[ 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.
[ He turns his head away from the pillow to look over at Bastien now. His expression is a little sad, but also rather soft. There's a lot of love in that look. And a lot of love in the fact that Byerly is letting Bastien see it. ]
She'd scold me for being petty or cruel. Go and help the poor instead of walking by. And she'd help me, too, when...Oh, when my father was being a beast towards me. When he was calling me a little monster, or ripping into me for my foulness, she'd shout him down. She had a very loud voice for her size.
[ Bastien’s smile is affectionate—mostly for Byerly, but a little for this kind and protective little sister he’s never met, by proxy. It fades at monster and foulness, then brightens for her loud voice, and he toys absently with the outer shell of Byerly’s ear. ]
She sounds wonderful.
[ Even if Byerly is overlooking flaws out of love. Odd, though— ]
It must be hard to grow up so decent in a family like that. Like throwing seeds on the rocks. [ The words are quiet and slow; he’s thinking as he goes. ] But you went hungry for her, and you put yourself in the way of things that might hurt her. Maybe you made each other good, in your own ways.
[ He tilts his head a little further towards Bastien, eyes thoughtful. ]
There are plenty of bastards who have to take care of others. So it's not like caring for someone keeps you from being a bastard. But without me, I imagine she'd have been a lot harder. And without her, I don't know if I'd ever have cared for anyone aside from myself.
[ Bastien raises his eyebrows first, then smiles, pleased to have him think to worry about that at all. Though of course— ]
It isn’t shitty to say to me. They don’t come much less trapped than I was.
[ He’s been neglecting Byerly’s back for long enough now that he admits to himself that he might not be returning to it any minutes now, and he sits up to pull blankets into place over his bare skin. ]
The only skill I was seriously trained in was how to be a military officer - a tutelage they gave up on very quickly - and she was only taught how to marry. There was nowhere to flee to where we wouldn't have starved to death.
[ Bastien hums with friendly skepticism—not revising his decision that it isn’t shitty to say, quite, but it’s certainly a step closer than he thought—and floomphs back down onto the pillow. ]
You would have managed if you had to. But I can understand feeling like it was impossible.
[ He sighs, rolls his head to look upwards at the ceiling. ]
Told him to fuck off, left my home and the meager few pennies of my inheritance behind. Learned how to screw my way into a meal and a bed. Turns out these pretty eyes of mine were asset enough - and my clever tongue.
[ By's response is to widen his eyes, then turn his face back and push it into Bastien's space - way, way too close, smooshing their noses and foreheads together, so that there's nothing but eyeblob filling Bastien's entire field of vision. ]
[ His laugh splutters in his throat before pulling fully free, and he’s still laughing when he tries to give Byerly an approving kiss on his very-close mouth. It’s half successful at best. ]
Sacré chant, such wondrous pools of beauty, right there in your face. How did I never notice before?
[ He gets enough distance to put his chin in one hand and lovingly stroke the rim of Byerly's left nostril with a finger of the other. ]
You had some, uh, debris in there that night the mountains, you know. And I was enchanted anyway. Maybe even more enchanted. I should have realized I was in trouble then.
[ He pinches the tip of Byerly's nose between two fingers, not unlike a cigarette, and gives it a wiggle that's meant to be apologetic, in lieu of a spoken apology for bringing it up that might only prolong his embarrassment. ]
And honestly, I don't think the odds were ever close enough for some snot to tip them one way or the other. You could have hawked something up right there, and I might have needed another few minutes to work up to it, but I still would have kissed you.
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[ His lips twist, then, revealing a bit of the unhappy self-doubt. ]
I certainly never thought that that was my dream.
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[ The neck-kneading moves up and segues into scalp-skritching. ]
Or are you worried because it might be? Some of it.
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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.
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I suppose. Unless you don’t think hitting the target is the point. Why do you think—
[ It’s curious, genuinely, not the tone of a leading question meant to guide him anywhere in particular. Bastien doesn’t know. ]
—you didn’t become like them?
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My sister.
[ From his tone, there's no doubt or uncertainty. ]
She taught me to be good.
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[ He turns his head away from the pillow to look over at Bastien now. His expression is a little sad, but also rather soft. There's a lot of love in that look. And a lot of love in the fact that Byerly is letting Bastien see it. ]
She'd scold me for being petty or cruel. Go and help the poor instead of walking by. And she'd help me, too, when...Oh, when my father was being a beast towards me. When he was calling me a little monster, or ripping into me for my foulness, she'd shout him down. She had a very loud voice for her size.
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She sounds wonderful.
[ Even if Byerly is overlooking flaws out of love. Odd, though— ]
It must be hard to grow up so decent in a family like that. Like throwing seeds on the rocks. [ The words are quiet and slow; he’s thinking as he goes. ] But you went hungry for her, and you put yourself in the way of things that might hurt her. Maybe you made each other good, in your own ways.
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Maybe.
[ He tilts his head a little further towards Bastien, eyes thoughtful. ]
There are plenty of bastards who have to take care of others. So it's not like caring for someone keeps you from being a bastard. But without me, I imagine she'd have been a lot harder. And without her, I don't know if I'd ever have cared for anyone aside from myself.
[ He frowns very slightly. ]
You were the oldest, right? In your family?
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I had an older sister. It seemed like a stressful job. I don’t envy either of you.
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And I suppose you were less trapped.
[ Then he hesitates - ]
Is it shitty to say things like that? I don't want to become one of those idiots who thinks that nobles suffer more than the freefolk.
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It isn’t shitty to say to me. They don’t come much less trapped than I was.
[ He’s been neglecting Byerly’s back for long enough now that he admits to himself that he might not be returning to it any minutes now, and he sits up to pull blankets into place over his bare skin. ]
Trapped by duty, you mean?
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Trapped by incompetence.
[ A crooked little smile. ]
The only skill I was seriously trained in was how to be a military officer - a tutelage they gave up on very quickly - and she was only taught how to marry. There was nowhere to flee to where we wouldn't have starved to death.
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You would have managed if you had to. But I can understand feeling like it was impossible.
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[ He sighs, rolls his head to look upwards at the ceiling. ]
Told him to fuck off, left my home and the meager few pennies of my inheritance behind. Learned how to screw my way into a meal and a bed. Turns out these pretty eyes of mine were asset enough - and my clever tongue.
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[ Bastien lifts up again to try to get a look—a brief little detour on the way to something more serious. ]
I’d never noticed.
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Sacré chant, such wondrous pools of beauty, right there in your face. How did I never notice before?
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[ And now he tilts back his head illustratively to position his nose correctly as he suggests - ]
Perhaps you were too enchanted by the eroticism...of my nostrils.
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[ He gets enough distance to put his chin in one hand and lovingly stroke the rim of Byerly's left nostril with a finger of the other. ]
You had some, uh, debris in there that night the mountains, you know. And I was enchanted anyway. Maybe even more enchanted. I should have realized I was in trouble then.
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I - Maker, how decidedly uncharming. I could have blown it there and then.
[ And he actually does seem genuine in that sentiment, and in his dismay over maybe-possibly-blowing-it with Bastien. ]
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No. No, you were perfect.
[ He pinches the tip of Byerly's nose between two fingers, not unlike a cigarette, and gives it a wiggle that's meant to be apologetic, in lieu of a spoken apology for bringing it up that might only prolong his embarrassment. ]
And honestly, I don't think the odds were ever close enough for some snot to tip them one way or the other. You could have hawked something up right there, and I might have needed another few minutes to work up to it, but I still would have kissed you.
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Maker, how did I become this fortunate?
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