Although Gwenaëlle had been willing to remove the hated bear slanket from their bed, so as to avoid making unexpected eye contact with it in the night, it had not actually gone far. Most of the time, it lives in the gallery's conversation pit, where Small Yngvi has continued to embrace it as one of the cosiest places he can be that isn't Stephen's bath. Presently,

it is what Gwenaëlle is stretched out on in her smallclothes and a thin chemise nearby but not in his shade, sunbathing. This is sort of like participating in the social gathering, except it mostly involves having her eyes closed and not talking to anyone, which is (she is pretty certain of this) the best way to do that. Guilfoyle had shown up briefly with several bottles from the de Coucy collection (with l'jeune seigneur's compliments) and a water bucket for Hardie; she isn't sure if he actually left or lurked, and has decided it is not immediately her business.

“Are you sure I need that?” is a bit doubtful, when menaced with paste, and she doesn't actually say the words only one of us is the pastiest motherfucker in Thedas but the way she glances between her arm and his is illustrative, nevertheless. What's a skin cancer.