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Hold that boat!

[ It's early afternoon. Yet Byerly, pelting after the ferry back from Kirkwall to the Gallows, clearly just rolled out of bed, if his stubble and mussed clothes and general air of dissolution are anything to judge by. He also seems to perhaps still be somewhat drunk, given his stumbling scuffling step.

He's not, unfortunately, fast enough: the ferry pulls away from the dock when he's still a few meters away. He comes to a halt at the end of the dock...And then takes a look at the boat, takes a look at the water - and then strips off his stained and rumpled shirt and dives into the water. With fast strokes, he draws up next to the boat and then slows, flipping over onto his back to look up at the boat's occupants and keeping pace via an easy backstroke. ]

Hello, friend. Haul a shark from the sea, won't you?

[ Mabari are, of course, war dogs. Mabari ought to be trained as war dogs. They are a valuable resource to the Inquisition, fearsome on the battlefield, worth three human warriors in skill and ferocity.

But training a mabari seems like so much work, and it's such a lovely day. So today, Kitty is lying out in the sunshine with a book. She's draped over her mabari, using the dog like a great pillow to prop her up as she reads. The mabari is snoring with astonishing volume, breathing heavy enough that Kitty bobs up and down as she sits absorbed in her book. ]

[ Byerly is dressed to ride...sort of. The man has impeccable taste in clothes, and knows how to dress himself, but, well - he is the disinherited son of a penniless family. He doesn't really have the funds for a new outfit. So the one he's cobbled together is a bit second-hand, not quite up to his usual splendor.

Still, you wouldn't know it by the way he saunters down to the stables like he's a bloody prince surveying his domain, like he owns the damn place. One hand in his pocket, the other pushing his hair from his face, he looks at the horses and nods, as if to say that'll do. ]

Here we are, then.

[ He doesn't have a hat to tuck a plume into, so instead he binds it to his head with a bit of ribbon. The lady he'd spoken to over the crystal seemed so fierce and so serious that he simply cannot resist a bit of ridiculousness - he will see her crack, by the Maker.

He waits for her out in the courtyard, sitting atop the plinth of a particularly gruesome statue, staring up at the stars. ]

[She'd meant to catch an earlier ferry, but it had taken all morning to strike the right balance between carefully put together and too studiously dressed. Wysteria had spent what felt like the entirety of the quarantine imposed on her thinking about how best be suitable when she was finally allowed to go over to the city proper, and yet on the day of had found herself trying two different borrowed (well, hers now) dresses and a number of different hairstyles. She's still fussing absently with the pins in her hair when the ferry kicks away from its slip, struggling to pinch back a section that's fallen out of place and cursing under her breath with such concentration that it isn't until the splashing beside the ferry that she realizes there'd been any commotion about leaving the dock at all.

There's a man in the water alongside. She blinks at him under the line of her arm.

Wysteria promptly drops her hands away from her hair. Not quite spluttering, she searches her immediate surroundings for a rope.]

What on earth do you think you're doing?

[ The weather outside having become tolerable for longer and longer times, Alexandrie has resumed her customary hours behind the easel, although rather than being attended by a lady's maid holding a parasol to shade her she has foregone company entirely in favor of the protection of a white wide-brimmed hat adorned with summer flowers not native to the area, a delicate white lace shawl bordered in gold wrapped securely about her shoulders, and gloves that she has managed to keep equally white despite her paint mixing. Although she has recently come to prefer being alone with her work, there is still a chair to the side for anyone who might want to visit with her for a while or simply watch the process.

This particular painting of this particular portion of the memorial gardens in Hightown requires the light of a late afternoon at summer's end filtering through the trees of the grove off to her right, and so it is then that she is there, adding leaves to canvas, and seemingly entirely absorbed in doing so. ]

Largely appreciating the view.

[ He grins up at her. It is fortunate that the ferryman is a lazy sort. The boat isn't moving along at much of a clip, so he can keep pace well enough without having to interrupt his quipping. ]

A merman cannot resist lovely young ladies with absolutely fetching hairstyles, you see. It's a known weakness of ours.

[ Unfortunately for her...Byerly spies her. Without so much as a how-do-you-do, without so much as a by-your-leave, he marches up, grabs the spare chair, and moves it so that it's sitting right in her sightline. And then, without so much as a how-do-you-do-or-by-your-leave he sits upon it, firmly. And then without so much as a how-do-you-et-cetera, he reaches up and starts unbuttoning his shirt - appearing ready, for all intents and purposes, to shuck himself of clothes right there in Hightown's lovely gardens, as unselfconscious as he would be if he were modeling for her in a closed studio. ]

Edited 2018-09-15 21:18 (UTC)

[ If she is surprised— which she is— Alexandrie shows it not a whit. The graceful lift of her eyebrows as Byerly appears and immediately makes a nuisance of himself is entirely detached, although her gaze does linger on him for a moment.

He looks older. Older and far more rumpled than he had, in those early days. So, she supposes, must she, although she is certainly not rumpled. Despite her continued efforts in her war against time she is not nineteen any longer, although she is oddly inclined to thank the Maker for that small mercy. He seems also to have come upon more languid ease of movement, although he still retains the barely contained energy that drives it.

His eyes are the same. No. They have greater depth even then they had, and she had rather exuberantly lost herself in them before. Although there is something...

Tsk tsk, Lexie.

She shifts her eyes back to her work and primly resumes her addition of careful green in practiced curves to the landscape. ]

Byerly Rutyer, you know very well I do not paint portraiture no matter the quality of the model.

[ What degree of quality she has deemed him to have is left unspecified. ]

And I had hoped that had changed.

[ His fingers play with the button just above his navel, as though they're still tempted to continue his little impromptu strip-show. ]

You're so talented, ma cherie. If only you could paint something with real beauty.

[ He wonders, looking at her, when she'll get married. She's pushing the upper bounds of an acceptable age. And that's a funny thing, isn't it? He hadn't ever thought of Lexie as someone who could...well, look grown up. Who he could look upon and think of marriage, of children, of moving on with her life...Especially since honestly, Lexie is as lovely as she was back then. He's haggard in comparison, aged by drink and things stronger, aged by his work and hunger and poverty, while she looks lovely as ever...

He pushes his hair from his eyes, shoots her a a look from under his long thick eyelashes. ]

Perhaps some day you shall have the confidence to commit this gorgeousness to canvas. You'll get there.

( we is right, guilfoyle a shadow only an arm's length back from gwenaëlle when she joins him—you can take the girl out of the aristocracy, but she has not yet been levered from all of its privileges and her riding habit doesn't speak at all of the sort of injuries hidden beneath it. velvet-trimmed (only trimmed, in this heat) and tailored to her very fine waist indeed, hair a rope braid tucked beneath a matching hat, she looks every bit the lady vauquelin that she isn't.

it's been some time since she rode side-saddle, but it'll be easier, probably, so she'd sent for it from her grandfather's hightown residence and for a groom, presently preparing her mare, persistence, who has a rather martyred air about her— )

Percy got lazy, ( she says, absently affectionate, ) all the time I wasn't venturing out.

( you know who doesn't look lazy? emeric's assassin. still, he is probably not actually coming with them. probably. )

[ She purposefully hesitates for a moment, setting her brush down exactingly, and leans slightly to the side of the canvas to investigate him more fully with a painter's eye rather than that of an erstwhile lover.

(Ignores the look.)

It's not necessary, of course, but she goes through the entirety of the motions of such an investigation. Proportion, color, the play of light and shadow, the lift of her hand to check him against the location of the trees, the banks of flowers and topiary beyond. Then, a dramatic sigh as she 'gives in'. ]

Perhaps just this once, since you are so very encouraging of my continuing to challenge and better myself.

But [ she lifts a finger to add her condition, ] you shall have to indulge me and move a few steps backwards. The light is better there and we cannot have you immortalized at less than your most transcendent.

[ Byerly looks askance at the man. Hadn't trusted him before, doesn't trust him now - in his experience, such stolid retainers tend to disapprove of fellows like him. And such retainers tend to slip a knife in the hearts of those they disapprove of. ]

Enviable animal.

[ By sighs, and reaches out to touch the nose of the horse. Earnestly, he says to the creature: ]

Maker grant me the good fortune of being like you, someday. A beast of burden with an indolent master.

[ And then he looks over at Gwen, and smiles. He's a man with a disreputable air, but he's cultivated that air to serve him well. His lovely eyes, his leanness and fine bone structure, the sweep of his hair - he's a handsome rake, indeed. ]

I had feared, my lady, that my weak arms would not be equal to lifting you. But my, that is a trim waist you have.

I serve your wishes, my lady.

[ He presses a hand to his heart and bows, deeply and gracefully. Then, with a foppish elegance, he rises to his feet, moves the steps back, and settles down once more. Then he lowers his chin and directs a dramatic, hammish, would-be sexy pout at her. ]

How's this?

[ Alexandrie makes an approving noise to begin with, but then clucks her tongue at him once he's settled again. ]

You have changed your pose, you terrible man. The light is no longer right. Now you must move a few more steps backwards.

[ Hey now. ]

You're going to send me over a cliff, aren't you?

[Chamberlain business brings Bene to Hightown more often than not, and he was looking forward to a nice relaxing cup of tea when this day-drunk imbecile flops into the boat and ruins his whole day.]

I would-- honestly rather die, [Benedict says quickly, before he can stop himself. Maker, look at this creature, he's a disaster.]

Percy would quite like a return to that good fortune, too, ( drolly; not without a touch of easy humor. gwenaëlle may not quite have her father's natural knack with other people—and, so long as she lives, likely never will—but she has a certain charm of her own. if you like that sort of thing.

she favours him but a little in the face, high cheekbones and that nose, gold-eyed where he had been green, small and slight where he was tall and broad. the sort of waist that invites one to attempt to span it with one's hands, and the sort of sharp tongue that discourages one from accepting invitations. pretty disgraces make curious mirrors—he reminds her less of her father than of her ostensibly-unrelated brother, if a cover up had gone a little less well and if he'd been a little better prepared to weather it.

just like the comte to favor some backwater troublemaker over the son he would never trouble himself in taking the slightest responsibility for. hands upon her own waist, then: )

I did decide to thump you if you groaned at the weight.

Well-- Oh, pass me that rope would you? [said breathlessly to the aforementioned disaffected ferryman] --How reassuring it is that some things are the same everywhere.

[How is it that the exact same breed of man exists absolutely everywhere? Now there's true magic for someone to write a dusty dissertation on.

A line is passed to hand. Wysteria hurls the coils at the merman with perhaps more strength than is strictly necessary.]

Ooh.

[ Flirtatious, salacious, he shoots her a wink. ]

Now I'm tempted to effrontery. I expect I'd enjoy that.

How lightly he values his life.

[ Byerly, flat in the bottom of the boat, sprawled broadly out, reaches out to touch the toe of Benedict's boot. Mournfully, he traces his fingers along the leather, crooning: ]

Dear fellow. You have value. I know it doesn't seem it, I know it seems you're worthless, but you should live.

[ It misses his head by a mere few centimeters - fortunately so. That rope might well have been flung with enough force to knock him unconscious. Dear girl. He's fond of her already.

He wraps the rope around his hand, braces himself against the side of the boat - and then looks at her, sighing wistfully. ]

Dearest. Have you the strength to haul me up?

[Benedict quickly yanks his boot back out of the man's reach. There is a crazy person in the boat with him, and he needs to just keep it together until they reach the Gallows.]

I beg your pardon? [he snaps, unable to keep from taking offense. Come to think of it, there's something familiar about this man's voice, though he can't place it.]

open

Byerly's starters!!

manly swimming

Kitty's starters

dogs

horseback riding (for gwen but not closed)

stargazing (for Lakshmi)

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it's too late the dice have chosen

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i am most pleased

lmfao byerly pls

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