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

[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.

[bouchonne]

Skill with a weapon? Have you had occasion to see a demon yet? [ He gives a short laugh. ] I could train a hundred years, and the creature would still tear me to bits before I could even raise my blade. That will do me no good.

[ He looks at her, and for once, there's no sign of amusement in his face. Instead, he looks tired - pinched about the mouth and eyes, lips thin. ]

When I was a child, the wars were men against men. Mages stayed in towers. You could defend yourself. The worst threat was the Blight, and we knew how to fight that. But now...The whole world's upside down now.

[ Then, with a release of breath - ]

Not that I need to tell you about that, hm?

[heirring]

No, that's quite helpful actually.

[There's the very briefest, very narrowest flicker of something like reconsideration in her face - a split second of uneasy recalculation in response to that dreary look he's wearing. But her tone is bright, all cheer and lightness as she looks away from him and opens the book in her lap once more. Wysteria flips through the pages as she talks:]

This whole place exactly as it is now is brand new to me. As while yes, as it happens, I have seen a demon - I believe they were infesting the wood around the rift I came through -, the rest of it is very difficult to get a grip on. It's like [fhwip, fhwip, fhwip, say the book's pages] --Like looking at quilt, I suppose. Did you ever have one of those? Where I see a blanket and all its lovely stitching and patterns, but the person who watched it being made knows where all the pieces have come from. And some are like your favorite auntie's handkerchief and another one is a tablecloth you know someone spilled something all over the other end of. Which is to say, it's always good to know the context of a thing. As I said: nothing wrong with an expert opinion.

[She glances up at him.]

You're good at gambling, is that right? Would you like to teach me a card game, Mr Rutyer?

[There's a deck stacked neatly on the facing page of the open book in her lap.]

[bouchonne]

A card game.

[ Is she pitying him? Trying to comfort him by offering up something he's skilled at, something he's comfortable with? He doesn't know whether to be charmed by her or exasperated with himself.

But the change of topic is not unwelcome. He is not ashamed to name himself coward - indeed, it's actually quite advantageous to have it fixed in everyone's head that that is exactly what he is - but...Well, this is a far more convivial topic. ]

I suppose I could, yes. The most crucial one to learn would be Wicked Grace. Have you encountered it yet?

[heirring]

I haven't, but it sounds horribly dangerous. [She's smiling again and she takes up the cards, closes the book and shuffles the former on the heavy back corner.] And crucial, you say? How fascinating. And besides, we seem to have time on our hands and what better way to spend it than forcing ourselves the squint at card suites in the dark.

[If she's doing him a kidness, then it is almost certainly one that works in her favor as well. For a moment there, she'd been struck by the awkwardness of the carriage - the uncomfortable nearness of the space, the dark, the unsettling sensation of being made to hold up her own expectations and re-examine them. For all those two weeks she'd spent in the Gallows learning geography and politics and what not to touch, no one has quite spoken with so much clarity as Byerly to the dangers of the world falling apart as it seems to be now and she finds-- well, she doesn't know what she finds, as it sounds to be an unpleasant topic of thought and she has thus far done very well at avoiding all of those.

(It must be hard to be so far from your family, Alexandrie had said. Not yet, she'd told her. That's still true, like many things stay true when you don't give them much consideration.)]

[bouchonne]

You'll certainly not hear me complaining.

[ He takes up the cards and begins shuffling them easily on his knee. As he speaks, he begins adding in flourishes and tricks - little bits of showmanship to entertain and delight. He doesn't even seem conscious he's doing it, either. It's automatic. ]

It's a marvelous game, Wicked Grace. Easy enough to learn, but almost impossible to master. And a game of wills as much as a game of luck. - Which, honestly, if you're playing it right, it oughtn't be a game of luck at all, since you ought to endeavor to cheat as much and as viciously as possible.

[heirring]

Ah, one of those. I have a cousin with a great fondness for a game called Jack Sixes that's the same. A lying game, I mean. When I was a girl I used to pass cards to him under the table or stand behind my uncle and signal which cards he had. So I recognize the concept.

[Let it not be said that Byerly isn't true to at least one word or two; he is very good at shuffling cards. She imagines that must translate into the fiddling just fine and likely says something about his penchant for gambling if not his skill.]

--And I assure you, I can be quite vicious.

[bouchonne]

I hope so. I have no patience for women without cruelty.

And, speaking of which - it's called Wicked Grace because of the cards used. They're classified into virtues and vices. You must match virtues to virtues and vices to vices. - I am a bit appalled, by the way. [ His smile doesn't look remotely appalled. ] I never would have thought you'd have aided and abetted in the execution of cheating. You're such an honest lass. Or at least a lass who's bad at dishonesty, which is functionally the same.

[heirring]

[She deigns not to roll her eyes, though the effort is painfully visible regardless.]

I didn't say I was any good at it. And besides, as I said I was a girl and all children are the worst people you've met in your entire life. Give anyone under the age of ten the opportunity to lie, cheat and steal and you'll find yourself being lead headfirst into a ditch and waking up missing your shoes and purse.

--Can you win matching only virtues? Or must you do both?

[She fixes him with a smile which is meant to be sly - my, how witty she is - quirks at the corner of her mouth then spreads entirely too far to be anything but annoyingly pleased with herself.]

[bouchonne]

I've known a good child or two in my day.

[ Which is an odd thing to confess, he reflects. Odd and vulnerable. He keeps his eyes on his cards as he shuffles, and then looks up to respond to her question. ]

Look at you, smirking at me. You end up pursuing the suits you draw, whether that be virtue or vice. If you concentrate on finding only virtues, then you shall lose.

[heirring]

[She refuses to let any ounce of his practicality - ha - take the shine off her cleverness. Instead Wysteria settles into it and the carriage bench, willing the sway of it to be relaxing rather than jarring.]

I don't believe it. The part about the children, not the cards. I'm sure that's very good advice. I've never known a child who was sweet. Even my favorite ones started as monstrous and have only grown into kindness.

[bouchonne]

Well, perhaps your cynical eyes simply find monsters where there is only mischief. [ He lifts his eyebrows at her. ] Perhaps the fault is in the beholder.

[heirring]

Or maybe you've only seen these children while they've been on their very best behavior.

[She lifts her eyebrows right back.]

[bouchonne]

What an assumption. You think I don't actually know any children?