[ Bastien hums thoughtfully, perhaps willing to concede that there might have been several intermediary steps between being jumped and tossing Byerly out of the door.
There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]
Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.
[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]
Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.
[ He smiles at the purr, but it fades into perplexity at the comment about Fitcher. Not too much perplexity. They’ve talked around things enough for him to have some idea of the shape of the undiscussed space at the center. But some.
He’ll save it for later. ]
At least everyone was together and miserable in a swamp. [ He moves to another knot. ] Is that what you would want, if the war really went on forever? To spend your life that way, I mean. Of course the details could improve.
In a swamp? Maker, no. You know how I feel about nature. My ass itched, and I'm fairly certain I didn't shit once in the whole dream. And it lasted, what, a month?
[ That startled him right out of his own somberness, and he snickers and adopts a tone that would be a parody of a psychiatrist if he knew what a psychiatrist was or was supposed to sound like. ]
And do you often shit in your dreams, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur?
I would be. She's the sort to stomp her foot and go red in the face instead of taking any action worth note.
[ Still a little angry over her actions in the dream? Maybe. Though he certainly won't admit as much. How foolish that would be.
A pause, then, and he lapses into momentary silence. Then he answers. ]
No. Not another five years of this. If it got that bad, I'd certainly withdraw from leadership. Find someone better than me. [ But - ] I suppose I'd stick with it, though. The fight, in general.
[ Better than me earns an admonishing finger-flick against his spine. ]
That is what I would have put money on.
[ And while his hand has paused kneading to flick, anyway, he reaches up to curl his finger against Byerly’s neck and mime tugging his invisible collar. ]
It fit you. I mean, you seemed sad and tired, and I know it was a dream. But I was awake, sort of, and you being there and leading and running off into danger—those parts were not confusing at all.
[ The tugged finger hooks into a one-fingered hold. He isn’t done with Byerly’s back, but for the moment he slides down to lie next to him, leaving one leg curled over his thighs, to lie next to him and have a better view of his face. ]
Bearded?
[ The warm and prompting sort of joke that really means explain. His free hand busies itself with more neck-kneading. ]
[ Shit. Yeah. That's good shit. He arches his neck to push his head into Bastien's fingers. And he says, a little dreamily: ]
I don't think I would have dreamed it otherwise. If it weren't just sitting there in some odd little corner of my heart. Because it's not really about the Bannorn, or about power, is it?
[ Bastien is quiet for a few seconds, scratching lightly behind By’s ear and feeling helpless. He imagines he could love him like this for his whole life and still not come close to satisfying the hungry shadow his family left behind in him. Then he thinks that’s alright, really. He can love the shadow too. And he slides his head closer, knocking his forehead into Byerly’s, a little less than gently but not hard enough to hurt. ]
They should be the ones dreaming of making you proud. Every night. They should be haunted by it.
[ It’s trite, and there’s a little playfulness in the hyperbole, but it’s wrapped around sincerity. ]
[ Oh. By turns his face downward into the pillow. He wants to hide his face, but he's just trying to pretend it's a casual sort of move. He wonders if Bastien is convinced. Probably not.
Is that true? He is better than every single fucking one of them. With the exceptions, obviously, of dear Dono and his sister - but them aside, yes, they're all awful. And so, yes, by default, he is better than them. He's a spiteful, weak creature ruled by his vices and his emotions, who lies constantly and makes a living betraying and deceiving. But he's never, oh, chased down an eight-year-old boy and held his head under water for fun. He's never made nasty little comments about how slovenly his daughter looks when he's the one who never once bought her new clothes. Byerly is shit, but at least he's shit for a higher cause.
La bonne chose a faire. She might have him around the neck, but at least she's made him a good dog. ]
I'm not so hard to please, either, is the thing.
[ He mumbles that into the pillow. ]
Don't be a monster doesn't feel like a particularly small target. Even poor marksmen can hit that one.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You would have thrown me onto the bed and hurled yourself after me. No version of you can resist me.
[ Then, a contented sigh as Bastien kneads him. That's good. ]
Any nostalgia for the printer's life?
no subject
There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]
Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.
[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]
Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.
no subject
No, that's good.
[ Enough that his brain is lagging a little bit. Which leads him to a rather loose tongue: ]
Fitcher was looking for proper people to kill, I suppose. No, I got rather more of those people in the dream of the future.
no subject
He’ll save it for later. ]
At least everyone was together and miserable in a swamp. [ He moves to another knot. ] Is that what you would want, if the war really went on forever? To spend your life that way, I mean. Of course the details could improve.
no subject
no subject
And do you often shit in your dreams, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur?
no subject
no subject
no subject
[ Listen to you. By turns his head to look at Bastien out of the corner of his eye. ]
How about dreams of my teeth falling out?
no subject
no subject
[ A sage nod. ]
And when I dream about walking around naked?
no subject
[ He pauses kneading knots to cheerfully pinch By’s bum. ]
Or that I am dreaming about you walking around naked and you can sense it.
no subject
Ah, so these shared dreams have been occurring for some time. We should take this evidence at once to the whole of Riftwatch.
no subject
[ He pats the pinched cheek soothingly, as if to settle a wiggling animal, before refocusing on his back. ]
The Research Division first, so the mages can verify our findings.
no subject
Perfect. I shall relish forcing Miss Poppell to listen to stories of me naked.
no subject
[ And that’s as long as he’s going to pretend they haven’t derailed from what was meant to be a serious question. ]
Swamp aside, though. Would you do it? Another five years of this, while it only got worse?
no subject
[ Still a little angry over her actions in the dream? Maybe. Though he certainly won't admit as much. How foolish that would be.
A pause, then, and he lapses into momentary silence. Then he answers. ]
No. Not another five years of this. If it got that bad, I'd certainly withdraw from leadership. Find someone better than me. [ But - ] I suppose I'd stick with it, though. The fight, in general.
no subject
That is what I would have put money on.
[ And while his hand has paused kneading to flick, anyway, he reaches up to curl his finger against Byerly’s neck and mime tugging his invisible collar. ]
It fit you. I mean, you seemed sad and tired, and I know it was a dream. But I was awake, sort of, and you being there and leading and running off into danger—those parts were not confusing at all.
no subject
[ Byerly's voice is wry, but there's some truth to this, as well. Because - ]
I turned into the sort of man my family hoped I would be.
[ He twists his arm around to tug gently on Bastien's finger. ]
no subject
Bearded?
[ The warm and prompting sort of joke that really means explain. His free hand busies itself with more neck-kneading. ]
no subject
[ His lips twist, then, revealing a bit of the unhappy self-doubt. ]
I certainly never thought that that was my dream.
no subject
[ The neck-kneading moves up and segues into scalp-skritching. ]
Or are you worried because it might be? Some of it.
no subject
[ Shit. Yeah. That's good shit. He arches his neck to push his head into Bastien's fingers. And he says, a little dreamily: ]
I don't think I would have dreamed it otherwise. If it weren't just sitting there in some odd little corner of my heart. Because it's not really about the Bannorn, or about power, is it?
[ It's about approval. Being wanted. ]
no subject
They should be the ones dreaming of making you proud. Every night. They should be haunted by it.
[ It’s trite, and there’s a little playfulness in the hyperbole, but it’s wrapped around sincerity. ]
But I know it’s easier to say than to feel.
no subject
Is that true? He is better than every single fucking one of them. With the exceptions, obviously, of dear Dono and his sister - but them aside, yes, they're all awful. And so, yes, by default, he is better than them. He's a spiteful, weak creature ruled by his vices and his emotions, who lies constantly and makes a living betraying and deceiving. But he's never, oh, chased down an eight-year-old boy and held his head under water for fun. He's never made nasty little comments about how slovenly his daughter looks when he's the one who never once bought her new clothes. Byerly is shit, but at least he's shit for a higher cause.
La bonne chose a faire. She might have him around the neck, but at least she's made him a good dog. ]
I'm not so hard to please, either, is the thing.
[ He mumbles that into the pillow. ]
Don't be a monster doesn't feel like a particularly small target. Even poor marksmen can hit that one.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)