[ He’s waited as long as he’s willing to for the coffee to cool, which is fortunately long enough. It doesn’t scald. ]
Thank you for this. You are right, it is a perfect day. And this looks amazing.
[ The pastry, he means, which he prods but doesn’t yet taste. Instead he asks a few more questions—about Antiva, the state of things there, the mood in the street, opinions on the war, nothing exciting—before arriving at more important business. ]
So. Our project, which is unfortunately not secret. Although I did refuse to name you—of course he knows anyway, but you could get away with being coy about it if you like.
Edited (being less useless and progression, SORRY) 2020-09-24 21:49 (UTC)
[ A flip of her hand for "making it work" that could either mean of course I did or it was terrible and I don't want to talk about it ever again. ]
Perhaps I will be coy and see if he lets me.
[ Her sip is shortly followed by a small bite of strawberry tart, which serves to both improve the coffee and give her a little time to think before she responds. ]
I admit, I have little experience planning intimate affairs that are not, shall we say, intimate affairs.
[ Raised eyebrows over another sip that chases after the remaining taste of sugared fruit. Small quiet gatherings had been for subterfuge until she had made her first true friends, and after that if she wished quiet she had preferred to meet with people alone, each relationship in a little separate box; parcels of curated truth. ]
[ Bastien nods and has to swallow (slowly, savoring) before he says, ]
Yes, that sounds clever. So we know who are working with.
[ He might have brought something to write with, if he'd planned to be here, doing this, but it would have only been for show, so he could play the fussy secretary. He'll remember without one. Alexandrie surely will too. ]
[ A pause then, as she looks down to offer her plate a small smile. To chase a crumb around it with the tip of a tine, careful not to let the fork touch the porcelain. After ushering it in a careful circle: ]
I think you have been a far better friend to him than I have these years.
[ She turns the smile on Bastien and dips her chin in acknowledgement of that pride of place; a little seated curtsy. ]
I do not know if he keeps other truly amiable company. Is there anyone else you know of?
[ Bastien wrinkles his nose a little at the acknowledgment—in a friendly, what can you do sort of way—and then hums. ]
That is everyone I know he keeps comfortable company with, without watching his step so much.
[ As of now. Alexandrie is obviously a new addition to the list—he assumes. Perhaps Byerly still watches his step with her. As of this moment in the timeline, Bastien hasn’t seen them together. But he’s comfortable making the assumption. ]
Perhaps not everyone he might have a good time with. [ He cuts into his pastry, finally, with the bite balanced on his fork instead of eating it. ] Jenny Lou, for example. She adores him, and she would probably love the chance to participate, but I think he is—you know. Careful.
We could always do more than one thing. Invite a bigger list for just a drink, or something that will not drag on all night, and then a more private dinner.
[ A considering hum for that. Her forehead wrinkles; a tiny line of thought. ]
What think you of the few of us meeting wherever it is we meet for 'something that will not drag on all night' slightly earlier than those on the larger list? Then we shall all be comfortable to begin with, with an expected return to—
[ She cuts herself off with an interjection that's as much aggrieved huff as word, ]
Alors, je me prends pour qui— it is less than a month and I mantle wings over him and hiss and snap at... [ Exasperated with herself, she picks up her fork and gestures emphatically with it, ] shadows of shadows.
[ Thinning her lips, she wiggles a strawberry back and forth until it is free from the crust and then lets it sit and stick itself back down with a quiet sigh. ]
[ A smile for that, while he chews his long-delayed chocolate. It's a little smaller than his usual, but fonder for it. As she wrote: they know one true thing of each other. ]
No, [ he says once he's swallowed, ] I think you are right. Not that either of us have to right to fuss over him like he is a child, but he asked for something quiet. We know he would not be shy about saying so if he wanted something loud. So quiet is what he should have. Honestly, I cannot think of a better gift for anyone than a room of people they do not have to pretend for.
[ Having not received outside aid in chiding herself for being overbearing— not that Bastien would have shown it, even if he had thought her so— Alexandrie slicks her ruffled feathers back into place and nods. ]
A rare gift indeed.
[ For anyone, really. She reacquires the strawberry she'd been fussing with and eats it, thinking again. ]
Does Lady Rutyer play an instrument? She is well-born, she must, no?
I shall ask Lady Barra if she has, and you may ask...
[ s i g h ]
I ought to ask Lady Rutyer. It would perhaps be...
[ Her glance to the heavens is more of a glance to the umbrella. Its fringe wafts innocently in the breeze, unworried by things like the interpersonal relationships between immensely-flirtatious-apparently-lesbian-wives and envious-former-lovers-who-refuse-to-admit-that's-why-they're-being-catty. ]
genteel of me to make an effort to...
Elle me casse le fan! [ Immediately illustrated by the swift displeased snap of Alexandrie's fan opening to flutter crossly for a moment before she thwacks it shut again against her hand. ] If I go to make peace between us she is going to be smug at me and I shall have to endure it patiently.
[ Bastien—whose absent surname is perhaps Endurance, but middle name certainly not Patient—grins for a moment, sympathetic and charmed. And close-mouthed, because he’s swallowing some pastry. ]
—worth it, though, don’t you think?
[ For Byerly.
Still: ]
We could ask them both together if you’d prefer. Use the crystals so you can do whatever you like with your face.
[ It is, really. Kind. She had tried, at the beginning, to make of Sidony an amiable acquaintance— she had not had friends, then— but she had begun to soften, and the Lady Venaras had stayed sharp and careless and, unforgivably, would not deign to caretake Alexandrie's tentative new fragility at all. And then she had been Lady Rutyer, and so deeply and obviously important to Byerly that the very sound of her voice had made Alexandrie want to grind glass with her teeth.
They had stopped seeking each other's company.
She picks up her coffee cup just to have something to hold and presses her lips together, looking mildly miserable. ]
I do not like to pretend that things do not matter to me anymore, when they do.
[ For a moment—it isn't resentment. Just a moment of grim humor, an unspoken comment on the irony, that he's found himself talking to Alexandrie about how to handle someone whose place in Byerly Rutyer's life she might envy.
It passes. ]
Perhaps if you are forthright about that, she will take it well. She is Nevarran. But—I do not know her very well. Byerly might have advice for you, now that you're in a better position to ask him.
[ Alexandrie smiles wryly into her coffee and sips it, letting it be bitter and unmitigated on her tongue. Raises eyebrows and shoulders and then drops them. ]
But I do not like to tell the truth about the things that matter to me either. Not to anyone who I do not think will hold it softly.
[ And then she is examining him curiously over the rim of the cup with the hawkish interest she has when people do something that makes her want to pick them up and turn them around in her hands to see if she can figure out how they work. ]
Have you always listened like an heirloom trunk in the attic, or were you taught?
[ Not to be too difficult. There's good humor in his eyes, not feigned confusion about her meaning, while he sticks his fork into his pastry carefully enough that it can stand straight up without being held.
Hand thus free for a careless little gesture, he answers honestly: ] I don't know. Some of both. Perhaps you could say cultivated.
[ He laughs, too, and if his answer is evasive, it's a very friendly-toned of evasion: ]
I think it is a blessing to be alive.
[ And perhaps it's only tangentially related, but he pauses before he takes another drink of his coffee—all curiosity, no skepticism or expectations for her answer— ]
Can you separate what you are from what you were taught? Put it on and take it off?
Mm. Or like being asked to forget how to walk. You can try to be bad at it and drag your feet and stumble around, or you can lie down and refuse. But that is deliberate. You can’t really forget.
[ He cuts a bite of pastry, then looks over his shoulder to locate the waiter, without any subtly. (Deliberate.) The fellow is watching them, of course—watching Alexandrie—and for a moment he seems eager to take Bastien’s look as an invitation to come check on them. But Bastien winks, rather than waving him over, and leaves him to blush and become suddenly busy arranging cups. ]
—music, you think? We should play? I think that is a fantastic idea. If the ladies cannot accompany us, they can sing or dance or lounge.
[ She laughs softly again at the display, and then nods. ]
It is the only thing I could think of that he loves and is proud of that casts no bitter shadows.
[ Or, if it does, she thinks it casts the least. ]
Does he play solo for anyone outside of taverns and dances? I should love dearly to play all of us together, but I think he deserves a chance to show off as well, no? If he wishes? Something besides jigs and lively waltzes.
[ It's awfully tender, that small smile. She looks down to attempt a minor reconstruction of the mess she'd made of her tart. ]
[ There’s a Byerly Rutyer Solo Performance stored on the crystal in Bastien’s pocket. A ballad in incomprehensible Antivan—gruesome, probably, if he could understand any of it, but still a bit of brightness for nights when wind assaults the walls and windows and there’s thunder in the distance.
But that was only the once, and not really what she means, so Bastien says, ]
He doesn’t, that I know of. If we made little programs, do you think he would be charmed or think we were silly? [ Poised with pastry ready to eat, he answers his own question. ] Both.
[ She gestures her agreement, and taps the fork lightly on her lower lip. ]
We shall ask the Ladies if they should like to present something, and make a little programme? If you print them, I shall illustrate them.
If they should like to they may, and then you shall play, and I shall play, and we shall have him play whatever he should like to play for us, and once we have embarrassed him entirely with our effusive praise, we shall all play something sprightly together. Then out to dinner to join one or two others you think meet there, and back afterwards to only ourselves for a nightcap?
[ The tilt of Alexandrie's head suggests that whom, precisely, "only ourselves" means is a separate question. ]
[ Bastien smiles through her plan, and continues smiling through her head tilt, and leaves the unspoken question unanswered for now. ]
We do not have to have a larger dinner. We can, if you think we should. I think there are people who would like to do something for him, and maybe it would be nice for him to see that.
But there are other ways to include them. We could send them up to him one at a time during the day with a message divided into pieces, or organize them to decorate a private page in the books for him. It would turn into winged phalluses, I’m sure, immediately. But he likes those, so...
[ Unanswered is answered enough in that it is not 'no'.
Well, answered enough for her. The stake she has in it is borrowed from the two of them. She shakes her head slightly. ]
I have little attachment to the idea of a larger dinner, but I do think it might perhaps be nice to change locations for a bit. I think there is something fine in becoming a little group and then venturing companionably out into the evening together.
[ A smile then, as she places her fork down so she can flutter little wings with her hands. ]
Who is it who draws those? We once had a merry little cooperative effort.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He’s waited as long as he’s willing to for the coffee to cool, which is fortunately long enough. It doesn’t scald. ]
Thank you for this. You are right, it is a perfect day. And this looks amazing.
[ The pastry, he means, which he prods but doesn’t yet taste. Instead he asks a few more questions—about Antiva, the state of things there, the mood in the street, opinions on the war, nothing exciting—before arriving at more important business. ]
So. Our project, which is unfortunately not secret. Although I did refuse to name you—of course he knows anyway, but you could get away with being coy about it if you like.
no subject
Perhaps I will be coy and see if he lets me.
[ Her sip is shortly followed by a small bite of strawberry tart, which serves to both improve the coffee and give her a little time to think before she responds. ]
I admit, I have little experience planning intimate affairs that are not, shall we say, intimate affairs.
[ Raised eyebrows over another sip that chases after the remaining taste of sugared fruit. Small quiet gatherings had been for subterfuge until she had made her first true friends, and after that if she wished quiet she had preferred to meet with people alone, each relationship in a little separate box; parcels of curated truth. ]
Perhaps a guest list, first?
no subject
Yes, that sounds clever. So we know who are working with.
[ He might have brought something to write with, if he'd planned to be here, doing this, but it would have only been for show, so he could play the fussy secretary. He'll remember without one. Alexandrie surely will too. ]
Us, of course. Lady Barra. And his wife.
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[ A pause then, as she looks down to offer her plate a small smile. To chase a crumb around it with the tip of a tine, careful not to let the fork touch the porcelain. After ushering it in a careful circle: ]
I think you have been a far better friend to him than I have these years.
[ She turns the smile on Bastien and dips her chin in acknowledgement of that pride of place; a little seated curtsy. ]
I do not know if he keeps other truly amiable company. Is there anyone else you know of?
no subject
That is everyone I know he keeps comfortable company with, without watching his step so much.
[ As of now. Alexandrie is obviously a new addition to the list—he assumes. Perhaps Byerly still watches his step with her. As of this moment in the timeline, Bastien hasn’t seen them together. But he’s comfortable making the assumption. ]
Perhaps not everyone he might have a good time with. [ He cuts into his pastry, finally, with the bite balanced on his fork instead of eating it. ] Jenny Lou, for example. She adores him, and she would probably love the chance to participate, but I think he is—you know. Careful.
We could always do more than one thing. Invite a bigger list for just a drink, or something that will not drag on all night, and then a more private dinner.
no subject
What think you of the few of us meeting wherever it is we meet for 'something that will not drag on all night' slightly earlier than those on the larger list? Then we shall all be comfortable to begin with, with an expected return to—
[ She cuts herself off with an interjection that's as much aggrieved huff as word, ]
Alors, je me prends pour qui— it is less than a month and I mantle wings over him and hiss and snap at... [ Exasperated with herself, she picks up her fork and gestures emphatically with it, ] shadows of shadows.
[ Thinning her lips, she wiggles a strawberry back and forth until it is free from the crust and then lets it sit and stick itself back down with a quiet sigh. ]
He is not a child, and I have little right.
no subject
No, [ he says once he's swallowed, ] I think you are right. Not that either of us have to right to fuss over him like he is a child, but he asked for something quiet. We know he would not be shy about saying so if he wanted something loud. So quiet is what he should have. Honestly, I cannot think of a better gift for anyone than a room of people they do not have to pretend for.
no subject
A rare gift indeed.
[ For anyone, really. She reacquires the strawberry she'd been fussing with and eats it, thinking again. ]
Does Lady Rutyer play an instrument? She is well-born, she must, no?
no subject
[ He likes Sidony, Nevarran or not. ]
And Lady Barra does not. I bought her a flute to try to learn, but I'm not sure if she has made any progress with it.
no subject
[ s i g h ]
I ought to ask Lady Rutyer. It would perhaps be...
[ Her glance to the heavens is more of a glance to the umbrella. Its fringe wafts innocently in the breeze, unworried by things like the interpersonal relationships between immensely-flirtatious-apparently-lesbian-wives and envious-former-lovers-who-refuse-to-admit-that's-why-they're-being-catty. ]
genteel of me to make an effort to...
Elle me casse le fan! [ Immediately illustrated by the swift displeased snap of Alexandrie's fan opening to flutter crossly for a moment before she thwacks it shut again against her hand. ] If I go to make peace between us she is going to be smug at me and I shall have to endure it patiently.
no subject
—worth it, though, don’t you think?
[ For Byerly.
Still: ]
We could ask them both together if you’d prefer. Use the crystals so you can do whatever you like with your face.
no subject
[ It is, really. Kind. She had tried, at the beginning, to make of Sidony an amiable acquaintance— she had not had friends, then— but she had begun to soften, and the Lady Venaras had stayed sharp and careless and, unforgivably, would not deign to caretake Alexandrie's tentative new fragility at all. And then she had been Lady Rutyer, and so deeply and obviously important to Byerly that the very sound of her voice had made Alexandrie want to grind glass with her teeth.
They had stopped seeking each other's company.
She picks up her coffee cup just to have something to hold and presses her lips together, looking mildly miserable. ]
I do not like to pretend that things do not matter to me anymore, when they do.
no subject
It passes. ]
Perhaps if you are forthright about that, she will take it well. She is Nevarran. But—I do not know her very well. Byerly might have advice for you, now that you're in a better position to ask him.
no subject
[ Alexandrie smiles wryly into her coffee and sips it, letting it be bitter and unmitigated on her tongue. Raises eyebrows and shoulders and then drops them. ]
But I do not like to tell the truth about the things that matter to me either. Not to anyone who I do not think will hold it softly.
[ And then she is examining him curiously over the rim of the cup with the hawkish interest she has when people do something that makes her want to pick them up and turn them around in her hands to see if she can figure out how they work. ]
Have you always listened like an heirloom trunk in the attic, or were you taught?
no subject
[ Not to be too difficult. There's good humor in his eyes, not feigned confusion about her meaning, while he sticks his fork into his pastry carefully enough that it can stand straight up without being held.
Hand thus free for a careless little gesture, he answers honestly: ] I don't know. Some of both. Perhaps you could say cultivated.
no subject
A box you find secreted beneath the floorboards by the last tenant of the room you rented, then, filled with their memories.
[ Her fork falls down, and she laughs quietly; the strawberries are not so good at holding as the chocolate.
Then: ]
Do you think it curse or blessing to have been so cultivated?
no subject
I think it is a blessing to be alive.
[ And perhaps it's only tangentially related, but he pauses before he takes another drink of his coffee—all curiosity, no skepticism or expectations for her answer— ]
Can you separate what you are from what you were taught? Put it on and take it off?
no subject
Some of it. Enough of it that it would be easy to be cocky enough to think I can.
[ She shrugs and turns her cup in its saucer with a finger. ]
But some of it is like breathing, no? It has to be.
no subject
[ He cuts a bite of pastry, then looks over his shoulder to locate the waiter, without any subtly. (Deliberate.) The fellow is watching them, of course—watching Alexandrie—and for a moment he seems eager to take Bastien’s look as an invitation to come check on them. But Bastien winks, rather than waving him over, and leaves him to blush and become suddenly busy arranging cups. ]
—music, you think? We should play? I think that is a fantastic idea. If the ladies cannot accompany us, they can sing or dance or lounge.
no subject
It is the only thing I could think of that he loves and is proud of that casts no bitter shadows.
[ Or, if it does, she thinks it casts the least. ]
Does he play solo for anyone outside of taverns and dances? I should love dearly to play all of us together, but I think he deserves a chance to show off as well, no? If he wishes? Something besides jigs and lively waltzes.
[ It's awfully tender, that small smile. She looks down to attempt a minor reconstruction of the mess she'd made of her tart. ]
And, selfishly, I should like to hear it.
no subject
But that was only the once, and not really what she means, so Bastien says, ]
He doesn’t, that I know of. If we made little programs, do you think he would be charmed or think we were silly? [ Poised with pastry ready to eat, he answers his own question. ] Both.
no subject
[ She gestures her agreement, and taps the fork lightly on her lower lip. ]
We shall ask the Ladies if they should like to present something, and make a little programme? If you print them, I shall illustrate them.
If they should like to they may, and then you shall play, and I shall play, and we shall have him play whatever he should like to play for us, and once we have embarrassed him entirely with our effusive praise, we shall all play something sprightly together. Then out to dinner to join one or two others you think meet there, and back afterwards to only ourselves for a nightcap?
[ The tilt of Alexandrie's head suggests that whom, precisely, "only ourselves" means is a separate question. ]
no subject
We do not have to have a larger dinner. We can, if you think we should. I think there are people who would like to do something for him, and maybe it would be nice for him to see that.
But there are other ways to include them. We could send them up to him one at a time during the day with a message divided into pieces, or organize them to decorate a private page in the books for him. It would turn into winged phalluses, I’m sure, immediately. But he likes those, so...
no subject
Well, answered enough for her. The stake she has in it is borrowed from the two of them. She shakes her head slightly. ]
I have little attachment to the idea of a larger dinner, but I do think it might perhaps be nice to change locations for a bit. I think there is something fine in becoming a little group and then venturing companionably out into the evening together.
[ A smile then, as she places her fork down so she can flutter little wings with her hands. ]
Who is it who draws those? We once had a merry little cooperative effort.
no subject
[ Including Alexandrie, apparently. Cute. ]
Going out would be nice. There are a lot of Fereldans here—maybe Lady Sonia knows of a place we could have a good Fereldan dinner.
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