WHO: Athessa, Madi, and YOU WHAT: post-Dream catch-all WHEN: after part 2 of dream time WHERE: The Gallows/Kirkwall NOTES: tags will be slow, brain still bad
Byerly sighs when he comes in and sees her in his chair. He looks tired - partly because, to be fair, he's just scaled all those stairs after taking Whiskey out to do her business, but partly because that sleep had been rather...fitful.
"Do you mind terribly?" he asks. He tries to sound irritable; all he can really manage is exhausted.
She looks about as tired, though who can say whether Byerly keeps track of that kind of thing. Athessa's been tired for a whole year, it seems, and sometimes even she has a hard time differentiating between tired and stoned.
"Yep—" It's not a word as much as it's just an acknowledging grunt as she slides out of the chair and ambles around to flop into her usual, less-comfy chair. "Whiskeyyyy, c'mere darling baby doll-face honey."
Her arm just hangs limp over the edge of the chair, fingers waving at the hound to try and lure her over with the promise of affection.
Doesn't take much work. An outstretched hand, after all, holds the promise of food; and if there is no food, then it will offer pets, and that is good enough for Whiskey. So Whiskey goes and cheerily shoves her snout under Athessa's fingers (though Athessa is in for it now, because Whiskey demands energetic petting).
By, meanwhile, takes his seat, and then plants his forehead on his desk.
Energetic petting is not what Whiskey is gonna get, unfortunately. Athessa manages a few enthusiastic pats and scritches before Whiskey flops over to expose her belly for rubs, effectively removing herself from arm's reach.
"Perhaps next time a magic spell will send us back in time," he says, "to allow us to put a stop to the folly of this place. 'Just build more buildings,' we'll say."
"More buildings, more windows. Maybe doors for dogs."
She snorts at the concept of doors for dogs and gives up on trying to reach Whiskey. It's less comfortable in this chair than Byerly's, but she still slings her legs over the arm of the chair and wedges her shoulder against the back like she's preparing to take a little grumpy arms-crossed nap.
"Whaddya reckon, one more winter of bullshit before we all stop sleeping between Firstfall and Wintermarch?"
"You can tell 'em I've been teaching her bad manners. C'mere Whiskey, hop up—" She doesn't have to pat her lap more than once for Whiskey to wriggle her way onto the chair, which is less comforting than inviting a cat onto your lap because Whiskey doesn't want to sit still, wants to lick Athessa's face, wants to play and be played with instead of cuddled and napped with.
Also difficult because Whiskey is getting quite large. The former puppy is now nearly adult-sized - she still has a rather lanky and awkward look, but she's probably somewhere between one-third and half of Athessa's weight.
By lifts his head to watch the spectacle, then slumps down in his chair. "Don't blame me when you die."
Yep. This was a mistake. Athessa grunts and laughs and wheezes as she gets trampled and slobbered on by this behemoth of a dog, and it takes a fair bit of wrasslin' and ear scratching to convince Whiskey to settle down.
"Well if I died, I wouldn't be around to blame you, would I?"
"Standing at the Maker's side," he murmurs, "whispering to Him, what a dick that guy is."
Whiskey, once settled, sets her head at the precise angle so that she can stare with guilt-inducing soulfulness directly into Athessa's eyes any time she's not scratching.
"I don't even fuckin' know what that is," she waves dismissively with Whiskey's paw. "But I'd have bigger fish to fry than dear ol' By if I had the chance to bend the Maker's ear."
"What," he says, with a curling smile that does a decent job of covering his lingering hurt, "you don't think I'm a monster? Not even a little bit?" Because he remembers well the way she looked at him in that shared dream.
Just as she remembers well how easily dismissed she was by anyone with authority. She doesnt clock Byerly's smile due to Whiskey knocking her head into Athessa's chin in an effort to get more affection, but somewhere in her reaction to that is a shake of her head.
"No more than I think Baz would sell me to the Venatori." That's a reference to last year's spirit-induced dreaming, which certainly didn't make her trust Bastien any less. Why should Byerly be any different?
"It's a very good mustache," she counters without any oomf behind it. Or maybe she's just muffled by the dog. "My favorite mustache in Riftwatch, I think. No offense."
That gets her to look at him, brow slightly raised as she tries to read whether or not he's annoyed at her or just annoyed in general. Does he want her to leave? She purses her lips and, after a moment, shrugs again.
"If you like. I dunno. I don't...have a reason, really."
More than anything, he's still feeling tender. Byerly has many strengths; emotional resilience is not really one of them. He can't simply shrug off what they went through, even if it was a mere dream. Her hatred still haunts him.
"I do have rather a lot of work. So if you're going to stay, you'll need to do some paperwork."
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"Do you mind terribly?" he asks. He tries to sound irritable; all he can really manage is exhausted.
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"Yep—" It's not a word as much as it's just an acknowledging grunt as she slides out of the chair and ambles around to flop into her usual, less-comfy chair. "Whiskeyyyy, c'mere darling baby doll-face honey."
Her arm just hangs limp over the edge of the chair, fingers waving at the hound to try and lure her over with the promise of affection.
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By, meanwhile, takes his seat, and then plants his forehead on his desk.
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"This place has too many stairs."
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"Perhaps next time a magic spell will send us back in time," he says, "to allow us to put a stop to the folly of this place. 'Just build more buildings,' we'll say."
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She snorts at the concept of doors for dogs and gives up on trying to reach Whiskey. It's less comfortable in this chair than Byerly's, but she still slings her legs over the arm of the chair and wedges her shoulder against the back like she's preparing to take a little grumpy arms-crossed nap.
"Whaddya reckon, one more winter of bullshit before we all stop sleeping between Firstfall and Wintermarch?"
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"Was sleep involved last time? I don't recall."
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"Is she allowed on the furniture?"
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By lifts his head to watch the spectacle, then slumps down in his chair. "Don't blame me when you die."
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"Well if I died, I wouldn't be around to blame you, would I?"
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Whiskey, once settled, sets her head at the precise angle so that she can stare with guilt-inducing soulfulness directly into Athessa's eyes any time she's not scratching.
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"No more than I think Baz would sell me to the Venatori." That's a reference to last year's spirit-induced dreaming, which certainly didn't make her trust Bastien any less. Why should Byerly be any different?
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"If you like. I dunno. I don't...have a reason, really."
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"I do have rather a lot of work. So if you're going to stay, you'll need to do some paperwork."
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cw suicide