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[cozen]

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[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.

[cozen]

Ha. If you ever need a book for that, I can find you one that deserves it.

[bouchonne]

What! I thought you loved all books.

[cozen]

Oh, no. Just the other day I gave up on one because it was— [ an emphatic gesture while trading cards ] —shockingly racist. Even for Orlais.

[bouchonne]

Such sensitivities. Spending too much time with elves, Bastien?

[cozen]

Only Athessa, lately.

[bouchonne]

I suppose she counts.

Do you have sympathy for them, then? Elves?

[cozen]

Don’t you?

[ But—perhaps as apology for that earlier will you—it’s rhetorical. ]

I grew up near the alienage in Val Royeaux. Everyone liked to say, You could do worse! [ Chipper, with the rough edge of an uneducated accent and the rote intonation of a worn-out old joke. ] By being an elf. And we—the children, I mean—we threw rocks at the gates.

[ He takes a card, then discards it without trading. ]

After I was done thinking I was better than them, I spent some time thinking we were the same. But now no one knows what I’ve come from unless I tell them. With elves, everyone always knows.

[bouchonne]

Your ears are surpassingly cute.

[ A card drawn. And then, finally - ]

And I do. Yes. Don't get me wrong, they're a bit creepy - those eyes, you know - but if one were to stab me and every other human in the heart for what we'd done, I'd consider it a fair cop.

[cozen]

[ It's impossible not to think about the cabin in the mountains, and Byerly complimenting his earlobes, but he keeps it to a minimum. No dwelling. ]

Make sure not to repeat that where Sabine can hear you. She might take you up on it.

[ He lays out his cards, which are very bad, but it's not completely impossible to do worse. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly wins with ease. ]

A secret from you, now.

[cozen]

Hmm.

[ He sweeps the cards back to himself on the table to reorganize and shuffle. ]

I am afraid of storms. Not horribly. I can deal with it. They wake me up, I go back to sleep, it is fine. But whenever there is thunder, I am, you know. [ He raises one of his hands to indicate a slight elevation of anxiety. ] A little nervous.

[bouchonne]

Really.

[ By smiles, his expression fond. ]

Do you know why?