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WHO: Byerly & Vanadi
WHAT: The Morning After
WHEN: Backdated to Sonia's party
WHERE: Byerly's I think??
NOTES: it's post-sexy so whatever content warnings might be associated with that

[ It's been easy to fall into old habits, and it grows easier the longer he's in this world. Last night had been a dive straight back into them, all pleasant flirts, courtly dances, and good company. And then all the rest. Oh, it'd been good to lose himself for a while, to really appreciate another body in a way he hasn't in a while ...

... But he can't let go of all of his recent habits, and a keen discomfort sleeping next to a stranger is one of them. It's been a fitful and restless night, and just as the sun rises he decides he's willing to eschew manners and throw in the towel. He'll catch up with the man later, and make whatever apologies are necessary.

Vanadi sits himself up carefully, not quite willing to unduly disturb the form next to him. The man had been lovely company, there's no need to rouse him so early as this. He peels back the sheets, intending to collect his belongings, dress in the almost-dark, and see himself out. ]

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[ Well...Byerly isn't one to turn down a free breakfast, even if he doesn't fully understand what led to it being offered. So, a shrug, and then he turns and leads the fellow back the way they came. ]

A chef, then, are you?

[ He nods, but — seeing as Byerly has taken the lead and Vanadi is more than happy to leave it with him as he trails after, adds: ]

By hobby, not profession.

What is your profession?

[ ugh, don't ask that. He watches the stones in the wall ahead of them with determined placidity. ]

I suppose I'm a Scout, and all of whatever that entails.

[ Oh, come now. ]

Back where you were before.

Mercenary.

[ It sounds more like a guess than an answer. ]

You sound uncertain.

[ An irritated huff. ]

Because whatever keeps me fed is an ungainly answer, if perhaps more accurate. [ a beat, then a correction: ] Kept.

Hm.

[ His voice is light, nonjudgmental. ]

Unusual priority for a fellow of your birth, no?

[ There's a silence, then a small sound as if the start of a sentence — then back to silence again. A refusal to answer seems abhorrently rude, but when you're out of evasions ...

He fiercely misses empty pleasure of the previous evening. ]

[ Hm. Curious. ]

Not embarrassed, I hope.

[ mildly: ] I'd simply be lying if I were embarrassed, it would be easy enough.

So what is it?

I'm certain I don't need to explain to you that luck changes.

That's rather more than mere luck, no?

[ his tone has gone a little sharp: ] Your insistent curiosity is not an endearing trait so early in the morning.

[ Cheerily: ]

It's not an endearing trait ever.

How right you are. [ And as much as he hates to outright ask ... ] I'd rather appreciate giving it a rest.

Hm.

[ Very casually: ]

Me too, by the by.

[ Finally a glance over, wary, giving the stones underfoot a break. ]

You too — what?

[ Cheerily: ]

A fellow of good birth in dire circumstances.

You've mentioned.

[ That's with a faint nod, and damned if he isn't curious ... but right after he's put his foot down on this line of questioning feels like a bad time for it. Instead: ]

They don't seem particularly dire at the moment. For either of us, really.

Really? Is that what you think?

[ With brows cocked: ] Am I wrong?

Oh, I have no opinion.