already know much of this. Gossip seems to flow northwards far more easily than it flows south. I pray you will respond with more - I should like to hear of your adventures.
Your sister,
Nadine.
[ Bastien takes his time. At the mention of treacle, the household is in some great disorder, his head drifts sideways to nudge against Byerly's arm and remains there, while his smile stretches wider with each sentence. Reserved, but warm. Not unlike the carefully restrained hope on By's face.
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
Her dearest brother!
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
Her dearest brother!
Edited (words) 2022-05-30 02:05 (UTC)
It's good?
[ Is a question. A question coming, perhaps absurdly, from Byerly, who can read intention or resistance or susceptibility in a penstroke when the letter is a diplomatic missive. In this - In this, he needs to stoop his head slightly and look Bastien in the eyes, anxious for some reassurance, even after that little peasanty dance has been concluded.
(An absurd request. Would Bastien be dancing if he didn't think it was good? But he needs those words.) ]
She doesn't seem - displeased by the idea. I feel as though - [ He gives a small motion of his head. ] You don't suppose she was just writing because she wanted sugar, was she?
[ Is a question. A question coming, perhaps absurdly, from Byerly, who can read intention or resistance or susceptibility in a penstroke when the letter is a diplomatic missive. In this - In this, he needs to stoop his head slightly and look Bastien in the eyes, anxious for some reassurance, even after that little peasanty dance has been concluded.
(An absurd request. Would Bastien be dancing if he didn't think it was good? But he needs those words.) ]
She doesn't seem - displeased by the idea. I feel as though - [ He gives a small motion of his head. ] You don't suppose she was just writing because she wanted sugar, was she?
[ Bastien lifts his chin to look back up at Byerly. ]
No. No, of course not.
[ Still oozing joy, but he can do it with less spinning: he moves his arms up, letter-holding hand draped over Byerly's shoulder, other hand on his beloved face, and beams at him. ]
It's good. It's great. She wrote to you! She wants you to write again. Look at everything she has given you to begin—her children. [ Byerly can't look; the letter is currently being held against his back, where Bastien's hand is dangling. But metaphorically. ] She could have kept them to a sentence at most if she wanted to keep you shut out of her family.
[ He lifts onto his toes to kiss By twice, once on each cheek. ]
Don't send her sugar.
No. No, of course not.
[ Still oozing joy, but he can do it with less spinning: he moves his arms up, letter-holding hand draped over Byerly's shoulder, other hand on his beloved face, and beams at him. ]
It's good. It's great. She wrote to you! She wants you to write again. Look at everything she has given you to begin—her children. [ Byerly can't look; the letter is currently being held against his back, where Bastien's hand is dangling. But metaphorically. ] She could have kept them to a sentence at most if she wanted to keep you shut out of her family.
[ He lifts onto his toes to kiss By twice, once on each cheek. ]
Don't send her sugar.
I'm sure I could find someone -
[ But that's foolish. She doesn't want sugar. She wants to complain. Just the way that, back when they were children, she'd talk and talk about her schoolmate - oh, what was the girl's name - Anya, maybe? - and Byerly would offer suggestions for smoothing things over with Anya and Nadine would sigh irritably and it wasn't until years later that he figured out that she didn't want solutions. She wanted to be irritated and hear him listen.
This is like that. Right? She doesn't want something; she just wants her brother to listen.
Her brother.
He finds, suddenly, that his eyes are wet. He stoops all at once to bury his face against Bastien's shoulder. It's not until his breath hitches in a sob that he really realizes how...how much it all was, how intense the fear was in him. Like how you don't know how taut a muscle was till you unclench it.
It's not a full weep. It's a light one, just a few little hiccups before he gets control of himself again. But - oh, it's such a relief. ]
Yeah. I'll write again. It'll be good.
[ But that's foolish. She doesn't want sugar. She wants to complain. Just the way that, back when they were children, she'd talk and talk about her schoolmate - oh, what was the girl's name - Anya, maybe? - and Byerly would offer suggestions for smoothing things over with Anya and Nadine would sigh irritably and it wasn't until years later that he figured out that she didn't want solutions. She wanted to be irritated and hear him listen.
This is like that. Right? She doesn't want something; she just wants her brother to listen.
Her brother.
He finds, suddenly, that his eyes are wet. He stoops all at once to bury his face against Bastien's shoulder. It's not until his breath hitches in a sob that he really realizes how...how much it all was, how intense the fear was in him. Like how you don't know how taut a muscle was till you unclench it.
It's not a full weep. It's a light one, just a few little hiccups before he gets control of himself again. But - oh, it's such a relief. ]
Yeah. I'll write again. It'll be good.
[ All of his jokes about wanting to be taller aside, Bastien is usually fine with his height. Right now, however, he would trade a whole finger (off his bow hand, at least) to be tall enough to fold By into his chest and be sturdy and comfortable to cry on.
But he does his best with what he has. Stays on his toes, keeps one arm wrapped around By's shoulder, kisses his ear, lightly scratches the hair on the nape of his neck. ]
It will be.
[ His enthusiasm has not waned, but in the face of the hiccuping, it's taken on a more subdued form. He alternates lowering his heels to rock on his feet, side to side—still a bit of dancing, but maybe more soothing in this form. ]
I'm so glad for you, my love. And what timing. I was five days away from meddling.
But he does his best with what he has. Stays on his toes, keeps one arm wrapped around By's shoulder, kisses his ear, lightly scratches the hair on the nape of his neck. ]
It will be.
[ His enthusiasm has not waned, but in the face of the hiccuping, it's taken on a more subdued form. He alternates lowering his heels to rock on his feet, side to side—still a bit of dancing, but maybe more soothing in this form. ]
I'm so glad for you, my love. And what timing. I was five days away from meddling.
Meddling?
[ Curiosity - clean, clear, focused - cuts through the muddle of feeling. By raises his head off of Bastien's shoulder to look him in the face. Few besides Bastien would be able to get a look at Byerly when he's in this state: eyes still reddened, nose a little pinked from the emotional display, face unguarded. (And only one aside from Bastien might ever see Byerly like this when he's sober.)
His lip tucks up to the side, a hesitant, earnest little smile. ]
How would you have meddled?
[ Curiosity - clean, clear, focused - cuts through the muddle of feeling. By raises his head off of Bastien's shoulder to look him in the face. Few besides Bastien would be able to get a look at Byerly when he's in this state: eyes still reddened, nose a little pinked from the emotional display, face unguarded. (And only one aside from Bastien might ever see Byerly like this when he's sober.)
His lip tucks up to the side, a hesitant, earnest little smile. ]
How would you have meddled?
[ It's a sight that makes Bastien's heart swell—literally, he's pretty sure. He can feel it. And they were good tears, relieved tears, so there's no sorrow in the swelling. Just love for his face, the precious contrast of aristocratic features and open sweetness, and purring satisfaction at being allowed to see him so clearly. ]
I was going to write to her.
[ A kiss to Byerly's pink nose, and Bastien lets his feet flatten. ]
Once to let her know you'd written and it might have been lost along the way, and if that didn't work, a second time to tell her we'd both written and they both might have been lost, and then—three letters being lost would not be a coincidence. It would be the Venatori interfering. Trying to break our beloved Ambassador's spirit. So then I would go to Gwaren in person and deliver one myself.
I was going to write to her.
[ A kiss to Byerly's pink nose, and Bastien lets his feet flatten. ]
Once to let her know you'd written and it might have been lost along the way, and if that didn't work, a second time to tell her we'd both written and they both might have been lost, and then—three letters being lost would not be a coincidence. It would be the Venatori interfering. Trying to break our beloved Ambassador's spirit. So then I would go to Gwaren in person and deliver one myself.
Si c'est ce qu'il faut.
[ Primly, very Orlesian, joking but not joking—and then more serious, with a hand up and a thumb on By’s cheekbone. ]
Anything for you.
[ Not something he’s said to By before. A line he drew, after Vincent—after he looked up from his years of infatuation and found himself with nothing to show for it but bloody hands. He didn’t think he’d ever offer anyone that again. He only is now, half teasing, because he’s so entirely certain that doing anything for Byerly means doing only good things, right ones, and not losing himself and his own dreams in the bargain. ]
Now you have to choose an adventure to tell her about. Something relatable—if you begin with the Herald’s spirit sending us prophetic dreams, she may think you have nothing in common anymore.
[ Primly, very Orlesian, joking but not joking—and then more serious, with a hand up and a thumb on By’s cheekbone. ]
Anything for you.
[ Not something he’s said to By before. A line he drew, after Vincent—after he looked up from his years of infatuation and found himself with nothing to show for it but bloody hands. He didn’t think he’d ever offer anyone that again. He only is now, half teasing, because he’s so entirely certain that doing anything for Byerly means doing only good things, right ones, and not losing himself and his own dreams in the bargain. ]
Now you have to choose an adventure to tell her about. Something relatable—if you begin with the Herald’s spirit sending us prophetic dreams, she may think you have nothing in common anymore.
Hah.
[ Something relatable. Something light. Nothing of his heartbreak, of his struggles, of his doubts. Nothing that would make her fear for his life - rather, something dashing but steadying. Odd as he realizes how much there is to choose from. ]
Did you ever think you’d end up like this?
[ The question is wry. ]
I was such an ordinary boy with such an ordinary life.
[ The two of them had been so ordinary together. ]
[ Something relatable. Something light. Nothing of his heartbreak, of his struggles, of his doubts. Nothing that would make her fear for his life - rather, something dashing but steadying. Odd as he realizes how much there is to choose from. ]
Did you ever think you’d end up like this?
[ The question is wry. ]
I was such an ordinary boy with such an ordinary life.
[ The two of them had been so ordinary together. ]
I hoped I would. [ Hungry, overlooked, refusing to clean boots for a living, clinging to a book of adventure stories. ] And I don't think you were ever ordinary.
[ He looks at Byerly's letter from Nadine again, quietly beaming with delight that it exists, before carefully folding it for him. ]
What did you want your life to become, when you were little?
[ He looks at Byerly's letter from Nadine again, quietly beaming with delight that it exists, before carefully folding it for him. ]
What did you want your life to become, when you were little?
[ He takes the letter with careful fingertips, pinching the creases delicately. He smiles down at it with an expression that's as wondering as it is fond. And then he turns the same expression up at Bastien, because - He'd never have had the courage for this without him. Without his pressing, without his love. He leans in and kisses him, then, lightly, without commentary; then he pulls back and considers the question. ]
I didn't really think about it.
[ Something almost embarrassing to admit to Bastien, who might well be someone nourished on dreams. His beloved might be able to forgo food, drink, and sleep, if he has ambitions to sustain him. ]
There was only one path open to me, really. Inherit the estate. Become its administrator. So there wasn't any point in imagining something different.
I didn't really think about it.
[ Something almost embarrassing to admit to Bastien, who might well be someone nourished on dreams. His beloved might be able to forgo food, drink, and sleep, if he has ambitions to sustain him. ]
There was only one path open to me, really. Inherit the estate. Become its administrator. So there wasn't any point in imagining something different.
Page 59 of 73