WHO: Athessa, Madi, Lucien, Skull, and YOU!! WHAT: catch-all WHEN: mostly Satinalia and later WHERE: Kirkwall and The Gallows NOTES: post-murderhaus h/c is gonna go here
[ There are so many things that it could be. Too many. These missions, the fighting of the war. Loving things that can break, rising in the morning. Everything. Anything at all.
It is late enough and the hallway still enough that she can step to him and lay her head against his chest, closing her own eyes as the hand not on his cheek curves to rest at his back. Her skirts crowd their ankles.
She will not stay long, now. Later she will kiss his temple like a feather and try to help weave meaning on the loom of their twined fingers if there is still a space that aches and wants for covering, but now... there is someone waiting for their return.
[ He crushes her to him, pulling her in tight. Byerly is not, it should be noted, a good hugger. He's too bony and too tall, to begin with, and the issues are compounded by the fact that his hugging is always either too casual and jovial, or too tight and desperate.
So this is likely dreadfully uncomfortable for Alexandrie: pressed hard against a rocky cliffside, roped against it by the ill-shaped shackles of his lean arms. Her neck is compressed by the face pressed hard into the top of her head, head likely twisted to the side. If she doesn't start to ache within moments, it's a miracle worthy of the Maker.
But it's desperate. It's terrified. We were tortured was worse than what his mind leapt to, and he doesn't know what to do with that - with her suffering, with the fact that there are evils out there that he can't anticipate. Because having an anxious, paranoid mind means, most of the time, that whatever happens, it's not as bad as you feared: having something that's worse shakes him. ]
All right.
[ He finally gets enough of the smell of her hair to steady him. He finally lifts his head up. His eyes are wet, but he hasn't cried, so at least he's not totally lost it. ]
[ Alexandrie is no waifish thing, and while indeed the sharpness of him digs into her, her softness means it does not grate. The desperation of his clinging is something she can meet and hold, and she does, fiercely, even as the hard press of his head against hers begins to ache where they meet, and in her neck. Begins to strain her shoulder in a way she can’t move to relieve.
That she refuses to relieve, because with all that he has lived and seen Byerly still trembles at the cruelties of the world, and makes her chest ache to hold the love she bears him. Makes her want to mantle wings over him and scream challenge to anything that dares come near to that precious part of him that can be hurt like this.
She will release when he does. Push to her toes and pull gently at his head to press her cheek against his for a moment when he apologizes— forgiven— then sighs as she lowers again, lets fall her hands.]
Shall we go and all pretend together by the fire that life is cards, and friends, and mead, and laughter?
That the greatest worry is I will win back the buttons I hate that Marie is stubbornly intent on using in a gown?
[ He takes a breath, unsteady and unhappy. It shan't be the first time he's done such a thing. Pretended things were fine. He'd managed it for many, many years - smiling cheerily for his sister, acting as though there was nothing wrong with a catatonic mother and a hateful father. Like their lives were positively idyllic.
But that was when he was powerless. What is the point of power and prestige, if not to not have to make-believe in that way?
[ There is an ease in the way Byerly reaches his hand that implies a ready belief that hers will be there to meet it at the end of its travel, and the very simplicity of the movement knocks Alexandrie sideways out of time and into a hundred tiny memories of hesitations, of still hands and wishes, and is it so easy now? Can it be so easy?
She realizes she is staring at it with a kind of wonder. Turns the look on him for a second, and then takes his hand to kiss it. ]
I think perhaps it is not really pretending if we think of only now. Such bubbles eventually pop, of course, but for now she is safe, and warm, and here, and so are you, and so am I, and we can be together and laugh, and that is a fine thing, no?
[ His brow furrows slightly as he stares, but he relaxes when she takes his hand. Unexpected; less unexpected, though, than the invitation. ]
He is away at the moment. Though that's not a bad impulse. He's good at smoothing things over.
[ Although odd to think of spending time with the both of them at the same time, now, given their status. Well - That's all something to think about at a different time.
He starts back the way they came, leading her by the hand. ]
[ When they return they'll find Athessa sitting fully sideways in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle and draped over the arm. Her head rests against the back of the chair, and from the door it might look like she's fallen asleep, but for the sound of her accordion-shuffling the cards while she waits.
The bottle of mead sits on the table about where she set it the first time, the level of the liquid inside the glass only a little lower than it was when they left.
At the sound of Lexie and Byerly returning, she tips her head to peer at them, to gauge their collective mood. Honestly, if it had just been one of them taking some air, she wouldn't expect them to come back. ]
[ Having left on a stiff and formal arm and returned by the hand would perhaps be enough proof of change, but there is less cultivated smoothness in her features and a surer step to substantiate it. ]
Another hand, then, so I may win back [ lose all of ] the buttons for Marie?
[ Byerly's hand is given a last supportive squeeze before Alexandrie reclaims her own so that she can properly manage her skirts as she slides back into her seat with a nod at Athessa. ]
Which is to say, whatever one might conceivably get away with.
[ She'll hook her foot snugly around his ankle when he sits. ]
[ Alexandrie is picking her cards up as they're dealt her and watching the other two through her eyelashes while ostensibly looking at her growing hand. ]
No, no no. After you've successfully bluffed, you drink. It's a way to even the playing field, since we are not all of the same skill level here. The more successful bluffs you make, the drunker you will become.
[ Athessa nods her understanding of the general concept, setting the deck of cards face-down in the center of the table. There's a follow-up question she really wants to ask, but perhaps she should just keep it to herself.
If someone merely thinks they've bluffed successfully, doesn't that then give an advantage to the other players? ]
Sounds good to me. Start us off if you please, Laird-Ambassador.
[ Alexandrie's question is whether or not Athessa had in fact stacked the deck as suggested and, if so, how, but that's tabled in favor of fanning her hand and examining it. ]
But first you must pour me a drink, [ she looks up from it with a bright beam of a smile, ] as my hand as dealt requires little bluffing, and I shall feel left out otherwise.
[ Athessa did not stack the deck as suggested, but to her discredit it isn't because she's going against suggestion to do the unexpected; it's just that she's not sure how to stack a deck at all.
She sits back and fans out her cards, looking at what she's working with. ]
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no subject
What is even the point of it?
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It is late enough and the hallway still enough that she can step to him and lay her head against his chest, closing her own eyes as the hand not on his cheek curves to rest at his back. Her skirts crowd their ankles.
She will not stay long, now. Later she will kiss his temple like a feather and try to help weave meaning on the loom of their twined fingers if there is still a space that aches and wants for covering, but now... there is someone waiting for their return.
It will be long enough to have it mean I know. ]
no subject
So this is likely dreadfully uncomfortable for Alexandrie: pressed hard against a rocky cliffside, roped against it by the ill-shaped shackles of his lean arms. Her neck is compressed by the face pressed hard into the top of her head, head likely twisted to the side. If she doesn't start to ache within moments, it's a miracle worthy of the Maker.
But it's desperate. It's terrified. We were tortured was worse than what his mind leapt to, and he doesn't know what to do with that - with her suffering, with the fact that there are evils out there that he can't anticipate. Because having an anxious, paranoid mind means, most of the time, that whatever happens, it's not as bad as you feared: having something that's worse shakes him. ]
All right.
[ He finally gets enough of the smell of her hair to steady him. He finally lifts his head up. His eyes are wet, but he hasn't cried, so at least he's not totally lost it. ]
I am sorry.
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That she refuses to relieve, because with all that he has lived and seen Byerly still trembles at the cruelties of the world, and makes her chest ache to hold the love she bears him. Makes her want to mantle wings over him and scream challenge to anything that dares come near to that precious part of him that can be hurt like this.
She will release when he does. Push to her toes and pull gently at his head to press her cheek against his for a moment when he apologizes— forgiven— then sighs as she lowers again, lets fall her hands.]
Shall we go and all pretend together by the fire that life is cards, and friends, and mead, and laughter?
That the greatest worry is I will win back the buttons I hate that Marie is stubbornly intent on using in a gown?
no subject
[ He takes a breath, unsteady and unhappy. It shan't be the first time he's done such a thing. Pretended things were fine. He'd managed it for many, many years - smiling cheerily for his sister, acting as though there was nothing wrong with a catatonic mother and a hateful father. Like their lives were positively idyllic.
But that was when he was powerless. What is the point of power and prestige, if not to not have to make-believe in that way?
He reaches out a hand for hers. ]
Let's go, then.
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She realizes she is staring at it with a kind of wonder. Turns the look on him for a second, and then takes his hand to kiss it. ]
I think perhaps it is not really pretending if we think of only now. Such bubbles eventually pop, of course, but for now she is safe, and warm, and here, and so are you, and so am I, and we can be together and laugh, and that is a fine thing, no?
[ She pauses, smiles, and then: ]
Shall we invite Bastien to join us?
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He is away at the moment. Though that's not a bad impulse. He's good at smoothing things over.
[ Although odd to think of spending time with the both of them at the same time, now, given their status. Well - That's all something to think about at a different time.
He starts back the way they came, leading her by the hand. ]
no subject
The bottle of mead sits on the table about where she set it the first time, the level of the liquid inside the glass only a little lower than it was when they left.
At the sound of Lexie and Byerly returning, she tips her head to peer at them, to gauge their collective mood. Honestly, if it had just been one of them taking some air, she wouldn't expect them to come back. ]
Better?
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[ Having left on a stiff and formal arm and returned by the hand would perhaps be enough proof of change, but there is less cultivated smoothness in her features and a surer step to substantiate it. ]
Another hand, then, so I may win back [ lose all of ] the buttons for Marie?
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[ He's less disturbed than when he left, if not entirely at a hundred percent yet. As he takes his seat, he says - ]
I'd recommend against taking up the habit of drinking by yourself. It quickly becomes more misery than comfort.
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[ If she thought they weren't going to, maybe she'd have gotten through more of it.
She shuffles the cards once more before shifting in her seat to be able to deal out the hands. ]
Same rules as before, yeah?
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Which is to say, whatever one might conceivably get away with.
[ She'll hook her foot snugly around his ankle when he sits. ]
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And a new rule. Every time you successfully fool someone, you take a drink.
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[ She raises an eyebrow, but deals the cards anyway. ]
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Drink if you are caught out, then?
Or perhaps you must drink if you do the catching.
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If someone merely thinks they've bluffed successfully, doesn't that then give an advantage to the other players? ]
Sounds good to me. Start us off if you please, Laird-Ambassador.
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But first you must pour me a drink, [ she looks up from it with a bright beam of a smile, ] as my hand as dealt requires little bluffing, and I shall feel left out otherwise.
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[ He flutters his eyelashes and pours some mead for Lexie. Then, the first play - a simple enough opening. ]
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She sits back and fans out her cards, looking at what she's working with. ]