faderift | ( CLOSED ) | i can read the signals from a mile away

WHO: Byerly and Sidony
WHAT: Dinner
WHEN: An evening at some point
WHERE: Byerly's room
NOTES: Marital Drama (tm)

Sidony cannot decide if she should be angry, happy or a mixture of the both, a low-level discontent that bubbles under the surface of her heart and prickles at her senses.

She had no reason to believe that her faux marriage would be anything long-lasting, of course, but there's a note of something sour about it all the same, something painful that tugs at her heart. It came down to a desire for honest security, more than anything else: married to Byerly she did not have to fret about being discovered, she did not have to worry about people knowing her deeper desires, the longing she still holds close to herself. The flowers she keeps in her room, an ode to a woman long gone, the taste of someone else on her mouth and the want for something more...

It was easier to be Madame Rutyer than it was to be Sidony Venaras, afraid of her own dreams.

Madame had a nice ring to it anyway.

It doesn't take much for her to gather a few bottles of wine and begin to make her way to Byerly's rooms. if anyone has wondered about the fact that the married couple does not always share a bed then they have not mentioned it, and she is thankful for that; it would be awkward, to try and explain it away. The idea of sleeping with Byerly is not offensive to her - she would share a bed with him in a purely heat-seeking sort of way, wanting to curl up with someone familiar - but she would not wish to bed him. He would not wish to bed her either, she knows that for a fact. They are too akin to brother and sister now.

Sighing, she presses her hand palm-flat against his door before she musters her courage and knocks, once, sharply, before she opens it. She has no time for odes of politeness, not when he is her husband now.

"I brought the better wine tonight." She thinks she might need it.

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"Thank you, my darling," he says, and grabs at her hand as she moves past, bringing them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Then he settles down into a chair, studying the wall like it holds some secret.

Absurd and stupid, to feel this awkward. If it were anyone else, he'd be able to say something outrageous to break the tension. But that's harder here. He doesn't want to cause any - well - Any hurt.

"How's your work?"

The kiss softens her, and Sidony feels less on edge as she steps away from him and prepares their drinks. It hardly takes much effort to pour two glasses of wine; her mind is hardly occupied, but she knows how she feels. She doesn't like this, this awkwardness, this intolerable feeling of anxiety in her stomach - she has never felt it before. She has never adored someone enough to deign to feel it.

Putting the glasses down, Sidony does not hesitate; she slips, settling, placing herself on Byerly's lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, tucking herself against his neck and breathing out gently.

"Please, let us not be cross with each other," her voice is soft, unsure - almost nervous. She is still young, no matter what she might do to appear otherwise. "I love you too much for this nonsense."

The gesture is a bit of a surprise. He supposes he's simply always surrounded by people who are sickeningly prideful, but it's strange to see someone unbend so easily. So he hesitates, then lets out a breath, and raises his hand to stroke her hair.

I love you too much. What a horrifying, terrifying sentiment that is. But one that lays upon him certain obligations. If she loves him - if she has made that mistake - then it's his job, no question, to safeguard her heart.

"I'm not cross with you, dear girl," he replies quietly. "Simply...unsure of what is the best path."

She's well aware that she has a great deal of pride - and arrogance, and confidence, however well-founded it might all be - but all of that feels vulnerable and silly when she is tucked up against Byerly like this. The way he breathes out, the touch to her hair... She feels so much, and it twists in her stomach. She had taken a great deal from him, hadn't she? She had never considered the deep consequences of her own actions before; just because he had suggested the idea does not mean it came without a price.

Leaning into him, she takes some strength from his tenderness, curling into his embrace and allowing herself a moment of weakness. No one else is here to see it, so why might it matter? He has seen her in a worse place than this.

"What would be the best path for you?" Her voice is soft, quiet, fingers reaching to stroke his shoulder absently. "What could I give you?"

"That doesn't matter." He answers quickly and with certainty. If there is one guiding star, it's that he oughtn't - mustn't - matter. And yet...That's what's leading him to ask this, isn't it? His own selfish desires? Because, well...Hell; he'd thought that Sidony would celebrate to see the end of him. But - that doesn't seem to be the case.

Hell.

"I'm an old and worthless fellow, Sidony. You're the one who matters."

"Well, that's bullshit, isn't it?"

It comes out sharply, quickly, Sidony shifting to turn her head to glance up at him, a frown marring her face like a scar. It's far too easy to lift her hand, then, and tug at his hair; a gentle reprimand, nothing serious, forcing him to look at her and her displeasure in his commentary. What a silly thing to say to someone, especially someone who cares for you so deeply.

"You are not old and I am certainly not the only one who matters, no matter what I may have said in the past. I'll have to scold you more if you say something like that ever again, my darling."

"Ah," he says, startled by that curse. She usually speaks as delicately as a rose (thorns and all), so the bluntness is unexpected. So he blinks, and clears his throat, and says -

"It...is how I feel, though. I assure you of that. My pleasure is to be of service."

"But Byerly," Sidony shakes her head, leaning up just a little, soft, careful, so very tender with him, "isn't it my pleasure to be as dear a friend to you as you have been to me?"

Leaning forward, she touches her forehead to the line of his jaw - as sharp as both their tongues.

"I want to see you take any happiness that you can."

He lets out a small breath. His hand comes up and strokes her hair. And he confesses, rather awkwardly -

"And if I don't know what will make me happy?"

"Then should you not be given the chance to learn it?"

Sidony grew up with wealth and money and education and all she could wish for at her fingertips; she had all that she could possibly desire from the world, but happiness was something she had to learn on her journey. Why should Byerly not be given the same chance?

"I would be glad to stand with you and find what brings you the most joy, my darling."

( CLOSED ) | i can read the signals from a mile away

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