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[cozen]

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[cozen]

Oh.

[ The surprise and delight in that syllable are genuine, and only after a pause followed by exaggeration: a hand on his heart, another on Byerly’s arm for stability lest the scent make him faint dead away etc. ]

Where did it come from? Are we being bribed? —am I being bribed?

[bouchonne]

I'm being bribed. You're reaping the benefits.

[ Worth it, too. A little gift, thrown in to sway the Ambassador; By took the gift, and will decide later about how swayed he is. ]

I couldn't possibly drink it all myself, not and maintain my trim maidenly figure.

[cozen]

Bound to a desk as you are.

[ Bastien squeezes By’s arm—testing for body fat, see—before he releases it and goes to drag the chair he previously agreed to be tied to over to join the less comfortable one at the desk. ]

Will drinking it oblige you to do anything terrible?

[bouchonne]

[ He hums thoughtfully. ]

Sometimes milk makes me gassy. So perhaps fart.

[cozen]

[ His laugh comes mostly through his nose. ]

What horror! If the people learn, reputation might never recover.

[ He takes the less comfortable chair but the larger portion of hot chocolate, without apology. For By’s figure. ]

So I will of course write a song about it.

[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ A sigh. ]

So this is why Bards are truly feared.

[cozen]

Exactly so. The rest is only a distraction from fart songs.

[ He takes a sip and goes limp in the chair, turned to a sweets-loving puddle. ]

Maker.

[bouchonne]

[ By lifts his hand to hide his smile, but it crinkles the corners of his eyes. ]

The perks of corruption.

[ He thinks he could watch Bastien drinking hot chocolate all day. ]

[cozen]

[ What a coincidence! He could watch Byerly fail to hide smiles all day. But not drink hot chocolate. There’s a limit. He’d get sick. ]

I think I can taste the wickedness, [ after a considering second sip. ] And notes of malfeasance. It’s very good.

[bouchonne]

Adds a hint of spice.

[ He smiles. Then the smile grows a little bit less broad, and he says - ]

The other day, I had the most absurd experience.

[cozen]

Yeah? [ Still slumped half-bonelessly in his chair, he puts his feet up on the arm of Byerly's. ] Good absurd or bad absurd?

[bouchonne]

Dreadful absurd.

[ He reaches up and, if Bastien is wearing boots, starts unlacing them. And if he is not wearing boots, By starts rubbing his feet. ]

I felt awkward. At a party.

[cozen]

[ The statement promptly distracts Bastien from trying to decide how to argue, to himself, silently, that foot rubs are platonic. ]

You?

Was it being hosted by Chantry Mothers?

[bouchonne]

I've actually been to festivities hosted by Chantry Mothers. I did all right.

[cozen]

The Qun, then. Assigned a party role when you walk in the door, death if you deviate, and they decided your role was demure wallflower.

[bouchonne]

[ Hm. ]

That actually sounds a bit erotic, doesn't it?

[ weird boners. ]

[cozen]

Mm. Perhaps for a night.

[ He swallows a few anecdotes about this or that Orlesian secretly into role playing and the possibility that he and Alexandrie will, someday, time and war permitting, have a party where everyone must come as someone else and stay that way. Instead he wiggles a toe. ]

Okay. I am done being silly. What happened?

[bouchonne]

Imagine this.

[ A droll smile. ]

You're invited to a party. And then when you show up, it's only three other people: Artemaeus, Athessa, and Colin. And you. In a very silly hat.

[cozen]

Ohh.

[ A sympathetic oh, this time, rather than a delighted one, and accompanied by a wince. ]

Which of them invited you? They didn't tell you it would be so small?

[ Obviously not, but he's asking anyway. ]

[bouchonne]

Artemaeus.

[ His smile is light and ironic, even as he delivers this agonizing twist in the story: ]

Athessa and Colin didn't know I was coming until I showed up.

[cozen]

[ He sighs in a quiet little burst. ]

Honestly. And he is nobility. What are they teaching people in Tevinter?

[bouchonne]

I'm honestly considering firing the boy over it.

[ A shrug. ]

It was either deliberate or accidental. If it was accidental, then he is too thick to be worth keeping; if it was deliberate, he is too malicious.

[cozen]

I would not think it malicious. He seems eager to please, whenever I see him. Or eager to fit in. Maybe he was trying to impress you somehow. Or maybe all that time in the dungeon rotted whichever part of his head stores his etiquette.

How silly was the hat?

[bouchonne]

Not dreadfully so. Three-pointed, brocade, with a mid-length plume. Something I'd have been proud to be wearing if any of the others had been wearing hats. As, again, I had been led to believe they would.

Maker, have you ever had those moments where you feel as though you're eighteen years old and knobby-kneed once again?

[cozen]

[ Bastien opens his mouth to say of course, yes, certainly. Habit. But he stops himself, and instead says, ]

I was never eighteen and knobby-kneed,

[ as an airy, braggy, but honest stand-in for a longer and potentially derailing explanation that by then he'd had any genuine clumsiness ironed out. ]

But I think I know what you mean. I do feel awkward sometimes here—it's horrible. It might be a symptom of actually caring what some people think.