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]

Delightfully grim.

[Wysteria rearranges, draws, and discards more or less as directed and at no point does she either request to see his hand or remark on his negligence to show them. When at last the Angel is drawn, she sets it face up above the rest. Only then--]

You must tell me where we stand, Mr Rutyer.

[bouchonne]

Having observed your cards all along -

[ He reveals his hand. ]

I win. Of course.

[heirring]

Pass them here so I might study them, if you please.

[In the dim light and the trundling of the carriage, she must hold them close to her face to get a good look at the hand. Wysteria takes a few moments more to compare them to her own, clearly making a diligent effort to square the results and mark the differences between their hands. At last, she sweeps the played cards together and passes them back.]

I have it. Let's play properly this time.

[bouchonne]

What?

[ He arches an eyebrow at her. ]

No squealing? No stamping of feet? No calling me a villain? I was looking forward to that.

[heirring]

Nonsense. It's perfectly normal to lose at cards, especially when you first begin playing. Really, Mr Rutyer, you give me no credit at all. But if you like, I can play at it if I lose the next hand.

[From someone else, that might be all coyness. No such thing from Wysteria Poppell.]

[bouchonne]

No, no. No need. I appreciate it, but I should never want to ask you to lie, aside from that moment a little while ago when I asked you to lie.

[heirring]

[It makes her laugh, a small but genuine sound which she hates immediately and resolves never to do again on account of anything Byerly Rutyer says to her.]

Then I will be painfully honest with you and nothing else. I'm afraid it really is one or the other. Come now, deal the cards. The sooner we play, the sooner I am to beat you soundly.

[bouchonne]

Ah, another scolding! I think I'm becoming accustomed to it, though. You're right; it's really not so bad.

[ Obediently, he deals out the cards. And he purses his lips, arching his eyebrows at the absolute nothing he has in his hand. ]

[heirring]

Good. I would hate to be the source of much suffering. Only a very small amount.

[She takes a moment, rearranging the order of the cards in her hand. She's mindful to split the suites, to organize instead by numbers. There is very little of immediate consequence, but quite a lot in the way of potential and that is-- well, it's certainly workable. She hums thoughtfully, just barely loud enough to be heard over the rattle of the carriage. The question then is what to encourage...

At length, Wysteria lifts her eyes to him and gives him a cheerful smile. Then draws.]

[bouchonne]

My benevolent lady. I am in your debt for your mercy. Now -

[ He leans in to draw another card, hesitating over it for as long as it takes the carriage to hit a bump. Immediately, he starts, like he's been thrown off-balance, and jostles her knee so that the cards go flying, drops his own, and then clucks in frustration. ]

Ah, damn. We'll have to start this hand over. Sorry about that.

[heirring]

[He will regret remarking on her kindness, she thinks as she quietly slots in her drawn card alongside it's very prestigious sibling. Luck, it seems, is leaning rather hard in her direction to make up for the sour start to the morning. And imagine if she were to beat him on her very first hand where he wasn't overseeing her cards? The thought is a sweet one, satisfying some not-so-secret nastiness that lives adjacent to the rest of her. There is nothing, she thinks, quite so satisfying as showing someone who thinks they know better a thing or two. And--

There goes the deck. There go Byerly's cards. Wysteria makes a short, strangled noise - clutches her hand to her chest and only with extreme hesitation does she surrender them again.]

Oh, Mr Rutyer! You really must mind the road.

[bouchonne]

What a clumsy man I am.

[ He smiles pleasantly at her, then gathers the cards up again. As he does, he says: ]

Traditional, of course, is betting money on each hand.

[heirring]

[Just there, just briefly, an unmistakable glint of interest catches in her pale eyes. It's promptly cut by some renewed irritaiton - naturally, then, her good hand has been swallowed up -, and her response--] I believe that's the case with lots of card games. [--is breezy enough that it may be entirely inconsequential. And yet.

It would be nice, wouldn't it? Were she able to line her pocket for the trip while already on it.]

I've never done much betting myself. Not on my own, anyway. There's a rather popular game at home where you play in teams of two and have made a little money at that with my father. My mother doesn't play, you see, so if he cares for a reliable partner who knows his mind then I'm his only option. He's quite fond of gambling.

[bouchonne]

And you?

[ He hands her her cards. An honest deal - for this hand. ]

Are you fond of gambling? Would you like to lay a bit of money on the line?

[ He caught that look. He knows the answer. ]

[heirring]

[She takes up her cards. Pauses.]

I suppose. If it were a very small sum. Enough to be worth the effort, of course, but I'd rather not be stranded in Greencliff. As lovely as it sounds.

[bouchonne]

[ He presses a hand to his heart. ]

Do you think I'd be so cruel as to put you in that position?

[heirring]

I'm sure I don't have even the slightest idea of how cruel or kind you're capable of being, Mr Rutyer. [Said while she rearranges her cards.] But no, I don't think you would. Evidently you find my pluck charming. That said, I'd also rather spare myself the indignity of being in your debt.

[This hand isn't as good as the last one, but no matter. She's certain it can be improved.]

[bouchonne]

[ His, meanwhile, is pretty good. ]

Well, if that's the case, we don't have to gamble with money.

[heirring]

[Without looking up:]

What would you suggest instead?

[bouchonne]

Secrets?

[ He smiles at her wryly. ]

[heirring]

[She arches her eyebrows at him.]

And here my money was on truths. [She begins to draw and must be satisfied with what she finds because:] But I suppose that would be acceptable on the condition you swear not to cheat when it comes time for payment. And that you swearing to it isn't a lie. You can cheat at the cards all you like, but you must be honest about the rest.

[She raises her eyes to him.]

Do you swear it?

[bouchonne]

[ His smile is lightly mocking, his eyes narrowed in amusement. ]

On my name and honor as a Rutyer.

[ Now, the question is whether it's worth trusting something that sounds that facetious. ]

[heirring]

You realize, of course, that means absolutely nothing to me. For all I know, it means the very same to you.

[Nonetheless, she doesn't protest further. What secrets does she even have to bet with? The risk is so remote so as to be nonexistent. --And besides, he hasn't made her swear to be honest.

--Ha. What a ridiculous thought. Trouncing him soundly can be pleasant enough; she doesn't need his honesty on top of it.]

[bouchonne]

What a thing to say to a man. Terrible. Don't know know my family loyalty runs deep?

[ That sounds just as facetious - but, of course, she's agreed. So, since she has agreed, he issues her a bow and begins to play in earnest. With his hand, he's managed to improve his standing considerably - and it gets all the better when he pulls a card so that he has three cards of a matching suit. ]

[heirring]

[Cue one exceptionally skeptical noise as Wysteria draws her card. And pauses.]

Does it? Your parents must be quite pleased, Mr Rutyer. Messere. Serah? I don't know how anyone expects me to use the proper one without a pin in the coat collar or something like it to say how important you are.

[She studies the Angel of Death in her hand with a grim expression and then, very carefully and selectively, tucks it in beside the the rest of her hand. Not yet. She has nothing at all in her hand and she'll be damned rather than lose at the very first draw.]