open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly and Kitty and thou or even you
WHAT: Open post!! open post
WHEN: The month of KINGSWAY
WHERE: EVERYWHERE but mostly in Kirkwall and in the Gallows
NOTES: Warning: chatterboxes

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Comments

[bouchonne]

But you're making so many mistakes, milady.

[ He lifts his hand to his mouth, then, smoothing down his mustache. His gaze is steady and intense. He plays at the Game, yes, but he's not an Orlesian; he does not do intrigue for the sake of intrigue, does not play for the sake of playing. There's always something more to it for him. ]

So very many mistakes. You're doing harm to yourself and to others in your confusion and frustration and unhappiness. Do you think the world truly allows you any leeway for those mistakes?

[elegiaque]

I am well fucking aware it does not.

( and that's what makes this worse—she can't argue with his premise, it's not unfair. she isn't good at this. she makes mistakes. hadn't thranduil told her as much himself? hadn't her own maker-damned husband told her he has to keep secrets from her because they both know she can't—

but it was never for lack of trying. didn't she owe them that? hadn't her mothers given up so much for her; didn't they deserve her best effort? her life was not her own to squander, it was their every sacrifice embodied and she had been a poor trade. a waste. everything they built for her slipped through her fingers because so much had always relied upon no one looking, and she had raised herself up here, cocky. trusted her father's confidence one last time. )

I don't need you to tell me any of that. You're not telling me anything useful.

[bouchonne]

Actually -

[ His face softens, abruptly, in a smile. ]

Actually, it does. Forgiveness comes as easily and as inevitably as the tide, dear lady.

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle, who is certain she's never forgiven anyone, stares at him as if he's speaking an alien language. perhaps one from beyond a rift. )

[bouchonne]

[ Which draws a laugh from him. He grins, and shakes his head. ]

Dear heart. If you stopped trying to drown yourself in the sea, perhaps you would notice that the water was only waist-deep. - Shall we ride on? I weary of this view.

[ He kicks his mare into a jaunty trot. ]

[elegiaque]

( it drowned everyone i loved—

even in her own head it sounds like something he would only laugh at again. she stares furiously after him for not nearly long enough before she wheels poor beleaguered percy around to follow.

sulking. )

[bouchonne]

[ He fills the silence. Quite easily. He is chatty indeed when it suits him. ]

Ah, is that - ? That plant there. Is that blooming hawthorn? I can never remember whether that's pleasant when eaten, or whether it's poison. I expect that'll kill me someday. Do you ride this way often?

[elegiaque]

( curtly, )

No.

( it's been quite rare since the shift to kirkwall her to go out other than for the express purpose of reaching a destination; this is, probably, the first time it's ever happened. )

To Sundermount, sometimes.

[bouchonne]

Do you not ride for pleasure?

[ He blinks at her in mock-horror. ]

Dear lady. No wonder you've gone so pale and sickly-looking. Doesn't your lord husband see to your health? Make sure you take the air?

[elegiaque]

I don't know if you've noticed, but we are in Kirkwall.

[bouchonne]

And...?

[elegiaque]

And the pleasure of riding is in leaving Kirkwall.

( like, duh. )

[bouchonne]

Bilious lady of my heart, Kirkwall holds innumerable pleasures. Tell me - have you ever gambled?

[elegiaque]

( what an irritatingly, impolitely accurate description of her. )

You're mixing me up for my lord. Taller, more irresponsible.

[bouchonne]

[ He looks over at her, eyebrows raised. ]

Never? Not even once?

[elegiaque]

( relenting— )

Not for money.

[bouchonne]

Ah-hah.

[ Delighted - ]

What did you wager?

[elegiaque]

( without batting an eye; )

Sexual favours.

[bouchonne]

[ He laughs, delighted even further. ]

Good for you, my lady. Well. I can assure you that there is pleasure in the wagering of money, too. Would you like to try?

[elegiaque]

Not with my money, I wouldn't. ( blandly. the little harridan that she is, her eagle eye on the household accounts, tearing strips from emeric over his wasteful profligacy—

he had never wagered more than he could afford. she had never entirely agreed with his opinion of 'worth it'. )

[bouchonne]

Then wager with mine.

[ An absurd offer, given the patchwork and threadbare appearance of this fool. But he seems quite sincere. ]

[elegiaque]

I'll probably lose it, ( a light warning, but not actually a no. for all that she takes in the absurdity of it.

araceli would probably be disappointed in her if she said no. and she should get a hand in before she has to play cards with pirates, surely? )

[bouchonne]

I don't think so. I think you're a blessed soul. I think you'll have the best of fortune. Shall we go to a gambling den?

[elegiaque]

( this look is more measuring. measuring the likelihood this leads to having to leave somewhere quickly. it's not that she's certain he'd leave her behind, inconveniently hobbled by that fucking wyvern, it's just that she isn't certain he wouldn't. everyone would be terribly displeased if something happened to her, but it'd have already happened, probably.

on the other hand. )

I think you do a good impression of an optimist, but if you need to rid yourself of money that badly, by all means.

( this is a terrible idea. )

[bouchonne]

I am an optimist. A ray of utter sunshine. Come.

[ He pulls the horse around back towards the stables. ]