faderift | open

[ Byerly smiles beatifically up at her and says - ]

I was desperate to be your tour guide.

[The lines of her face pinch comically. A split second later, Wysteria has made a valiant effort of smoothing them.]

Do you know much about Kirkwall? What would you say is its most significant landmark? Or your favorite place in it? I don't mean to sound ungrateful or that I'm doubting your expertise, Mister Rutyer. Only that I've very recently saved your life and your dignity and I'm sure you can see how that could inspire a reservation or two, wouldn't you agree?

[This she directs not to him, but to the stranger near at hand who had hauled Byerly into the ferry. The man huffs out a laugh, grumbling something like agreement. Wysteria nods curtly.]

He thinks so too. Anyway, I'm not sure mermen are especially suited to the task of walking around on land all day. What will your fish friends do without you?

Precisely what everyone does when I'm not in the room: they'll talk about me.

[ He puts his hands against his neck in an imitation of gills and flaps them as he burbles: ]

Where's Byerly? Have you seen Byerly? Say, that Byerly, where is he?

[ He drops his hands. He grins. ]

And I shall not show you my favorite place, or my second-favorite place, but I will show you my third-favorite. How's that?

[She fixes him with an especially narrowed look. In her six months as an apprentice in Somerset, she had done all manner of things that would have horrified her poor mother and scandalized the entirety of the Wycomb, but it's fair to say that none came at all close to what he's offering now even at its most kindhearted potentially. And she guesses, officially, that the reality is significantly less gentlemanly than even that.

There's a question in all of this which she might later ask herself - where she never cared much about what someone told her she could or couldn't do at home, so why is she now so stubbornly attached to any of it now that absolutely no one seems to care -, but for the moment it doesn't occur to her.

So let her at least be extremely conditional about this.]

Very well, Messere Rutyer. I accept your hospitality on three conditions. One, that you tell me where this third favorite place is before we go there. Two, that you accompany me to at least two places that I'd like to see before. And three, but very importantly, that you find something to wear. Charming as you are, I think I prefer to keep a low profile today. If you're as popular as you say you are, that will be hard even with you properly dressed but let's at least tip the scales slightly in our favor, shall we?

[She offers out her hand, very matter of fact.]

[ And Byerly makes a great show of thinking that over. ]

You know, Mademoiselle, normally young ladies offer payment to their guides. They do not demand payment of them. I presume that in accordance with these conditions you're laying into place, you will be giving me something of value in return, no?

[ With a curled half-smile - ]

After all, there's nothing improper about hiring a fellow to escort you about. But giving him your arm free of charge - well. That implies something else altogether.

[She colors. She scoffs. She re-arranges her skirts in the bottom of the boat where he has dripped enough to catch her hem. She eventually recovers into condescension:]

Seeing as I've recently saved both your life and your dignity, I would have thought the matter of payment preemptively settled. But you're right of course that I'd never accept your offer otherwise, even conditionally. Though I understand a man of your abundant charms must have plenty to do this afternoon. If you'd rather pay off your debt to me in some other way, I'm sure that can be arranged. Do you have any skills other than swimming? [And self-satisfaction.] With a bow, maybe. I've been watching archers practice in the yard and learning seems very approachable.

[ Cheerily: ]

I'm a dreadful combatant, dear heart. And - sorry, what's this about me owing you a debt? I never agreed to those terms.

[Of course he is. How utterly useless.]

I believe the terms were implied by the situation.

[She sets her jaw, an unconscious and utterly transparent obstinance.]

And I believe differently. Ah, I suppose this is the trouble caused by you being from beyond the Fade, isn't it...Don't even understand contract law. But - I shall compromise, as I am magnanimous. I shall require only a small payment for my services. And I'll throw in something a little bit nice for you in return.

[Contract law. As if there is anything to it but decency and good behavior. As if she hasn't been the absolute picture of good grace and hospitable to him, ridiculous as he is. Honestly! She can feel the color rising up the back of her neck again now, irritation warm. But she lifts her chin, resuming the task of pinning back the misaligned piece of her hair with a decisive pin thrust.

She is very determined to be all sweetness to him now, absolutely revoltingly so if necessary. The better with which to shield her embarrassment utterly.

Or poorly. Whatever. She's not the one dripping at the bottom of a boat, so who really has the upper hand?, she thinks viciously.]

In that case, I'm afraid I really must refuse your services after all. That's the trouble with being beyond the Fade, you see. One must be very strict about their purse strings and I simply can't afford you.

Purse strings?

[ He blinks up at her, the image of innocent puzzlement. ]

Who said anything about monetary payment?

[Wysteria denies herself the pleasure of stepping accidentally on some inconsequential part of him. She smiles at him brightly.]

Forgive me, that's usually how payments are made beyond the Fade. Did you have something else in mind?

I do.

[ He lowers his long, long eyelashes, and lets his dark eyes meet hers, and he purrs: ]

Tell me a story. Tell me of the land beyond the fade.

[She's already poised to snap back something terribly smart, devastatingly witty, beautifully elegant, and downright the picture of a wit. Instead she laughs, sharp and loud, then clicks her teeth shut hard around it. Wysteria swallows what's left.]

Really? That's all?

That is all.

[ With a smile - ]

And as I said. For this price, I'll give you the tour, and something else quite nice.

[A more savvy young woman might pause here to interrogate hum further. But she finds herself relieved enough to be forgetful of caution right along with how she was just deciding to hate him, so instead Wysteria enthusiastically thrusts out her hand to shake on it.]

You have a deal, Messere Rutyer.

[Nevermind that she'd rather been looking forward to poking around the city on her own.]

[ By, in return, extends his foot for her to shake. ]

Agreed.

[She slaps it away with a wet thwap. Stop that.]

[ He extends the other foot. ???? ]

[Not that one either. She's on the verge of saying as much when the disaffected ferryman lets out a curt whistle, which draws the eye up (still not looking at all the man's near nudity sprawled out before her, thank you) and to the docks where a boy is waiting to tend lines, to catch and secure them there.

Wysteria brightens like the sun. She checks her skirt pockets for her things, the belt at her hip (strange), and once more touches her hair. He's lost all interest to her as they bear down on the city.]

Let's agree to meet at the Inquisition's stables an hour from now. That should give you plenty of time to see yourself fit for the day and me to make a new acquaintance or two. Is that agreeable?

As you wish, my lady.

[ He finally - finally - sits up, moving easily in the boat, hardly upsetting it at all. He grabs her hand quickly, presses a kiss to her wrist, and then hops easily from boat to dock. And then he strolls off, hands in pockets, whistling very obnoxiously. ]

[Nevermind, there's that burgeoning dislike again.

She keeps it in her proverbial pocket for the next hour, determined to recall it when next she sees Mister Rutyer. It's all well and good to be reminded of your especially silly cousins when you're far away from home, but it's another matter entirely to let a perfect stranger potentially take advantage of what is a very small sliver of comfort. After two weeks of being trapped in the Gallows being told at every opportunity that anything and everything is likely to kill her or try, it would be prudent to exercise just a little caution.

Which is why she makes quick friends with a boy in the Inquisition stables, exclaiming with delight and surprise at every strange animal inside, and also why she promises out loud to be back in the evening with a treat for her new favorite horse, and why she is very specific about introductions when her guide eventually shows his face. After all, if you're going to be murdered the best revenge is making sure someone knows who ought to hang for it.

With that taken care of, she feels perfectly free about having herself a pleasant time forcing Byerly Rutyer to come along with her to all manner of stinking Lowtown squares and cramped, depressing Hightown gardens and - finally - to the walled garden where Kirkwall's chantry once stood.

The guards are the gate are a disappointment. She squints at the guarded entrance from under the eaves of a shop across the courtyard and for the sixth time today makes an effort to push her hair back behind her ears.]

It's a shame the walls are so high. But I suppose that says something about the whole place all on its own, hm?

[She wrinkles her nose, gives the guards across the square a last dirty look, and turns finally to ask Byerly for his no doubt very important opinion.]

Well, I suppose the rest of my list can wait for now.

[ It was a charming amusement at first, admittedly. Mademoiselle Poppell has an endearing sort of freshness about her, an ingenuousness that's quite bracing; even with his temples pulsing with the last remnants of his hangover, it had begun quite delightfully. But then he'd been altogether unable to tempt her away from her (frankly bizarre) list of tourist sites, and he had ended up being force-marched around the city in truth. And the charm had begun to wear quite thin by the time she stops.

He almost can't believe his ears. The rest of the list? Can wait? What, but surely - surely - the sewers need inspecting? Or doesn't she want to look over three hundred years' of archived maps of the city...? But he suppresses his sharp comment in favor of a smooth: ]

If you're quite certain, I am a bit parched. And I believe you owe me something. Shall we find a tavern?

[It's probably for the best he not mention any word of maps, particularly three hundred year old ones. In her present mood, she might find it a compelling argument.]

That sounds lovely. These shoes have really begun to out wear their welcome, I'm afraid. We passed a public house two streets back, if I'm not mistaken.

[Really, he's grown into much more tolerable company as the afternoon's worn on.]

Not that one.

[ He toys with telling a salacious lie - got kicked out for a barfight, or in some public disgrace - but instead settles on a factual: ]

They water down their ale. There's a better one this way.

[ And with a tilt of his head, he leads a block on, to a fine establishment - well, fine-ish. It's less decorated and flashy than the one they'd passed back there, but it's far cleaner, rather quieter, and with fans stirring the air, ensuring that a breeze keeps the place fresh. By looks at the girl and guesses - ]

Wine?

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