[ For a little while she is quiet, considering. Thinking of how often it is that they are strangers to each other— she and Byerly. The violent dichotomy of their intimacy; how quickly a moment of incredible softness turns to the heat of her fear fueled rage and the chill of his withdrawal. How the closer they hold one another, the easier it is to tear one another to shreds when they stray from knowing into nothing.
If there were more knowing, perhaps...
Finally: ]
You do not make things worse, Bastien. Telling a man who is unaware he has taken a wound that he bleeds is not the cause of the bleeding.
[ She'd been palming cashews as she picked them out, one tucked away for every one she'd revealed. She puts them on the desk now, a little offering. ]
[ Bastien nods, smiles wider for the additional cashew bounty, and picks one up. ]
Thank you. [ For the cashews, for the kind correction. He splits the nut in half with his nail rather than eat it straight away. ] Tell me how it goes—your conversation about Miss Poppell. Or if I do not see or hear from you until tomorrow I will just assume it went very well.
[ A joke, like his: sort of. But when she gets up and brushes her hands lightly down her skirt to set it hanging properly she is looking at him again. And if her smile is not a broad bright thing, it is at least not sad. ]
no subject
If there were more knowing, perhaps...
Finally: ]
You do not make things worse, Bastien. Telling a man who is unaware he has taken a wound that he bleeds is not the cause of the bleeding.
[ She'd been palming cashews as she picked them out, one tucked away for every one she'd revealed. She puts them on the desk now, a little offering. ]
You make things better. It is better to know.
no subject
Thank you. [ For the cashews, for the kind correction. He splits the nut in half with his nail rather than eat it straight away. ] Tell me how it goes—your conversation about Miss Poppell. Or if I do not see or hear from you until tomorrow I will just assume it went very well.
no subject
[ A joke, like his: sort of. But when she gets up and brushes her hands lightly down her skirt to set it hanging properly she is looking at him again. And if her smile is not a broad bright thing, it is at least not sad. ]
I will. [ A pause, and— ] Thank you.