WHO: Siorus + You; Bastien & Byerly & Benedict & Vega WHAT: Warden intro, dinner party. WHEN: Spring 9:50 WHERE: Various NOTES: Catch-all for some open and closed stuff.
Byerly was not expecting to be yelled at. He was expecting the young lady to blush a little and look flattered by his attentions. And so he straightens up, frowning, affronted, and looks around at Bastien with a clear expression of what the hell.
Bastien puts his hand on Byerly's shoulder for a sympathetic squeeze—and as his hand falls back to his side, with professional fluidity, positioning, and awareness of everyone's lines of sight all coming together to ensure Vega's eyes in particular are spared, for a fleeting moment grabs his ass as well.
He can set the table, though, yes. With Bastien's assistance, handing over dishes and flatware from the cupboards.
"I think it is more for our sake than his, at this point," Bastien appends to Benedict's explanation to Vega. "We were so worried about him, and we felt so awful for not seeing enough of him to notice right away. A few more weeks of bringing him milk and tucking him at night and we might feel better."
So earnest. Surely not an attempt to torment Benedict further.
"Why is it you had not seen much of each other before? Different social circles? Choice? Is there a generations-long feud between your families that your betrothal might have brought an end to, and those hopes were cruelly dashed when Benedict disappeared into the barbaric South? And what is your family like, Mademoiselle? Should I feel sorry for them, that you are here, or only happy for you?"
Vega is either immune to these reactions or pretending to ignore everybody involved in them, save for Benedict, who she has turned her body in toward to effectively cut Bastien and Byerly both from the conversation. It's strange hearing somebody other than herself teasing Benedict in a mean way, even sounds terrible coming from Bastien. She says, with as much sympathy as is possible (for her), "Well — I hope you also feel better, Benedict."
And having made her point, she finally looks at Bastien to answer him properly. "You should feel happy for all of us, I think, because my family did not want me around any longer than I had to be and I wanted to be rid of them. We're both lucky that I have this... this thing in my hand." The shard, not shown. She's become used to holding her hand stiffly in her lap when speaking, palm down.
"To answer your other question: we lived in different cities. We only saw each other when we had to."
The ass-grab is almost enough for Benedict to miss the bit about milk and tucking in, but in his distraction he allows it to slide (when will it be his turn), and drags his focus back to Vega.
"I do," he says, easily enough, quickly adding, "...and I'm sorry. About your family." It's something he understands well (he thinks), and he's sincere when he says it, glancing down at her hand.
Perhaps as a peace offering, he slips off the glove he usually wears on his left hand, showing her his own shard. "It does complicate things."
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"Perhaps I'll set the table, then," he huffs.
no subject
He can set the table, though, yes. With Bastien's assistance, handing over dishes and flatware from the cupboards.
"I think it is more for our sake than his, at this point," Bastien appends to Benedict's explanation to Vega. "We were so worried about him, and we felt so awful for not seeing enough of him to notice right away. A few more weeks of bringing him milk and tucking him at night and we might feel better."
So earnest. Surely not an attempt to torment Benedict further.
"Why is it you had not seen much of each other before? Different social circles? Choice? Is there a generations-long feud between your families that your betrothal might have brought an end to, and those hopes were cruelly dashed when Benedict disappeared into the barbaric South? And what is your family like, Mademoiselle? Should I feel sorry for them, that you are here, or only happy for you?"
no subject
And having made her point, she finally looks at Bastien to answer him properly. "You should feel happy for all of us, I think, because my family did not want me around any longer than I had to be and I wanted to be rid of them. We're both lucky that I have this... this thing in my hand." The shard, not shown. She's become used to holding her hand stiffly in her lap when speaking, palm down.
"To answer your other question: we lived in different cities. We only saw each other when we had to."
no subject
"I do," he says, easily enough, quickly adding, "...and I'm sorry. About your family." It's something he understands well (he thinks), and he's sincere when he says it, glancing down at her hand.
Perhaps as a peace offering, he slips off the glove he usually wears on his left hand, showing her his own shard. "It does complicate things."