faderift | OPEN

She laughs, and a tangle of worry—invisible, but there—unknots into cautious optimism. He’d thought she might be upset with him. And he doesn’t even mind when people are upset with him, usually. It’s surprising to be quite this relieved.

“It is very fun to watch,” he says, which is and is not a joke.

And that's the point of how ridiculous her fighting is. Distract your opponent with enough feats of agility and they won't even see the kick aimed at their head. Which, thinking on it, doesn't quite align with the concept of discretion.

"So I guess, since you brought them up together, Alexandrie would be teaching me... lady... stuff?"

“If you like,” he says. “I could try, but—”

He finishes that sentence with a face and vague gesture that, together, mean it would be fucking weird.

"—it'd be fucking weird." They're on the same page, there. "Not that your eyes aren't also big and beautiful."

“Merci,” Bastien says with prim agreeableness, though he personally would classify his eyes as dark and guileless, like a stupid dog’s.

Not in a bad way. It gets him out of all sorts of things.

“I could hand you over to her entirely,” he adds, “but there are other things you and I have more in common, I think. Playing from below the nobility instead of on their level—it is not more or less difficult, but it is different. And I have worked with elves before. But I have almost never worked in skirts, on the other hand, so she will have advice I cannot give.”

"I've never worked in skirts either," she mutters with a shrug. "You don't have to sell me on your qualifications. I trust you."

And she trusts Yseult's judgment, considering the whole it's my job to know when you're lying thing. Is that something she'll learn?

"Do you...really think I'm clever?" She's not fishing for a compliment, but genuinely asking because she'd never describe herself that way. She's the first to call herself stupid, after all.

"An orphaned elf without a community or a protector does not survive Thedas without being clever. Not for long."

A depressing sentence—but it's a compliment, so it's delivered like one, brisk and kind, not like a gloomy summation of elves' thousand years of oppression and Athessa's lifetime of loss.

"And personally, I think a good sense of humor is the first sign of intelligence," he adds, and confides aside: "I might be biased."

Her lips quirk into a smile at the confidance.

And then something stops her in her tracks. A realization of something she did. She stares at nothing for a moment before catching up with the few steps Bastien took, and though she clearly is trying to be casual, she still looks like someone who just saw a miniature dragon poke its head out of a purse.

"I think I called Flint an idiot. Accidentally."

"You think?"

"I got Benedict some paints and a book for Satinalia and Flint gave me guff about Benedict being a traitor and how I had to think about whether or not he was really an idiot or just playing a part. I said he was really an idiot, and when he asked how I could be sure..."

She cringes.

"I said takes one to know one."

He laughs, delighted. "I am sure he recovered."

"Well I'm glad it amuses you," which is true, actually, she likes making him laugh. Feel like an accomplishment or something.

"Ah, Fauvette, chin up," he says. "He works with a crew of pirates. If he even took it that way, his skin has to be too thick for it to bother him. And you are precious. And if he is somehow holding a grudge, I will fight him for you and lose so badly that everyone thinks he has been cruel. Then he will have to forgive you to prove he is charitable and regain their favor."

Probably wouldn't work on a pirate as well as on a baron, but he's only joking, anyway.

"Your bias is showing," she says, making a face. A too-amused-to-be-exasperated-properly face. "I don't think any of the district heads find me nearly as charming as you do. Flint obviously isn't, I think Thranduil sees me as a child or something, Yseult basically accused me of just staying with Riftwatch to take advantage of the room and board, I managed to piss off Byerly somehow..."

They get counted off on her fingers: one for Flint, two for Thranduil, three and four for Yseult, and five for Byerly. Yseult gets counted twice for obvious reasons.

"Think you can teach me how to win them over? Or at least get off their bad sides?"

“Perhaps.”

He stops walking; something smells good. Like fried dough. And coffee. After a moment to think he redirects toward the smell instead. They aren’t in a rush.

“Pick one, tell me what you know about them.”

The diversion doesn't warrant any hesitation from Athessa, she simply stops when Bastien does and follows when he changes course.

"I don't really...know--" She thinks she knows some things, but she's pretty sure at least half of what she thinks she knows are just rumors. After considering it for a few steps, she decides to take a stab at Byerly (a common occurrence?) since she's spent the most time in his office.

"Byerly is always pretending in some way or another. Pretending not to care, pretending he can't read, pretending to not know what you're talking about," The list goes on. "He drinks a lot of wine, or pretends to. Smokes tobacco, has smoked elfroot, claims to have dabbled with lyrium, too. He...knows people? Has influence and even if he pretends to be a scoundrel, he uses his influence to help people. Or at least two specific people."

He helped keep Laura from being arrested, and Colin told her that Byerly could help find or deal with Devigny, if she had a mind to seek some kind of justice. She still doesn't know if she would even have the guts to ask. Or how to ask.

"Hangs out at the docks sometimes, enjoys scandals. Married to Sidony, whose parents tried to have him killed and her kidnapped." Far too willing to be cuckolded, too, but she keeps that one to herself.

The list of things Byerly pretends at makes Bastien smile at the street ahead—fondness for By’s semi-act and appreciation for Athessa’s observations in equal measure. Of course she would choose the one whose confidences Bastien is most committed to keeping, but that’s fine. He was never going to draw her a diagram, anyway. She can make her own.

“Interesting. And do you know what you did to make him angry? Or what you were doing when became angry, at least?”

"We were just talking. Making jokes or...not really making jokes but--I guess like flirting. With an idea, not each other. I guess I must've said something wrong." She tries to tuck her hair behind her ear, but it just falls back into place.

"I can never tell when he's serious, or joking, but at least before he'd talk to me and it wouldn't feel...cold."

"Did he change in the middle of your conversation, or after it?"

"Middle-ish."

"Well," Bastien says, and puffs up a bit, like a pompous professor, making fun of himself to perhaps help avoid sounding like he's making fun of her, "the first lesson is: if you find someone change toward you, suddenly, for no obvious reason, make a note of the last few things you said so you can examine them later."

The source of the smell is a street cart. The coffee being peddled out of it is horrendously overpriced, and he's not that desperate. He just wants to smell it, for a bit, so he sits on a bench in range.

"Why do you think he is pretending? If he is pretending."

She sits on the bench next to him, leaning back and kicking her legs out in front, crossed at the ankle.

"Well...because he doesn't act like what he says he is. And denies it whenever he does something nice. And after he stalled that messenger that was looking to extradite Laura, when I thanked him... I think he looked kinda... affected by it, just for a second before going back to being... Byerly." The emphasis on his name is important. It makes it more descriptive.

"Mm. Ouais. I meant more... Why do you think he would pretend? It is common enough for men to pretend to be more than they are. More kind, more important, more talented. The rewards for that are obvious. But consistently pretending to be less that what you are is rare."

He puts his head against the stone, shifts course.

"But I suppose the specific reason is less important than knowing that there must be one, and to him it must be worth what it makes people think of him—even if it is only that he enjoys horrifying people, and that is his reward. Or maybe he truly thinks he must be a rake, and it pleases him to have it confirmed. Most people like to be told that they are right about themselves, you know, even if being wrong would mean that they are better than they think."

Before she can stop herself, she makes a face and asks: "Why?"

As if she hasn't been calling herself stupid for years. Though when someone agrees, being right doesn't bring her much pleasure. Rather than think on that enough to suffer any personal growth, she returns to the concept of Byerly pretending to be a scoundrel.

"Why would it benefit him to--oh. If he is the best he can be and broadcasts it, nobody will underestimate him. They'll always have their guard up. But if they don't think of him as a threat, they're more likely to let things slide."

A thoughtful hum, toward the sky.

"Non," he decides. "That sounds fake."

(That's a joke. Because it's what he also spends all of his time doing. You know.)

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pretending this is BEFORE she tantrums until byerly tells her what's wrong

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