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]

[It isn't what she expected. But then, she thinks, she doesn't actually expect anything at all from him and so, really, there is nothing to be disappointed or pleased by with what can only be the most obtuse answer ever given to any question. Which is fine. It was entirely rhetorical anyway.]

I'm sure she'd be gratified to hear it.

[This said without a second glance to him, much less a look that might consider any reassessment. Instead, Wysteria steadies the book on her knee and sets her spare hand studiously with thumb to jaw and forefinger to temple - all the better to block him out with. If she reads the same page twice in succession with the effort - well. She can hardly be blamed for it. Eventually, she will have managed to imagine pouring enough hatred ouit onto the page where it then might be eaten away by the sunlight through the carriage window that she will make progress in some peace.

What a singularly unbearable carriage ride this has been. She cannot imagine Greencliff will have anything to make up for it.]