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With Eshal gone, Athessa has become an infrequent visitor to the Diplomacy office. In part because it's hardly ever where she needs to be, but also because no matter what she does or doesn't do, says or doesn't say, it seems like Byerly is cross with her. Or trying his damnedest to make her cross with him.

But she's not avoiding him, which she makes clear now by purposefully marching into the office, making sure that nobody else is here to chew Byerly's ear about something, and closes the door behind her. Barely before the door shuts, she's speaking:

"What exactly is your problem with me?" It's more a demand than a question, but why split hairs? She crosses the office to stand before him. "One minute I think I understand how to talk to you, the next it seems like you're just trying to piss me off, or just completely cold like I did something to piss you off, 'cept I dunno what it is, so I can't fix it!"

It's not the best choice he's ever made. Certainly not the most adult choice ever. Certainly quite unkind. But when she storms into his office - apropos of nothing, as far as he can tell - ready for a fight, snarling at him, he cannot help himself. He looks at her, and frowns, as if puzzled, and says -

"It's...Alyssa, right?"

And he squints, as if trying to place her face. (It's easier than having to answer her questions.)

There's a bottle, because of course there is, sitting to her left on Byerly's desk. She stares him down, and for a moment it might seem like she's not going to rise to his bait, but then she starts to nudge that bottle steadily closer and closer to the edge.

"As much as your name's Byron." And then the bottle falls.

He stares her down, mouth crooked downwards. But he doesn't shout, or get visibly angry. There's just annoyance.

"Someone else will have to clean that up," he says tartly. "I'm head of Diplomacy. I have servants." By the tone of his voice, this is something of a novelty, enough that it deserves a hint of mockery. "So you're just being cruel to them."

Her eyes narrow briefly at the way he says servants.

"You also have one less bottle of wine," she counters, despite the creep of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

"Whatever shall I do?" he asks, looking utterly unbothered. "I may perish." Then, shaking his head - "Maker, you're like a little cat."

"And you're--" she starts to say before she can stop herself. She clenches her jaw too late, and it results in just looking like she's so frustrated that she can't find the right words to use. Which, let's face it, is kinda true. She snarls something unintelligible, possibly in elvish but who can say, and fwumps into the seat across from the desk.

"You're impossible."

He doesn't seem particularly injured by the assertion. Instead, he spreads his hands, and raises his eyebrows, and replies, "No one ever asked you to try to solve me, dear girl. Perhaps the relevant issue is not my impossibility; perhaps it is that you oughtn't be spending so much energy on this."

"Tch, make up your mind, is it a cat or a deer?" She grumbles, crossing her arms defiantly despite having just leaned into her own affected stupidity. And she clearly has more to say, but doesn't.

He stares at her a moment, genuinely thrown off by the comment. Finally - "D-e-a-r. Darling. Cherished. Not d-e-e-r."

"More like p-a-t-r-o-n-i-z-i-n-g," She hesitates fractionally towards the end of that spelling, unsure whether it's an S or a Zed she needs.

"I have no idea what you just spelled," he replies loftily. Then, with a little wobble of his hand - "My reading and writing aren't grand, you see. Look, what do you actually want to talk about?"

Athessa can't help but bristle, thinking he's making fun of her for her own reading and writing, which is demonstrably far worse than his.

"I actually want to know what I did to piss you off. I might be stupid but I can tell when someone's huffy at me." His recent huffiness being quite different from his previous characteristic huffiness, the kind where she's in a minefield without a map, sure, but at least hasn't done anything wrong. "Or if you just don't like me."

His response is quite brusque. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Quite quickly, a pen is snatched up from his desk and thrown at his face.

Normally, he'd have quick enough reflexes to deal with that. But it's so weird and unexpected that it hits him. He jerks back and snaps, "Ow." Then: "What the hell."

"No you what the hell!" Not her best retort. "I mean--you know what I mean! Talk to me like a fucking grown-up!" She snatches up another pen.

"You put that pen down," he says, finger pointed at her, jaw thrust out, eyes narrowed.

"Answer the questions!" Her own jaw is set, lips pressed together and pen held aloft in preparation to throw.

"Fine," he snaps, and says, "I am not huffy at you. As a matter of fact, I barely know who you are, and I cannot remember a single conversation we've ever had, ever." Not his most subtle insult, and just a reiteration of the more elegant version he'd uttered earlier, but, well - he's irritated and a little flustered by being pelted by writing implements.

She throws the pen and immediately snatches up another and throws it, too.

"Why are you like this?!"

He bats away this pen, then surges to his feet and stalks over to her. Mad as he is, he doesn't strike her or anything of the sort - he just shoves away all pens and books and anything that could potentially be used as a projectile.

And she scrambles to her feet to grab any of them before he shoves them, but only manages a blank piece of paper. Hardly intimidating. She balls it up and bounces it off of his forehead, for the principle of the thing, you see.

"If I'm such a nobody then stop trying to give me advice like you're my friend or something!"

"I've never tried to give you advice," he growls, in spite of the times he's tried to give her advice. "Honestly, I could have you thrown out of this office, you know."

"Then do it, because otherwise you're stuck with me until you spill it." She looks at the desk, scanning it for ammo, but there's nothing that wouldn't actually cause damage.

So she sits on the desk and crosses her arms again.

Why Are You Like This - Closed to Byerly

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