[ Which would normally be accepted with, if not grace, then a little squirmy feeling inside him that makes him feel like maybe things are going to be all right. But tonight - Tonight, it feels desolate.
He sets down the drink. ]
Bastien - look. I need to - speak with you about something.
[ Whatever it was. He takes a breath, and stretches his mouth out into a smile, and tries to look happy. Because, Maker, he is happy; truly he is. But it feels like there's some sort of betrayal that he's committed. ]
[ There’s no hesitation in Bastien’s smile, which is a perfectly calibrated and convincing grin. For anyone to know there was something amiss about it, they would have to know it from other contexts where he needs to buy a moment to control his face. When he shuts his finger in a cabinet, when he’s turned his ankle and has to dance on it anyway, when someone has said something unexpectedly unkind. When Vincent said he was sorry, but—
This is easier than that. Bastien has learned better. Little birds can get fucked, like he said, and Byerly said he loved her. He’d known. ]
Maker, By. I thought you were firing me or something.
[ Which is why he needs a long gulp of terrible ale, obviously, and not because the effort visible in Byerly’s expression—this whole set-up, really—is making him feel pitied and transparent and small. ]
That’s good—right? You feel good about it? [ He gestures with his drink to Byerly’s general sober, well-shaven person. ] You look good.
[ His smile is rather weak, though, and his voice not dreadfully convincing. He can put on a better show than this, to be sure; if he put in any effort, he could put on a better show than this. But - it would be so astonishingly painful to try to. And it would be so cruel. ]
I feel - anxious about it. The last time I agreed to something with Alexandrie, after all, I ended up penniless in Antiva. She is a different woman now, but the burned hand doesn't forget fire.
She is different. And so are you. If it does go badly, you won’t be penniless in Antiva, you will be here with a job and a lot of people who care about you.
[ He thinks: he is a man with a great deal of self-preservational instinct and barely any heart to break, so how does he keep doing this to himself?
And then he takes another drink, and after he swallows his smile is different, smaller, not something out of a bag of tricks. ]
But maybe it won’t. So you should relax and try to enjoy it, ouais?
[ His instinct, as ever, is to list off each of those people and explain why they are wrong, or why their care will fade, or so on and so forth. But Bastien has spent too fucking long dealing with his self-pity, and really doesn't need to do more of that, and so he swallows the impulse. ]
Yes. Perhaps.
[ A breath in. He toys with his cup. He pretends for a moment that it's artifice, and that it's not real awkwardness that's driving him to these hesitations and twitches. He pretends he's playing a part. It wouldn't look so different, would it, if he were just playacting at shyness? He'd be making the same gestures, avoiding glances in the same way. He wishes he could convince himself he's just playacting. ]
I imagine you will not want to - continue as we have been, in light of that, will you?
[ Because Bastien had his heart broken, didn't he. Because Bastien should not, and could not, trust a man like him. What a terrible echo it would be of the cruelty that Bastien suffered. ]
[ Bastien isn’t surprised by the implication of question, exactly—of course Byerly and Alexandrie wouldn’t be sleeping only with each other, that’s absurd for multiple reasons—so much as the timing, and the asking. Out loud and everything. So he raises his eyebrows again, mid-drink, and takes his time with the swallow.
His thoughts don’t have to start from scratch. He’s been over it already, in his room. Byerly loves Alexandrie. Presented with the possibility that someone could love two people, Byerly said he wasn’t sure he was even strong enough to love one. Ergo. Bastien knew the score when he climbed into bed with him. All that’s been extinguished today was a stupid little hope that shouldn’t have existed.
So would he want to continue?
He tries to imagine it, in the fraction of a second he has for imagining anything before the pause gets long and awkward. Being in a room with them, someday—maybe playing, maybe talking, the way they used to when they were younger, but this time hoping for Byerly to look past her, with her laugh like the songs that pour out of the windows in Val Royeaux, to smile at him.
It’s— ]
Will you?
[ Casual, free hand coming up to hold his chin on the table. It’s not usually his way to turn questions back on people, instead of talking to keep them comfortable. But he needs a moment. ]
Maker, Bastien, why do you think I'm asking? Sounding like a damned fool while doing it.
[ That comes out a little easier, and it's followed by a laugh - a choked, awkward thing. There's no reading Bastien. What's in his face? It's as tranquil as any other look that Bastien gives. For a moment, By wishes he could turn back time and throttle the Bards that trained Bastien. It's a foolish impulse, because without that training, Bastien would never have come into Byerly's orbit; he'd have been a decent fellow tucked away in the sticks, By fancies, a schoolteacher for a local village, quietly engendering in them a love of reading and music. No adventures, but less pain, as well. A lovely and lamentable thing.
Will you. If By is reaching out to Alexandrie, all danger, then he feels like he needs Bastien, too. And By doesn't know what Bastien feels, if this is casual fun, or self-destruction, or self-flagellation, sleeping with someone like Byerly - or if there's some real sentiment to it. But if he is going to maintain stability, he needs his friend. And he cannot stand the thought of asking that friend to sit and listen and support him after having been shut out of Byerly's life. ]
[ This time it’s rhetorical, with his foot nudging By’s. A friendly little kick, nothing lingering, because they were friends yesterday, and they’ll be friends tomorrow, and he doesn’t take any pleasure in making Byerly fumble around for solid footing on the other side of the table. ]
I suppose it could be, if you mean exactly as we have been. That is a lot to ask of a man. Some occasional arguing and retching would be fine, and the bootlaces might have had potential under other circumstances, but...
[ Still buying time. Would he want to continue? Something is better than nothing, as they say, until something is a decaying rope bridge over a canyon that doesn’t hold after all, when you could have just taken the long way around, or a wounded limb rotting and taking the whole body with it when it might have just been amputated.
He tilts his head, where it’s balanced in his head, to give Byerly a look, bewildered and warm. He’s not trying to make him squirm for sport. ]
[ His hand goes to his chest, his fingers brushing against the fine weave of his second-best linen shirt, then catching the neck of his leather jerkin - fastened at the waist, in dandyish style, to show off his silhouette. It is an agonizing confession, but: he cannot bring himself to lie. ]
[ Bastien smiles wider—touched, not amused—and nods a little. The reality of the situation is seeping in. Byerly didn’t bring him to a neutral location to put him off gently, embarrassed he took advantage of an obvious crush. He’s asking, and he’s uncertain, and he dressed up.
He keeps the hope smothered. It’s still stupid. But he doesn’t have it in him to keep letting Byerly sit there while he tries to decide what he can bear, so he says, ]
It meant something to me. [ This sounds casual, too, mostly, but it’s a close call. He looks down at his drink to make it easier. ] If we keep on, it will mean something to me.
[ It’s partly fear that keeps him talking, instead of leaving that there on the table in need of an answer, but mostly fair play. Recompense. Vulnerability for vulnerability. It’s a lot to give away, but he’s sure Byerly must already suspect, on some level, to think that Alexandrie would make a difference. ]
So, ah. Can I think about it? You, too. I’m sure you thought about it before you called me, Monsieur le Cercle Vicieux, but Alexandrie isn’t here, and you’re anxious. When things have settled, maybe you will find that is as much Orlesian as one Fereldan can handle.
[ That's - better than By expected. And so he tries to crack a joke: ]
I think my Orlesian half would do better with her, but my Fereldan half would do better with you. Needed for balance.
[ Needed for balance. Is that what this is? It's part of it, at least. If By is going to be with Alexandrie, he needs Bastien as well. He needs that level-headed good humor, that casual warmth. Alexandrie is all fire and passion and high emotion; Bastien, whimsical practicality. But to want that - is it selfish? Is it evil? To want to take from both of them? Is he just using them? ]
But - yes; Maker, yes. Take all the time you want. [ A hesitation, and then, earnestly - ] I will not become a Vincent. I - If I see you, I only wish to see you happy.
[ And then, with a desperate sort of humor: ] Andraste's tits, it's hard to talk like this while sober.
[ That makes Bastien laugh, and laughing sweeps away his half-formed plans to defend Vincent. ]
It is the worst. But you’re doing a pretty good job, I think.
[ He takes a long drink, because he was promised a second round and he intends to have it, then sets it down with a decisive little clunk. ]
D’accord. I’ll think. Not for too long, I promise. Just give me until she has been back for a few weeks.
[ To decide what he can stand, and to see if there’s a change, if there’s still space, if it would feel like trying to plant a garden in the middle of a hurricane. ]
And I—when I said you were my closest friend— [ if Byerly even remembers, drunk as he was ] —I meant it. So whatever else happens, don’t worry about that. I would not sacrifice being able to talk the way we do for the best cock in Thedas.
[ That is a massive relief. Tension drains from him - a long breath out from his nose, his hands less stiff on the cup. He is content enough to joke: ]
Which is, of course, sitting across from you.
[ And then, after a moment, he finds that he is content enough to admit: ]
[ At the first part, Bastien raises his eyebrows and does a wobbly contemplative nod, willing to at least consider the possibility of letting Byerly make that claim.
At the second, he grins. If not for the table between them and the room full of Kirkwall roughnecks, he might have kissed Byerly on the cheek for that—and it would have been like hitting a briefly-forgotten bruise on a sharp corner, so thank Andraste for the table and the roughnecks.
[ Because diamonds would come from nowhere legal, of course, and be very fun to acquire until he had to be rescued from the city guard and then explain himself to the other three Division Heads.
He finishes off his drink. ]
One last, mm... Do you know if it would bother Alexandrie? I know she might not have much right to mind, with— [ a gesture, in lieu of saying her Northern maleficar in a crowded tavern. ] But feelings don’t care about rights, and it could be—odd, when we are all friends.
[ And even without prying or being privy to the fallout, he’s noticed her jealousy elsewhere. Maybe he wouldn’t care about her feelings, if it came down to it; he has an underdeveloped sense of obligation at the best of times. Certainly not one strong enough to think he owes a duty to a married woman to keep his hands off her lover, if he decides he’d prefer not to. But she hugged him, before she left. ]
I - have not spoken with her about it. I wanted to ask you first.
[ He frowns a bit. Now that he's thinking about it, that was probably the wrong order to do it in, wasn't it. ]
But she has said specifically that she's been bothered by seeing me with women. Which is a bit of an oddity, to be fair, but... [ A one-shouldered shrug. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I do as well. I just hope she's only saying these sorts of things to you.
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He sets down the drink. ]
Bastien - look. I need to - speak with you about something.
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[ Whatever it was. He takes a breath, and stretches his mouth out into a smile, and tries to look happy. Because, Maker, he is happy; truly he is. But it feels like there's some sort of betrayal that he's committed. ]
Well, I said to her that we might give it a try.
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This is easier than that. Bastien has learned better. Little birds can get fucked, like he said, and Byerly said he loved her. He’d known. ]
Maker, By. I thought you were firing me or something.
[ Which is why he needs a long gulp of terrible ale, obviously, and not because the effort visible in Byerly’s expression—this whole set-up, really—is making him feel pitied and transparent and small. ]
That’s good—right? You feel good about it? [ He gestures with his drink to Byerly’s general sober, well-shaven person. ] You look good.
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[ His smile is rather weak, though, and his voice not dreadfully convincing. He can put on a better show than this, to be sure; if he put in any effort, he could put on a better show than this. But - it would be so astonishingly painful to try to. And it would be so cruel. ]
I feel - anxious about it. The last time I agreed to something with Alexandrie, after all, I ended up penniless in Antiva. She is a different woman now, but the burned hand doesn't forget fire.
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[ He thinks: he is a man with a great deal of self-preservational instinct and barely any heart to break, so how does he keep doing this to himself?
And then he takes another drink, and after he swallows his smile is different, smaller, not something out of a bag of tricks. ]
But maybe it won’t. So you should relax and try to enjoy it, ouais?
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Yes. Perhaps.
[ A breath in. He toys with his cup. He pretends for a moment that it's artifice, and that it's not real awkwardness that's driving him to these hesitations and twitches. He pretends he's playing a part. It wouldn't look so different, would it, if he were just playacting at shyness? He'd be making the same gestures, avoiding glances in the same way. He wishes he could convince himself he's just playacting. ]
I imagine you will not want to - continue as we have been, in light of that, will you?
[ Because Bastien had his heart broken, didn't he. Because Bastien should not, and could not, trust a man like him. What a terrible echo it would be of the cruelty that Bastien suffered. ]
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His thoughts don’t have to start from scratch. He’s been over it already, in his room. Byerly loves Alexandrie. Presented with the possibility that someone could love two people, Byerly said he wasn’t sure he was even strong enough to love one. Ergo. Bastien knew the score when he climbed into bed with him. All that’s been extinguished today was a stupid little hope that shouldn’t have existed.
So would he want to continue?
He tries to imagine it, in the fraction of a second he has for imagining anything before the pause gets long and awkward. Being in a room with them, someday—maybe playing, maybe talking, the way they used to when they were younger, but this time hoping for Byerly to look past her, with her laugh like the songs that pour out of the windows in Val Royeaux, to smile at him.
It’s— ]
Will you?
[ Casual, free hand coming up to hold his chin on the table. It’s not usually his way to turn questions back on people, instead of talking to keep them comfortable. But he needs a moment. ]
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[ That comes out a little easier, and it's followed by a laugh - a choked, awkward thing. There's no reading Bastien. What's in his face? It's as tranquil as any other look that Bastien gives. For a moment, By wishes he could turn back time and throttle the Bards that trained Bastien. It's a foolish impulse, because without that training, Bastien would never have come into Byerly's orbit; he'd have been a decent fellow tucked away in the sticks, By fancies, a schoolteacher for a local village, quietly engendering in them a love of reading and music. No adventures, but less pain, as well. A lovely and lamentable thing.
Will you. If By is reaching out to Alexandrie, all danger, then he feels like he needs Bastien, too. And By doesn't know what Bastien feels, if this is casual fun, or self-destruction, or self-flagellation, sleeping with someone like Byerly - or if there's some real sentiment to it. But if he is going to maintain stability, he needs his friend. And he cannot stand the thought of asking that friend to sit and listen and support him after having been shut out of Byerly's life. ]
I would. It's merely - a rather cockeyed request.
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[ This time it’s rhetorical, with his foot nudging By’s. A friendly little kick, nothing lingering, because they were friends yesterday, and they’ll be friends tomorrow, and he doesn’t take any pleasure in making Byerly fumble around for solid footing on the other side of the table. ]
I suppose it could be, if you mean exactly as we have been. That is a lot to ask of a man. Some occasional arguing and retching would be fine, and the bootlaces might have had potential under other circumstances, but...
[ Still buying time. Would he want to continue? Something is better than nothing, as they say, until something is a decaying rope bridge over a canyon that doesn’t hold after all, when you could have just taken the long way around, or a wounded limb rotting and taking the whole body with it when it might have just been amputated.
He tilts his head, where it’s balanced in his head, to give Byerly a look, bewildered and warm. He’s not trying to make him squirm for sport. ]
Did you dress up for this?
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[ His hand goes to his chest, his fingers brushing against the fine weave of his second-best linen shirt, then catching the neck of his leather jerkin - fastened at the waist, in dandyish style, to show off his silhouette. It is an agonizing confession, but: he cannot bring himself to lie. ]
I cleaned up a bit.
[ He feels as vulnerable as a fresh burn. ]
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He keeps the hope smothered. It’s still stupid. But he doesn’t have it in him to keep letting Byerly sit there while he tries to decide what he can bear, so he says, ]
It meant something to me. [ This sounds casual, too, mostly, but it’s a close call. He looks down at his drink to make it easier. ] If we keep on, it will mean something to me.
[ It’s partly fear that keeps him talking, instead of leaving that there on the table in need of an answer, but mostly fair play. Recompense. Vulnerability for vulnerability. It’s a lot to give away, but he’s sure Byerly must already suspect, on some level, to think that Alexandrie would make a difference. ]
So, ah. Can I think about it? You, too. I’m sure you thought about it before you called me, Monsieur le Cercle Vicieux, but Alexandrie isn’t here, and you’re anxious. When things have settled, maybe you will find that is as much Orlesian as one Fereldan can handle.
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[ That's - better than By expected. And so he tries to crack a joke: ]
I think my Orlesian half would do better with her, but my Fereldan half would do better with you. Needed for balance.
[ Needed for balance. Is that what this is? It's part of it, at least. If By is going to be with Alexandrie, he needs Bastien as well. He needs that level-headed good humor, that casual warmth. Alexandrie is all fire and passion and high emotion; Bastien, whimsical practicality. But to want that - is it selfish? Is it evil? To want to take from both of them? Is he just using them? ]
But - yes; Maker, yes. Take all the time you want. [ A hesitation, and then, earnestly - ] I will not become a Vincent. I - If I see you, I only wish to see you happy.
[ And then, with a desperate sort of humor: ] Andraste's tits, it's hard to talk like this while sober.
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It is the worst. But you’re doing a pretty good job, I think.
[ He takes a long drink, because he was promised a second round and he intends to have it, then sets it down with a decisive little clunk. ]
D’accord. I’ll think. Not for too long, I promise. Just give me until she has been back for a few weeks.
[ To decide what he can stand, and to see if there’s a change, if there’s still space, if it would feel like trying to plant a garden in the middle of a hurricane. ]
And I—when I said you were my closest friend— [ if Byerly even remembers, drunk as he was ] —I meant it. So whatever else happens, don’t worry about that. I would not sacrifice being able to talk the way we do for the best cock in Thedas.
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Which is, of course, sitting across from you.
[ And then, after a moment, he finds that he is content enough to admit: ]
I do believe that you are mine, as well.
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At the second, he grins. If not for the table between them and the room full of Kirkwall roughnecks, he might have kissed Byerly on the cheek for that—and it would have been like hitting a briefly-forgotten bruise on a sharp corner, so thank Andraste for the table and the roughnecks.
Instead: ]
I will make us matching bracelets.
[ A threat. ]
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Diamond-encrusted or it's going straight into the harbor.
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[ Because diamonds would come from nowhere legal, of course, and be very fun to acquire until he had to be rescued from the city guard and then explain himself to the other three Division Heads.
He finishes off his drink. ]
One last, mm... Do you know if it would bother Alexandrie? I know she might not have much right to mind, with— [ a gesture, in lieu of saying her Northern maleficar in a crowded tavern. ] But feelings don’t care about rights, and it could be—odd, when we are all friends.
[ And even without prying or being privy to the fallout, he’s noticed her jealousy elsewhere. Maybe he wouldn’t care about her feelings, if it came down to it; he has an underdeveloped sense of obligation at the best of times. Certainly not one strong enough to think he owes a duty to a married woman to keep his hands off her lover, if he decides he’d prefer not to. But she hugged him, before she left. ]
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[ He frowns a bit. Now that he's thinking about it, that was probably the wrong order to do it in, wasn't it. ]
But she has said specifically that she's been bothered by seeing me with women. Which is a bit of an oddity, to be fair, but... [ A one-shouldered shrug. ]
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[ Not relevant here, obviously. ]
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