—little ones. [ He makes the universal gesture for itty bitty with his free hand. ] Not so large I would only have you to myself once a month. That’s not enough.
[ Bastien aims a pleased smile over at him—it wasn’t a test, but right answer nonetheless—and adds some preening pep to his step for the next few paces. ]
But you will have to find new work for them, or I’ll feel horrible. Maybe they could groom the dogs.
[ Even if he'd inherited it all, and husbanded it well, there would be no sufficient income for a half-dozen dogs, never mind a horde. But these are their imaginings; they can pretend whatever they'd like. ]
One minder for each dog. Absurdly good-looking people, walking find hounds on silk leashes.
Yes. Lining up perfectly each morning for an inspection, a scratch, and a treat.
[ He turns a forward swing of their clasped hands neatly into pulling By’s up to kiss his knuckles. ]
Do you think your sister has any dogs? You should ask her. Or tell her I want to know—but make sure you say it is because I like dogs, not because I’m making fun of Ferelden.
[ Bastien likes cats just fine. Case in point: Byerly. Other case in point: he used to feed stray cats in the alley behind his shop, and his only complaint was that none of them would let him pet them half as much as he wanted to. Dogs are much better about that.
[ He grins over at Bastien as they make their way down the last of the stairs, coming into the dining area. ]
None of us can forget the cautionary tale of the fourth Theirin king, who lost at the Landsmeet for having been seen scratching a kitten behind the ears.
[ Bastien shoots Byerly a suspicious look, but it’s only after they’ve run the gauntlet of the dining hall—passing hellos here, friendly nods there, a pause to do a quick double act for an old laundress who’s slowly finishing up her meal alone and looks like she could use a laugh—that he says, ]
That isn’t true, about the Landsmeet.
[ He has finally let go of Byerly’s hand to hold a plank of wood that serves as a tray, on one arm, and pile things onto it with the other hand.
His renewed look of suspicion is also a look of interest. Maybe hope. He would prefer for it to be true. ]
[ Tray laden with lunch, he turns to lead the way back out of the dining hall, past the boring tables. They're going outside. And not to the walled-in gardens. All the way outside. ]
—we deserve something perfect.
If we make enough people believe it, that will almost be like it's true.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Better and better. Dropping his own act: ]
Would I have a harem?
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—little ones. [ He makes the universal gesture for itty bitty with his free hand. ] Not so large I would only have you to myself once a month. That’s not enough.
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[ He gives a fond little pinch to Bastien's shoulder. ]
Sorry, harem; you're out of work.
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But you will have to find new work for them, or I’ll feel horrible. Maybe they could groom the dogs.
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[ Even if he'd inherited it all, and husbanded it well, there would be no sufficient income for a half-dozen dogs, never mind a horde. But these are their imaginings; they can pretend whatever they'd like. ]
One minder for each dog. Absurdly good-looking people, walking find hounds on silk leashes.
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[ He turns a forward swing of their clasped hands neatly into pulling By’s up to kiss his knuckles. ]
Do you think your sister has any dogs? You should ask her. Or tell her I want to know—but make sure you say it is because I like dogs, not because I’m making fun of Ferelden.
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[ Fondly: ]
She always preferred cats.
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[ Bastien likes cats just fine. Case in point: Byerly. Other case in point: he used to feed stray cats in the alley behind his shop, and his only complaint was that none of them would let him pet them half as much as he wanted to. Dogs are much better about that.
But, for show, he sounds slightly scandalized. ]
So you are both rebels.
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How much drugs and sex does it take to surpass loving cats, in Ferelden?
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[ He grins over at Bastien as they make their way down the last of the stairs, coming into the dining area. ]
None of us can forget the cautionary tale of the fourth Theirin king, who lost at the Landsmeet for having been seen scratching a kitten behind the ears.
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That isn’t true, about the Landsmeet.
[ He has finally let go of Byerly’s hand to hold a plank of wood that serves as a tray, on one arm, and pile things onto it with the other hand.
His renewed look of suspicion is also a look of interest. Maybe hope. He would prefer for it to be true. ]
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[ By looks over at Bastien with mournfulness that's mostly playacted but a little genuine, too. ]
It's not. It would be just a little too perfect, wouldn't it?
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[ Tray laden with lunch, he turns to lead the way back out of the dining hall, past the boring tables. They're going outside. And not to the walled-in gardens. All the way outside. ]
—we deserve something perfect.
If we make enough people believe it, that will almost be like it's true.
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History is what we make it. A little evil, but I love it.
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