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[ He laughs at that, then offers her his arm (perfectly gentlemanly). ]

Now, my dear, how are you at sums? Mathematics in general?

( it is very gentlemanly, so he may have her arm; she is, so long as she isn't speaking, quite ladylike. though what comes out of her mouth is more matter of fact than colourful: )

Extremely good.

( it isn't boastful; she just is, and not particularly one for false modesty. )

I know finances very well.

( better, probably, than most young ladies in her previous position. it had been soothing, a means of wringing reason out of instability. emeric might spend coin carelessly, but gwenaëlle could account for every ounce of gold that came and went, mastered an understanding of what it all meant. )

Most excellent.

[ He begins to descend into the gambling den, shepherding her along in a most gallant manner. ]

So I needn't explain to you the odds on a pair of dice, the prospects of rolling a seven versus rolling a twelve. I thought we could perhaps get started on that first of all - the simplest games of chance.

( there is something pleasantly entertaining about the juxtaposition of his manners and their locale; it's not the manners alone that set her at ease, but the familiarity of the contrast. she half-expects to turn and see asher holding court. )

I am very concerned for your purse, Rutyer, ( but she doesn't sound it. )

Well, a man of wealth and means such as myself can spend money with ease.

[ The famously-penniless Byerly smiles tranquilly at her.

It's noisy and cheery in the room. Not as skeezy as it looks from the outside - not that it's a fine place, but it's clean and well-lit. He leads her decorously over to a table where a dealer is spinning a roulette wheel. ]

My dear.

[ He pulls the chair out for her. ]

( other people's money, maybe. maker knows her father always loved a bit of charity.

she sits, and it's a bit more of a relief than she'd entirely like to admit in taking weight off that wound; she shifts very slightly to settle most comfortably, back straight and ankles tucked by habit, and spares a thought to be glad on behalf of whoever has to deal with cleaning this dress that she doesn't appear to be trailing it in anything horrific. )

I've never played this before.

[ He doesn't sit; rather, he folds his long lean frame over, resting his elbow on the back of her seat and dangling his hand off its side. His lips sit decently close to her ear. And he explains: ]

It's a difficult game, my dear. Terribly difficult. The dealer spins the wheel and tosses a ball. Wherever the ball lands - that's the winning spot. If you bet on it, you win.

( it's an excellent angle of—well, not bosom, gwenaëlle hardly has that to speak of, but the clawmarks of the rage demon that had brought her originally to skyhold begin where a more generous bosom would be, dragging down her sternum and beneath fabric. necklines that might be indecent on a more voluptuous frame than hers are merely moderately daring. )

It's as likely to land in any of them, isn't it?

'Tis indeed. So the question is: does the Maker smile upon you today?

[ His finger traces a circle, iconically recreating the spinning of the wheel. ]

A low-risk bet involves a fifty-fifty split. You can select red or black, even or odd. And if you call that, then you'll get a modest return. But a daring woman might select a single number, and if she wins that bet, then she'll make herself a wealthy lady indeed. The odds are against her, but the rewards are grand.

Black,

( decisively, )

sixteen.

( it is entirely possible that he's going to leave her with whatever insane gambling debt this produces. she can't rule that out; he's penniless and untrustworthy and she'd be a fool to think this was anything but a terrible idea.

but maybe if her grandfather is busy being exasperated over paying her newly acquired gambling debts, the small matter of her wedding venue won't be a singular source of ire and she'll be able to slide the whole past him more neatly—

all right, that might be a stretch. still. he's paid for more frivolous things. )

[ He laughs, very pleased by her boldness. A silver thrown down (if he were a man of any real means, he'd flashily be tossing in a gold coin; indeed, if he were a little more reckless than he is, he might be doing it; but Ferelden intelligence does not pay well, and the purse they've given him for this mission is far from weighty) on the spot in question. A spin; a pleasing clack-clack-clack of wheel and ball, and then -

she loses. No surprise there.

As the dealer collects Byerly's money - ]

Another go. I feel our fortunes changing. The next time, the next time shall be ours.

Will it?

( a merry question, but not an optimistic one. still: )

Black, twelve.

( she is a mess of fears and contradictory bravado, and this is such a little thing to be brave about. spoiled, still; fallen from grace only to land in the lap of luxury, still cosseted by a grandfather unwilling to give up his favourite simply because she isn't his blood. she worries and fusses and plans, but she's never yet truly gone without. it's easy, still, to reason away those anxieties—to rationalize doing what she wants to do, which is pure impulse. )

Oh, yes. Without a doubt. Here it comes - Oh.

[ His mock-bravado melts away a moment in sheer surprise as - she wins. How in Andraste's name did - But yes, there it is, the little ball come to rest on black, twelve. In a way, he's actually rather disappointed: he was looking forward to an evening of merrily dragging her from defeat to defeat, showing her how joy could be found even when you're low and debased, even when you have no regard from anyone. Or, failing that, a string of defeats culminating in a victory. The didacticism is utterly spoiled by a quick and easy win early on.

The others around the table cheer for Gwen as she wins a hundred silvers for the three he'd thrown down. ]

( her own shock mirrors his—until she catches it, and it turns the corner of her mouth sly with a smile. )

Bless you, Asher, and your fucking sense of humor, ( beneath her breath, basking in the entirely unearned praise of her new acquaintances as if it's no more than her ladyship's due.

it would not be wrong to say she almost certainly enjoys byerly's astonishment more than the win itself. )

Yes. Well.

[ He strokes his mustache, pushing it back into place, then takes a breath and centers himself once more. Fixes his normal ironic smile back into place and says - ]

Well done. Shall we take your winnings to another table, or is this your game of choice for the evening?

( as much as she doesn't really want to move—that's more a matter of her aches than her preferences, and if she gives him a bit more of her weight to support than is entirely mannerly when she takes his arm to rise again, then

he is absolutely capable of being rude about it, but it's still necessary and bickering about how much he'd like getting a smack might provide a tolerable diversion. )

By all means, don't limit yourself on my account.

[ An attendant transfers her silver into a purse and hands it to her. And he takes her weight - and doesn't complain for a moment; instead, he just makes a mental note that they ought to stay longer at the next table. He oughtn't be making her rise and sit. Foolish of him. ]

Have you ever played wicked grace? That's a game of skill more than fortune.

Didn't I tell you I'd gambled before?

( so prim, considering what she'd told him she gambled for. )

I know the rules. I haven't the face for it, though. Araceli will want me to learn that.

( if she understood what she exposed, she might have a care—but, then, it's just as she says. she hasn't the face for it. a little mirror, reflecting back the things she wishes to please the people who gaze upon her. striving to please, convinced of her own inability to do so.

she doesn't see it so clearly. clever, insightful, but her own largest blindspot. )

Haven't you?

[ He smiles over at her, lashes slightly lowered in blatant flirtatiousness. ]

At once wicked and also full of grace. You seem perfect to me.

Maker, I want to believe it took cleverer lines than that to get underneath Lexie's smalls, ( reflectively.

but she's slept with lexie's current shoulders and, being acquainted with his dubious charms, suspects not. )

Dear lady!

[ He turns to her in mock-horror. ]

I'm flattered by your fancies, but you're a wedded woman. I could never, no matter how much you desired it.

[ More normally, less facetiously - ]

Besides which, back then, she was the hunter and I the prey. Not the other way around.

She's better at that sort of thing than I am.

( gwenaëlle could singlehandedly destroy orlais's reputation for producing seductresses, that is just a fact. she seems for a moment like she might push that a little further—curious about the connection—but she lets it go, instead, )

But now I do have that massive husband to hide behind. I could seduce you if I wanted to, probably, I can say, who can prove otherwise?

( like, basic observation of her temperament could prove otherwise, but by the glimmer of humor, that is indeed the joke. )

[ His smile, for just a moment, turns opaque. And for a moment, there's something more in his voice, a little something that's not anger and not grief and not humor and not dryness and not anything that can be translated. ]

And with my reputation, who would doubt you?

[ It evaporates quick as it came. He returns at once to his normal silliness. ]

So not wicked grace. Then perhaps the dice?

No, ( at once, gaze lingering (remembering—it isn't something she can see but it isn't nothing, either, a hundred little pieces of nothing form a picture if you're only patient), ) I want to play cards.

( at least she'll lose all her money to pirates having given it her very best effort to practise first. )

As you will, my lady.

[ He lowers his head in a little bow. His facade is once again perfect - smooth as the surface of a funhouse mirror. Purposeful and controlled in his distortions and exaggerations. ]

Shall I counsel you on how best to play, or shall I serve as your opponent?

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