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[cozen]

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[bouchonne]

I'm finding it delightful.

[ A rakish grin. Then: ]

Let's say you were born in the North. Or that there were no Circles. Would you want it? Magic?

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums and thinks about it—and about other things, in little starts and flashes on the peripheral edges of his focus. It takes most of the time he needs to shuffle and deal to come to a decision. ]

I don’t know. I am not very good at being good, you know—I don’t have any instinct for it. No leash. If la bonne chose à faire wants something from me it has to have cream and know where to scratch. [ Spreading his cards in his hand, ] I would be demon bait for sure.

[ He sounds pretty cheerful about that, too. ]

But on the other hand, it would be much easier to light a cigarette, so... [ Case in point, for not always doing the right thing. ] Maybe.

Would you?

[bouchonne]

No.

[ No hesitation there. Clearly something he's already meditated on. ]

I certainly wouldn't want to be a mage in the South. And all the Northern mages seem to be some degree of bastard. I'm bastard enough having grown up powerless and spat-upon.

[ He straightens his cards. They make a convenient metaphor for: ]

A fellow who always has a good hand never even realizes that there are shitty cards. [ And then he pulls a face, communicating and here they are, the shitty cards. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien grins at that face, and then at his cards, which are better this time. And it’s harder than it looks, but it’s not that hard. ]

Perhaps we just attract bastards here, and the rest stay home.

[bouchonne]

I'd protest that I'd seen the same pattern in places such as Val Royeaux and Antiva, but I suppose that both of those places also attract bastards, no?

[cozen]

[ Bastien opens his mouth, sighs through it, shuts it, and then says, ]

I need you to learn to think better of yourself, By. So I can say things like they attracted you, when you open the door that way, and know that you will not take me too seriously.

[bouchonne]

[ There's a flicker of uncertainty in his face. Then - ]

Don't be dramatic, Bastien. You know I find jokes like that to be perfectly riotous.

[cozen]

Yes, but you're sensitive tonight.

[ He glances up, friendly mischief, and resumes playing. ]

What if you had been raised with power but a family that did not treat you like shit? Would that have just gone to your head?

[bouchonne]

[ He is decidedly less comfortable with this line of discussion, but determined not to seem so. ]

Oh, yes, I'd have been a dreadful thing, don't you think? Like one of those chevaliers, terrorizing the countryside but pretending righteousness.

[cozen]

Mm, no. I don't think so. Or at least it is very hard for me to imagine. But I suppose it is the precise opposite of protecting the countryside while pretending degeneracy.

[bouchonne]

Well, how about you? [ He draws a card, wrinkles his nose, and immediately discards it. ] What would Bastien of wealth-and-privilege have been like?

[cozen]

I don't know.

[ He draws and considers his options for longer than necessary, since he's also thinking about the question. ]

Maybe if I had a library and a ballroom and my own bed I would have been content. I could have stayed home and written bad poetry. And everyone would have to tell me was brilliant, because I was paying for their wine.

Or maybe I would have been the same beast with a wider reach and sharper claws.

[bouchonne]

[ An arched eyebrow. ]

Do you really think yourself a beast?

[cozen]

Oh, you know.

[ He makes his trade, then lays out his hand without ceremony, smile a little cheeky. ]

Not in a bad way. A fox is a beast.

[bouchonne]

[ By clucks his tongue as he loses. Badly. He gathers up the cards and takes a turn as dealer. ]

Rather few of your behaviors strike me as particularly foxlike. Unless you are referring to the fact that you're foxy.

[ A very lame line. Fortunately, deliberately so. ]

[cozen]

[ A better line might have panged. This one's perfect. He laughs—a delighted little titter—and smooths his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. ]

You lost. You have to tell me a secret.

[bouchonne]

Those weren't the rules.

[ The protest is surpassingly mild, and immediately followed by: ]

What genre of secret?

[cozen]

Small and harmless. Funny or odd. No broken oaths. Unless you would prefer big and personal if you win the next hand. Then you have to set the precedent now.

[bouchonne]

[ He shuffles the cards meditatively a moment. Then, apparently deciding: ]

Last month I picked up a book to read. Of the sort you're quite fond of. A Wind Across the Waking Sea. I finished it, even.

[cozen]

[ His face was already plenty bright, but it lights up further. ]

Did you really? Did you hate it?

[bouchonne]

I did not. [ An answer to the second question, not the first. ] The plot was a little contrived, but it was still quite gripping.

[cozen]

[ He doesn't ask if it was because of him, because he doesn't know what he would do with a yes. Or, no, he does know. He'd feed it to the hope he's trying to starve. So instead: ]

Can I borrow it?

[bouchonne]

Of course.

[ He draws a card. ]

You can have it to keep.

[cozen]

Ah, ouais, you would not want to be caught with something like that. People might talk.

[ He hasn't even looked at his cards yet, but he does now, and they're either good enough or bad enough that he laughs. ]

[bouchonne]

Just so. It would do my devil-may-care image no favors to be seen putting time and effort into something. If I kept it, I'd have to carve out the middle and hide a bottle of liquor in it.