( closed ) on the move collecting numbers

[indissection]

WHO: Sidony + Byerly
WHAT: Awful agreements being made
WHEN: The day of Byerly's news post
WHERE: A study off the main hall
NOTES: Terribly flirting. Byerly. Talk of dead bodies and so on.

The hardest part of the whole situation is making her handmaiden stay behind. It's not as if she minds, particularly, if the girl comes along - surely the woman has her best interests at heart - but the truth of the matter is that this agreement is something that must be made in private. Sidony is more than aware of how the Chantry views anyone with an inkling to dissect or inspect the dead too closely, and this sort of arrangement could get her in a handful of trouble with the religious folk. She's just arrived to the Inquisition - she wouldn't like to be sent to the prisons just yet.

Perhaps in a few years, when she has written a book on her discoveries. Perhaps then she will admit herself to the jailhouse for her 'crimes'.

It doesn't take her long to decide on a dress and a cloak to wear - it doesn't matter who she's seeing, she has to at least try and look her best, especially for a first acquaintance - and then she's slipping out of her room. She's not foolish enough to be ignorant of the danger she is putting herself in, wandering off to meet an unknown man in the middle of the night, but she has a small knife at her waist and more wits than most people might credit her for.

It takes very little time for her to make her way to the small room, parchment and quill in her arms. If she's to make an agreement with this man - who, judging by other reaction on the crystals, has something of a reputation - she will make sure she has it in writing. Signed. She will not allow herself to be made a fool of, no matter how eager she is to have access to the dead. The things she can learn - she knows it is a great risk, but to be able to do the things she has only ever read about...

Slipping into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her, Sidony begins to light a handful of candles, just enough that she can see to write. Not enough for a dim glow under the door, she hopes.

Comments

[bouchonne]

What an odd creature she is. He's encountered women aplenty uninterested in him, but none that seem uninterested and flirtatious at the same time. So he settles back and stops putting quite so much energy into his smoulder, instead answering, "Well, as a rule, I take nothing seriously."

Then he pours them both some wine. As he does, he says, "But you seem quite determined, my dear girl. And I like helping people. If it turns out well for me, all the better."

[indissection]

“Our arrangement will be mutually beneficial, of course. I am looking forward to more study and your... Friends will have their own physician. One who does not intend to ask them how and why they might have come about their hurts and wounds. Not unless they’re interested in spinning tales, at least.” Leaning forward, she takes one of the glasses, holding it carefully in one hand.

“I’ve brought paper and ink so we can write a proper agreement. We can use code, of course, but I like to make sure I know exactly what I’m agreeing to, without the trouble of one of us misremembering the terms. It’s not to be taken as a slight. You understand.” She smiles that same, soft, flirtatious smile again, eyes dancing over his face, playful.

[bouchonne]

What an odd creature. So Byerly takes up a glass, and purrs in response, "I'll sign it on paper, and happily. But wouldn't it be so much more pleasing sealed with a kiss?"

[indissection]

“Ser.” Sidony ducks her head, as if embarrassed, a smile curling over her lips. She sips from her wine before she places it to one side, looking up at him from a careful flutter of her lashes. “Why can we not have both? Then I will be twice as pleased.”

[bouchonne]

"Doubly legally binding," he says, smiling sultry at her. He takes a deeper drink from it, then reaches out and touches her fingertips softly. "So what shall our contract say?"

[indissection]

“A gold coin weekly for services rendered. There is no need to dictate what those services might be. Then something of me being a private physician of sorts, should disaster strike. It would explain why I might be found in your company.” Her thumb brushes over his fingers, tracing the shape. Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx. “No one will be witness to this contract but us, but I will add a clause for secrecy too. Is there anything you would add?”

[bouchonne]

His thumb presses against hers, tracing the line of her thumbnail.

"The gold coin and the weekly schedule must be flexible," he says. "As my mortician friend is the one who will set the schedule, and we must bow to the vagaries of his schedule and his demand."

[indissection]

“Of course. As the services are rendered, then.” Thumb against thumb, like a dance. It’s intimate and she finds some joy in that, from something she had been denied; it was to protect her virtue of course, but that is no longer a concern. “I would not wish to upset your friend.”

[bouchonne]

"Then I've no objection at all."

He pulls back his hand, spreads his fingers across the desk.

"The contract is agreeable to me, my lady."

[indissection]

“I am glad to here it. Arrangements can be made for where I might see the bodies once I am settled and we have one to discuss.”

She looks almost mournful at the loss of his hand, but glances up.

“I believe you have earned the right of my name.”

[bouchonne]

"Have I?"

He reaches down to grasp his glass of wine. Fixes his eyes on hers. Without blinking, keeping his gaze steady, he lifts his glass to his lips. And he takes a sip, long and slow, then murmurs her name:

"Sidony."

[indissection]

She watches him carefully, almost hawkelike. There’s nothing wrong with him, she thinks, and he’s perfectly handsome - it has made flirting with him quite easy. He is good to look at, charming and agreeable so far, and she’s pleased that they have come to an easy agreement. She sips from her own wine, tilting her head gently before she leans forward again.

It’s difficult to resist the urge to rise and take advantage of the situation, but she already has what she wants. There’s no need to push her luck.

“It sounds quite lovely on your tongue.”

[bouchonne]

"Ah," he says, and goes in for another sip. Usually, by now, you'd expect a woman to be blushing. You'd expect her breath to be coming a little quicker. He's very good at this game. Apparently, she is as well - perhaps?

He doesn't break eye contact. He purrs, still gazing at her, "May I hear mine in return?"

[indissection]

“Should I please you as well? You have been most generous.” Sidony thinks she knows the game being played here. It’s far more dangerous than anything she had done in Nevarra City, but many of those that tried to court her there were twice, three times her age. Byerly Is not and it seems he knows how to encourage a woman to be... Willing.

Her smile curls and she settles in her chair. She keeps her eyes on him, not breaking the contact.

“We’ve made quite the partnership, Byerly.”

[bouchonne]

"Haven't we?" Then he reaches up and glides his fingertips over his cheeks. "Now. I was promised, I believe, a kiss to seal the deal."

[indissection]

“It was promised.” Sidony pushes herself up, leaving the glass on the table as she walks around. It’s easy to lean down, from her height in standing, hovering with her face near his. “Would you do me one more service? Close your eyes?”

[bouchonne]

His lip turns up in a smile. He wonders where this will go. But, obediently, he closes his eyes - keeping them open just a faint, faint crack. He's not exactly about to close his eyes entirely around someone who is that enthusiastic about having corpses to cut up.

[indissection]

She’s no fool either, but she trusts the closing of his eyes. Her dagger is close, should she need it, but she thinks she will not be in any trouble here. Men often want one thing, and she is no use to him dead, not when keeping her alive has benefits for him. Leaning close, Sidony allows him to feel her face close to his before she takes his hand, with those fine fingers, and leaves a kiss on his knuckle.

[bouchonne]

He laughs at that - and it's a rare sound, because it's none of his normal chuckles through his teeth, none of his low snickers, but a real warm hearty laugh. His eyes come open, and the flirtatious posing is gone. Instead, he presses his kissed hand to his heart and flutters his eyelashes, doing a very decent imitation of a lady at a joust.

"Good knight," he says, "your chaste favor will give me strength to keep my own virtue through the coming days."

[indissection]

The laughter delights her and she feels warm from it, watching as it shapes his face. This is company that she thinks that she might be able to tolerate in the future - he is not intolerable. He’s charming and his laugh does not grate on her, does not make her want to tear her hair out. It’s a warm thing, her responding laugh, and she offers a low bow, eyes never leaving his face.

“Take care of it, dear one,” she says. “I would hate for you to give anything to someone unworthy.”

[bouchonne]

"I cannot think of anyone worthy," he replies. "Except for you, my lord. Everyone else pales in comparison to your manly firmness."

[indissection]

That has her laughing without shame, leaning back with a hand on her stomach as she tries to contain herself. It doesn’t work as well as she might’ve hoped, pressing her lips together to muffle it. “Anyone else would consider that to be an insult.”

[bouchonne]

He doesn't laugh quite so loud, but he does grin, unselfconscious and broad and actually rather sweet. "Ah, but that's my secret," he says. "I don't care about insulting people. But you've earned my respect, that you don't consider it to be."

[indissection]

"I am sure there are some women who might consider firmness an insult, but I am not most women." She moves, leaning against the table, looking down at him with a tilt of her head and a soft smile. "Should I be pleased that I am given such respect, Byerly?"

[bouchonne]

"Heavens, no," he responds. His own smile in return is crooked and wry. "The respect of a scoundrel? A respectable young lady like yourself should shudder to receive that dubious gift."