[ 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.
We became fortunate, [ Bastien says, taking his kiss and contentedly settling back onto the pillow, ] because the Maker is partial to mustaches and breaks his silence to do favors for people who grow good ones. That's my theory.
[ A laugh. For a moment, he thinks of adding, and don't forget the women who grow magnificent curls, but - well, Bastien probably doesn't want to talk about Alexandrie, either. ]
So true. It's why we had bad luck as young men. Insufficient mustache.
[ Bastien's not opposed, for the record, but he doesn't think of her as someone in need to divine assistance. So he grins and nods and doesn't really notice her absence from his theory. And then the grin fades—because his bad luck makes him think of Vincent, and then he thinks (stupidly, a little addled from the warmth and ease and safety and beginnings of drowsiness) that perhaps Vincent should have grown a mustache, and then maybe he wouldn't have been caught, and—
He stops thinking about it.
But since his grin has faded anyway, that's as good a time as any to end the detour. ]
Does it bother you, that you— [ how did he put it ] —screwed your way into meals and beds?
[ He answers that at once. But then he hesitates and admits: ]
It was difficult sometimes, though. Not knowing whether you were romancing someone because you liked them, or whether it was just desperation. It makes you doubt yourself.
[ He rubs his cheek against it, like it's the height of luxury instead of a thin pallet intended for miserable prisoners of the dreadful Circle. Then, less facetiously: ]
And the latter, I suppose. It wasn't just what I did then, of course - Truthfully, it's probably less about screwing my way to a meal and more about what I've done since that. Screwing my way to that sensitive cache of letters, or that key rumor, or that bit of blackmail. But there's always this undercurrent of calculation, in the back of my head, where I'm thinking, what are the advantages here?
[ And he sneaks a look up at Bastien - nervous, uncertain. That's a nasty little thing to confess, after all. I'm thinking about what you can do for me. ]
[ Until Byerly looks, Bastien’s thinking, face serious in the dim light. But he’s watching By’s face while he thinks, and when he looks Bastien smiles.
Maybe he should be bothered. But if it’s a relatable fear, if not one Bastien walks around with day to day. And he’s not really worried in the least—or maybe in the least, but only in the least—that Byerly would ever use him in any way he wasn’t eager to be used. ]
Ah, joke’s on you, By. If you only wanted something like that, you could have skipped all of this.
[ This: Bastien wraps an arm around him, and he swiftly wedges and wriggles and wrangles to get half-under him, like a body pillow. ]
[ He relaxes when he sees that lack of concern. A few months ago, he wouldn't have been assuaged, certain instead that Bastien was simply hiding his displeasure. But now, he knows that Bastien makes an effort to show him. To share his thoughts. ]
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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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So true. It's why we had bad luck as young men. Insufficient mustache.
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He stops thinking about it.
But since his grin has faded anyway, that's as good a time as any to end the detour. ]
Does it bother you, that you— [ how did he put it ] —screwed your way into meals and beds?
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[ He answers that at once. But then he hesitates and admits: ]
It was difficult sometimes, though. Not knowing whether you were romancing someone because you liked them, or whether it was just desperation. It makes you doubt yourself.
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[ He nudges his shoulder into the mattress, which doesn't have springs and can't bounce. ]
I couldn't blame you. This mattress is much better than yours.
[ It isn't. ]
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[ He rubs his cheek against it, like it's the height of luxury instead of a thin pallet intended for miserable prisoners of the dreadful Circle. Then, less facetiously: ]
And the latter, I suppose. It wasn't just what I did then, of course - Truthfully, it's probably less about screwing my way to a meal and more about what I've done since that. Screwing my way to that sensitive cache of letters, or that key rumor, or that bit of blackmail. But there's always this undercurrent of calculation, in the back of my head, where I'm thinking, what are the advantages here?
[ And he sneaks a look up at Bastien - nervous, uncertain. That's a nasty little thing to confess, after all. I'm thinking about what you can do for me. ]
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Maybe he should be bothered. But if it’s a relatable fear, if not one Bastien walks around with day to day. And he’s not really worried in the least—or maybe in the least, but only in the least—that Byerly would ever use him in any way he wasn’t eager to be used. ]
Ah, joke’s on you, By. If you only wanted something like that, you could have skipped all of this.
[ This: Bastien wraps an arm around him, and he swiftly wedges and wriggles and wrangles to get half-under him, like a body pillow. ]
All you had to do was pay me.
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Don't be ridiculous.
[ By obligingly squirms into his arms. ]
You know I don't have any money.
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