the first time I made mincemeat of the standard propositions establishing a so-called moral science

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly Rutyer and Wysteria Poppell
WHAT: She's stuck with him for 3 hours
WHEN: Whenever
WHERE: On the road
NOTES: He's a smutmonger??

[ It's not a terrible trip from Kirkwall to Greencliff. Thirty miles along the coast, and a journey decently worth taking: Greencliff is a striking city, with a high copper content in the mineral cliffs giving them a curious greenish tint. Not particularly built-up, not a center of commerce or of war, but quite nice nevertheless. There are a multiple trips by commercial carriage out there per day. So, logically, the odds of running into someone you don't want to run into are relatively small.

Thank the Maker Wysteria isn't a betting woman, because it's clear enough her luck today is rotten.

Because not only does she end up in a carriage with Byerly, Byerly was running late. So that means that it's when she's well and truly settled, and when the wagon is but a few breaths from departing, that he scrambles in. The door closes behind him as he pants, clearly come off a sprint for it; the driver gives a cry; the horses lurch into motion; there's no time for her to escape.

Perhaps a stroke of good luck for the girl, though. By, for once, is so genuinely overcome with the aftereffects of drink that he doesn't even take the time to investigate his surroundings. Instead, he flops over the bench, and throws his arm across his eyes, and groans, all without ever having seen her. ]

Comments

[heirring]

Oh. [Here all the lingering awkwardness evaporates from the line of her shoulders and the way she's been sitting as far back against the carriage cushions as humanly possible. She blinks again, her hands turning about in her lap so she might pick absently at her fingernails. Oh. Well.]

I see. I suppose it's fine then.

[Not that this at all changes the fact that he is a rake. She doesn't regret dashing him with a full glass of wine. Not at all, really, and she thinks she would say as much if asked. But still. This all seems rather more survivable now than it had mere minutes ago.

Pluck is such a charming word. It's certainly better than sensible.]

[bouchonne]

Indeed it is. If you're truly concerned about making it up to me, though, I wouldn't object to some replacement wine.

[ And he smiles at her, cheerful and wry. Unfortunately, that sets his head to throbbing just a bit, and he sighs heavily. ]

Though perhaps not just at the moment. Ah, well. So why are you going elsewhere, all lies aside?

[heirring]

[She didn't say anything about making anything up to him. Which she very nearly expresses out loud before he steers the conversation away from the point all on his own. Note to self, Wysteria. Keep your damned mouth shut every now and again.]

I don't know if you've noticed, but Kirkwall happens to be terribly depressing. I'm afraid the novelty's worn. Just slightly. [She's picking still at her fingernails and cuticles. And as long as they are being honest with one another--] And there was evidently a rift closed just outside Greencliff some months ago. I thought I might walk about it and see what it looked like. To sate my curiosity somewhere more populated than the wood were mine appeared.

[Sweetly, breezily, pointedly ignoring the fact that she has heretofor told absolutely no one of this plan on the basis of strongly suspecting it would be discouraged:]

And yourself?

[bouchonne]

Catching the last bits of autumnal warmth before the chill takes over.

[ He smiles cheerily. It's a lie, of course. He wonders if she'll pick up on it. ]

But dear girl, is that something to do alone?

[heirring]

[Suffice to say: no.]

I seem to recall you mentioning something about not believing in the necessity of a young woman being chaperoned.

[bouchonne]

There's a difference between chaperoning for a walk around a city and acting as a companion on an investigation of a dangerous area.

[heirring]

Oh please. [She sniffs and collects her book from where it's wandered down the length of the bench due to the carriage's rattling. She pulls it into her lap decisively.] It's a field outside an evidently very dreamy little city. If that warrants companionship, I should never be allowed to walk in Kirkwall alone.

[bouchonne]

As you say, Miss Poppell.

[ But he isn't entirely smiling. ]

[heirring]

[How very gratifying. It's so liberating a sensation that it's easy to neglect to notice his very fractional loss of good temper.]

You will have to enjoy your last bits of autumnal warmth on your own, Mr Rutyer. Unless, I suppose, you're meeting company in Greencliff.

[bouchonne]

I've no doubt I'll find some.

[ He fixes his smile back on his face. ]

I've a unique talent for that. For me, hardly a night is spent alone.

[heirring]

[Ah, there it is. And they'd managed to go so long with hardly any reference at all to his taste beyond wine. She heaves a great sigh and fixes him with a distinctively long-suffering look.]

Yes, I'm sure you can be very charming when you want to be. And I wish you all the best with it. Tell me though, what day are you leaving? Have you decided at what hour you mean to make your way back to Kirkwall?

[For the sake of curiosity, of course.]

[bouchonne]

[ With an easy lift of his eyebrow - ]

Am I truly so intolerable that you would seek to cut short your visit simply to avoid me?

[heirring]

Not at all. [Can she afford to extend it?] I only thought to see you off so you can be guaranteed I've survived my trip into the dangerous wilderness.

[Which is all mostly true, except for the part where it's certainly not her only thought. Still, it isn't much more than a very pale white lie and that she thinks she can carry with a flash of a broad smile in his direction.]

[bouchonne]

[ That causes a little pluck at his conscience. He runs a hand over his beard, the movement a bit tense, before he turns a smile upon her. ]

Say - there is a lady I know in Greencliff who might be willing to go along with you. She's very pleasant. Lovely personality. What do you say? A local guide.

[ He is hoping, intensely, that there's a female soldier-for-hire amongst those stationed in the town. There must be. ]

byerly you weakling

[heirring]

[All at once her face transforms, an expression that had a moment ago been all poorly cloaked cheek blooming with a real flash of interest over the words 'local guide.' It's a bright flicker, a certain flare of genuine curiosity, and for a split second she has quite forgotten how reprehensibly irritating she finds him in favor of sitting up slightly taller in the dimly lit carriage.

And then, just the barest slithering suspicion.]

You don't say. What's the name of this lady?

shut up

[bouchonne]

[ He responds to that with a laugh calculated to sound cheery. ]

Look at your face. It's like someone lit a candle behind your eyes. Does it matter what her name is?

[heirring]

Oh-- stop that. My face looks exactly as it always has. [A glove is produced from her skirt pocket and summarily thrown at him. Gods bless the drawn curtain; she can feel all manner of foolish heat at the back of her neck. But consider her successfully distracted from the point.]

There's nothing wrong with valuing an expert's opinion on a thing. [She holds her hand out expectantly.] Now hand me that glove back. And do you want me to come say goodbye when you leave Greencliff or not?

[bouchonne]

[ He catches the glove with rather more agility than one might expect, and then stretches it out in his hand. He kisses its knuckles, as courtly as he would have done if it had been her hand, and then passes it back. ]

I do not yet know the date of my return. Though your offer gives me great pleasure.

[heirring]

[Stop putting your mustache on her glove, Byerly. She stuffs it thoughlessly back into her pocket.]

Then I suppose your lady friend will just have to pass on my regards.

[bouchonne]

I suppose she shall. Alas. Why this curiosity about Rifts?

[heirring]

You mean outside the fact that I fell through one? I would have thought that would have been more than enough to warrant a little investigation of my own.

[She fixes him with a look, something slightly narrowed and thoughtful about it. After a moment of very frank study--] You aren't? Curious, I mean. If a bunch of holes were being poked in Kalvad and stranger started dropping out of them, I imagine the whole country would be interested in walking over to the nearest one to take a look in person. Though I suppose we don't have the fear of demons like you do here either--

[A thought suddenly occurs to her as if lightning struck. She gasps.]

Mister Rutyer! Surely you can't be frightened!

[bouchonne]

[ The look he casts at her is rather incredulous. ]

Afraid of demons? And rifts? Do I strike you as a madman?

[heirring]

[Oh, she knows what that look means. She's seen it before in the bug-eyed expression of her mother, in looks traded between whispering old men in the government offices and the university's lecture halls. The wry humor in her temper fades by degrees.]

Not that they aren't dangerous, obviously. Only that so many things are and must simply be made less so by taking the right precautions.

[bouchonne]

[ He spreads his hands. ]

At the end of the day, Miss Poppell, I am a simple man. I have realms in which I am quite adept - the violin, the dance-floor, the gambling-hall. But I am not a man for the Fade. I cannot even endure on the dueling-ground; I've run from every challenge that's ever been issued to me. Of course I am afraid.

[heirring]

[She can't, for the life of her, tell whether he's kidding or not. And that's the real trouble with all of this, isn't it? How easily she can be made to feel stupid and insensible, how quick she is to tip wildly in the opposite direction to make up for it. She doesn't much like not knowing any better, not having the option to be serious and instead selecting ridiculousness because it seems more pleasant. This adventure - and it is one, that much at least she is certain about - would be much more enjoyable is she weren't feeling out every part of it in the dark.]

Then I can hardly blame you. [She thinks he is joking about being frightened. Or playing it broader and higher than is true. But here, she will do his some kindness by treating him honestly just in case he's speaking the truth. Let that be her penance for the wine glass.] You should give some strong consideration to improving your skill with a weapon if you're so concerned. You do, after all, work for an organization which I hear has something of a penchant for dangerous activities.

At the very least, you should find a useful friend who can protect you should you cross paths with any danger you can't outrun.